Kate Furnivall: The Russian Concubine

Not now that she was free.

‘No,’ she screamed and raised her gun to the man’s face.

‘Lydia. It’s me.’

She stopped screaming. Lowered the gun. Squinted at the blur that was a face. Grey uniforms all around her.

‘Here.’ A greatcoat was flung around her shivering naked body. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe now.’

She blinked hard. The man’s features settled into a familiar image. ‘Alexei Serov,’ she gasped and retched all down his chest.

‘Mama.’

‘What is it, my darling?’

‘You don’t need to sit here all night.’

‘Shh, sleep now.’

‘I’m okay, you know.’

‘Of course you are. So shut your eyes and dream sweet dreams.’

Valentina was seated on a low chair beside Lydia’s bed, her elbows on the quilt and her chin propped on her hands, gaze fixed on her daughter’s face. She looked tired, grey lines in a fine web around her eyes and mouth. For the first time Lydia could see what she’d look like when she was old and white-haired. She gave her mother a fleeting smile. They both knew the dreams were anything but sweet. In the hospital the doctors had kept her drugged with something that numbed the pain and the brain but let in the nightmares, so now that she was home she refused all tablets and instead remained awake.

Three nights her mother had stayed at her bedside, three nights of being there each time Lydia opened her eyes. When she heard Valentina softly humming the overture from Romeo and Juliet in the early hours of one morning, it made her cry.

‘Where is he, Mama?’

‘Who?’

Lydia put out a hand and cupped it around her mother’s. ‘You know who.’

The green lamp was on in the corner of the room, but Valentina had draped a ruby scarf over it, so that the light was muted to the colours of a winter’s sunset. Enough to see her mother’s eyes.

Valentina turned Lydia’s hand over in her own and with one slender finger slowly traced the lifeline on her palm right down to her wrist. ‘He’s a prisoner.’

‘Where?’

‘How should I know, dochenka?’

‘Who has him?’

‘The Chinese, of course. You know what they’re like, always at each other’s throats.’

‘Do you mean the Kuomintang?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, the ones in those dreadful peasant uniforms. ’

‘Is he alive?’

Valentina sighed elaborately and her mouth softened. ‘Yes. Your wretched Communist is still alive.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I made Alfred make inquiries. Don’t look so happy, Lydia. He’s not for you. You must forget him.’

‘I will forget him the day I forget to breathe.’

‘ Dochenka! You’ve been through enough. Stop this madness.’

‘I love him, Mama.’

‘So you must unlove him.’

‘I can’t. More than ever now.’

Valentina sat up straight, placed Lydia’s hand gently down on the quilt, pulled her kimono tightly around herself, and folded her arms.

‘Very well, darling. So. Tell me. What is it that your stubborn little soul wants? What plans have you hatched in that convoluted head of yours?’

There was a long silence. Downstairs the grandfather clock chimed three. Lydia could hear her mother’s breathing.

‘Mama, I nearly died in that Box.’ She spoke softly.

‘Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t.’

‘I’d always thought survival was enough. But it’s not.’

It was seven-thirty and the sky was just growing light when Lydia went downstairs. Valentina was in the bathroom and likely to remain there for some time judging by the scent of bath oil wafting under the door, so Lydia knew Alfred would be alone and unprotected.

‘Hello.’

‘Good heavens, Lydia, you startled me.’ He was sitting at the breakfast table engrossed in the newspaper, a bowl of steaming porridge oats in front of him. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed, my dear?’

She slipped into the chair opposite him. ‘I need your advice.’

Alfred put down his paper and gave her his full attention. ‘Anything I can do to help, just say the word.’

‘Mama said you made inquiries about Chang An Lo.’

‘I did.’

‘I have to go to him. So…’

‘No, Lydia.’

‘Alfred, if it hadn’t been for him, I’d be dead.’

‘Well, really I think it’s that young Russian gentleman who…’

‘No. It was Chang An Lo. He was the one who got the Chinese troops searching for me. That’s what Alexei Serov himself told me in the woods. So you see, I do need to speak with him.’

Alfred looked uncomfortable. He picked up his spoon and stirred his porridge, added a sprinkling of sugar to it, then shook his head sadly. ‘I’m so sorry, Lydia, I can’t help you. Chang An Lo is not allowed visitors.’

‘Where is he?’

‘In Chou Dong Prison. It’s down by the river. But listen to me.’ He pushed a rack of toast toward her and she took a piece because she knew he was trying to help. ‘This whole business of your kidnapping has caused a bit of a stink, what with the police looking into Feng Po Chu’s death and everything.’

Her head jerked up. ‘I thought they said I was in the clear. It was self-defence.’

‘That’s true.’ He reached out and patted her hand, but she could tell his sense of order was dislocated. ‘You see, Sir Edward Carlisle feels that the sooner it all dies down the better because, to be honest, it has created a lot of tension between the Chinese and ourselves. If you go around complaining and making a fuss about this Communist down at the prison, well, it’ll just stir things up even worse. So if you want my advice, I suggest you keep well clear. Get back to bed and stay there until this is all done with. I’m very sorry, Lydia, I know it’s hard, but it’s for the best, my dear.’

Lydia spread butter on her toast. Drizzled honey on it. Snapped it in two.

‘Best for who?’ she asked.

‘Best for you.’

She looked at him. Behind his spectacles his eyes were full of concern.

‘Will you drive me to the Serov villa on your way to the office today, please?’

‘There’s no need.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Alexei Serov calls here every morning. Nine-thirty sharp he’s been arriving on our doorstep to ask after your health.’

‘ Chyort! Why did no one tell me?’

‘Come on, Lydia, you know what your mother thinks of him. She’ll probably give me hell just for telling you.’

Lydia allowed herself a little bright window of hope.

‘Alexei, tell me what happened. Please. I need to know.’

The tall Russian looked relieved, and Lydia realised he’d been expecting a more difficult question. He was seated on the leather sofa, legs crossed, his gloves placed tidily beside him, his body as relaxed as ever in a dark well-cut suit, but his expression was tense.

‘You’re looking much better, Miss Ivanova,’ he’d said.

It was a lie but a nice one, so she let it pass. Their exchanges so far had been peppered with awkward silences. The usual words of polite conversation did not seem to be enough between them. Not anymore.

‘Tell me,’ she repeated, ‘how you found me.’

‘It wasn’t hard. But,’ he gave an easy laugh, ‘don’t tell Sir Edward that. He thinks I’m a hero.’

She smiled. ‘So do I.’

‘No. I just used my contacts. No heroics.’

‘But why did Chang come to you of all people?’

He leaned forward, green eyes suddenly very hard, and she could see the military man in him. ‘He learned of the split between Feng and Po Chu, heard a whisper that Po Chu was siding with the Kuomintang against his father. That meant their spies would know exactly where he was hiding out. So your Communist used his brains. Who was the one person who knew you but also had influence over the Chinese?’ He shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Myself. And the only way he knew of finding me quickly was through the Kuomintang.’