“I have such wonderful photographs of them. I'll show you sometime. We went to Livadia together in August every year. They're going this year again, or so Marie said when she last wrote. We always celebrated Alexis's birthday there, or on the yacht.”
Clayton Andrews watched her with fascinated eyes as they talked. She spoke of a magical world, at a rare time in history, and to her it was commonplace, cousins and friends, and children and tennis, and dogs. And now she was dancing with the Ballet Russe. No wonder her grandmother sent a chapter-one with her. She even explained Feodor to him. And by the end of the evening, he felt as though he knew them all, and his heart ached for the life she had lost in Russia.
“What will you do now?”
“I don't know.” She was honest with him. “When there is no more jewelry left to sell, I suppose I'll just go on dancing and we'll live on that. Grandmama is too old to work, and Feodor doesn't speak enough French to get a job, and he's also quite old.” And when they died? He didn't even dare think of it. She was so open and innocent and fresh, and yet she had seen so much.
“Your father sounds like a nice man, Zoya.”
“He was.”
“It's hard to imagine losing all that. Harder still to imagine never going back.”
“Grandmama thinks things might change after the war. Uncle Nicky said as much before we left.” Uncle Nicky … the Tsar Nicholas … it still amazed him as he listened to her talk. “At least, for now, I can dance. I used to want to run away to the Maryinsky School when I was a little girl”—she laughed at the memory now—” this isn't so bad. I'd rather dance than teach English, or sew, or make hats.” He laughed at the look on her face as she listed the alternatives.
“I'd have to admit, I can't quite imagine you making hats.”
“I'd rather starve. But we won't. The Ballet Russe has been very good to me.” She told him about her first audition, and he silently marveled at her courage and ingenuity. Even having dinner with him was rather brave. And he had no intention of taking advantage of her. He liked her, even though she was barely more than a child. But he also saw her differently now than he had the other evening. She wasn't just a pretty face, or a member of the corps de ballet. She was a girl from a family even more illustrious than his own, and even though she had nothing left, she had breeding and dignity, and he had no desire to violate that. “I wish you could meet Grandmama,” she said as though reading his thoughts.
“Perhaps I shall sometime.”
“She'd be shocked that we haven't been properly introduced. I'm not sure I could explain that to her.”
“Could we say I'm a friend of Diaghilev's?” he asked hopefully, and she laughed.
“That would be even worse! She hates all of it! She'd far rather I marry Prince Markovsky with his taxi than work at the ballet.” But as he watched her, he understood why. It was frightening to think of her out in the world, unprotected, unknown, an easy prey for anyone, even himself.
He paid for their midnight supper then and she looked sad as he took her home. “I'd like to see you again sometime, Zoya.” It seemed such a trite thing to say to her, but he was suddenly uncomfortable about making their outings clandestine. She was so young, and he didn't want to hurt her in any way. “What if I come to tea sometime with your grandmother?”
Zoya looked terrified at the thought. “What will I say to her?”
“I'll think of something. What about Sunday afternoon?”
“We usually go for a walk in the Bois de Boulogne.”
“Perhaps we could take a drive. Say four o'clock?”
Zoya nodded, wondering what she would say to her grandmother, but his suggestion was simpler than all her schemes.
“You might just tell her that I'm General Per-shing's aide, and we met at the reception last night. It's generally easier to tell the truth than a lie.” He sounded just like Konstantin again, as he had several times that night, and she smiled happily up at him.
“My father would have said something like that.” And as they pulled up in front of her address, she glanced at him, looking handsome and dignified in his uniform. He was