could not see her eyes.
“Are you sure you must go?”
“Absolutely, Grandmama!” And then she had hurried out the door for rehearsal.
And after the performance, Clayton was waiting for her, with another of General Pershing's cars. “All set?” He smiled at her and slid behind the wheel as he watched her eyes. They spoke volumes, far more than her words, and they were the color of emeralds full of fire. “How was it tonight?”
“It was all right. But Nijinsky didn't dance tonight. He's remarkable, don't you think?” And then with a giggle, she remembered that he didn't like the ballet. “Never mind, I forgot you don't like ballet.”
“Perhaps I can be taught.” They drove straight to Maxim's, and Zoya's eyes grew wide as they walked in the door. The rich velvet decor and crowds of elegant people and men in dress uniforms dining there made her catch her breath as she looked up at him. It all seemed so grown-up, and a little startling, and she thought instantly of how to describe her surroundings in her next letter to Marie. But Clayton Andrews was going to be difficult to explain, even to her closest friend. She herself wasn't quite sure why she was dining with him, except that he'd been so kind to her, and he seemed so happy and at ease. She found herself wanting to talk to him, just this once … or perhaps one more time after that. There was no harm in it. He was respectable, and there was a certain excitement to it. She tried not to act like an excited child as they sat down at the table. “Hungry?” He eyed her happily as he ordered champagne for them, but she just wanted to look around.
“Have you ever been here before?”
She shook her head, thinking of the apartment where they lived, and the hotel where they had stayed before that. They hadn't been to any restaurants at all since they'd arrived. She and her grandmother cooked simple meals at home, and Feodor sat down to dinner with them every evening.
“No.” She didn't explain. It would have been difficult to explain it all to him.
“It's pretty, isn't it? I used to come here before the war.”
“Do you travel a great deal? Usually, I mean.”
“Enough. Had you ever been to Paris before … I mean before you came here three months ago?” He had remembered that and she was touched.
“No. But my parents used to come here a lot. My mother was actually German, but she'd lived in St. Petersburg most of her life.” He found himself suddenly wanting to ask her what the revolution had been like, but sensed wisely how painful it had been for her, and refrained. And then, just to make conversation with her, he casually asked a question which made her laugh.
“Zoya, did you ever see the Tsar?” And at the look of amusement on her face, he began to laugh too. “Is there something funny about that?”
“Perhaps.” She felt so comfortable with him, she decided to open up a little bit. “We're cousins.” But her face grew serious then, remembering her last morning at Tsarskoe Selo. Clayton patted her hand, and poured her champagne.
“Never mind … we can talk about something else.” But as she looked at him, her eyes reached into his.
“It's all right … I just …” She fought back tears as she looked at him. “I just miss them so much. Sometimes I wonder if we'll ever see them again. They're still under house arrest now, at Tsarskoe Selo.”
“Do you hear from them?” He looked surprised.
“I get letters sometimes from the Grand Duchess Marie … she's my very dearest friend. She was very ill when we left.” And then she smiled sadly at the memory. “I caught the measles from her. They all had them before we left.” It all seemed remarkable to him as he listened to her. The Tsar of Russia was a figure in history, not merely a cousin of this pretty young girl.
“And you grew up with all of them?”
She nodded and he smiled. He had been right after all. There was a great deal more to her than one would have thought at first sight. She wasn't just a pretty little ballerina. She was a girl from a fine family, a girl with a remarkable past. She began to tell him about it then, about the house where she'd grown up, about Nicolai … and the night he'd been shot, and staying at