‘But Mikhail…’ Sofya called after him, ‘Pavel has come all this way…’ Her voice trailed off as the door slammed.
She was embarrassed. ‘You must forgive him,’ she said.
Paul felt embarrassed for her. ‘He must be a busy man.’
‘I hardly see him.’
‘Perhaps it was a bad time to call. You are still having breakfast. I should go.’
She regarded him with the same expression of irritation he recalled from Petersburg. Then her shoulders relaxed and with them the formality.
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Pasha,’ she said. ‘Sit down for goodness sake. Have some coffee.’
He grinned at her, draped the great fur coat over a sofa and pulled out a chair. ‘It is good to see you again. So you got out of Kazan safely.’
‘Yes. To Samara, although not for long. The Bolsheviks were so close. When the Treasury was transferred to Chelyabinsk we went with Mikhail on the train.’
‘He is with the Finance Ministry, I understand.’
‘No,’ Pasha, ‘he was with the Interior Ministry. Like Papa. I told you in Petersburg, surely. Although, of course’ she added, ‘there is nothing left of it.’
‘But—’ he began, then said, ‘never mind,’ assuming Kolchak had made a mistake. ‘And after Chelyabinsk?’ he asked. ‘You came straight here to Omsk?’
‘That was a rather hurried affair,’ she admitted. ‘It had something to do with the government here. Mikhail has connections with them.’ She poured coffee from a silver pot. ‘And you, Pasha? After Kazan?’ She looked at him pertinently. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Oh, all over the Urals,’ he said. The coffee, he found, was the best he had drunk since leaving England. ‘I’ve been with the Czechs and Slovaks for the most part. Although for the past ten days I’ve been with a British colonel and Admiral Kolchak touring the front.’
‘Mikhail says he is the man to save Russia.’
‘Kolchak?’
‘The government here is weak and will soon fall. Mikhail says the SRs are obstructive. It is like Petersburg before the Bolsheviks. They do nothing but argue. There is no law. It isn’t safe to walk the streets. Now the admiral has returned things will improve.’
‘I wouldn’t be too quick to pin your hopes on Kolchak,’ Paul warned her. ‘Things are bad at the front. The Peoples’ Army is outnumbered and they’re hopelessly ill-equipped. They’re doing their best but without—’
‘Mikhail says they are nothing but a rabble.’ Sofya nibbled at a piece of toast. ‘It’s the fault of the SRs and Avksentiev, of course. The Stavka are raising a new army, one that will be properly equipped.’
‘There were Stavka officers with Kolchak,’ Paul said. ‘All of the old school. All they seem to want is to return to the old ways.’
‘And what’s wrong with that, Pasha?’ She put down her cup.
He smiled at her. ‘Have you forgotten so soon?’
She returned the smile indulgently. ‘Perhaps you’ve been too long with these Czechs, Pasha. Mikhail says—’
‘It seems to me,’ he suggested, ‘that Mikhail says an awful lot.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘That he spends too much of his time with Stavka, perhaps. If he spoke to the ordinary people he would understand that they won’t tolerate a return to the old ways.’ He reached for a piece of cold toast. ‘Too much has happened to go back now.’
‘Ordinary people? What ordinary people? Who are you talking about?’
‘The peasants, Sofya. They’re the ones who have to do the fighting.’
‘The peasants?’ She gave him an odd look. ‘Honestly, Pasha, sometimes you can be so obtuse. It is men like Avksentiev and the other SRs who have ruined the peasants. As for doing the fighting… look what happened in Petersburg after the so-called Soviets destroyed the army. I’m afraid the officers in Omsk won’t allow that to happen a second time.’
‘The officers in Omsk aren’t the army, Sofya,’ he explained patiently. ‘The peasants are the soldiery, not a few staff officers in fancy uniforms. They may look good strutting around Omsk like peacocks, with braid and polished boots, but they aren’t an army. You’re talking like a schoolgirl, Sofya, impressed by appearances. I didn’t see many staff officers at the front. It’s the peasants who do the fighting. Always has been and always will, and they won’t stand for a return to the old ways.’
‘I am no foolish schoolgirl,’ Sofya snapped back at him. ‘And I will thank you, Pavel, not to talk to me as if I were.’
‘I’m sorry but—’
‘The peasants will have to do as they are told,’ she went on. ‘It’s for their own good, after all. Where has all this political intrigue got them? You don’t understand, Pasha. You’ve been away from Russia too long.’
‘Sofya…’
He examined her across the remains of her breakfast, well-fed and well-dressed once more, sliding back into the same complacency that had brought Russia to the brink of disaster. He could hardly believe how much she had changed.
She held his gaze.
‘You haven’t seen them at the front,’ he said, dropping the toast. ‘They’ll desert like they did on the eastern front. They’ve got no uniforms, no guns, no boots… little to eat…’
‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘The warehouses here are full of weapons and uniforms. They arrive by the trainload every day from Vladivostok.’
‘Oh? Then why haven’t the troops got the equipment they need?’
‘I’ve told you. It’s the government. The SRs in the Directory won’t allow distribution. Mikhail says Kolchak will change that.’
‘Why do they need Kolchak? If the supplies are here as you say, surely General Boldyrev would have sent them to the front.’
‘Boldyrev!’ she cried. ‘He is as bad as the rest. He’s one of the Directory, of course. Mikhail says what the army needs are good Russian officers to put some backbone in them. Just like your Czechoslovaks.’
‘It has only been the Legion,’ Paul said through his teeth, ‘that has stood between you and the Bolsheviks.’
‘According to Mikhail—’
‘Mikhail doesn’t know what he’s talking about,’ Paul retorted. ‘The closest he’s ever got to any guns are the ones the Legion was using to keep the Red Army out of Kazan. And what did he do? He scurried off to Samara.’
‘Pavel! That’s a hateful thing to say. How can you speak of my brother like that?’ She stood up and flung her napkin onto the plate in front of her, scattering pieces of boiled eggshell across the table. ‘I suppose you think I “scurried off to Samara” too. As I remember, you decided it was your duty to stay behind… to play the hero. And what about your friend, Valentine? Do you accuse him of “scurrying off”?’ She turned to the window, looking down into the bleak street below. ‘You told me in Petersburg you came back to Russia to find Mikhail. But as soon as we did, you wouldn’t even come with me to Samara to see him.’
‘There was no point,’ Paul explained. ‘And since he was already acquainted with Kolchak, I was hardly needed to broker introductions. As for Valentine…’
‘You’ve seen him, I suppose?’ she said, turning.
‘No. Is he in Omsk?’
‘When I last saw him.’
‘Where is he staying?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
A silence fell between them. After a moment, Paul rose from the table.
‘Perhaps I should leave.’
‘Perhaps you should,’ she said.
‘Sofya…’
She turned to the window again. He pictured her as he had seen her in the room in Petersburg, her back turned as she slipped her old sarafan over her naked body.