The world had caught up with them. He looked down blankly into her eyes, and she heard her own voice call out with amazing calmness, ‘Go away Marie. I will do my hair myself.’
There was no further sound from the passageway; but the mood was broken. They released themselves by common consent, and stood a little apart. His arms were down uselessly by his sides. He was all too aware, now, of the other view, the one any person other than themselves would have of the matter.
It was Anne who spoke first. ‘You had better go and dress.’
He nodded, turned to go, and then turned back, unable to leave something so important so lightly.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Everything will be all right.’
No, she thought; nothing will ever be all right again. He must have seen something of that thought in her eyes, for he gave a small, crooked smile, and said, ‘Trust me, Anna.’
She could not see any way forward, anything to come but pain; but she said, ‘Yes,’ as if it were an answer to his question-no, his demand – and he seemed satisfied, for the moment, with that. He nodded again, and after a brief hesitation, left her.
By the time she arrived at the reception, Anne felt exhausted, as if she had not slept for two nights. She travelled in the second carriage with Katya and the two girls; the Count and Irina had gone on ahead in the first carriage with Feodor and Galina, and when Anne stepped into the commandant’s house, the Count was already established and out of reach in conversation with a group of senior military and diplomatic personnel.
Feodor had waited, so that they should have someone to present them, but he was not obliged to trouble himself on Anne’s behalf, for her hand was at once claimed by Basil Andreyevitch, who begged to be allowed to present her to the Governor, who was an old friend of his mother’s. Feodor met Anne’s eyes and raised an interrogative eyebrow, and she shrugged minutely. If she were not to be allowed to lie down and die of her misery, she didn’t much care what happened to her.
Tchaikovsky presented her as the daughter of the English Admiral Peters, and in that flattering light the Governor bowed over her hand most graciously. They moved on, and other members of his staff came forward to be introduced to her. Tchaikovsky was expert, if in nothing else, in manipulating conversation, and before long there was a lively discussion going on around Anne, which she could not help but join in.
The thing which had happened to her was shut away in a separate part of her mind: for the moment she could not think about it, and her physical tiredness helped her to stand outside herself, and regard the present in a detached way. Servants drifted up at regular intervals with glasses of champagne and trays of zakuska, and in the background an orchestra played quietly. It really was a very good reception, and she had the grace to repeat the thought to Basil.
He looked pleased. ‘Mess hospitality!’ he said. ‘In Russia, it’s the best in the world! Have some of this caviar – the red is best – and some more champagne.’
‘Tsinandali?’ she said, remembering. They had sat on the verandah together in another world, long ago, drinking champagne. On top of the tiredness, the wine was filling her with a pleasant sense of unreality. The edges of things were just a little softened. The wounded place inside her seemed far away; the pain quiescent for the moment, like a fierce animal sleeping. ‘I like you, Basil Andreyevitch,’ she said. ‘You’re so restful.’
He smiled uncertainly. ‘I suppose you mean that as a compliment.’
During the progress of the reception, Anne saw Sergei only at a distance, talking to various officials and dignitaries. She knew that he had seen her: he bowed the first time she caught his eye, and several times she saw him look her way, but he was in uniform and on duty, and could not excuse himself to come to talk to her.
Basil Andreyevitch had brought her a Colonel of Hussars who had recently come from Spain, where he had been liaising with Murat’s army in Madrid. He was able to give fascinating details of the situation there. Napoleon had made his brother Joseph king in place of the deposed Bourbon, and Joseph had embarked on a programme of reform and public building. But the Bonapartes had underestimated the strength of the Spanish church, which regarded the Revolution with horror, and Napoleon as the Antichrist. Urged on by the priesthood, the Spanish people themselves, though betrayed by their queen and abandoned by their king, had risen up against the French occupation, and had driven the army out of Madrid.
‘When I left, the news was that your General Wellesley was marching through Portugal to head off Junot’s army,’ the Colonel added. ‘Do you know him? He has done great things in India, so it’s said.’
Anne contemplated the idea of her ‘knowing’ Sir Arthur Wellesley, the proud son of an Anglo-Irish peer and brother of a minister of the realm. ‘I’ve heard of him, of course,’ she said.
The Colonel nodded. ‘An able man. I think France may have more trouble than she looks for in the Peninsular. Napoleon invaded Spain in a frivolous mood – but he may find it a sobering experience.’
Tchaikovsky said, ‘You seem not to mind the idea of our ally being bested by the Spanish, Boris Feodorovitch. Can it be that you have no great love for the French?’
The Colonel shrugged. ‘France or Spain, it is not our quarrel. And Napoleon – who is he? A commoner, when all’s said and done. It is not for our Emperor to ally himself with a brigand. We ought to be opposing him, and helping England. The English are our natural allies,’ he said with a bow to Anne.
Tchaikovsky gave Anne a conspiratorial glance, and said innocently, ‘What you mean, Borya, is that England has no Continental ambitions to clash with ours. Provided she rules the sea, she will let us rule Europe as we please.’
The Colonel looked dignified. ‘You may laugh if you will, but a clash is bound to come sooner or later, between us and a mushroom like Napoleon. What about Poland? What about Sweden? What about the Levant? Do you think he will stand back and let us have them? And do you think we will let him take them from us? Let France have her natural frontiers, and we ours, that’s what I say. The ancient empire of Byzantium–’
‘No no!’ Tchaikovsky protested, holding up his hands. ‘I cannot permit you to start on Byzantium. Once he mounts that horse, Anna Petrovna, nothing can throw him.’
The Colonel grinned good-naturedly. ‘Very well. But I don’t scruple to say this before you, Vasya – or before Mademoiselle, your friend: the idea of a marriage alliance between Russia and France is going a great deal too far, and so it will appear.’
‘A marriage alliance?’ Anne said in surprise.
Tchaikovsky lowered his eyelids. ‘It seems Napoleon is thinking of divorcing Madame Josephine–’
‘That sweet woman!’ the Colonel added indignantly.
‘But I thought it was a love match,’ Anne said. ‘Everyone talked of it so. When I was in Paris–’
‘Napoleon wants a son, and she cannot give him one,’ Tchaikovsky said. ‘Now he has a throne, he must have a son to inherit it.’
The Colonel nodded. ‘That’s right. And at the conference in Erfurt next month, he plans to suggest a marriage between himself and one of the Grand Duchesses,’ he said indignantly. ‘He does not know his man. The Tsar may sign a pact with the Devil, if he is driven to it, in order to gain time; but he will not sell one of his sisters to him.’
A general disturbance at that point, as everyone began moving towards the ballroom for the opening of the ball, interrupted the conversation. The Colonel bowed to Anne, and excused himself to go and find the lady he was engaged to escort; and Basil Andreyevich offered Anne his arm with a certain satisfaction.