Читать книгу The Secret Wife - Gill Paul, Gill Paul - Страница 12

October brought chill winds from the Arctic, along with showers of blustery rain. One day, when the rain had eased off, Tatiana found a wheelchair and pushed Dmitri into the beautifully manicured formal gardens of the Catherine Palace so they could start training the little Bulldog she had named Ortipo, after Dmitri’s cavalry horse. Dmitri showed Ortipo a titbit of chicken then held out his palm, loudly instructing the dog to ‘sit’, while Tatiana pushed on her backside to demonstrate. But as soon as she removed her hand Ortipo leapt at the wheelchair, trying to grab the chicken. Tatiana tried again, only for the pup to jump up and leave muddy paw prints on her white nurse’s uniform.

‘I think we have an untrainable one here,’ she laughed, brushing at the marks.

‘No dog is untrainable,’ he replied. ‘But this one seems more of a challenge than most. I suspect you are spoiling her when I am not around.’

At least Ortipo had mastered the art of waiting till she got outdoors before relieving herself, which proved a level of obedience – but not much. Despite their efforts she jumped up at every passerby, barked furiously at the gardeners, and refused to come when called unless food was offered. They laughed till their sides ached as she cavorted around the lawn trying to catch leaves blowing in the wind, or chased huge seagulls, who took off into the air when she was just a few feet away.

‘What do you think she would do if she caught one?’ Tatiana asked.

‘She’d get the fright of her life. These giant gulls can be fierce.’ He felt as though they were proud parents and was delighted the dog gave them a pretext to spend time together without anyone questioning it. They didn’t even have a chaperone.

Tatiana had pushed his wheelchair as far as the limestone grotto at the edge of the Great Pond when a few spots of rain fell so they hurried into the grotto to shelter. The exterior walls were decorated with seashells, and the watery theme continued inside with masks of Neptune on the windows, and dolphins and tritons carved on the pillars that supported the domed ceiling. Ortipo scooted around sniffing corners while Dmitri and Tatiana waited by the door for the rainclouds to pass.

‘Aunt Ella was asking about you yesterday evening,’ she said, glancing at him shyly. ‘She joked that we seem to be having a romance. She teased me about it.’

He hesitated. ‘Do you think she disapproved?’

‘No, not at all,’ Tatiana said quickly. ‘She said she knows your mother and that you come from a good family. Olga is sweet on an officer called Mitya – do you know him?’ Dmitri nodded and bit back a retort; he found Mitya rather crass. ‘She talks about him all the time. Even little Alexei teases her, but I suspect she enjoys being teased.’

‘And you do not?’

Tatiana hesitated. ‘I am a private person and prefer to keep my feelings for my journal instead of being the subject of gossip.’

‘How I would love to read that journal,’ Dmitri twinkled. ‘Could you bring it to the ward later?’

‘Never!’ she exclaimed vehemently, making him laugh. ‘Do you think this rain will pass soon or should we dash back and risk a soaking?’

‘Let’s linger a while. I might try walking a few steps, if you will lend me your arm.’

He pushed down on the arms of the wheelchair to raise himself then swung the injured leg to the ground, wincing slightly as it took his weight. Tatiana steadied him, and for a moment they were so close he could feel the warmth of her body and hear her breathing. He longed to put his arms around her. If only he dared!

She stayed close as he hobbled a few steps to the opposite window then paused to recover.

‘I don’t want you to get better so quickly,’ she cried mournfully. ‘They will send you back to the front and then you will forget you ever knew me.’

He spoke with passion: ‘Tatiana, I will never forget you. Never. If I should be mortally wounded on some foreign battlefield, I swear your name will be the last word on my lips and your face the last image in my head.’

Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away, turning her head to the side. ‘But might the story have a happy ending?’ she asked quietly.

‘I will do all I can to make sure it does,’ he breathed. Her face was so close that he could have kissed her by leaning forward just a few inches, but it would be presuming too much. He was sure she could hear how hard his heart was hammering in his chest, because he was certain he could hear hers too.

By mid November, Dmitri could walk across the ward unaided and he wasn’t surprised when he received a letter informing him that he had been passed fit for duty and must report to his regiment by the 12th of December. He kept the news from Tatiana for a while, not wanting to distress her. The thought of causing her pain made his chest tighten and a lump form in his throat, but at the same time he hated to keep such an important communication from her. When there were just two weeks to go, he took her for a walk through the park, past the pyramid where tiny gravestones marked the burial places of Catherine II’s three dogs. Ortipo nosed the frozen earth as if she could detect something, most likely the scent of a fox.

‘I knew this day must be close,’ she said bravely and turned her head away, but he could hear that she was choking back tears. ‘I have some gifts for you. You will be surprised how busy I have been.’

‘Really? What kind of gifts?’ He glowed at the thought.

‘I have knitted you a muffler, gloves and several pairs of thick socks. I don’t want to think of you freezing in some bleak, windswept tent.’

He was so touched he could barely speak. Was this the moment to kiss her? He hesitated too long and she had turned to call Ortipo, who was chasing a squirrel.

‘We must take some photographs,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring my Box Brownie to the ward this evening.’

‘You have hundreds of photographs of me already–’ he smiled ‘–and I look ugly in all of them.’ She and Olga were keen photographers.

‘Will you write to me?’ she asked, her tone a little plaintive.

‘Of course! You shall have a letter every week, which is at least ten times more than my mother gets.’

‘I shall write to you every day,’ she declared, her eyes glassy.

Impulsively he took her slender hand and pressed it to his lips, lingering to savour the sensation and inhale her precious scent. She did not pull it away.

Dmitri dressed in his navy and yellow uniform and set off early on the morning of the 12th of December, along with two other officers and a dozen soldiers all heading for Poland, where the remnants of the Russian First Army were attempting to hold the German Ninth at bay. Dawn had only just broken but Tatiana appeared in the palace driveway, looking pale in the wintry sunshine, and stood by the gate to wave. As their truck passed Dmitri saw her eyes were red with crying and his heart felt as though it were breaking in two.