The Firebird

He was looking at her now with all the heat that had been in his eyes when he had sung those verses of the song to her, when he’d sung that she could either kill or cure him, and it stirred an answering emotion deep inside her that felt very much the opposite of anger. Lowering her gaze, she told the buttons of his waistcoat: ‘It was not because of Mr Taylor that I did not feel like speaking.’

‘Was it not?’

She might have better planned her next words, she thought later, but they tumbled out before she could restrain them. ‘When did you intend to tell me, sir, that you were leaving?’

Anna knew, as those words dropped between them, that she had revealed too much. She was not surprised when Edmund turned her face up to his own once more, so he could search her eyes and try to judge the thoughts behind them. But she did not guess that he would kiss her till his mouth was on her own.

She’d recently imagined what a kiss would feel like, Edmund’s in particular. She’d thought it would be fierce, as he was fierce, and just a little unforgiving, but to Anna’s great surprise it was not hard at all, but gentle. Careful, even. Stealing her own breath until she doubted she’d have still been standing, had he not been holding her. His hands were on her upper arms, and she had the impression he was holding her away from him as much as doing anything, as though he did not wish to have her cross some unseen line between their bodies.

In the end, it was herself that crossed it, putting her own hands against his chest in search of something steady. When his coat seemed in the way, her hands slipped underneath it to his waistcoat, seeking out the shoulders that felt warm through the thin linen of his shirt.

His own hands moved then. One spread wide against her back to bring her hard into his body while the other travelled up her neck to tangle in her hair, and for some minutes after that she felt the fierceness that she’d felt in all of her imaginings since they had danced the minuet together in the Summer Garden.

Groaning in his throat he broke the kiss and took her hands and set her back from him, his breathing out of rhythm as his fingers, for a moment, closed round hers. And then he let her go.

‘Forgive me, Mistress Jamieson,’ he told her in a voice she did not recognise. His dark eyes briefly touched her own, their fire banked but burning still. And then, more low, he said, ‘Forgive me, Anna.’

Turning, he strode back across the yard towards the house, his shoulders set and squared as though he were determined not to look behind. He was retreating, nobly and with honour, so that she could keep her own.

And had she truly been a fighter, Anna knew, she’d have gone after him.

Something felt different, this time, when I came back out into the present. I couldn’t quite place it at first, but it felt unfamiliar enough that I stood for a moment, both hands in my pockets, and tried to decide what it was. Then it struck me. Both hands. In my pockets. Not holding to anything.

Turning, astonished, I looked round for Rob. He was standing some distance off, under a streetlamp, his collar turned up to ward off the night wind. When his head lifted, I couldn’t see his expression but I sensed his smile, and the current that rippled between us was rich with the boyishly satisfied air of a man who’s done mischief.

But … how? I had trouble collecting my thoughts. How long … ?

Nearly the whole time. He stayed in the light as I crossed through the shadows to meet him, his smile clearly visible now I was nearer.

I asked him again, not believing it, How?

I let go of your hand.

But you kept on controlling it, right? I mean, that was still you, doing all of that … wasn’t it?

Slowly, he shook his head, watching what I knew must be a wide play of emotions cross my face as I absorbed this.

But … how did you know I’d be able to do it?

I didn’t. His answer, as always, was honest. That’s why I let go.

And what if I hadn’t been able to—

Rob’s calm logic cut across my worries. Everyone’s afraid to fall, but sometimes you just have to take the stabilisers off your bike and try to ride on two wheels.

I was left to ponder that while we walked back to the hotel, and for those minutes I knew something of what Anna must have felt, with Edmund pushing her and prodding her and battering away the careful shields she had constructed. And like Anna, tonight I felt all in a knot with my feelings.

I blamed it on what I’d just witnessed – the depth of emotion in that final scene between Anna and Edmund; the way they had argued, the way they had kissed. If I felt more aware of Rob now it was largely because of that, and because, in the same way Anna stood to lose Edmund when he left St Petersburg, I knew that I would lose Rob the day after tomorrow, when we flew back home. He’d be heading north, and I’d be stepping back into my regular life. Only I wasn’t sure I could ever go back, now, to how things had been.

If I’d loved him two years ago, I was falling in love with him now in a way that I’d never experienced, ever, with anyone. Something had shifted between us, beyond my control, and it had me so twisted inside that, when we finally came to the corridor outside my room and Rob turned round to tell me goodnight, I could say nothing back to him. All I could do was nod silently, struggling inside to know what to do, how to tell him I didn’t yet have all the answers but I couldn’t seem to stop asking the questions.

He gave me a brotherly kiss on the cheek before turning away.

I stood miserably, holding my room key. If I’d been less of a coward, I thought, I’d have asked him to stay. Another man might have stayed anyway, whether I’d asked him or not. But not Rob.