Читать книгу The Secret Wife: A captivating story of romance, passion and mystery - Gill Paul, Gill Paul - Страница 11

‘Did you hear the news of Tannenburg?’ Stepanov called, interrupting Dmitri’s reverie. ‘It’s catastrophic: 78,000 killed or wounded, 92,000 captured, and General Samsonov dead by his own hand.’ He was reading the figures from a newspaper.

Dmitri already knew that the Russian Second Army had been encircled by the Germans but hadn’t heard the casualty figures till now. He felt sick to his stomach at the enormity of the slaughter. ‘How could it have happened? Why is German intelligence so much better than our own? It seems they intercept all our messages, yet we are in the dark about their plans.’

Stepanov grimaced. ‘They are better equipped too. Their guns have longer ranges, more explosive power. Our superior numbers count for nothing when we are sent into battle with nineteenth-century weapons.’

Dmitri thought of the friends he had left behind at the front: were any still alive, or had they been struck down by the indiscriminate big guns? The Russian army was the largest in the world, but the German foe was nimbler, more flexible. ‘This war will be lost within months if we don’t get modern equipment and become faster in the field. Our chain of command is too slow and dithery. Changes in orders take so long to be implemented, the enemy has moved on.’

Stepanov was gloomy. ‘According to this newspaper’s editor, we can’t compete with the rail network supporting the German army. We’re still riding around on horseback but the days of using cavalry in battle are numbered. A horse presents a large target, and the big guns terrify them.’

Dmitri agreed, but it meant everything he had learned at the prestigious imperial Corps de Page and then in the Uhlan Lancer Guard Regiment was out of date. He was a skilled horseman but knew nothing about the positioning, loading and firing of the big artillery shells now in use. He had achieved distinction in his examinations in science, military history and mathematics but had virtually no experience of the devastating new military technology.

At ten o’clock the following morning, Tatiana bounded into the ward full of excitement: ‘Malama, why did you not tell me you won the Stoverstny?’

Dmitri had led the field from the start of the previous year’s prestigious horserace on Ortipo, his cognac mare. ‘That was many moons ago,’ he said. ‘I’m flattered that you have been researching me.’

‘Well, of course I have,’ she said, sitting on the edge of his bed since there was no chair in sight. In any other girl he would have thought it a flirtatious gesture, but Tatiana did it naturally, without guile. ‘I am trying to discover what makes you tick.’

‘I fear I will prove a very dull study.’ He smiled. ‘I am an army officer and keen to return to my regiment as soon as I can, to fight for my country. I’m so predictable, I make myself yawn.’

‘I shan’t allow you to leave,’ Tatiana said playfully. ‘As your colonel, I order you to stay.’

He looked further down the ward to where Olga was sitting on the bed of an officer called Karangozov before replying: ‘I cannot disobey a direct order. Perhaps you think the army will fare better without me?’

She giggled: ‘Rushing out and getting yourself shot is a drain on manpower. You must stay here to keep me entertained.’

‘But you are the one doing the entertaining, while I lie here like a useless lump. Life on the ward would be insufferably tedious without your visits to look forward to.’

‘Perhaps you will soon be able to walk in the grounds with me? The temperature is mild and the leaves are turning to brilliant reds and yellows.’

He glanced out of the tall windows at the clouds scudding past. Every time Tatiana said something personal, his heart leapt. Did she speak to other patients so kindly? Certainly, on their ward, she stopped by his bed far longer than at the others.

‘I’d like that, my colonel,’ he replied, a little hoarse.

Her mother, Tsarina Alexandra, swept into the room, and Olga and Tatiana leapt off the officers’ beds. ‘Why don’t you change Cornet Malama’s dressing?’ the Tsarina instructed Tatiana, giving Dmitri a quick nod of acknowledgement. ‘Olga, come with me to the annex.’

Tatiana went to fetch water, scissors and lint, and Dmitri cringed at the thought of her seeing the ugliness of his wound. He knew he was not a bad-looking man, with his dark-blond hair and chestnut eyes, but his left leg was scored by deep gashes on either side that were healing with hideous colours: jagged plum-purple lines surrounded by grey and orange swelling, the skin bald where the hairs had been shaved. At least the wounds no longer bled or oozed pus, but they were imperfections he would rather have hidden.

He couldn’t watch as her cool fingers cleaned around the wounds. Her touch was causing his manhood to stiffen and he wriggled to rumple the bedcovers over the spot so she would not notice. It was agonising and wonderful at the same time. They didn’t talk, didn’t look at each other, and he wondered if perhaps she was embarrassed too.

‘You’re not bad,’ he told her as she tied the last knot on the dressing and began to collect her instruments. ‘There could be a career in nursing for you, if you get bored of being a grand duchess.’

‘Why thank you, sir.’ She bowed with mock politeness. ‘I aim to please. I shall be back later to check you are not being disruptive.’

She gazed straight into his eyes as she spoke and he felt a jolt, for all the world as if he had been shot by Cupid’s arrow. The words of poets through the generations, words he had previously thought trite and clichéd, suddenly made sense to him. He felt deliriously happy and wildly anxious at the same time. Did Tatiana have romantic feelings for him or did she simply enjoy his company? How could he let her know he had fallen in love without causing embarrassment or spoiling the intimacy that was developing between them?

During the interminable hours of bed rest, Dmitri pondered ways of ascertaining her feelings, then decided that he should give her a gift: something personal, something she would treasure. A book? He had no way of knowing what she had or had not read, and it felt rather a staid present. Jewellery? The family had more ostentatious gold and precious stones than he could ever afford. And then he thought back to the subject of their first-ever conversation and the answer came to him: he would get her a puppy.

He knew a St Petersburg breeder who had some gorgeous French Bulldogs. One of them would be perfect, but how would he get it to Tatiana? He wanted to watch her reaction on receiving the gift so he couldn’t simply have it delivered to the Alexander Palace.

That evening, the Tsarina’s lady-in-waiting Anna Vyrubova came by to straighten his pillows. She was a plump-faced kindly type, a friend with whom his mother often stayed when she came to St Petersburg for the social season, and she enquired after his family. Dmitri decided to ask her advice. Did she think it would be acceptable for him to buy a gift of a puppy for Grand Duchess Tatiana? He explained that he wished to surprise her.

Anna’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘How adorable!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m sure she would love it. What can I do to help?’

Dmitri told her the whereabouts of the breeder and detailed the type of animal he wanted: not the runt of the litter, but a pup that was confident around people and did not scare easily. ‘Choose the one that comes over to sniff an outstretched hand and squints at you sideways. Avoid any that stand back and bark or bare their teeth. I want a pup who is playful but does not use his teeth. We can’t risk him biting the grand duchess.’

Anna agreed she would help with the choice, following Dmitri’s advice. She seemed thrilled to be part of the secret.

Two days later, she stopped by his bed to whisper that the breeder had a perfect pup and she had placed the order but that it would be another week before it would be ready to be taken from its mother. Dmitri was frustrated by the delay. He saw Tatiana every day and as well as their morning visits, she and Olga now came back in the evenings. They had a lesson with Dr Vera Gedroits at six o’clock, after which they sterilised the instruments for the following day. If there was time after that, Olga would play piano and they would sing along to some well-known songs, like the Latvian favourite ‘Kaut Kur’. Tatiana sang quietly, but Dmitri could hear she had a pure, tuneful voice.

On the day the puppy was ready to be handed over, Dmitri gave Anna Vyrubova his final instructions about purchasing a basket in which to transport it, a collar, some food, a water bowl and a litter tray, and he gave her the money to pay for it. When she returned an hour later with the precious cargo in a box, Dmitri glanced in and grinned: it was perfect. Anna went to find Tatiana, who was in the annex.

Soon she arrived in the ward, looking flustered. ‘Anna Vyrubova said you needed to see me.’ She noticed the box. ‘What is this?’

He held it out: ‘A gift, to thank you for your patience with me.’ Snuffly panting sounds were coming from within.

Tatiana took the box and opened it warily. A tiny black face leaned out to lick her hand and she squealed in delight. The dog fitted easily into her cupped palms and she examined the pointy ears, the frown line between the eyes, the wrinkled snout, then bent and kissed the top of its velvety head.

‘Malama …’ she began, looking up at him, but could say no more. She was overwhelmed, virtually speechless, but it didn’t matter because Dmitri could see it written in her eyes that she loved him. And now she must know that he loved her too. His heart swelled with such profound happiness he could scarcely breathe.