The Firebird

The other tourists here were mostly clustered round the great gold clock shaped like a peacock, housed in its own cage of glass, or standing to admire the large mosaic set into the floor.

Beneath a giant crystal chandelier, I knelt as though to readjust the heel strap of my shoe, rested one hand on the parquet floor to brace myself, and for a moment, closed my eyes.

The images began to rise, to form into their filmstrip, running backwards in a blur. I tried remembering what Rob had taught me – concentrating hard, I stopped the film and tried to run it forwards, frame by frame. It nearly worked, but then I lost it and the images began to blur again, and—

‘Miss?’ A man’s voice interrupted, wrenched me back. ‘Are you OK?’ He was American, an older man, his face and voice concerned. ‘Do you need help?’

A woman I assumed must be his wife had stopped as well, and others from their group had turned to look. Flushed with embarrassment, I shook my head and stood, assuring him that I was fine. ‘My shoe …’ I offered, as an explanation, and he gave a friendly nod and, when I’d thanked him once again, moved on, allowing me a clear view of the doorway at the far end of the hall, and of the man who stood within it.

Rob, in contrast to the other tourists here, looked fully capable of walking round all day. If he was bothered by the heat, he didn’t show it. But I caught his edge of restlessness.

You ready?

With a nod, I went to meet him.

How’d your meeting go?

Fine.

As we walked down the great Jordan staircase, he watched me instead of admiring the opulence. Are you OK?

Yes, I’m fine. Why is everyone asking me that?

He responded with silence, and striving for something more normal I asked him aloud, ‘What did you find to look at, while I was away?’

‘Oh, a lot of things. I spent most of my time coveting Nicholas II’s library. Have you seen it?’

I had. An English Gothic haven, rich with walnut shelves and leather, with a staircase and a fireplace, it appealed to me as well.

Rob carried on, ‘And there were rooms not far from that with some of Peter the Great’s own things in them. I found those fair interesting. Not only his swords, but a few of his nautical instruments, tools for his woodworking, and his old lathes. I had no idea,’ he said, ‘that he was such a regular guy.’

‘That he liked making things with his own hands, you mean? Oh yes, Peter was famous for that. He’d go down to the shipyards and roll up his sleeves and start building the ships right along with the workmen. And it wasn’t only big things. Did you see the ivory chandelier he partly carved himself from walrus tusks? It’s really something.’

‘Next time,’ was his promise. He fell quiet for a minute more, and then, as we were passing by the gift shop on our way towards the exit, he asked, ‘Was it something interesting you saw?’ To my deliberately blank face, he said, to clarify, ‘Upstairs. Just now.’

I couldn’t lie. ‘I couldn’t do it properly. I didn’t have you there to help.’

‘You did it fine last night.’

Last night I’d touched the wall myself, perhaps, but Rob had still been holding me, and amplifying what I did. ‘Last night you helped as well.’

‘Not much.’

‘That’s your opinion. Anyway, it hardly matters, does it?’

Rob, not fooled, returned the question. ‘Does it?’

Not at all, I wanted to reply. Because it shouldn’t have. For all that I might envy Rob the things that he could do, they had no place in my own life. My normal life.

I sidestepped round it. ‘Not for what we’re doing now. There’s nothing left of General Lacy’s house that I can touch, is there? It’s all on your shoulders.’

‘For now.’ With a shrug of those shoulders he followed me out through the exit and into the bustle and flow of the Neva Embankment. His hands in his pockets, he looked to the west, past the dome of the Admiralty. I sensed he was keen to go back, to pick up where we’d left Anna earlier, but as though he had tapped into my own vague frustrations and wanted to give me some time to recover myself, to find balance, he brought his gaze patiently back to mine, lifting an eyebrow. ‘What time does the pie shop start serving lunch?’

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Anna felt more like herself when she came down for dinner at noon. More composed. She had tamed her hair under its small black lace pinner and wore the black paduasoy gown and petticoat that had been given to her by the vice admiral’s late wife. ‘It no longer fits me as well as it did,’ Mrs Gordon had told her while running her hand down the black corded silk, ‘but the paduasoy is from Spain and will last a good while yet. A black gown can be of a great many uses.’

Her words had been sadly prophetic, for not three months later the vice admiral’s wife had been dead of her illness and Anna had worn the black paduasoy gown while standing with Jane at the funeral. She’d worn it while mourning, and worn it for Jane’s funeral too, but the gown, far from carrying sadness, instead gave her comfort, as if she’d been given not only the gown but the kindness and grace of the woman who’d worn it.

And now, as she entered the dining room, she tried to show that same grace as she greeted the Lacys. The general escorted her round to her chair at the table, then saw his wife seated and took his own chair at the opposite end. Mrs Lacy looked paler than she had the night before. Anna had seen women suffer the first months of being with child, and she knew that the suffering lasted sometimes till the child had quickened. She hoped it would not be that way for the general’s wife.