“Your generosity can never fully be repaid, though I will do everything in my power to do so. I’m afraid I must ask one more tally in our account.”
“It is yours for the asking, Princess.”
Asking. More like groveling. Oh, how she despised it. “The place we are staying is becoming unbearably crowded. Every day refugees pour into the city and there are too few places that will take in Russians. We are forced to live atop one another. It is agony for my sister and mother.”
“For yourself as well, I imagine. A far cry from the Blue Palace that church basement must be.”
Svetlana refused to give in to the memories of the home she’d last seen by the torching light of the revolutionaries. Did it still stand? “Could you help us find accommodations elsewhere? It need not be grand, merely private.”
Taking a sip of his vodka, Sheremetev settled against his cushion and scrunched his eyes as if in thought. They nearly disappeared into fleshy creases. “With the war on, places to rent are at a premium. Spaces not conscripted by the military or hospital are snapped up by families coming to visit their wounded or fleeing the countryside. It would be difficult.”
“We’re willing to pay.” If Mama hadn’t gambled it all away upstairs at the card tables.
“Let me see what I can do.”
If her corset had allowed it, she would have sagged with relief. “Thank you, Mr. Sheremetev.”
“Think nothing of it. I adore helping beautiful women. Here, you really must try these in your tea.” He lifted the lid of a silver dish and scooped a spoonful of sugared cherries into her glass. “An addition of subtle sweetness.”
She took a brief sip and closed her eyes, savoring the flavor. “I haven’t tasted this in years. Wherever did you find the cherries during rationing?”
“Bavaria. I have a man who runs imports from there.”
Right in the middle of enemy territory. Disreputable, wasn’t that what Wynn had called the Sheremetevs the last night she’d seen him nearly a month ago? Worry niggled. She would tread carefully with Sheremetev and put the apprehension—and Wynn—out of her mind for now.
“My father always said the best cherries came from Bakaldy. He likes them in his tea as well.”
“Has news of your father and brother come?”
Her short-term relief fizzled. “None. We pray for them daily.”
“As you should now that Lenin has seized power. My contacts may have news. Their methods of delivery are secure compared to the post, where your father’s letters may have been intercepted.”
“Have you stopped to take a good look at the men he surrounds himself with?” Once more, Wynn’s voice refused to be silenced. The man took up more space in her thoughts than he had any right to claim.
A man appeared at the table and leaned over to whisper to Sheremetev. Without expression, Sheremetev nodded and heaved himself from the booth, knocking the table with his paunch.
“I beg your forgiveness, Princess. An urgent matter has presented itself that I must see to.”
As soon as he disappeared, Svetlana pushed her glass away and knotted her trembling hands in her lap. What sort of man was she dealing with? She had told herself she would do whatever it took to keep her family safe while they waited for Papa and Nikolai, but was she making a bargain with the devil? Perhaps she should find another way.
She started to rise.
“Angel! You are here.” Leonid dropped into the booth next to her and grinned. “How grand tonight you look.”
“Spasibo.” Her exit now blocked, all she could do was manage a few more polite minutes before making her excuses.
He looked around. “You seen Mac?”
Mac. MacCallan. Wynn. The topic she’d prefer to avoid yet conversation always seemed to veer around to him. “Not in some time.”
“He never comes anymore.”
Because of her. She’d told him to stay away, perhaps a bit harsher than she’d intended, and he’d listened. For once. It was the right thing to do. With wars and revolutions, they did not belong in each other’s worlds. Though she no longer believed him a Bolshevik, the threat of discovery from those enemies hung ever present. She could truly trust no one. It was the only way to survive. Yet, at the end of the wearying days when the candles were snuffed and loneliness crept in to drape her in isolation, she wished she could trust him.
Such wishes belonged to another life. One she’d severed.
“I’m certain he’s busy at the hospital.”
“We play chess on day off. He always ask how you are. This makes me think you are not speaking.” Pushing his father’s empty glass aside, Leonid leaned his elbows on the table. “Why argue with Mac?”
“Argue? Who mentioned an argument?”
“That is what he says. Now I see it is true. You tell Leo. I fix all the problems.”
Her heart thumped with more force than she liked. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”
“That is a polite way to say such business does not belong to me, but I am your friend. Your business always is mine.” He settled back and spread his hands in a nonchalant manner. “If you do not tell, I find out ways that are other.”
“You are relentless.”
“Relentless charm.” He smiled in a way that was clearly meant to be debonair but came across as childishly comedic. A far cry from his father’s smooth elegance, but one Svetlana couldn’t help warming to.
She sipped her tea, the cherries rich against the soured memory of her words. “I’ve asked him to keep a distance. Though he seems a kind man and thoughtful doctor, he is not Russian. He has his people to see to as we do ours. It’s best the two do not mix.”
“That is snobbish.”
“I’m sorry if you don’t agree. There are a great many here tonight who would.”
“They are snobbish too.” He waved a dismissing hand to the throngs of people crowding the tables around them. “Know what I think? You are mad he got close and now you push him away. Forgive Mac. Make things right, then we are all friends again.”
“Circumstances do not allow for such easy diplomacy.”
“Papochka partners with russkiye, Serb, Tatar, Mongul, Lats. Born enemies. He works with all. A good man is Mac, unlike men here.”
She couldn’t help smiling at his honesty. A sincere trait too often lacking in the aristocracy circles. “I see one good man before me.”
Leonid puffed up his chest and nodded. “That is right. I am good.”
If she stayed much longer, his amiability would have her convinced to repair the rift with Wynn, or worse, enjoy herself in this place. Exhaustion slivered in at the thought.
“It’s getting rather late. I should say good evening.” Rising from the table, Svetlana made for the stairs leading up to the next floor. The hidden rooms where guests disappeared for hours only to return exalted or defeated. Mama more often than not returned defeated.
As her foot hit the first stair, Leonid took her arm. “Where do you go, Angel? This is no way for a lady.”
“Mama is there.”
“I will fetch her.”
“No. I’ll collect her myself.” It was high time she saw for herself what drew everyone’s attention to the ongoings beyond the thick walnut doors draped in red velvet. What illusions captivated Mama to stuff her purse with unpaid bills as if Svetlana wouldn’t find them along with their dwindling money supply.