Exiting the lecture hall, Wynn saw Gerard bounding toward him. “Brilliant.”
“I’m hoarse.”
“Tea with honey.”
The image of a silvery princess with a hole in her dress pouring him tea hit Wynn with a force he’d tried to ignore. She was out of his life, as she’d requested. Extracting her from his thoughts proved to be a mightier challenge. One that was defeating him no matter the soreness lingering from that night.
“You won them over,” Gerard said.
“Were we in the same room? I half expected a noose when I walked out here.”
“Certainly some of them will take more convincing, but you got them talking. Talking will lead to thinking. Thinking leads to change.”
“Changing me from a doctor to a broom pusher if some of them have their say.”
“Looks like you’ll keep your license another day, MacCallan.” Dr. Nestor, the administrative director of Wynn’s hospital, peeled himself away from a group long enough to reposition Wynn under his thumb. Or try to at any rate. “From now on you ask my approval before engaging in such a ridiculous stunt.”
“I doubt Harkin considers it ridiculous from the bed where he’s resting, still alive.”
Nestor stepped closer, bumping the tips of his shoes against Wynn’s. His breath smelled of the ham sandwich he’d eaten for lunch. “One more time. I’ll have you out on your—”
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Dr. Lehr stood smiling at them as if not having observed the confrontation. “Dr. Nestor, a pleasure to meet you. You must be very proud to have such a forward-thinking physician on your staff.”
Nestor backed up and wiped a hand over his sweaty upper lip. “I, well . . . He surprises me at every turn.”
“No doubt.” Lehr dismissed Nestor completely and smiled at Wynn, displaying a row of squared off teeth. “My boy, I should like very much to examine your notes and X-rays. I have a few thoughts on myocardial infarction in relation to shell shock.”
Wynn grasped the man’s hand and shook it. “I would be honored.”
“Next week?” At Wynn’s eager nod, Lehr shook his hand once more. “If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my hospital. We have more and more patients coming in with what looks to be a second wave of influenza. Death rates are climbing higher than the first.”
Nestor elbowed his way back into the conversation. “Dr. Lehr, we’ve had a great many cases ourselves. I wonder if we might discuss treatment procedures. Perhaps to share your wealth of knowledge.”
“I would love nothing more, but for now I suggest you pick Dr. MacCallan’s brain. He seems more than up for the task.”
With that, Wynn considered his day a success.
Chapter 10
If she kept her eyes focused on the empty space above the audience’s head, Svetlana might ease herself of the abject humiliation. Around the dance floor she spun. And chasséd. And balloned. A ballet of degradation. One she had been performing for nearly three weeks. What started as a single dance to repay that blighted count quickly turned into another night’s dance for an unpaid champagne tab. The next night, a caviar tab. On and on they went until Svetlana was dizzy from the amount Mama owed. Sheremetev, ever the businessman, offered a dance for a bill, and so she danced nearly every night in hopes of clearing their debt.
The music ended and Svetlana swept behind the curtain to the crowd’s thunderous applause. Her cheeks burned, even more so as she walked the gauntlet of waiters lounging in the corridor. Cigarette smoke filled the tiny space as coarse laughter and suggestive gestures followed her into the dressing room. It had been erected in her honor after one week. Sheremetev had hopes of his own.
Mama lounged on a velvet settee in a gown of fresh silk and fringe, giving an outstanding performance of not looking in debt. “Did they enjoy your performance?”
“They’re too sotted to notice otherwise. I could have slumped in a chair and they would have cheered.” Svetlana sat at the vanity illuminated by those fancy new bulbs a Mr. Edison had created. She preferred the soft glow of candles. They were never harsh enough to point out the dark circles under her eyes.
“But you didn’t. You danced. Never something I really approved of, that was more for your father. He loved to watch you.”
“I’m glad he’s not here to see me. He’d be ashamed of what we’ve come to.”
Mama had the grace to look momentarily curtailed. Watching her in the mirror’s reflection, Svetlana spotted a platter and crystal cut glass. She spun around on the low stool.
“What is that?”
“This?” Mama pointed to the platter and shrugged. “A bite to eat. I get famished waiting for you back here after you banned me from sitting out front. The waiters are thoughtful to bring it for me.”
No doubt they were, adding to the expense of yet another bill. Another dance. “I am trying to pay off our debt. How can I make any progress to that end when you continue to partake?”
“This isn’t only for me. I’ve informed the waiters that what isn’t consumed is to be boxed up so I may take it back for Marina. Those priests give us so little sustenance it’s no wonder her clothes are hanging off her.” Sighing, Mama swung her buckle-shoed feet off the settee. “If you find this dancing as distasteful as you make it sound, then sell a bracelet or two and pay the balance off. Be done with it.”
“We only brought so many jewels with us from Russia. Several of which we’ve already sold for money, and the money, too, is dwindling. We must conserve our resources for food and shelter until Papa and Nikolai come.” The war would be over someday. It had to be, and they would know what to do. She wouldn’t have to shoulder the burden alone any longer.
“Then I see no recourse but for you to keep dancing until this distasteful business is behind us.”
All of Svetlana’s patience kept in relentless check, all acceptance of her mother’s selfishly unalterable behaviors boiled over. “You are unbelievable! Will you never accept responsibility for our predicament? If you had shown restraint in your vices, I would not be forced to sell my dancing like some painted bawd on a stage for drunken voyeurs as payment of your debt.”
Mama reared back as if the words had slapped her. “How dare you take that tone with me? I am your mother and a princess from one of the highest houses in all of Russia. How do you expect me to live as less than I am? I know no other way to live.”
Svetlana saw her mother truly then. Not as a selfish creature but a creature of circumstance. Unquestionable privilege had molded her for nearly five decades to place her own desires first, with every need being met before she asked. It was a life Svetlana was well acquainted with, yet a revolution had forced her to alter her outlook. Perhaps it was the advantage of youth where the grasp of changeability was more mobile. Advancing years tightened its grip on the unchanging past.
Knock. Knock.
Svetlana averted her glare from her mother and took a fortifying breath. “Enter.”
The door opened and Sheremetev pushed in belly first. “What are these raised voices?”
Mama was off the settee in a flash and gripping Svetlana’s shoulders. “We were merely talking costumes and how I think this one could use gemstones to make it come alive.”
Svetlana neatly shrugged her off with the appearance of adjusting the shoulder flounces of her dress. “I think gemstones would be hypocritical as this is traditional peasant garb.”