‘Hurry,’ she whispered and pointed at the shed.
Instantly he was across the corner of the lawn and ducking through the narrow door. Lydia was frantic with fear that Chang might have died on Liev Popkov’s shoulder, and she cradled his head tenderly as his limp body was lowered to the dusty floor. She touched his cheek with her fingertips. Shuddered. With relief. With alarm. At the fiery heat of his skin. He was burning up inside. The scabs on his lips had burst open and blood was oozing out, trailing green pus with it. She jumped to her feet.
‘Wait here,’ she said to Liev.
She ran. Down the length of the lawn, across the slick grass, keeping to the dark border under the trees. She tried to think as she ran, to list what she needed – blankets, clothes, food, warm drinks… or ice, did he need ice for a fever?… bandages and medicines, but what medicines, she didn’t know, she needed help, she needed… Wait a minute. The lights. They were on in the house. The curtains were closed but still the windows cast yellow bars across the terrace. How could she not have noticed earlier? Did that mean people were still there? Or had the servants left the lights on for her? What did it mean? What?
She didn’t know. She just didn’t know.
She veered off toward the far side of the house to the kitchen door and tried the handle. It turned. The kitchen was empty. The cook had obviously retired to rest after his exertions for the party. She closed the door quietly behind her and was hit by a wave of dizziness as the warm air enveloped her. She had been cold and wet for so long now that the sudden change in temperature made her teeth ache. She was trailing mud and water over the black and white tiles, so she eased off her shoes and tiptoed out into the hall.
Two things happened.
First, she caught sight of her reflection in the long mirror that hung at the bottom of the stairs and barely recognised herself. A filthy wet scarecrow. Liev’s black scarf plastered to her head and shoulders, her green dress no longer green, caked with mud and clinging to her body so tight it was indecent. Blue lips, shaking. Bloodless fingers. Eyes too dark to be hers. It came as a shock.
Second, the voices. From the drawing room. Her mother’s. Then Alfred’s.
A pulse thumped in her head. Why hadn’t they gone? Off on honeymoon. Why weren’t they on the train?
‘No, Alfred,’ her mother’s voice rushed out at her. ‘Not till I’ve seen her. Not till I know she’s…’
Lydia didn’t wait for more. Suitcases stood by the front door, coats and umbrella draped across them.
She raced up the stairs. Silent, she must be silent. In her room, her smart new room, she tore off her dress and underclothes and threw them into the bottom of the wardrobe. Using an old sweater she scrubbed her hair and skin till it tingled. Quick brush. Old dress. Cardigan. Downstairs.
She walked into the drawing room with a ready-made smile. ‘Hello, Mama, I didn’t expect to see you still here.’
‘Lydia,’ Alfred exclaimed. ‘Thank the Lord you’re home. Your mother has been worried sick. Where have you been?’
‘Out.’
‘Out? That’s no answer, my girl. Apologise to your mother at once.’
Valentina was standing staring at Lydia, her limbs very rigid, her back to the fire, a half-smoked cigarette in her hand. There were two high spots of colour on her cheeks, as though the heat of the fire were affecting her. But Lydia knew her mother. Knew those telltale spots. They meant fear.
Why? Her mother knew she often roamed the streets of the settlement, had done so for years. Why the sudden fear?
‘Lydia,’ Valentina said slowly, ‘what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
Valentina took a long draw on her cigarette and exhaled with a little grunt, as if she’d been prodded in the chest. She was still wearing the chiffon dress but had replaced the bolero with a warm suede jacket, and there were dark smudges under her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to delay you. I thought you’d have gone ages ago. With all those guests to wave you good-bye, I didn’t think you’d even notice that I…’
‘Don’t be silly, Lydia,’ Alfred said. She could see he was trying hard to hang on to his temper and be polite. ‘Of course we wanted to say good-bye, both of us. Now take this.’ He held out a brown envelope. ‘It contains some money in case the need should arise before we’re back, but of course Wai, he’s the cook, will provide your meals, so you shouldn’t need much. A trip to the cinema perhaps?’
Lydia had never been to the cinema in her life. At any other time she’d have jumped at it.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’ll be all right here on your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘Anthea Mason said she’d look in now and again to see that you’re okay.’
‘No, I’ll be fine. Is there another train tonight? I’m sorry I made you miss yours but there must be another one you can catch if you hurry.’ She looked over at her mother. ‘I’d hate you to miss out on your honeymoon because of me.’
‘Well, actually…’ Alfred began.
‘Yes,’ Valentina said with an annoyed lift of one eyebrow. ‘We can change trains at Tientsin. Alfred, be an angel and fetch me a glass of water from the kitchen, would you? I’m finding it hot in here.’ She ran a wrist across her forehead. ‘Probably all the tension of…’ She let her voice trail away.
‘Certainly, my dear.’ He glanced at Lydia. ‘Put your mother’s mind at ease, so she can go off feeling reassured.’ He left the room.
Immediately Valentina tossed her cigarette into the fire and came to stand right in front of Lydia. ‘Tell me, quickly. What happened?’
Lydia felt weak with relief. Yes, of course, she could tell her everything, she’d know what to do, where to buy medicines, a doctor, she could…
Valentina seized her arm. ‘Tell me what that dirty great wolf wanted.’
‘What?’
‘Popkov.’
‘What?’
Valentina shook her. ‘Liev Popkov. You went off with him. What did he say?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘No. He was just drunk.’
Valentina looked closely at her daughter, then gently wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. Lydia breathed in her musky perfume and held tight, but as she did so she felt her own body start to shake uncontrollably.
‘Lydochka, sweetheart, don’t.’ Valentina’s hand stroked her damp hair. ‘I’ll only be gone a week. I know we’ve never been apart before but don’t be upset. I’ll be back soon.’ She kissed Lydia’s cheek and drew back a step. ‘What, tears? From my I-never-cry dochenka. Don’t, sweetheart.’
Valentina reached for the silver tray of drinks on the sideboard. With a quick glance to check that the door was still closed, she poured a glass of vodka, drank it straight down, shuddered, and poured another which she carried to her daughter.
‘Here. It will help.’
Lydia shook her head. No words. No breath.
Valentina shrugged, drank it herself, and replaced the glass. The red spots on her cheeks were fading.
‘My sweet darling.’ She held Lydia’s face between her hands. ‘This marriage is a new future for us. You will grow to like him, I promise. Be happy.’ She smiled, but there was something not quite right about it. ‘Please. You and me. Let’s learn to be happy.’
Lydia hugged her mother close. ‘Go to Datong, Mama. Go and be happy.’
‘That’s right, ladies, kiss and make up. Don’t want to see anyone looking sad, not today of all days.’ Alfred beamed at them both, handed his wife the water and patted Lydia on the back. ‘I’ve telephoned for the car and it should be here any minute. Excited?’ he asked his wife.