Anne wished fervently that Zina, with her strong mind and determined views, were here; in lieu of her, she tried talking to Feodor, who she knew was as worried about his sister as she was.
‘We must just wait until she gets over it,’ he said helplessly. ‘Irushka was always the strange one. She feels things differently from the rest of us. She’ll work it out in her own way, I suppose.’
‘I’m afraid’, Anne said hesitantly, ‘that if she loses interest in life she may…’ She stopped. ‘She’s too thin. She doesn’t eat enough.’
Feodor met her eyes. ‘I know. I don’t know what to do about it. I’ll try talking to her tonight.’
He spent a long time with her on the verandah that evening, talking about their childhood together at Chastnaya. Irina seemed to be listening; sometimes she responded; and once, miraculously, she smiled when Feodor reminded her of some childhood prank of Dmitri’s. But as soon as he left her, her face went blank again, and she resumed her rocking, rocking journey away from reality.
In the second week of the visit, Anne was walking one day with Zinochka in the Tsarskoye Gardens, where there was shortly to be a concert on the bandstand by the band of the Caucasian Highland Guards. The handsome young captain who conducted them had danced with Zinochka at two balls, and a promising inclination on his part deserved the encouragement of her attendance at his performance.
Galina had taken Masha to visit a mantuamaker, and Katya had gone to the baths with a friend, but Anne had been quite happy to take a turn at chaperoning Zinochka. She liked music, and felt that it was one of the few pleasures she was able to enjoy at the moment. Zinochka had been so anxious not to miss the start that they had arrived much too early, and they had been occupying the time by strolling along the formal walks, between the dazzling displays of roses, while Zinochka told Anne what a superb musician Captain Orlov was, and how gracefully he danced.
Anne was listening amusedly but with only half her attention. There was something unexpectedly familiar about a figure approaching on a path at right angles to the one they were walking along. Thin, dark, with a dark moustache which suggested the military; but his was not a military gait. Smart, city clothes; a silver-headed cane – but of course! He turned the corner, started as he saw her, and hastened towards her with outstretched hands, and a smile of welcome.
‘Anna Petrovna! Oh, how good it is to see you!’
Her hands were engulfed, and she looked up into Count Tchaikovsky’s face with unexpected pleasure. The spontaneous warmth of his greeting had touched a loneliness she had not been fully aware of; the thin nose and protuberant eyes did not, for once, seem either ugly or ridiculous, only comfortingly familiar.
‘Basil Andreyevitch, what a surprise to see you here!’
‘I heard you were in Pyatigorsk, and I was intending to call on you tomorrow. I arrived only this morning, from Georgievsk. But what a pleasant coincidence that you should choose to walk here this morning! I think Fate must be wanting to bring us together.’
She was surprised at the directness of his speech, but smiled and introduced him to Zinochka. ‘We have come for the concert – which I believe is about to begin,’ she added, intercepting an urgent fidget from Zinochka.
‘Will you then allow me to escort you?’ he asked at once. ‘I have so much to tell you, so much to ask.’ He offered an arm to each of them. ‘What a pleasant town this! Though the smell of the sulphur baths is something one has to get used to.’
‘The officers say that the sulphur in the air turns their silver epaulettes quite yellow if they are here more than a day or two,’ Anne said.
They walked as briskly as Zinochka could make them along the gravel path to the centre of the park, where the pagoda shaped bandstand was ringed with wooden chairs, and already a considerable audience was assembling. Once Basil Andreyevitch had secured them seats from which Zinochka could admire Captain Orlov’s undeniably distinctive profile, he was able to claim Anne’s attention and converse with her in reasonable privacy under cover of the music.
‘I heard about your dreadful loss,’ he said. ‘The shock must have been terrible for you. To lose a child is always a tragedy – but in such a way! I wish I could offer you comfort.’
‘Thank you,’ Anne said bleakly; but his sympathy was so genuine, it did comfort a little.
‘Has Kirov been informed?’
‘Sergei wrote to him. We haven’t yet had a reply.’
‘He will come home, I imagine. The situation in Paris is surely not so grave that they will deny him compassionate leave. And Sergei Nikolayevitch – he is back with his regiment?’
‘Yes, at Grozny.’ Anne frowned. ‘He of all people ought to have had leave. He was very shocked. Nasha was a great favourite with him, and of course, he was the one who witnessed it all at first hand. In some ways, it was worst of all for him.’
‘Yes – poor young man! But at least he was able to take revenge.’
‘Oh, but you don’t understand – that was part of what was so shocking! Poor Seryosha – to witness, to take part in such killing…’
Basil Andreyevitch eyed her curiously. ‘But he is a soldier; it is his trade! He would not feel about it as you do.. And besides, surely the barbarians deserved it? You would not have had them go unpunished?’
Anne avoided the question. Sergei had told the whole truth to no one but her, and it was not her secret to impart to anyone else. She said, ‘But now there is trouble along the Chechen line – some of the tribes have risen up in protest against the burning of the village, and so the Independents are called out to contain them, and all leave is cancelled.’
‘Action of that sort may be the best thing for him,’ Basil said. ‘It will leave him no time to brood. But you, Anna Petrovna – you are looking pale, and tired. I think you have been bearing the burden for too long.’
Anne was embarrassed. ‘How can you say so? It is not my bereavement alone; indeed, the family is more involved than I.’
For answer he took her hand and pressed it. ‘I know you,’ he said. ‘You have more feeling than the rest put together.’
She drew back her hand. She could not believe that he would flirt with her at a time like this. She sought to change the subject.
‘Your sister is well, I hope? Is she with you? Shall I have the pleasure of meeting her again?’
‘No, Olga is at Odessa. In fact, I have just come from there. We have been there all summer, staying with my aunt. My uncle died in March.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t know.’
‘No, how should you? We were in time to see him before he died, which was the important thing.’
‘And what brings you to Pyatigorsk? I should have thought, from what I’ve heard, that Odessa would be the most pleasant place to be at this time of year. Have you come here on business?’
‘You might call it that,’ he said, watching her with a curious expression in his softly bulging eyes. ‘In fact, I came partly to put a distance between me and Olga. She and I have been quarrelling for the last six weeks.’
Anne was surprised – the closeness of the brother and sister was legendary – but she did not feel she had any right to ask questions. Basil Andreyevitch, however, seemed to want to tell her.
‘My uncle, you see, had always given us to understand that when he died, he would leave us his fortune between us. However, when the will was proved, it came out that he had left the bulk of his fortune to me, with no more than a pension to Olga and my aunt. Quite a generous pension to each of them, but it’s not quite the same.’