David Oldman - Dusk at Dawn

But she had been alive …

‘Korbelov here has been telling me all about the new Russia,’ Valentine said. ‘A fairer deal all round for everyone, he says. Democratic, where everyone gets their say. Isn’t that right, Korbelov?’

‘This is how it will be,’ agreed Korbelov. ‘All men will have a say in who represents them in the new Soviets.’

‘What about women?’ Valentine asked, deliberately it seemed to Paul. ‘Do they get a vote too?’

‘Women? Of course.’

‘All,’ said Solokov, ‘all will have rights in new Russia. Except nobles and landowners… and industrialists and bourgeois…’

‘And the tsarist bureaucrats and their lackeys,’ agreed Korbelov.

‘And rich peasants,’ added Solokov. ‘Bloodsuckers…’

‘But fairer all round,’ Valentine said.

‘A just society,’ said Korbelov.

‘For all who agree,’ added Solokov.

Valentine rubbed his hands together expectantly. ‘I can’t wait.’

They steamed into Copenhagen that afternoon. Paul consulted the map of Denmark in Pinker’s Baedeker. He looked closely at the thin neck of Schleswig-Holstein supporting the bowed Danish head and her myriad of islands that seemed to fall from her hair. He found Copenhagen to the extreme east of Sjalland Island. Coming out of the Kattegat they entered Ore Sund as they approached the city. Steaming alongside the east mole, he looked for the Citadel of Frederikshaven but there was nothing to see except some redbrick building on a prominence. There were yachts berthed by the Langeliene and a harbour where pleasure steamers were moored. Then they reached the Toldbod where they were to dock and he leaned on the rail while the steamer manoeuvred into place. Ropes were secured and the gangway lowered. Two men came aboard and were met by the first officer who took them up to the bridge. Then crewmen began carrying up boxes of stores and Paul saw Pinker’s bags going the other way. He watched as they were loaded onto a trolley and wheeled away. Shortly after, two crewmen struggled down the gangway with more cases, followed by Mrs Hogarth — or Olga Volokoskaya, as he supposed he should think of her. On the quayside, she paused to look up to where he was standing. He imagined for a second that she might wave goodbye but she simply stared at him before following her luggage into the customs shed. Looking in that direction Paul suddenly caught sight of Valentine standing in a doorway. He seemed to be watching Volokoskaya.

‘I have been looking for Miss Andresen,’ the Reverend Pater announced, appearing abruptly at Paul’s side. ‘I wanted to say my farewells.’

‘You didn’t see her earlier?’ Paul asked, finding how easy it had become to lie to some people.

‘I especially took breakfast in order to say goodbye.’

‘Perhaps she was busy packing,’ Paul suggested.

‘Did you see her?’

‘I think she’s already left the ship.’

‘I saw Mrs Hogarth,’ Pater went on. ‘The woman seemed a little agitated.’

‘Oh?’

‘And where is Mr Darling?’

Paul pointed to the sheds. ‘Down there.’

Pater peered at him as if short-sighted. ‘I thought he was on board until Helsingfors.’

‘I believe you’re right.’

‘Will you go ashore?’ Pater asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ Paul said. ‘We’re here only a few hours. I’ll probably stay aboard.’

‘Do you think we will be asked about poor Mr Pinker?’

‘I should think the captain will deal with all that,’ Paul said.

Pater stood looking at the quay for a moment longer before announcing it was time for matins.

‘Oh?’ said Paul, wondering if the man had all the accoutrements of his liturgy strung around the cabin ready for the appropriate service.

Pater pointed towards a tall church spire rising to the left of the Citadel.

‘The English Church,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you would care to join me?’

Paul made his excuses, saying he was a Methodist, then wished he hadn’t. Pater was the kind of man who would probably make a point of testing him on his non-conformity.

After the reverend had gone Paul looked back at the quay but Valentine had disappeared. Olga Volokoskaya had gone, too. He watched the dockside activities for a few more minutes then, bored, went back to the saloon for tea. There was no one else there but he saw some newspapers had been left on the table. He flipped through them but being in either Danish or Norwegian could make neither head nor tail of anything. He went back to the old copy of The Times , now so well-thumbed the print was smudged. Re-reading the account of the tsar’s death and the progress of the Czechoslovak Legion, he found, was like scratching at an old insect bite — giving temporary relief while knowing it could only worsen the irritation.

Had it not been for Valentine, he might have been tempted to jump ship and make his way back to England. He didn’t see what he could accomplish in Russia. He’d be of far more use back at the front. But he supposed Valentine would blow the whistle on him if he did and, technically, it would be regarded as desertion. And they had a habit of shooting chaps for that. So he had another cup of tea and waited for Valentine to return. A couple of hours later, though, when the steamer’s whistle gave a loud blast and Valentine still hadn’t come back, Paul went outside again and watched as the companionway was hauled up and secured. The engines began to turn and the men on the dock started freeing the ropes that secured the steamer.

‘Darling?’ the Reverend Pater repeated in answer to Paul’s enquiry. ‘No, he’s not in our cabin.’

Nordvik sat up suddenly.

‘Mr Darling? Not in his cabin?’

‘Not since we got underweigh,’ Pater said.

Pater was now sitting on Nordvik’s right. They were having dinner. There were only six of them present.

Nordvik exchanged a worried glance with his first officer, as if mutely enquiring as to the odds of losing two passengers on one voyage.

‘I saw him get off,’ Korbelov said.

‘Yes,’ said Paul. ‘I saw him on the quay. But he’s going on to Helsingfors, isn’t he? Didn’t anyone see him get back on board?’

‘Taking up diplomatic post,’ said Solokov.

‘Yes. That’s what he told me,’ Paul said. ‘But surely he came back…?’

Pater put his spoon down. ‘Miss Andresen left the ship most precipitously,’ he said.

Nordvik relaxed. The first officer looked bemused.

‘What is your meaning?’ Solokov asked.

‘I mean, sir,’ Pater said, ‘that I believe he and Miss Andresen formed an attachment.’

Nordvik shrugged lugubriously. ‘He has run after her.’

Paul looked from one to the other.

‘She spoke good Russian for a Dane,’ Korbelov observed.

‘She spoke good Russian for Russian,’ Solokov added dryly.

‘It gives me no pleasure to be proved correct,’ Pater said to Paul, his expression suggesting the contrary.

‘No, you’re wrong,’ Paul persisted, almost tempted to wipe the smugness off Pater’s face by telling him just how precipitously Miss Andresen had left the ship. But that was hardly going to help. It was beginning to dawn on him exactly what Valentine’s absence meant. How was he going to get ashore at Helsingfors without Valentine? The Germans controlled the port. How was he going to get across the Russian border to Petrograd, if he did get ashore? What did Valentine think he was playing at?

Panic rose in his throat. He swallowed it back.

‘Mr Filbert?’ Nordvik asked, ‘are you feeling quite well?’

‘Quite well, Captain. I’ve just lost my appetite, that’s all.’

He sat through the rest of dinner picking at his food. Later he accompanied Pater below.