Vasky and Stefan had set the tea-things down in front of Anne. It was always she, now, who presided over the samovar, and she had grown skilled in the ritual, learning just when to add more boiling water to the pot of very strong liquor which stood keeping warm on the top, so that the tea was always at the right strength. Lately Vasky no longer even troubled to ask the Countess whether she wished to preside, acknowledging her by a bow of the head as he placed the tray on the table by Anne. The Countess nodded in reply. She was sitting on one of the stone benches, flicking the tip of her boot idly with her crop and watching Lolya play with the cat; but Anne, at least, knew that her attention was really fixed on her husband.
Lolya, receiving no satisfaction on the subject of horses, allowed her train of thought to follow another connection.
‘When are we going to Moscow, Papa? It must be soon, surely? Shall we visit Aunt Shoora’s, too?’
Irina, her voice as mild and languid as the little breeze which stirred the air beyond the terrace, expressed her surprise to her husband.
‘Is there a plan to go to Moscow, Nikolasha? I didn’t know. What for?’
The Count looked a little self-conscious. ‘For Sergei’s passing-out ceremony, to be sure,’ he said. ‘Didn’t I mention it to you?’
Adonis appeared at Anne’s elbow to take the Count’s cup. Since he had arrived, no one but him was allowed to hand the Count anything to eat or drink. She wondered if he had once served a master who had feared to be poisoned – a Turk, perhaps? What little she knew of Turks suggested they lived darkly volatile lives.
‘But Mamochka, you knew Seryosha was to graduate in June,’ Lolya interrupted with wide-eyed surprise. She straightened abruptly, snatching the plait end from the white cat’s grasp. The cat stood up, offended, and walked away down the terrace steps with a flounce of his furry Scythian trousers. ‘Of course we must be there to see it. There will be a parade, and manoeuvres, and a musical ride, and a ball in the evening – though I don’t suppose,’ she added in a voice which did not quite exclude hope, ‘that I shall be allowed to go to that.’
‘I do not recollect being told about it,’ Irina said in that same unemphatic tone. ‘Perhaps I did not attend.’
‘But they always have them, every year,’ Lolya insisted. ‘You must have known that.’
The Count moved to take his cup from Adonis and winced, and Anne met his eyes with a look half-afraid, half-accusing. He evaded it and said to his wife, ‘Perhaps I should have raised the subject with you sooner. Mother wants to give a party for Sergei’s graduation. The passing-out ceremony is on the 21st of June and there will be celebrations of all sorts during the week following. After that we might all go and stay with Shoora and Vsevka, if you like. Anyway, there is no need to decide all at once. There’s plenty of time.’
He exchanged a look of mingled apology and entreaty with Irina, for they both knew it was Vera Borisovna’s plans which mattered, and which were the reason that, man-like, he had put off discussing the business with his wife.
Irina sighed a little, emptied her cup, and stood up. ‘Just as you wish,’ she said. ‘I must go and change – and Lolya, so must you.’
‘Now? Must I?’
‘Of course. Besides, you must be so hot in that heavy skirt. Ah, here is Nyanka for the little ones.’ Nasha jumped up and ran to Nyanka, while Anne rose automatically and bent to pick up Sashka; but Irina forestalled her, holding out her hand. ‘No, do not disturb yourself, Anna. Nyanka and I will manage. Come, Sashka, will you come with me?’
Sashka flung a brief look of enquiry towards Anne which she reflected could not but be hurtful to the Countess. She gave him a little helpful push, and he went, placing his hand in his mother’s, not precisely hesitantly, but without enthusiasm, and allowed her to lead him away.
When the children had gone, Anne turned to the Count and saw that Irina’s manoeuvres had not been lost on him. He waited for her question with as much humour in his eyes as he was capable of in his present state.
‘The wound is still troubling you, isn’t it?’ she said, obedient to his silent prompting.
‘She thought I would tell you sooner than her,’ he observed with some irony.
Anne frowned a little, wondering whether, or how much, he minded. ‘She knows you try to protect her from things,’ she said. ‘Besides, she has had no training or experience in nursing the sick. When the children are ill, Nyanka won’t let her near them.’
‘You, of course, have a lifetime’s experience of caring for wounded soldiers,’ he said. ‘I should have remembered.’
Anne ignored this. ‘Will you let me look at it, at least?’ she said. Refusal was instantly in his face. Then Adonis, whose presence they had both forgotten, made a small, admonitory sound. The Count looked towards him enquiringly, and then gave Anne a resigned nod.
‘Very well.’
She drew a chair up beside the couch, and Adonis came to help her ease off the sling and unwind the bandages from the wounded limb. Even through the gauze, she could feel the heat of it, and when her cool fingers touched his skin, she felt it flinch. The scars which seamed the upper arm had healed together, but they were red and sore-looking.
‘This isn’t right,’ she said, frowning.
Adonis growled. ‘Army surgeons! Know nothing and care less, drunk by noon every day, most of ’em! You see how it is. I’ll give you odds there are bone splinters left in there. That wound ought to be searched again.’
Anne looked up at the Count’s face and was shocked to see the apprehension which he was struggling to control. He tried to smile, but his mouth-corners wouldn’t obey him. ‘Something must be done,’ she said. ‘Will you let me send for another surgeon?’
Adonis snorted. ‘Don’t ask him – tell him! He’d suffer and say nothing; but every man takes orders from someone. She knew that–’ he jerked his thumb in the direction of the door through which Irina had left. ‘That’s why she went away. You tell him he’s got to see a surgeon – a smart one from the city. I don’t know who is the best in Petersburg, but I can soon find out. You tell him and I’ll fetch one here snick-snack.’
‘You are insolent,’ the Count said, with a feeble attempt to regain the initiative. ‘You had better mind your tongue, or–’
‘Or what? I’m not a serf, thank God! I’m a free man, Colonel, and I talk as free man to free man. If you don’t like it, you may do otherwise!’
Despite her anxiety, Anne could not help being amused at the baffled expression on the Count’s face, and the defiance in Adonis’ one fierce eye. ‘This is not the moment to quarrel,’ she said hastily. ‘Sir, will you let me send for a surgeon?’
The Count met her eyes and nodded once briefly, and then looked away. His face seemed grey and exhausted.
She stood up and gestured to Adonis to accompany her into the small parlour. There she rang the bell and sat down at the desk to write a note for the surgeon, while he stood behind her and looked over her shoulder.
Vasky came in, and Anne said, ‘Adonis is going into Petersburg to fetch a surgeon to the master. Will you give orders for a good horse to be saddled for him? And he will need a little money for his expenses.’
Vasky gave them both a comprehensive inspection, and then said, ‘Very good, mademoiselle. I will see to it.’
When he had left the room, Adonis said, ‘Read me what the note says.’ Anne glanced at him in surprise, and he said, ‘No, I can’t read. What use would that be to me?’