Page 30 of The Gathering Storm

CHAPTER FIVE

Over tea one evening, James asked Tata something he had been wondering about, though not with any urgency, for some time.

‘How did you get out?’

‘Out?’ she said, though he saw understanding reach her eyes a moment later. Still, she was cautious. ‘Out of where?’

‘Out of Russia. If you were there during the war, I suppose you were there during the revolution—’

‘We don’t talk of that,’ she said quickly. ‘That terrible time.’

‘No, I understand. I just wondered …’ He was thinking, staring at those photographs on the wall. ‘You were just a child. Your aunt Masha – is she in Paris too?’

‘No, Shems, she is dead.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and prepared to change the subject.

But she went on: ‘There were secret organisations, lots of them, helping people to get away. There was an American colonel, called Boyle, Joe Boyle – he was a great big man. Aunt Masha called him a magician. She said he could do anything. And an English flying officer called Hill, who was his partner, I think. They worked for the Queen of Romania. She was an English princess by birth, cousin to the Tsarina, so of course she cared about them. They helped a lot of people. Aunt Masha and I were got out through Romania. I don’t remember much about it. I was a child, and it was a bad time. I remember the travelling, always in the dark, always in a hurry. The pinching hands urging one along, pinch and shake, and the whispering. One must never make a sound. And the fear. The fear most of all. Everyone scared me. The men with guns, who smelt of sweat, demanding papers, always papers. One time, in a railway carriage, I remember a soldier reading our papers, and I don’t think he could read. I said, “You’re holding them upside down,” and I felt the shock all around the compartment. I thought we would be killed. I was just a child, Shems. The memories are all jumbled up. We got out on a ship from Odessa to Romania. But Aunt Masha was never well afterwards. She caught some kind of fever in Odessa – that was a dirty place. She died of kidney disease after we came to Paris. I was always glad that at least she died here, in freedom.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ James said. ‘That must have been terrible for you.’

She gave a French little shrug and was silent for a moment, thinking. ‘It is not surprising perhaps that there is so much taking of drugs.’

‘Is there?’ James queried.

‘Natalie’s circle – they all take cocaine. There’s a lot of it at her parties. But even Before, in the top circle, they all used it. The Tsar took it for colds, and the Tsarina for rheumatism, but also I think for pleasure. I remember Aunt Masha talking about it once with Sister Chebodarev. She said the Tsar had told her it made him feel “absolutely marvellous”.’

‘But you don’t—?’

‘No, Shems. I’ve seen what it does to them. Don’t you try it, even if someone offers.’

‘I won’t. I believe it’s illegal in England.’

She shrugged. ‘Well, it wasn’t in Russia. And no-one thought anything of it, any more than drinking brandy. Now we must get back to work. You have made me think of uncomfortable things.’

‘“For old, unhappy, far-off things, and battles long ago,”’ he quoted, from some buried childhood rote-learning.

‘Wordsworth,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘Yes, we read English poetry. Why are you surprised? “His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness” – that was Wordsworth as well. And my kindness to you will be to make you work harder. Idleness is a sin, Shems, you should remember that.’

‘You are a harsh teacher,’ he said, grinning. ‘I bet your little children at school are terrified of you.’

‘Do I terrify you?’

‘I’m shaking to the core,’ he assured her.

‘You are a liar,’ she laughed, ‘but I like you. Come, we must look at verbs. You are lucky, there are only four irregular verbs in Russian, unlike in English where it seems all verbs are irregular.’

‘Ah, but with English, one may speak it very badly and still be understood. That is its great advantage. Unlike French, where the slightest mistake means they’ll look at you with stony incomprehension. I never knew people so very good at not understanding.’

‘Are we going to be embarrassed tonight?’ Emma asked, as she and Kit walked down the marble staircase, dressed for dinner. The dogs rushed past them in a flood, skidding on the corners with wildly flailing paws.

‘No more than one usually is by the Simpsons playing host to the King at Bryanston Court. Personally, I find it amusing when Simpson suggests a cocktail and HM heads straight for the drinks trolley and does the mixing, as if he’s the host.’

‘You have an odd sense of humour,’ Emma said. ‘I can’t help feeling sorry for Ernest. It’s his house, after all. But why a black-tie dinner? It makes it so awkward to know what to wear.’

‘You always look exactly right, darling, whatever you wear,’ said Kit.

Emma was amused. ‘That is the worst thing you can say to a female. It suggests you either don’t care what she wears, or simply don’t notice.’