Kate Furnivall: The Concubine's Secret

But she couldn’t have let him lose. He’d have just set about getting himself drunk out of his skull for a week, refusing to travel, refusing even to speak. It had happened before. Only grunts would come out of his mouth and only vodka would go in.

She turned abruptly to the bed where the remaining coins lay in two equal heaps. One pile she tipped inside one of her mittens, burying it deep in her pack the way a fox stores food for the winter. The other she folded up in the green cloth, ready for Popkov in the morning. The morning. Another dawn to get through. She never felt lonelier than when she woke up to find Chang An Lo wasn’t there in bed beside her, but maybe tomorrow they would at last get out of this tired little town. She tapped a finger impatiently on the black window pane as if to wake up whatever forces were out there, and uttered the words she had whispered every single night for the last five months.

‘Jens Friis, I am coming for you.’

And, as always, Chang An Lo’s warning whispered into her ear. ‘You will step into the dragon’s jaws.’

The railway station of Selyansk wasn’t in the centre of the town, but perched on the western edge as an afterthought. The ticket office and nicotine-stained waiting room were built of good straight pine, though the brown paint was peeling away in strips. The winter air was brittle and a chill wind stiffened Lydia’s cheeks as she walked on to the crowded platform, her eyes darting from face to face, alert for new travellers. The family huddles were familiar now, cocooned in their padded fufaikas , gazing along the lines of the silvery rails as if will power alone could summon up a train with its smoky breath.

She spotted the strangers immediately. Six men and one woman. Her pulse gave an uneasy kick but she allowed herself no more than an indifferent glance as she walked past. Nevertheless she took in every detail.

What were they doing here in Selyansk station?

Three of the men looked innocent enough, one a lone labourer in rough homespun trousers and rubber boots, while two others had the air of government apparatchiks dressed in well-cut overcoats. They looked sleek and contented and spoke in loud voices instead of the usual whispers. Lydia was sick to the pit of her stomach of words hidden behind hands, and eyes that clung to the floor so that there was no danger of thoughts spilling out for anyone to see. Or report on. She smiled at the men and their laughter.

‘What’s so funny?’ It was Alexei.

He was at the end of the platform, leaning against an empty oil drum and smoking one of his foul black cheroots. She was glad he had discarded the expensive winter overcoat he’d arrived with in Russia and replaced it with a coarse black woollen one. It swung round his ankles and had a small tear in the collar as if someone had yanked it too hard in a fight. Yet even in plain workman’s clothes he still managed to look elegant and somehow untouchable – dangerous even, she sometimes thought. There was a controlled coldness in his eyes that warned others against approaching too close. Well, she was his sister. She’d come as close as she damn well pleased.

‘Good morning, brother. Dobroye utro,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Let’s hope we’ll get out of this rat hole today,’ she added and swung her canvas bag on top of the oil drum.

His mouth curved into an obliging smile. ‘Good morning, sestra, sister. Did you sleep well?’

‘Like an overfed cat. And you?’

‘Very well, spasibo , thank you.’

Both knew they were lying but it didn’t matter. It was their morning routine. She looked around her.

‘Where’s Popkov? I thought he’d be here by now.’

Alexei shook his head. He was wearing an old shapka with earflaps, and its softness emphasised the sharpness of his facial bones. Lydia abruptly realised he had grown thinner. She stared at the hollows that had appeared under his cheekbones and felt an unease press on her chest. Were they so short of money already?

He gave her a close-lipped smile. ‘Popkov has gone off in search of food for the journey.’

The Cossack was their scavenger when supplies were scarce. Lydia wanted to help him – she was quick with her fingers – but Alexei wouldn’t permit it. They’d argued but he was adamant.

‘This country is not like China, Lydia. If you steal here, even just a handful of bread or a couple of eggs, you will be sent to a prison labour camp and die there.’

‘Only if you’re caught.’

‘No. It’s too dangerous.’

She’d conceded with a shrug, unwilling to admit that his warning had frightened her. She knew what it was to be locked up.

‘Any word on the arrival of a train?’ she asked.

‘The usual.’

‘ Maybe today . That’s what the station master always bleats.’

‘So this time it could be true.’

She nodded and let her glance roam casually over the straggly trees on the far side of the track, their skeletons etched in ice. Then, as if in no hurry, she turned again to her fellow travellers. Casually. It took an effort, but she kept her expression neutral as she sought out once more the rest of the newcomers. Two men, one woman. The two men wore uniforms she didn’t recognise and both possessed an air of authority that made her wary of eye contact, but she noticed them glance her way. A couple of paces to one side of them stood the woman.

‘Don’t stare.’ Alexei’s voice was gentle.

‘I’m not staring.’

‘You are.’

‘Of course I’m not. I’m just admiring her fur coat.’

‘Admire something else.’

Lydia dragged her eyes from the woman’s long dark hair, from the way it curled softly on her collar and swayed like a delicate glossy wing across her cheek as she moved her head. Exactly like Valentina’s used to. Bile, bitter-tasting, rose in Lydia’s throat.

‘From the back the resemblance to her is striking,’ Alexei murmured, his breath billowing white in the chill air.

‘Resemblance to whom?’

Alexei gave Lydia a long unblinking stare, then dropped the subject. He took a drag on his cheroot and slid a glance in the direction of the two uniformed men.

‘They know the train is coming or they wouldn’t be here.’

‘You think so?’

‘No question. It’ll come today.’

‘I hope Popkov hurries up. I don’t want him left behind.’

Even as she said it, she sensed it was a mistake. Alexei gave her a look but made no comment. She knew there was nothing he’d like better than for Liev Popkov to be left behind in Selyansk. He cast another glance over in the woman’s direction. ‘I wonder who she is,’ he said under his breath. ‘She sticks out like a sore thumb in a place like this.’

Lydia allowed herself another look, a lingering stare this time, at the woman’s silvery fur coat that seemed to shine in the dull wintry light. She noted the stylish matching hat perched at an angle, the pale grey boots as soft as kittens’ paws and the flash of a creamy cashmere scarf at the throat. The woman looked as if she’d strolled off Leningrad’s Nevsky Prospekt and found herself in a farmyard by mistake.

‘Her name is Antonina,’ Lydia said quietly.

Alexei looked at Lydia with surprise. ‘How in hell’s name do you know that?’

‘I learn things.’

‘And how exactly did you learn that?’

‘She told me herself.’

‘When?’

‘The night before last. In the hotel bathroom.’

Alexei stubbed out his cheroot under his boot and took a deep breath. Lydia could see he was thinking hard, working out the odds of his sister having blundered. She touched his sleeve with her fingers.

‘It’s all right, brother. I did no harm. I was careful, I told her nothing.’