Part 39 (2/2)

'I bet she is. What about the girl?'

'Lydia?'

'Yes. Staying here is she? Or with . . .' Theo's mind went blank. What was the little blond girl's name? Sally? Dolly? Polly, that was it. 'Or with Polly?'

For the first time that day Alfred's beaming smile faded a fraction. 'She's chosen to stay here. There's the cook and his wife living in, of course, as well as the houseboy and gardener coming in each day, so she won't be on her own.'

'No need to worry then.'

'Well, I can't say I'm happy about it. She refused to go to stay with the Masons, even though she was invited, and won't hear of my employing a respectable woman to live here with her as a chaperone while we're away.' He removed his spectacles and polished them thoroughly. 'It's only a week,' he muttered to himself. 'And she'll be seventeen this year. What trouble can she get into in a week?'

Theo laughed and looked down at the damp grey stone under his shoes to s.h.i.+eld from the glare of lights flickering inside his eyes. 'Don't fret, dear fellow, that girl knows how to take care of herself.'

Alfred looked at him solemnly. 'That's what worries me.'

'What is it that worries you, my angel?' It was Valentina, come to join them on the terrace.

'Ah, I'm worried that it might snow again and make our train late.'

'Nonsense, even the weather is on our side today. Nothing will go wrong.'

She laughed and stepped up close to her husband, so close she could lean her body against his as she stood beside him. Alfred beamed at her. He slid an arm around her waist and she turned her face up to him in a manner that made Theo think of a flower turning toward the sun. He could see his friend aglow with pride and such naked love that there was something vaguely indecent about it. Theo feared for him.

It was bitterly cold on the terrace and Valentina was wearing only the creamy chiffon dress that floated around her as she moved. He noticed her nipples harden under the flimsy material. Whether from chill or from l.u.s.t, he had no idea. Theo much preferred the vivid red clothes, red for happiness, that the Chinese wore at weddings instead of the pallid shades of white favoured by Westerners, but even so, he had to admit she looked lovely. Dark hair and eyes s.h.i.+ning. Around her long neck hung three strands of pearls, as pale as her skin. Aware of his eyes on her, she turned and held his gaze for a beat longer than was strictly polite, then she smiled up at Alfred again.

'Angel, do come back indoors. It's freezing out here and Mr Willoughby is looking very pale.'

'By Jove, she's right, Theo, you are a bit on the peaky side. Trust a woman to notice.'

'Indeed,' Theo said and headed indoors with the intention of taking his leave.

As the newlywed couple entered the drawing room arm in arm, a cheer went up and everyone joined in singing 'For he's a jolly good fellow . . .' and followed it with 'For she's a jolly . . .'

Raised voices at the front door broke through. The singing ceased abruptly. A deep roar of anger barged into the room with a native houseboy fluttering with birdlike chirrups in its wake. Theo wondered for a moment if it was one of his hallucinations. It was too bizarre to be real. A huge man, mean and vicious and obviously drunk, had forced his way into the midst of the wedding party with a barrage of Russian curses. He wore a curly black beard and a ragged eye patch, and his clothes looked and smelled as if he hadn't been out of them since the Bolshevik Revolution. But others were also staring in alarm at the intruder. Bizarre or not, it must be real. The room itself seemed to shake and dwindle in size as the ma.s.sive creature stumbled forward, growling, swaying, and swerving out of control.

'The man's drunk.'

'Wish I had my gun with me.'

'Call the police.'

'Keep back, Johnnie, or someone will get hurt.'

Theo stepped into his path. He wasn't quite sure what he intended to do, maybe pull the short knife from his ankle scabbard, which he always carried these days. Or maybe the flas.h.i.+ng lights in his head had made him invisible and he could smash his fist into the fellow without being seen himself. That crazy thought did cross Theo's mind. All he knew was that he didn't want his friend Alfred hurt. Not on his wedding day.

The single black eye swept over him and instantly a ma.s.sive elbow came cras.h.i.+ng toward his face. A fierce yank on Theo's arm sent him tumbling to one side, and the blow landed on his shoulder instead of destroying his cheekbone. A pair of amber eyes peered into his and he saw the Russian girl's hands still clutching his arm where she had pulled at him. Then she was gone.

Through the pain that was hammering on his brain and the light blinding his eyes, he tried to make sense of what he saw. The tu-fei tu-fei, the Russian bandit, charged at the wedded pair. Alfred, mild-mannered and calm Alfred, threw himself forward with an animal cry of fury to protect his beloved, but the great paw knocked him aside with barely a flick of a muscle. Alfred was on the floor, blood on his head.

Screaming. Someone was screaming.

Valentina Ivanova - no, Valentina Parker - was yelling at the big man in Russian. She slapped his face. Not once, but three times. She had to reach up high to do so and looked like a kitten playing with a lion's muzzle. Yet he didn't touch her. He growled and roared and shook his great furry head from side to side. He staggered and swayed, too drunk to stand firm, and still she screamed at him.

'Poshyol von. Get out of here, you stinking Russian pig. Get out of here, you stinking Russian pig. Ubiraisya otsyuda gryaznaya svinya. Ubiraisya otsyuda gryaznaya svinya.'

'Prodazhnaya shkura,' he bellowed and then in English, 'You wh.o.r.e.' he bellowed and then in English, 'You wh.o.r.e.'

Theo got himself over to Alfred and helped him to his feet.

'Stop it, stop it. Prekratyitye. Prekratyitye.'

It was the girl. She seized hold of the man's ma.s.sive arm and pulled him to look at her. His black eye was slow to abandon the bride's face but eventually s.h.i.+fted to the girl at his side.

'Poshli, come,' she said urgently. 'Come with me. Quickly. Bistra Bistra. Or you will be shot like a dog.'

Then it was over. The shouting stopped. The man was gone. Alfred was rus.h.i.+ng to Valentina. The girl disappeared. The last thing Theo could recall was the sight of her small figure dragging the big bandit from the room and the odd thing was that he went quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks into his thick beard. The old woman with the vast bosom was standing, arms outstretched, in the middle of the room, gazing up at the ceiling and declaiming in a heavy Russian accent, 'You shall pay for this. G.o.d will make you pay for this.'

Theo wondered if she meant him.

33.

Lydia had to run. Even though he had been drinking, Liev moved fast on his great long legs, as if there were a demon inside him.

'd.a.m.n you, Liev Popkov,' she swore. 'Slow down.'

He halted, studied her blearily with his one eye. He seemed surprised to find her at his side.

'What,' she demanded, 'was all that about? Why did you break up the wedding party? O chyom vi rugalyis? O chyom vi rugalyis?'

He shook his head and lumbered on, at an easier pace this time. It was raining now, but cold enough to turn to snow again at any moment. Lydia was in the wrong clothes. The green beaded frock was not meant to keep out the Chinese winter. She had seized her coat from the cupboard in the hall on her way out, the old thin coat, not the bloodied new one - she hated that one - but she was wearing silly satin shoes and no hat. She took hold of his arm and gripped it hard. Her fear that the violent confrontation with her mother would cause him to abandon her made her dig her fingers in tight and concentrate on seeking out the right Russian words.

'Why did you do that to my mother? Tell me. Why? Pochemu? Pochemu?'

'A Russian must marry a Russian,' he grunted and lowered his head into the rain. He would say no more.

'That is nonsense, Liev Popkov.'

But she left it there. Her Russian was not adequate to the emotions she was struggling with. The sight of her mother's beautiful face so twisted with anger and the sound of the Russian words pouring from her mouth too fast for Lydia to grasp had shaken her. It had stolen something solid from her world. Why would Liev barge into the house? None of it made sense.

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