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‘I can’t imagine when you find time to write your journal. It sounds as though your days are fully occupied: nurse, grand duchess, colonel …’ He was fishing, eager to know more about her life.
‘I write every evening before bedtime. In fact, I wrote about you last night.’ She coloured. ‘Mama tells me you are a hero, that you rescued a wounded officer while under enemy fire. She is going to award you the Golden Arms sword.’
Dmitri was surprised: ‘It’s an insurance policy all soldiers follow. If you see a chance, you slip out to bring back the wounded, hoping that one day someone will do the same for you.’ He didn’t tell her the officer was a friend, and that he still had no word about whether Malevich had survived his wounds. He knew he would choke up if he spoke of it.
‘Nevertheless, I’m sure they don’t give bravery awards to just anyone. I suspect you are being modest. You have a heroic air.’ Her eyes were sparkling.
Now he laughed. ‘I’m not sure what a heroic air is! My father was a genuine hero. He was a cavalry general in Tsar Alexander’s army, who served in many campaigns, and in 1904 became Viceroy of Georgia. He has so many decorations pinned on his jacket it is heavy as a suit of armour. I’m just a simple cavalryman following orders.’
‘Does your father fight in the present war?’
‘No, he has retired to my home town of Lozovatka, in Evkaterinskaya Province.’
‘I have never been there. Is it beautiful?’
Dmitri wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s a very small town, set on a pretty river not far from the Sea of Azov, but Your Imperial Highness would have no reason to go there. They have no society to speak of. In my childhood it was rural, but they have started mining for minerals and great slashes are being torn through the landscape, just like Gorky’s tunnel.’
‘Do you come from a large family?’ She was regarding him intently. ‘What kind of childhood did you have?’
‘Not as large as Your Imperial Highness’s. I have two elder sisters, Vera and Valerina, but no brothers. The girls were always trying to rope me in to their games, dressing me in costumes and making me perform in their plays. You have no idea how character-forming it is for a young boy to be forced to wear a wig and gown and have his cheeks rouged! I escaped around the age of nine after I befriended one of the groundsmen on our family’s estate. He taught me how to hunt and fish, since my father was often away from home. All in all, it was a fairly average childhood.’ He did not tell her about the fierce rows when his irascible father came back, and the vicious beatings he had endured, sometimes with a horsewhip.
‘Tell me, are your sisters married now?’
‘Vera is married to Prince Alexander Eristavi-Ksani of Georgia, but Valerina still lives at home with our parents. She is twenty-six years old and I hope she will yet find a husband, but she is the quieter of the two, a little shy perhaps. I’m very close to her.’
‘I would love to meet them!’ Tatiana exclaimed. ‘I know hardly any women outside our family. Mama had just begun to allow Olga and me to attend the occasional ball or soirée when war broke out. We used to hear music floating up to the windows, and see fine ladies ice-skating on the Baltic, but no matter how hard we pleaded we were scarcely ever allowed to join them. Aunt Olga – Papa’s sister – would occasionally invite us, but I think the ladies felt awkward about introducing themselves to us. I should probably never have met you, Cornet Malama, had it not been for this war, and your injury.’
‘I am very glad we met, Nurse Romanova Three. Our conversation is helping to relieve my frustration at being stuck in bed, my ears assailed by the grunting and snoring of my fellow officers.’ Her hand rested on the covers not far from his, and he longed to touch it, or even raise it to his lips. He might have done so with another woman, but dared not attempt it with a Romanov grand duchess.
Her sister Olga came into the room and approached them. She was shorter than Tatiana and not nearly as pretty, with coarser features and plain blue eyes. ‘Who is this patient who occupies all your time?’ she asked, her eyes merry. ‘Could it be Cornet Malama, the officer about whom you regaled us all last evening?’Tatiana blushed scarlet, and Dmitri bowed his head, saying ‘A votre service.’
‘I beg pardon for interrupting,’ Olga continued, ‘but Sister Chebotareva has asked if we will go to the annex and change dressings.’
Tatiana rose.
‘Thank you again for the books,’ Dmitri said. ‘I will begin the Turgenev immediately.’
‘I’ll stop by later to check how much you have read,’ Tatiana promised.
The girls scurried out of the room and Dmitri lay in a daze. She seemed to like him. At least she enjoyed chatting with him, and she had mentioned him to her mother and sister. Did that mean there might be a chance of a match between them? His family owned a large estate but their wealth was nothing compared to the immense riches of the Romanovs. Would he be considered too lowly? Were they hoping to find foreign princes for all four Romanov girls, or might a Russian general’s son suffice?
Stepanov called over: ‘Congratulations! I heard her say you are to be awarded the Golden Arms!’
Dmitri frowned, wondering how much of the conversation Stepanov had heard. He did not feel like talking. He wanted to close his eyes and remember the sweet jasmine scent of Tatiana’s skin, the directness of her gaze, the soft tone of her voice, the way her emotions flickered across her face for any who cared to read them. He opened the cover of the Turgenev novel and saw that she had written her name on the frontispiece, in both Russian and English, her lettering neat and evenly spaced. He ran his finger over it lightly, then lifted the book and breathed in the smell of the pages. Should he try to stop himself falling in love with her? Already he suspected it might be too late.
Chapter Three (#ulink_02b123c9-4568-5935-83b5-0b23dabe9508)
‘Did you hear the news of Tannenburg?’ Stepanov called, interrupting Dmitri’s reverie. ‘It’s catastrophic: 78,000 killed or wounded, 92,000 captured, and General Samsonov dead by his own hand.’ He was reading the figures from a newspaper.
Dmitri already knew that the Russian Second Army had been encircled by the Germans but hadn’t heard the casualty figures till now. He felt sick to his stomach at the enormity of the slaughter. ‘How could it have happened? Why is German intelligence so much better than our own? It seems they intercept all our messages, yet we are in the dark about their plans.’
Stepanov grimaced. ‘They are better equipped too. Their guns have longer ranges, more explosive power. Our superior numbers count for nothing when we are sent into battle with nineteenth-century weapons.’
Dmitri thought of the friends he had left behind at the front: were any still alive, or had they been struck down by the indiscriminate big guns? The Russian army was the largest in the world, but the German foe was nimbler, more flexible. ‘This war will be lost within months if we don’t get modern equipment and become faster in the field. Our chain of command is too slow and dithery. Changes in orders take so long to be implemented, the enemy has moved on.’
Stepanov was gloomy. ‘According to this newspaper’s editor, we can’t compete with the rail network supporting the German army. We’re still riding around on horseback but the days of using cavalry in battle are numbered. A horse presents a large target, and the big guns terrify them.’
Dmitri agreed, but it meant everything he had learned at the prestigious imperial Corps de Page and then in the Uhlan Lancer Guard Regiment was out of date. He was a skilled horseman but knew nothing about the positioning, loading and firing of the big artillery shells now in use. He had achieved distinction in his examinations in science, military history and mathematics but had virtually no experience of the devastating new military technology.
At ten o’clock the following morning, Tatiana bounded into the ward full of excitement: ‘Malama, why did you not tell me you won the Stoverstny?’
Dmitri had led the field from the start of the previous year’s prestigious horserace on Ortipo, his cognac mare. ‘That was many moons ago,’ he said. ‘I’m flattered that you have been researching me.’
‘Well, of course I have,’ she said, sitting on the edge of his bed since there was no chair in sight. In any other girl he would have thought it a flirtatious gesture, but Tatiana did it naturally, without guile. ‘I am trying to discover what makes you tick.’
‘I fear I will prove a very dull study.’ He smiled. ‘I am an army officer and keen to return to my regiment as soon as I can, to fight for my country. I’m so predictable, I make myself yawn.’
‘I shan’t allow you to leave,’ Tatiana said playfully. ‘As your colonel, I order you to stay.’
He looked further down the ward to where Olga was sitting on the bed of an officer called Karangozov before replying: ‘I cannot disobey a direct order. Perhaps you think the army will fare better without me?’
She giggled: ‘Rushing out and getting yourself shot is a drain on manpower. You must stay here to keep me entertained.’
‘But you are the one doing the entertaining, while I lie here like a useless lump. Life on the ward would be insufferably tedious without your visits to look forward to.’
‘Perhaps you will soon be able to walk in the grounds with me? The temperature is mild and the leaves are turning to brilliant reds and yellows.’
He glanced out of the tall windows at the clouds scudding past. Every time Tatiana said something personal, his heart leapt. Did she speak to other patients so kindly? Certainly, on their ward, she stopped by his bed far longer than at the others.
‘I’d like that, my colonel,’ he replied, a little hoarse.
Her mother, Tsarina Alexandra, swept into the room, and Olga and Tatiana leapt off the officers’ beds. ‘Why don’t you change Cornet Malama’s dressing?’ the Tsarina instructed Tatiana, giving Dmitri a quick nod of acknowledgement. ‘Olga, come with me to the annex.’
Tatiana went to fetch water, scissors and lint, and Dmitri cringed at the thought of her seeing the ugliness of his wound. He knew he was not a bad-looking man, with his dark-blond hair and chestnut eyes, but his left leg was scored by deep gashes on either side that were healing with hideous colours: jagged plum-purple lines surrounded by grey and orange swelling, the skin bald where the hairs had been shaved. At least the wounds no longer bled or oozed pus, but they were imperfections he would rather have hidden.
He couldn’t watch as her cool fingers cleaned around the wounds. Her touch was causing his manhood to stiffen and he wriggled to rumple the bedcovers over the spot so she would not notice. It was agonising and wonderful at the same time. They didn’t talk, didn’t look at each other, and he wondered if perhaps she was embarrassed too.
‘You’re not bad,’ he told her as she tied the last knot on the dressing and began to collect her instruments. ‘There could be a career in nursing for you, if you get bored of being a grand duchess.’
‘Why thank you, sir.’ She bowed with mock politeness. ‘I aim to please. I shall be back later to check you are not being disruptive.’
She gazed straight into his eyes as she spoke and he felt a jolt, for all the world as if he had been shot by Cupid’s arrow. The words of poets through the generations, words he had previously thought trite and clichéd, suddenly made sense to him. He felt deliriously happy and wildly anxious at the same time. Did Tatiana have romantic feelings for him or did she simply enjoy his company? How could he let her know he had fallen in love without causing embarrassment or spoiling the intimacy that was developing between them?
During the interminable hours of bed rest, Dmitri pondered ways of ascertaining her feelings, then decided that he should give her a gift: something personal, something she would treasure. A book? He had no way of knowing what she had or had not read, and it felt rather a staid present. Jewellery? The family had more ostentatious gold and precious stones than he could ever afford. And then he thought back to the subject of their first-ever conversation and the answer came to him: he would get her a puppy.
He knew a St Petersburg breeder who had some gorgeous French Bulldogs. One of them would be perfect, but how would he get it to Tatiana? He wanted to watch her reaction on receiving the gift so he couldn’t simply have it delivered to the Alexander Palace.
That evening, the Tsarina’s lady-in-waiting Anna Vyrubova came by to straighten his pillows. She was a plump-faced kindly type, a friend with whom his mother often stayed when she came to St Petersburg for the social season, and she enquired after his family. Dmitri decided to ask her advice. Did she think it would be acceptable for him to buy a gift of a puppy for Grand Duchess Tatiana? He explained that he wished to surprise her.
Anna’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘How adorable!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m sure she would love it. What can I do to help?’
Dmitri told her the whereabouts of the breeder and detailed the type of animal he wanted: not the runt of the litter, but a pup that was confident around people and did not scare easily. ‘Choose the one that comes over to sniff an outstretched hand and squints at you sideways. Avoid any that stand back and bark or bare their teeth. I want a pup who is playful but does not use his teeth. We can’t risk him biting the grand duchess.’
Anna agreed she would help with the choice, following Dmitri’s advice. She seemed thrilled to be part of the secret.
Two days later, she stopped by his bed to whisper that the breeder had a perfect pup and she had placed the order but that it would be another week before it would be ready to be taken from its mother. Dmitri was frustrated by the delay. He saw Tatiana every day and as well as their morning visits, she and Olga now came back in the evenings. They had a lesson with Dr Vera Gedroits at six o’clock, after which they sterilised the instruments for the following day. If there was time after that, Olga would play piano and they would sing along to some well-known songs, like the Latvian favourite ‘Kaut Kur’. Tatiana sang quietly, but Dmitri could hear she had a pure, tuneful voice.
On the day the puppy was ready to be handed over, Dmitri gave Anna Vyrubova his final instructions about purchasing a basket in which to transport it, a collar, some food, a water bowl and a litter tray, and he gave her the money to pay for it. When she returned an hour later with the precious cargo in a box, Dmitri glanced in and grinned: it was perfect. Anna went to find Tatiana, who was in the annex.
Soon she arrived in the ward, looking flustered. ‘Anna Vyrubova said you needed to see me.’ She noticed the box. ‘What is this?’
He held it out: ‘A gift, to thank you for your patience with me.’ Snuffly panting sounds were coming from within.
Tatiana took the box and opened it warily. A tiny black face leaned out to lick her hand and she squealed in delight. The dog fitted easily into her cupped palms and she examined the pointy ears, the frown line between the eyes, the wrinkled snout, then bent and kissed the top of its velvety head.
‘Malama …’ she began, looking up at him, but could say no more. She was overwhelmed, virtually speechless, but it didn’t matter because Dmitri could see it written in her eyes that she loved him. And now she must know that he loved her too. His heart swelled with such profound happiness he could scarcely breathe.
Chapter Four (#ulink_aef366ee-eb39-55e2-b714-2ec7f6cd0d34)
October brought chill winds from the Arctic, along with showers of blustery rain. One day, when the rain had eased off, Tatiana found a wheelchair and pushed Dmitri into the beautifully manicured formal gardens of the Catherine Palace so they could start training the little Bulldog she had named Ortipo, after Dmitri’s cavalry horse. Dmitri showed Ortipo a titbit of chicken then held out his palm, loudly instructing the dog to ‘sit’, while Tatiana pushed on her backside to demonstrate. But as soon as she removed her hand Ortipo leapt at the wheelchair, trying to grab the chicken. Tatiana tried again, only for the pup to jump up and leave muddy paw prints on her white nurse’s uniform.
‘I think we have an untrainable one here,’ she laughed, brushing at the marks.
‘No dog is untrainable,’ he replied. ‘But this one seems more of a challenge than most. I suspect you are spoiling her when I am not around.’
At least Ortipo had mastered the art of waiting till she got outdoors before relieving herself, which proved a level of obedience – but not much. Despite their efforts she jumped up at every passerby, barked furiously at the gardeners, and refused to come when called unless food was offered. They laughed till their sides ached as she cavorted around the lawn trying to catch leaves blowing in the wind, or chased huge seagulls, who took off into the air when she was just a few feet away.
‘What do you think she would do if she caught one?’ Tatiana asked.
‘She’d get the fright of her life. These giant gulls can be fierce.’ He felt as though they were proud parents and was delighted the dog gave them a pretext to spend time together without anyone questioning it. They didn’t even have a chaperone.
Tatiana had pushed his wheelchair as far as the limestone grotto at the edge of the Great Pond when a few spots of rain fell so they hurried into the grotto to shelter. The exterior walls were decorated with seashells, and the watery theme continued inside with masks of Neptune on the windows, and dolphins and tritons carved on the pillars that supported the domed ceiling. Ortipo scooted around sniffing corners while Dmitri and Tatiana waited by the door for the rainclouds to pass.
‘Aunt Ella was asking about you yesterday evening,’ she said, glancing at him shyly. ‘She joked that we seem to be having a romance. She teased me about it.’
He hesitated. ‘Do you think she disapproved?’
‘No, not at all,’ Tatiana said quickly. ‘She said she knows your mother and that you come from a good family. Olga is sweet on an officer called Mitya – do you know him?’ Dmitri nodded and bit back a retort; he found Mitya rather crass. ‘She talks about him all the time. Even little Alexei teases her, but I suspect she enjoys being teased.’
‘And you do not?’
Tatiana hesitated. ‘I am a private person and prefer to keep my feelings for my journal instead of being the subject of gossip.’
‘How I would love to read that journal,’ Dmitri twinkled. ‘Could you bring it to the ward later?’
‘Never!’ she exclaimed vehemently, making him laugh. ‘Do you think this rain will pass soon or should we dash back and risk a soaking?’
‘Let’s linger a while. I might try walking a few steps, if you will lend me your arm.’
He pushed down on the arms of the wheelchair to raise himself then swung the injured leg to the ground, wincing slightly as it took his weight. Tatiana steadied him, and for a moment they were so close he could feel the warmth of her body and hear her breathing. He longed to put his arms around her. If only he dared!
She stayed close as he hobbled a few steps to the opposite window then paused to recover.
‘I don’t want you to get better so quickly,’ she cried mournfully. ‘They will send you back to the front and then you will forget you ever knew me.’
He spoke with passion: ‘Tatiana, I will never forget you. Never. If I should be mortally wounded on some foreign battlefield, I swear your name will be the last word on my lips and your face the last image in my head.’
Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away, turning her head to the side. ‘But might the story have a happy ending?’ she asked quietly.
‘I will do all I can to make sure it does,’ he breathed. Her face was so close that he could have kissed her by leaning forward just a few inches, but it would be presuming too much. He was sure she could hear how hard his heart was hammering in his chest, because he was certain he could hear hers too.
By mid November, Dmitri could walk across the ward unaided and he wasn’t surprised when he received a letter informing him that he had been passed fit for duty and must report to his regiment by the 12th of December. He kept the news from Tatiana for a while, not wanting to distress her. The thought of causing her pain made his chest tighten and a lump form in his throat, but at the same time he hated to keep such an important communication from her. When there were just two weeks to go, he took her for a walk through the park, past the pyramid where tiny gravestones marked the burial places of Catherine II’s three dogs. Ortipo nosed the frozen earth as if she could detect something, most likely the scent of a fox.
‘I knew this day must be close,’ she said bravely and turned her head away, but he could hear that she was choking back tears. ‘I have some gifts for you. You will be surprised how busy I have been.’
‘Really? What kind of gifts?’ He glowed at the thought.
‘I have knitted you a muffler, gloves and several pairs of thick socks. I don’t want to think of you freezing in some bleak, windswept tent.’
He was so touched he could barely speak. Was this the moment to kiss her? He hesitated too long and she had turned to call Ortipo, who was chasing a squirrel.
‘We must take some photographs,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring my Box Brownie to the ward this evening.’
‘You have hundreds of photographs of me already–’ he smiled ‘–and I look ugly in all of them.’ She and Olga were keen photographers.
‘Will you write to me?’ she asked, her tone a little plaintive.
‘Of course! You shall have a letter every week, which is at least ten times more than my mother gets.’
‘I shall write to you every day,’ she declared, her eyes glassy.
Impulsively he took her slender hand and pressed it to his lips, lingering to savour the sensation and inhale her precious scent. She did not pull it away.
Dmitri dressed in his navy and yellow uniform and set off early on the morning of the 12th of December, along with two other officers and a dozen soldiers all heading for Poland, where the remnants of the Russian First Army were attempting to hold the German Ninth at bay. Dawn had only just broken but Tatiana appeared in the palace driveway, looking pale in the wintry sunshine, and stood by the gate to wave. As their truck passed Dmitri saw her eyes were red with crying and his heart felt as though it were breaking in two.
Chapter Five (#ulink_cbd1213a-bed5-5522-897e-05019b1b18ed)
London, April 2016
At first Kitty thought the letter was junk mail and was about to toss it in the bin. It was written on expensive-looking watermarked paper from a company called Inheritance Trackers Inc., and as she skimmed the first paragraph her eye was caught by the name Yakovlevich. She was pretty sure that had been her Grandma Marta’s maiden name, so she went back to read it properly. It said that she was the great-granddaughter and only living descendant of Dmitri Yakovlevich, who had died in America in 1986, and that his estate had not been claimed. Should she wish Inheritance Trackers to reunite her with this fortune, they would handle all the legal work and would take a fee of only fifteen per cent. There was a thirty-year deadline for claiming lost estates and if she did not act soon, the property would be forfeited to the government.
Kitty was instantly suspicious: this was an era of scams, when you were offered millions of pounds if you would only advance a couple of thousand to help get someone through customs in an African country; when boiler rooms located in the Bahamas claimed they could quadruple any investment within a year. Besides, Grandma Marta had been alive in 1986, so why had she not inherited Dmitri Yakovlevich’s money? Why had Kitty never even heard of him?
Marta had been a fun grandmother, who kept delicious sweets in her pottery rabbit candy jar, and was always happy to get down on the floor and play Hungry Hippos or Mouse Trap. Kitty couldn’t recall her mentioning her father, but then Marta had died when Kitty was eight. She would probably find pictures of him in the old suitcase of family photos she had stowed in the bedroom closet after her parents passed away. She must take a look some time.
She rang the number on the company’s letterhead and was put through to someone called Mark, who told her that the inheritance concerned was worth over fifty thousand dollars in cash. There was also a cabin on Lake Akanabee in the Adirondack Mountains of northern New York state, which had been uninhabited since her great-grandfather’s death, and royalties for some books he had written. He was an author! How intriguing.
‘So what do I have to do to claim it?’ she asked carefully, picking up a pen.
