The Russian Tapestry

by Banafsheh Serov

Genres: Historical Fiction; Romance

Synopsis

A captivating tale of struggle, loyalty and love, inspired by a true story. From St Petersburg, Russia, 1913, to Tallinn, Estonia, 1919, THE RUSSIAN TAPESTRY spans wars, revolution and friendships that will grow as strong as the turmoil around them. Marie Kulbas, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, is excited about her new life in the vibrant city of St Petersburg. But as World War I escalates she must farewell those dearest to her when her brother and her fiancé leave for the German Front. Colonel Alexei Serov comes from a long line of professional soldiers. Leading his men is his birthright and his duty; his allegiance to Russia surpasses everything, including his obligations to his wife and family. His role is clear, until he meets Marie and suddenly emotions rise in him that he has never felt before. As their world starts to crumble, Marie and Alexei discover a love that they will cling to in their search for a path to safety.

Release date: July 30, 2013

Publisher: Hachette Australia

Print pages: 400

Sample

St Petersburg, September 1913

The carriage moved slowly along the cobbled streets towards the Mariinsky Theatre. Marie Kulbas drew back the curtain to gaze
at the starlit sky and the moon, suspended above the baroque buildings like a perfect pearl.


‘Close the curtain, Marie,’ Pauline Kulbas instructed. ‘There is nothing so unbecoming as a young lady staring out the window
with a dazed expression in her eyes.’


‘That’s unfair, Mama.’ Marie moved away from the window, but continued to peek out from the corner. ‘It’s my first visit to
St Petersburg, after all.’


‘Mama is right.’ Nikolai leant forward and pulled the curtain closed. ‘You need to make the right impression if you want your
first season to be a success,’ he teased.


‘Never mind, dear child.’ Monsieur Kulbas, looking uncomfortable in his evening suit, patted Marie lightly on the knee. ‘You’ll
get the hang of society soon enough.’


Every September Marie’s parents visited St Petersburg from Narva for the start of the season, and this year Marie, who had
just graduated from school, was joining them for the first time. Ahead of her was a month of invitations to gala balls, festivals
and masquerades. Marie had spent the past weeks attending fittings for gowns and commissioning feathered hats from the best dressmakers
and milliners in the city. Tonight, dressed in a full-length amber-beaded gown and a bejewelled Roman headdress, Marie was
making her debut. As a graduation present for his sister, Nikolai had secured a box at the Mariinsky Theatre to watch the
Imperial Russian Ballet.


Their coach came to a stop outside the entry and the coachman opened the door, offering his hand for Madame Kulbas. Stepping
down after her mother, Marie looked in wonder at the pale green building with white trim before her eyes were drawn to the
finely dressed crowd lingering in front of the Romanesque facade.


‘Look, Kolya, that’s the former prima ballerina Mathilde Kschessinska,’ Marie whispered to her brother. ‘I’ve heard so much
about her.’


‘So have I.’ Nikolai leant closer. ‘It’s rumoured that your prima ballerina was the Emperor’s mistress before he was married.’

‘I don’t believe you!’ Marie said, scandalised.

Nikolai shrugged. ‘Believe what you like, but he did buy her a mansion.’

As they approached the red carpet leading to the vestibule, Nikolai offered his arm to his sister. ‘May I?’

‘Oh, Kolya, I never imagined it to be so wonderful,’ Marie said when they walked inside.

Dazzling chandeliers, dripping with crystals, hung from the ornate ceiling and bouquets of large flowers stood in huge urns.
Women with long feathers in their hair and high-waist fitted dresses walked arm in arm with men in evening jackets, their
hair carefully pomaded.


‘Why, Masha, I do believe you are swooning,’ Nikolai said with a laugh.

They followed their parents to the second level, where an usher led the family to their box at the right of the stage.

Marie drew in her breath and squeezed her brother’s arm as she gazed around at the ornate walls and row upon row of dark velvet
seats.


‘See over there?’ Nikolai pointed to the large gilded box at the back of the theatre, facing the stage. ‘That’s the imperial
box.’


‘Why is it empty?’

‘Apparently the Empress doesn’t enjoy society. Last time she attended the theatre she walked out halfway through the performance.
It caused quite a stir!’


The lights dimmed and the conductor led the orchestra into the chords of the overture. Latecomers hurried to their seats and
a hush fell across boxes and stalls. Marie’s heart beat faster as she turned to the stage.


Ballerinas in white hooped skirts and jewelled bodices glided with effortless grace, their every leap and turn a cause of
wonder and admiration to Marie. Mesmerised, she soon forgot her nervousness about making a good impression. Slightly leaning
forward in her seat, she immersed herself in the full drama of the unfolding love affair.


At the conclusion of the final act, when the spirits of Prince Siegfried and Odette ascend into the heavens above Swan Lake,
Marie joined the crowds in applauding the dancers. Afterwards, waiting outside with her parents for their carriage, she felt
slightly light-headed, as if stepping out of a dream. Before them, there was a long row of carriages and automobiles waiting
to pick up the patrons.


‘What’s keeping that blasted driver?’ Monsieur Kulbas paced the footpath, stopping every once in a while to check along the
queue for their carriage. ‘May the devil take him! We are going to be late.’


‘Herman, please.’ Madame Kulbas looked about her to see if anyone had noticed her husband’s blasphemy. ‘If you must curse,
at least try to keep your voice down.’


Pulling out his pocket watch, Monsieur Kulbas checked the time. ‘We should have been at my cousin’s home ten minutes ago.’

‘I’m sure he will not mind if we are a little late. He knows there is always a wait for carriages following the ballet,’ said
Nikolai.


A car tooted its horn, startling Madame Kulbas. ‘Those horrible, noisy things!’ She turned to Marie. ‘You know Nikolai has
convinced your father to order one. Personally, I can’t see the attraction. I’ve already told your father I refuse to ride
in them.’


Marie smiled. ‘You’ll soon be used to them, Mama.’ She looked at the crowd milling at the front of the theatre. The whole
evening was like a fairy tale and she did not want it to end. She started when Nikolai touched her on the elbow.


‘Marie, I want you to meet a friend of mine, Pyotr Arkadyich.’

Turning, Marie saw a young man with wavy flaxen hair and round glasses.

‘Enchanté, Mademoiselle.’ Clicking his heels, he bent to kiss Marie’s gloved hand. Straightening, Pyotr opened his mouth to say something
more when they were interrupted by the Kulbas’s carriage pulling in at the kerb.


Nikolai turned to his friend. ‘Do you wish to ride with us to Mostovsky’s?’

Pyotr’s eyes flicked to Marie’s, then back to Nikolai. ‘Thank you, but my mother’s carriage should be here any moment.’ Turning
to Marie, he clicked his heels once again. ‘I shall look forward to meeting you again shortly, Mademoiselle.’




At the Mostovsky mansion, the hosts stood at the entrance greeting their guests.

‘How are you enjoying your first season, Masha?’ Madame Mostovsky enquired, giving Marie a warm smile.

‘I’m enjoying it enormously, Madame.’

‘We are very much looking forward to having you stay with us while you’re studying in St Petersburg, Darya especially.’

‘Madame is very kind.’ Marie curtsied.

She followed her parents and brother up the wide curving staircase, past the full-length mirrors and bouquets of colourful
flowers, to the ballroom. Inside the large rectangular room, chandeliers bathed the scene in dazzling brightness. Fires in
the marble hearths kept the room at a pleasant temperature and an orchestra played softly in one corner. Fashionably dressed
women sipped champagne while openly scrutinising one another’s appearance.


As Marie made her way through the crowd to where her cousin Darya was standing, she saw Pyotr talking with a group of young men who called to her brother.


‘You seem to have caught Pyotr’s eye.’ Darya fanned herself lazily with a large ostrich-plume fan.

Glancing over her shoulder, Marie saw that Pyotr was watching them. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Dasha. It must be you he’s looking
at.’ With green eyes and a tall slender figure, Darya was never short of admirers.


Darya laughed. ‘I have known Pyotr for a long time, Masha, and he has never looked at me that way.’

Marie turned again and saw Pyotr lean towards Nikolai and whisper something. She hurriedly turned to her cousin again as the
pair left their group and headed in the girls’ direction.


‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ Darya said, fluttering her fan coquettishly.

‘My dearest cousin.’ Nikolai kissed Darya’s hand. ‘You look charming tonight.’

Marie rolled her eyes at her brother’s honeyed tone then caught Pyotr staring at her, his lips curled in a bemused smile.
Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes.


They chatted idly, with Darya and Nikolai doing most of the talking. Around them, waiters in bow ties carried trays of food
to long tables in the adjoining dining room.


‘I’m famished,’ Nikolai said, looking longingly at the passing trays. ‘Shall we get something to eat?’ He offered his arm
to Darya, who took it demurely.


Pyotr held out his arm to Marie. ‘Mademoiselle?’

Copying her cousin’s manners, she took Pyotr’s arm and they followed Nikolai and Darya to the dining room. Around them, the
other guests made their way to the tables, conversing in subdued tones.


Long tables arranged with elaborate and exotic dishes lined the room. Vases of flowers decorated each end of the tables, while
a pair of stuffed white swans took pride of place in the centre.


‘Did you enjoy the ballet?’ Pyotr asked as they moved along one of the tables.

‘Yes, very much. Thank you.’ Marie held her plate out to a waiter in white coat and gloves who served her a slice of lamb.
‘Tchaikovsky is a genius.’


‘Was this your first ballet?’

Marie felt her cheeks grow hot. Surely he must know this was her first season. ‘Yes, it was,’ she replied with as much grace
as she could muster.


‘And what did you think of our ballerinas?’

‘They are extremely talented. I especially enjoyed Karsavina’s performance. But of course, this being my first season, I have
little to go by. How did you find the performance?’


‘I confess, I don’t know enough about ballet to comment. I tend to favour the written word over performance.’

He paused as another waiter put food on their plates.

‘Nikolai tells me you intend to study law,’ Pyotr continued.

So, they had been discussing her. ‘I start next May. My uncle has been kind enough to invite me to stay here while I’m in
St Petersburg.’


‘Law is an unusual choice for a woman.’

‘Not according to the women’s emancipationists. They believe women should have the right to vote and run for office. Finland
already has women in its parliament.’


‘Are you going on about women’s suffrage again?’ Nikolai interrupted as he and Darya joined them. ‘Hope she’s not boring you,
Pyotr.’


‘We’re not going to spend the rest of the evening talking about politics, are we?’ Darya said with a pout.

Nikolai stopped a waiter who was carrying a tray of champagne flutes. ‘No more talk of politics.’ Placing his plate on a nearby
table, he passed them each a glass. ‘Let’s drink a toast.’


‘To what?’ Darya asked.

‘To a long and happy life.’

The five-piece English orchestra struck up a waltz. A murmur ran through the crowd and, led by the host and hostess, couples started to move back to the ballroom.


Marie saw Darya’s eyes seek out Nikolai’s.

Obliging her, Nikolai bowed deeply. ‘Would you give me the honour of this dance?’

Leaving their plates and glasses for the waiters to collect, they made their way to the edge of the circle. Taking a firm
hold of Darya’s waist Nikolai guided her confidently into smooth gliding movements.


‘They make a handsome pair,’ Pyotr observed as he and Marie followed them out.

‘They do,’ Marie replied absently. She was growing increasingly eager to join the dancing, yet Pyotr seemed not to notice
that all around them couples were taking to the floor.


‘Do you enjoy dancing?’ She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. First she had lectured him about women’s suffrage,
now he would think she was inviting him to dance. He must find her dreadfully forward.


Turning to face her, Pyotr bowed stiffly. ‘If you’ll excuse me, please.’ And without waiting for her reply, he withdrew in
the direction of the drawing room.


Marie’s eyes stung with tears of shame. She hurried out of the ballroom, not looking to her left or right for fear she might
meet with a familiar face.


‘Marie!’ It was Nikolai. ‘What’s wrong? I saw Pyotr leave and then you rushed away …’

‘I’ve never felt so humiliated,’ Marie said.

Nikolai shook his head sympathetically. ‘Poor Masha.’ He offered her a handkerchief. ‘This is very uncharacteristic of him.
I have known Pyotr for a long time and never have I seen him behave like this.’


‘He is proud and snobbish,’ Marie retorted. ‘I never want to see him again.’

‘Don’t be so quick to judge,’ Nikolai advised. ‘Stop these tears. How do you expect to make a success of your first ball with red-rimmed eyes?’


‘I think I’d rather go home.’

‘Nonsense! Now go dry your eyes and then I will have my first dance with my sister.’

Marie agreed and a few minutes later, having reapplied powder and lipstick, she entered the ballroom. Escorted by her brother,
she moved to the centre of the floor.


Following her dance with Nikolai, other young men approached. Occasionally, as she was whirled about the room, she saw Pyotr
standing to one side, staring fixedly at the dance floor with a pained expression. When her eye caught his she quickly looked
away, determined to avoid all contact with him.


It was not till many hours later, when the family was waiting for their carriage, that Marie was forced to face him again.

‘I trust you enjoyed your evening?’ he asked politely.

‘I did, thank you,’ Marie said tersely.

‘You seem fond of dancing,’ Pyotr persevered.

Marie, who had been avoiding his gaze, turned to look at him. What a curious character he was. After humiliating her before
the whole of St Petersburg society, he now had the gall to engage her in conversation.


‘It’s Marie’s first season,’ Madame Kulbas offered when it became apparent Marie was not going to respond.

Pyotr opened his mouth then closed it, as if unsure of what to say. Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘May I call on you during
your stay?’


‘I’m afraid we have a very busy schedule, which leaves little time for other activities,’ Marie said coldly.

‘Marie,’ her mother hissed in her ear, ‘what has come over you?’

‘Maybe at a later stage,’ Pyotr persisted, ‘when you have settled at your cousin’s place.’

To Marie’s surprise, Pyotr’s expression seemed to hover somewhere between despair and regret. She felt her resolve waver.

‘She would be glad to receive you,’ Nikolai broke in as their carriage arrived.

‘Of course.’ Marie glared at her brother.

‘Why did you say that?’ she demanded as the carriage pulled away. ‘You saw how he treated me. Why did you make me promise
to receive him?’


Nikolai took her hand. ‘Masha, Pyotr did not mean to offend you. It is just that his shyness makes him awkward around women.
Give him another chance.’


‘I don’t see why I should,’ Marie argued.

Her brother smiled. ‘Do it for me.’



Marie moved into her uncle’s mansion the following May, accompanied by her maid, Anna Radzinsky. Her quarters, with views
of the fashionable Nevsky Prospect, included two bedrooms, a living room and a lavatory. The living room, with a set of bay
windows leading to a small balcony, had views of the Winter Palace and the golden dome of St Isaac’s Cathedral.


‘How do you like your rooms?’ Darya asked over dinner on Marie’s first evening in her new home.

‘They’re charming. I know I’ll be very happy here.’

‘I saw Pyotr today,’ Darya said, a coy smile lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘He asked after you.’

‘Really? I find that surprising.’ All these months later Marie still felt the sting of his rejection.

‘Pyotr is rather unusual,’ Darya continued, as if she hadn’t heard the scorn in Marie’s voice. ‘He’s not at all like the other
young men in St Petersburg. I’ve never seen him dance once at any ball. He’s always in some quiet corner, with his nose in
a book.’


‘Dasha’s right.’ Monsieur Mostovsky looked up from eating. ‘You and Pyotr –’ he pointed to Marie with his fork ‘– have a lot
in common. I remember you as a little girl, always with a book in your hands.’ He let out a throaty laugh. ‘Whilst Darya and
your brothers chased one another, you sat quietly in the library reading the books.’


Marie was about to object to her uncle’s assessment when Darya interrupted.

‘That’s settled then.’ She clapped excitedly. ‘I shall call him after dinner to organise a visit.’

Marie groaned inwardly.

‘A marvellous invention, the telephone.’ Monsieur Mostovsky beamed. ‘Herman should get one.’

‘Papa was quite taken by them on his last visit to St Petersburg.’ Marie was grateful for the change of subject. ‘Mama is
less convinced, but I think Papa will manage to persuade her.’




Two days later, having forgotten Darya’s intention to invite Pyotr to call, Marie was reading in her rooms when the footman
announced Pyotr Arkadyich had arrived.


‘Please show the gentleman to the drawing room,’ Marie instructed the footman, irritated that Darya was not home to receive
him herself.


Calling Anna, Marie changed from the pale blue dress she had been wearing, into a silk dress with a high lace collar.

Anna fastened the last of the pearl buttons down Marie’s back and then stood back to scrutinise the result in the mirror.
‘Don’t you think this dress is a little conservative to receive a gentleman caller?’ she asked.


‘No, it’s perfect,’ said Marie. ‘Now help me tame these curls, will you?’

When Anna had finished with her hair, Marie hurried down to greet her guest.

‘I took the liberty of buying you a small present,’ Pyotr said almost immediately upon Marie’s arrival into the drawing room.

Surprised, Marie undid the wrapping and gasped when she discovered it held a copy of Chekhov’s The Lady with the Little Dog. Opening the book to the first page, she read a few lines.


It was said that a new person had appeared on the seafront: a lady with a little dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had by then been a fortnight at Yalta, and so was fairly at home there, had begun to take an interest in new arrivals.


‘Nikolai said you are fond of reading.’ Pyotr looked anxious. ‘I thought you might enjoy Chekhov.’

‘Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.’ She smiled at him and saw his face relax.

‘Shall we have some tea?’ She rang the bell for the house maid.

‘I know you are busy and I shan’t demand any more of your time,’ Pyotr said. ‘I simply came to welcome you and offer you this
gift.’


‘Won’t you please stay?’ The words slipped out spontaneously before she had a chance to stop them.

Pyotr too appeared surprised by the invitation. ‘Are you sure, Mademoiselle?’

‘Darya should be back shortly. She would be disappointed to hear she has missed you. And please call me Marie.’ She motioned
for him to take a seat. ‘I’d like to hear more about your favourite books.’




Over the summer, Pyotr became a regular visitor to the house, bringing with him armfuls of books. He read aloud to Marie his
favourite passages, and she found she looked forward to his visits more and more. In a letter to Nikolai, she wrote: I have grown fond of Pyotr. He is such a dear friend. We can discuss our views openly with one another without fear of causing
offence. So far our only argument has been over the merits of Hugo as compared to Tolstoy …


‘Do you seriously believe Hugo is a better writer than Tolstoy?’ Marie demanded.

Taking advantage of the white nights, Pyotr had suggested they take a stroll through the Summer Garden. A light breeze rustled
through the branches, scattering leaves onto the footpath.


‘Tolstoy is a genius and I deeply admire Levin’s philosophical ideals in Anna Karenina,’ Pyotr explained, ‘but I found Les Miserables rich and lyrical. The story of Jean Valjean is very powerful.’ He gave a passing glance at the pair of statues flanking the
path. ‘It is simply my opinion.’


‘So you disagree with Chekhov and Dostoevsky when they say that Tolstoy is the greatest of all novelists?’

‘I told you, I do not dispute Tolstoy’s genius.’ Pyotr laughed. ‘No one depicts Russian society as realistically as he does.’
He shrugged. ‘I just happen to enjoy Hugo more.’


‘You are being absurd.’ Marie pretended to be indignant.

‘I shall miss our discussions when you return to Narva.’ Pyotr’s voice was serious now. ‘I’ve grown extremely fond of them.’
Stopping abruptly, he turned to face her. He looked nervous as he took her hand. ‘It’s not just our discussions I’ve grown
fond of.’ He swallowed.


Marie’s pulse began to race as she lifted her gaze to meet his. ‘Yes?’ she prompted, her heart filling with joy.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then changed his mind. ‘Forgive me, I do not dare.’

‘Please, speak freely, Pyotr,’ she whispered.

He turned his head away, dropping her hand. ‘It is nothing.’ Then, looking to the sky, he added, ‘It is getting late. We should
head back.’


She felt her hand slip through his, disappointment replacing her joy. She studied his face a moment longer, noting the lines
of strain at the corners of his eyes. There was more to what he was telling her.


She nodded. ‘Yes, we’d better go back or I’ll be late getting ready for dinner.’

St Petersburg, 30 July 1914

‘Your Excellency.’ The maître d’, a short stout man with a perfectly waxed moustache, bowed deeply. ‘How wonderful to see
you again.’ He motioned for the valet to help their guest with his hat and coat. ‘Countess Volkonsky is already here,’ he
added quietly.


‘Thank you, Mikhail.’

Dressed in his dark blue military uniform, the colonel checked his reflection in the mirror. At thirty-seven, Alexei Basilivich
Serov’s hair was just beginning to recede at the temples. The touch of grey above his ears blended well with the blond hair
and made him look distinguished. Fluent in German and speaking a little French, he was a fine horseman, a superb dancer and
an excellent shot. Though of medium build and height, Alexei nevertheless struck an imposing figure through the grace and
manner in which he held himself. He nodded at his reflection, satisfied, then addressed the maître d’ once more.


‘Have you seen to our usual arrangements?’

‘Of course, Excellency,’ Mikail replied. ‘This way, please.’

Alexei followed him through the crowded room, nodding and smiling at familiar faces. The most fashionable restaurant in St
Petersburg, the Donon was famous for its high-ranking clientele as well as its exquisite food.


At the back of the restaurant, Mikail drew open a set of heavy crimson curtains, which led to a narrow corridor with dim lighting
and doors to private rooms. A Tartar waiter stepped aside when the two men approached. Rapping lightly on one of the doors,
Mikail waited for permission to enter then stopped to let Alexei pass before him.


‘Enjoy your evening, Excellency,’ he murmured, before withdrawing discreetly.

‘Alexei Basilivich! I have a good mind to send you packing.’

Countess Natalya stood in the middle of the room in a closefitting white gown that accentuated her narrow waist and full breasts.
‘What time do you call this? The champagne has grown warm.’


‘Forgive me, Natalya.’ Taking her hand in his, he drew it to his lips but at the last moment, turned her palm upwards and
kissed the sensitive centre of her wrist. ‘You look divine.’


‘You are a cad, Alexei.’ Natalya pursed her lips, then smiled. ‘What kept you? Was it your wife?’

‘I had some business that required my attention.’ He rang the bell to summon the waiter standing outside the door. ‘Bring
us a new bottle of champagne,’ he ordered.


When they were alone once more, Alexei hooked an arm around Natalya’s waist, drawing her to him. ‘I’ve missed you.’ He kissed
her on the neck.


‘Not so fast.’ She pushed him away. ‘You have not even explained what business was so important that you kept me waiting for
almost an hour.’


‘Surely you understand the consequences of the assassination on relationships between the Serbs and the Austro-Hungarians,’
he countered.


‘Omph! The assassination!’ She turned to the table where a cold supper was laid out. ‘I’m tired of hearing about the Archduke
and his mousy wife. It seems all of St Petersburg is obsessed by it.’


‘My dear countess, the Archduke was after all the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne.’

‘So, what of it? What do the Serbs and Austrians have to do with us?’

‘Austria, backed by Germany, has declared war on Serbia, in which case Russia must step in to defend the Orthodox Serbs.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m bored by it all.’ The countess spread a small dollop of caviar on crispbread and popped it in her mouth.

‘In that case, let us hear no more about the subject.’ Alexei grabbed her hand and pulled her towards a sofa in the corner
of the room.


‘No.’ She snatched her hand away. ‘I have not forgiven you yet.’ Moving to a chair on the other side of the dining table,
she leant forward, presenting Alexei with a view of her ample cleavage.


The waiter entered carrying a tray bearing a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

‘Will there be anything else, Excellency?’

‘No thank you.’ Tipping the man, Alexei whispered, ‘Make sure we are not disturbed.’

‘Yes, Excellency.’

Alexei filled the glasses and offered one to the countess.

‘I’m still waiting for your explanation.’ She fixed him with a stern look. ‘I thought you had forgotten me,’ she added in
a hurt voice.


‘Forgotten you? My dearest Natalya, you are the most ravishing creature in all of St Petersburg. How could I forget you?’

Clearly pleased by Alexei’s response, Natalya beamed. The sternness disappeared from her eyes and, taking Alexei’s hand, she
drew him down into a seat beside her.


‘Will you stay tonight?’

His face grew serious. ‘I’m afraid I cannot.’

She stiffened. ‘Is it your wife?’ She stood abruptly and moved away from him. ‘You never showed such concern for her in the
past.’


‘This has nothing to do with Emily. I must know if Russia will enter the war. My regiment might be called to the front any
day.’ Alexei went to her and took her in his arms. At first she shrugged him off but then relented and allowed him to draw
her into his chest. ‘I’m a professional soldier,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘This is what I’ve trained for all my life.’


‘Oh, Alyosha, is there really going to be a war?’ Turning to him, she looked up at his face with concern. ‘What if … what
if you are hurt, or worse, what if you …’ The words were choked by a sob.


Alexei felt a surge of affection for her. He kissed her, brushing his lips down her cheek to her smooth jawline. It pleased
him to hear her breathing slow and deepen with every kiss. Travelling lower, his lips found her throat and he felt a stirring
in his groin when a moan escaped her lips. Returning to her mouth, Natalya’s lips parted. He kissed her hard then, stopping
to catch his breath, he looked into her eyes. Confident of the answer to his unspoken question, he took her hand and led her
to the sofa.




Two hours later, Alexei quickly climbed the stairs to the officers’ club. At the top of the steps, he was met by a valet who
helped him with his hat and cloak.


‘General Tatistchev still here?’

‘Yes, Excellency. The general is in the smoking room.’

‘And Foreign Minister Sazonov?’

‘I’m afraid the foreign minister has already left.’ Moving quietly behind him, the valet brushed lint from Alexei’s coat.
‘Does Your Excellency require supper?’


Alexei gave a small wave of his hand. ‘That will be all, thank you.’

As he walked briskly to the end of the corridor, Alexei heard the swelling of voices from behind heavy double doors.

‘G