By the end of May, he was up and about again. The arm no longer pained him, and he was beginning cautiously to use it, taking it out of the sling for a few minutes each day to exercise the muscles. This was more like the convalescence of which Anne had dreamed: when her duties allowed, she sat with him on the terrace, or strolled with him about the garden; but she was never alone with him. On the rare occasions when Adonis was absent from his side, the Countess was there, bathing in the glow of his restored health; and it was she who took him out for drives about the estate in the caliche, guiding Limonchik carefully over the smoothest parts of the tracks.
The Count began to spend a good deal of time in the stables talking to his head groom, and the Countess suspected that he was longing to begin riding again and feared they would have difficulty in restraining him. But it soon became plain that he had had other plans.
One day when they had no visitors, they were sitting on the terrace in the drowsy part of the afternoon which Anne, because of her father, still thought of as the dog-watches. Sashka was sleeping on a rug in the deepest shade; Anne was instructing the girls in a desultory way in geography; and the Countess and Fräulein Hoffnung were engaged in needlework and chatting in low voices – a sound as small and soothing as distant running water. Even the white cat was stretched out on its side, immobile except for the very tip of its tail.
Then Silka, the borzoi bitch, was amongst them, dabbing them each in turn with her wet nose, and the white cat was gone in an instant. The Count appeared, coming up the terrace steps, and said, ‘Lolya, I have been thinking about what you said – about wanting a horse instead of a pony.’ Lolya’s head came up: Anne could almost see her prick her ears. ‘I think you are right, and I have decided to give you Grafina for your own. She’s a good mare and will carry you safely; and when you are fifteen, you shall choose your own horse – a youngster if you like, to break in for yourself.’
‘But Papa,’ Lolya found the only thing to object to in the proposal, ‘Anna Petrovna always rides Grafina. What is she to ride? You don’t mean we must share her?’
‘No, that would not do at all. I have something else in mind for your Mademoiselle de Pierre.’ He smiled at Anne and then beckoned her over to the edge of the terrace. ‘Come and look, Anna Petrovna.’
Puzzled, Anne got up and went to stand beside him at the parapet. Below, she saw a groom come into sight around the corner of the house, leading a horse. It was a beautiful mare, glossy and black, breeding in every fine line from her delicate head to her small, hard hooves.
Anne’s astonished eyes met the Count’s, and he smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, she’s for you,’ he said.
Lolya had joined them and was frankly gaping. ‘Papa!’ she cried. ‘Where did she come from? Have you just bought her?’
‘She’s a Karabakh,’ the Count said imperturbably. ‘I bought her from Volkonsky – he’d bought her for his wife, but she isn’t a great horsewoman, and the mare was wasted, standing in the stables eating her head off most of the time. I hope you like her, Anna. She’s called Quassy.’
Anne could find no words. She knew enough to know that Karabakhs were extremely expensive, the best horses money could buy, and such extravagance, such generosity towards her, seemed out of proportion to anything she had ever done – almost unseemly, given her situation. Everyone was now standing at the parapet looking down at the glorious black mare below, calmly swishing her tail against the flies and mouthing her bit as the groom held her for their inspection. Anne was acutely conscious of the Countess’s silent presence. Irina’s small hands were resting on the parapet wall within her vision, and it seemed to Anne that they were gripping the stone rail rather harder than was necessary.
It was Lolya who spoke, her voice innocent of anything but frank admiration. ‘She’s beautiful, Papa! She must have cost the earth!’
The Count looked at his daughter with a self-conscious grin. ‘Oh, not more than she was worth. I can see you are aching to try her, at any rate, but remember she’s Anna Petrovna’s horse, and if you dare to touch her without permission, you’ll have me to reckon with. Come and look at her, Anna! She has a mouth like silk.’
‘Papa, you’ve been on her!’ Lolya said accusingly. ‘And the surgeon said!’
‘Round the paddock, that’s all, just to try her paces,’ he said, and he looked absurdly guilty, like Sashka caught eating jam in bed.
They were half-way down the terrace steps when Anne realised the Countess had not moved to follow them. She looked back and met Irina’s eyes, and saw the puzzled, questioning look in them change to despondency. Natasha, standing beside her mother, looked from one to the other, and when a moment later the Countess turned and walked away towards the house, Nasha hesitated only a moment before following her.
There were several reasons why Anne would have preferred to remain at Schwartzenturm instead of going to Moscow for Sergei’s graduation. Quassy was one of them: riding the mare was an experience so delightful that she was reluctant to give it up even for a day, and the Count must have paid so much for her that it seemed absurd to be going away so soon after receiving her.
Then there was the slight coolness she had detected in the Countess since the mare’s arrival. It was so little that it was barely quantifiable, but Anne could not help feeling that the Countess was hurt by the Count’s gift. It was not that she objected to his generosity, for he was generous to everyone, and the Countess was not so small-minded as to wish him to buy no one presents but her; but it was a more tangible evidence of the many small ways in which he showed his preference for Anne. Almost any other expensive gift would have aroused no emotion in the Countess; but a horse was such a personal thing, and he had obviously expended time and trouble on choosing the perfect one for Anne – just as, years ago before Nasha was born, he had chosen Iskra for Irina.
Anne had done her best, since that day, to avoid the Count’s presence, to leave him alone with the Countess whenever she could do so without drawing attention; and she felt that if the Count and Countess went to Moscow without her, the matter would assume its proper proportion in Irina’s mind. When the plans were discussed, Anne begged to be allowed to stay home to look after the baby and ride Quassy, while Fräulein Hoffnung accompanied Lolya and Nasha. But Fräulein Hoffnung pleaded off, saying that the journey would be too much for her, and indeed, she looked so frail, that no one could suspect her of exaggerating.
‘It will not do,’ the Count said at last, cutting across the argument. ‘You must come to Moscow, Anna. You need not worry about Sashka – Nyanka can stay and help Fräulein Hoffnung with him, and Tanya shall come to take care of the girls. I’m sorry you will have to leave off riding your horse for a while,’ he added ironically, ‘but fife is full of these little disappointments.’
Anne saw there was no help for it. ‘Of course I’ll come, sir,’ she said hastily. ‘I have no wish to seem disobliging. Whatever Irina Pavlovna decides, I shall abide by.’
‘Besides,’ the Count went on, ‘you must not disappoint Basil Tchaikovsky. He will be at the Graduation Ball and will expect to dance with you. Fräulein Hoffnung could not take your place there!’
‘Oh Papa, mayn’t I go to the Ball?’ Lolya broke in passionately. ‘I’m sure thirteen is old enough, and if Anna is to be there anyway…’
His denial led to the usual argument, and the moment passed without further awkwardness.
The day of the passing-out ceremony was humid and overcast, but the weather was kind enough to stay dry, and all the fine ladies who went to watch in open carriages were saved from having their elegant hats spoiled by a soaking. It was one of the main social events of the year in Moscow, for every noble family had at least one sprig in the Academy.