Anne passed behind her into the drawing-room, a heavily furnished, crowded, but comfortable room, and saw Rose sitting at a table near the window cutting out paper dolls. Jean-Luc was sitting beside her, watching her, his chin resting in his hand. His hair, she saw at once, was much shorter. The luxuriant cascade, which had reached to his waist, had been cropped just below the shoulders, and he was wearing it neatly tied in a queue. He was dressed very plainly in trousers and tunic, and if he was wearing make-up, it was certainly a great deal more subtle than Madame Belinski’s.
He looked up as she came in, and a strange expression crossed his face for a moment; then the veil descended, and he assumed his usual inscrutability. Anne couldn’t quite decide what the expression had been. He looked taken aback, as though he had not expected ever to see her again – as well he might, since he had not heard from her for so long. But it was not the look of someone glad to see her: he looked, she thought, stricken, as though her appearance foretold some doom.
But all this passed through Anne’s mind in a second. Her eyes had gone immediately to her daughter, who looked up, regarded her for a moment in surprise and wonder, and then wreathed her face in joyful smiles.
‘Maman! Maman!’ she cried out, and struggled down from her seat to limp across the room as fast as her legs would carry her. Anne met her half-way, and in an instant she was in her arms, and they were embracing with all their strength. Behind her Anne heard Madame Belinski sigh sentimentally.
‘Isn’t that a pretty thing to see? There’s no mistaking our little Rose’s mama, is there? I always say, don’t you, Count Tchaikovsky, that there’s nothing stronger than the bond between mother and child! So natural, so pretty!’
Anne, her face buried deep in Rose’s neck and thin silky hair, turned to face them as Nikolai, gravely concurring with this deep philosophical truth, went on to explain that he was not Count Tchaikovsky, but Count Kirov, a friend of the family.
‘Oh, not our little Rose’s father, then?’ Madame Belinski said brightly, but with a glint of suspicion in her eye as she looked from Nikolai to Anne.
Anne, however, had no attention for her. Jean-Luc was on his feet, and at the mention of Rose’s father, he had sought Nikolai’s eye with a questioning look. Nikolai returned the gaze steadily for a moment, and then gave an almost infinitesimal shake of the head. Jean-Luc read it, understood; his face aged, almost visibly. Anne was shocked to see the change in him. She had never liked to think about the relationship between him and Basil; it hurt her dreadfully to have to acknowledge that the Frenchman had loved her husband, but there was no doubt about it now. He had truly loved Basil, as she had not.
Anne found her legs trembling, and was forced to sit down, taking Rose, who was clinging to her like a marmoset, on to her lap.
‘I am so grateful to you, Madame Belinski,’ she heard herself say in a light, shaky voice which was hardly her own, ‘for taking care of my daughter. I don’t know how I shall ever be able to thank you.’
‘We have enjoyed having her, Madame – and her brother,’ Madame Belinksi said. ‘Or – I suppose I should say, her half-brother?’ A hint of a question mark crept into her voice as the puzzlement surfaced on her painted face. ‘For I see now – excuse my impertinence, madame, but you are much too young to be dear Zho-Zho’s mother! Not, of course,’ she went on, with curiosity strong in her voice, ‘that there’s a great resemblance between him and Rose – but that would be accounted for, perhaps…’
Anne dragged her wits together. So that’s what he had told them! Clever – or was it more devious? ‘Yes, of course – a previous marriage,’ she said vaguely. ‘I dare say he resembles his mother more strongly.’
Nikolai spoke from behind her. ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you – er – Zho-Zho – in private, if Madame Belinski would graciously excuse us?’
‘Of course, of course – please do,’ Madame Belinski smiled and blushed, and Anne guessed that Nikolai was being charming over her shoulder.
‘And then, I’m afraid, we shall have to be taking our leave. I hate to descend on you and leave again so suddenly–’
Madame Belinski looked taken aback. ‘But no, surely not – you will stay to dinner at least? My husband will want to meet you – and the children are out visiting – they will be heartbroken. Oh, surely, after Rose has been with us so long, you will not just take her away helter-skelter like that!’
Nikolai was grave. ‘Madame, I regret deeply the appearance of haste and ingratitude it must present to you. I assure you nothing but the most urgent considerations of national importance would persuade me to leave so precipitately, but where His Majesty’s business is at stake, all else must come second.’
Madame Belinski was flattened by the speech, which contained at least three words she didn’t understand. ‘Oh, of course, of course,’ she whispered meekly. ‘I quite understand.’
‘And I assure you, dear madame, that as soon as the present emergency is over, we will return in order to thank you properly for all the kindness you have shown, and to allow little Rose to visit you again. Indeed, I hope she will often be visiting you. I’m sure she regards you now as her second family.’
These sentiments set Madame Belinski chattering about kindness and obligation, which she directed at Anne as Nikolai took Jean-Luc out of the room – she supposed to tell him about Basil. Anne listened patiently, aware of the great and real debt she owed this kind woman; and feeling guiltily glad that Nikolai had made it possible for them to get away.
It took over an hour to do so, despite the fact that there was very little to pack, for it was very hard to stop madame talking. The Belinskis had given Rose a number of toys and new clothes, and there was the white kitten, too; and then Rose had to say goodbye to all the servants individually. Anne was afraid the rest of the family would come back before they had left, and it would all begin again; but at last they were all squeezed in the carriage, with Rose on Anne’s lap and the kitten on Jean-Luc’s, and they were off.
Jean-Luc had hardly spoken a word since they arrived at the house, and Anne was not very surprised, considering the nature of the news Nikolai had given him. She was surprised when they travelled only another ten miles towards Tula, and stopped at a posting-inn in a village, where Nikolai announced they were to spend the night.
They bespoke rooms, and an early supper; Anne acquired some bread and milk from the kitchen for Rose, and had the pleasure of sitting with her while she ate, and then of bathing her and putting her to bed herself. When she tucked her in, however, she asked for Jean-Luc to come and kiss her goodnight. Anne shrugged inwardly, kissed her daughter, and went downstairs to find him.
She couldn’t help wondering what was going to happen at Tula, if, as Nikolai said, the Davidovs would not admit him to the house. His position was now equivocal, to say the least; and when they settled again in their own home, what then? Without Basil, he had no place in her household, except as Rose’s ‘friend’. How much he really cared for her daughter she was unsure: not enough, she hoped, to make him want to stay near her.
She found Jean-Luc with Nikolai in the coffee room, and delivered Rose’s message.
‘Very well, I’ll go up at once,’ he said. He hesitated a moment as though he would say more, and then shrugged, and left them.
Alone, Anne and Nikolai turned to each other. ‘He told the Belinskis he was Rose’s brother,’ she said.
Nikolai looked grim. ‘It was his solution to a deadly problem,’ he told her. ‘I’ve been talking to him – had it all out of him. He stumbled, you see, though he didn’t know it at first, into a household of the most rabid patriots and Francophobes in the province. If Belinski père had discovered the truth about him, he would have handed him over to the town committee, who would probably have hanged him without further ado. Fortunately for him, his acting skills enabled him to hide any trace of his nationality. His great fear was that Rose would betray him accidentally – but I don’t think they were terribly discerning people.’