When Clayton arrived at the apartment shortly after breakfast, he saw the guarded look in the old woman's eyes. He brought her flowers this time, three fresh eggs, and another loaf of bread.
“I shall grow fat while you visit us, Captain.” She smiled graciously at him. He was a charming man. But she was still very much afraid for Zoya.
“There's no danger of that, madame. Would you like to take a walk in the Tuileries with us?”
“I would.” She smiled, almost feeling young again herself. He seemed to bring sunlight and happiness with him everywhere, with his thoughtful gifts and gentle ways, so much like her own son, with his warm eyes and quick laughter. “But I'm afraid that my knees won't agree. I seem to have a touch of rheumatism this winter.” The “touch” she referred to would have crippled a lesser woman. Only Zoya suspected how much pain she was in.
“Will you allow me to take Zoya for a walk then?” He was proper and well bred, and she liked him immensely.
“You're very kind to ask me, young man. I don't think there would be any stopping Zoya.” They both laughed while Zoya went to get her things with a happy blush that outshone her worn clothes, and tired dresses. For the first time in months, she longed for something pretty to wear again. She had had so many lovely dresses in St. Petersburg, all of them burned and gone now, but not yet forgotten.
Zoya kissed her grandmother good-bye, and the old woman watched them go, feeling happy for them, as Clayton took Zoya's hand. One couldn't feel anything less for them. They seemed to light up the room with their excitement. Zoya was chatting happily as they left, and she could hear them as they hurried down the stairs. He had one of the staff cars outside, that had been commandeered for the army.
“Well, where would you like to go?” He smiled at her from behind the wheel. “I'm entirely at your service.” And she was free too. There were no rehearsals or performances to worry about. She could spend every minute with Clayton.
“Let's go to the Faubourg St. Honoro. I want to look in all the shops. I never have time to do things like that, and besides there isn't much point anyway.” She told him, as they drove, how much she and Mashka had loved clothes, and how beautiful Aunt Alix's dresses had been. “My mother was always beautifully dressed too. But she was never a very happy person.” It was an odd thing to admit to him, but it seemed so natural to tell him everything, she wanted to share her every thought, every wish, every dream, every memory, so he would know her better. “Mama was very nervous. Grandmama says Papa spoiled her.” Zoya suddenly giggled, feeling young again.
“You should be spoiled too. Maybe you will one day, just like your mother”
She laughed openly at him as they parked the car and got out to walk. “I don't think it would make me nervous.”
He laughed back at her, and tucked her hand into his arm as they strolled along, and the hours seemed to fly past them like moments.
They had lunch at the Cafe de Flore, and he thought she seemed happier than she had been the previous summer. She was still in shock then, but now at least some of the pain had dimmed. It had been nine months since she'd come to Paris. It was still hard to believe that only a year before she had been in St. Petersburg and life was still normal. “Have you heard from Marie lately?”
“Yes, finally. She seems to like it in Tobolsk, but she's such a good sport, she would. She said the house she lives in is tiny, she and her sisters all share one room, and Uncle Nicky reads history to them all the time. She says that even in Siberia, they're still having lessons. They think they might be able to come out of Russia soon. Uncle Nicky says the revolutionaries won't harm them, they just want to keep them there for the time being. But it seems so cruel of them, and so stupid.” And Zoya was still furious at the English for not granting them asylum the previous March. If they had, they could all have been together by then, in London or Paris. “I'm sure Grandmama would have gone