Danielle Steel - Zoya

She stood up then, and took the remaining bowl of stew to her grandmother's room, but she came back with it a few minutes later, and spoke softly to Antoine in the kitchen. “She's asleep. Maybe we should just let her sleep. I put a blanket over her to keep her warm.” It was one of the blankets Clayton had given them the previous summer. “Don't forget to give me that doctor's name tomorrow before you go to school.”

He nodded and then looked at her questioningly. “Do you want me to go with you?” But she only shook her head, she still had a strong streak of independence. She hadn't come this far, almost on her own, in order to depend on anyone now, even someone as unassuming as their boarder.

She finished the dishes and sat down in the living room, as close to the fire as she could, and warmed her hands as he quietly watched her. The fire shot gold lights into her hair, and her green eyes seemed to dance. And unable to resist the lure of her, he found himself standing nearby, partially to keep warm, and partially just to be near her.

“You've got such pretty hair….” He said it without thinking, and then blushed as she looked up at him in surprise.

“So do you” she teased, thinking of the insulting exchanges with Nicolai they had so loved. “I'm sorry … I didn't mean to be rude … I was thinking of my brother.” She stared into the fire pensively, as Antoine watched her.

“What was he like?” His voice was gentle, and he thought his heart would break in half, he was so hungry to reach out and touch her.

“He was wonderful … thoughtful and funny and daring and brave, and very, very handsome. He had dark hair like my father, and green eyes.” And then suddenly she laughed, remembering. “He had a great fondness for dancers.” Most of the imperial family had and Nicholas among them. “But he'd be so angry at me now.” She looked up at Antoine with a sad smile. “He'd be furious at my dancing now …” Her thoughts drifted off again as Antoine watched her.

“I'm sure he'd understand. We all have to do what we must to survive. There aren't many choices. You must have been very close.”

“We were.” And then, out of nowhere, “My mother went mad when they killed him.” Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of him bleeding to death in the front hall, and her grandmother tying her petticoats over his wounds to no avail to try and save him. It was almost more than she could bear thinking about it, as Sava came quietly to her chair and licked her hand, and forced her mind back to the present.

They sat quietly for a long time. He had pulled up the room's only other chair, and they sat by the fire, lost in their own thoughts, until Antoine dared to be a little braver. “What do you want to do with your life? Have you ever thought about it?”

She looked surprised at the question. “Dance, I suppose.”

“And after that?” He was curious about her, and it was a rare opportunity to find her alone without Evgenia.

“I used to want to marry and have children.”

“And now? Don't you think about that anymore?”

“Not very often. Most dancers never get married. They dance until they drop, or teach, whichever comes first.” Most of the great dancers she knew had never married, and she wasn't sure she cared. There was no one she knew that she could imagine marrying. Clayton was only a friend, Prince Markovsky was too old, and the men in her troupe were beyond hope, and she certainly couldn't imagine herself married to Antoine. And there was no one else. Besides, she had to take care of Evgenia.

“You'd make a wonderful wife.” He said it so seriously that she laughed.

“My brother would have said you were crazy. I'm a terrible cook, I hate to sew. I can't do watercolors or knit. I'm not sure I can run a house, not that that matters now …” She smiled at the thought as he watched her.

“There's more to marriage than cooking and sewing.”

“Well, I certainly don't know if I'm good at that! ” She blushed and laughed and he blushed too. He was easily shocked and she had shocked him.

“Zoya!”

“Sorry.” But she looked more amused than contrite as she stroked little Sava. Even Sava had grown thin from the meager remains from their table.

“Perhaps one day someone will make you want to give up dancing.” He had misunderstood, it wasn't that her passion for the ballet was so great. It was only that she had no choice. She had to work to support herself and Evgenia, and it was all she knew how to do. At least it was something.

“I'd better get Grandmama into bed, or her knees will be killing her tomorrow.” She stood up and stretched and Sava followed her into the bedroom. Evgenia had already woken up and was changing into her nightgown. “Do you want your stew, Grand-mama?” It was still waiting for her in the kitchen, but she shook her head with a tired smile.

“No, darling. I'm too tired to eat. Why don't you save it for tomorrow?” With all of Paris starving, it would have been a crime to waste it. “What have you been doing in the other room?”

“Talking to Antoine.”

“He's a good man.” She said it looking pointedly at Zoya, who seemed not to notice.

“He gave me the name of a doctor on the rue Godot-de-Mauroy. I want to take you there tomorrow before rehearsal.”

“I don't need a doctor.” She was braiding her hair and a moment later she climbed painfully into bed. The room was cold, and the pain in her knees was brutal.

“I don't like the sound of your cough.”

“At my age, even having a cough is a blessing. At least I'm still alive.”

“Don't talk like that.” She had only been saying things like that since Feodor died. His death had depressed her deeply, that and the fact that she knew they were almost at the end of their money.

Zoya put her own nightgown on, and turned o£F the light, and she held her grandmother close to keep her warm as they huddled through the December night together.

CHAPTER

19

The doctor Zoya took her grandmother to said that it was only a cough and not tuberculosis. It was worth paying the price for the good news, but Zoya had had to give him almost the last of their money. Even his small fee was too much for their empty pockets. But she said nothing to Evgenia as Prince Markovsky drove them back to their apartment. He cast several meaningful glances at Zoya, which she ignored, and she left him chatting with her grandmother at the apartment when she went to rehearsal. And when she came back that night, she thought her grandmother looked a little better. The doctor had given her some cough medicine, and it seemed to be helping.

Antoine was already in the kitchen, cooking dinner. He had brought home a chicken that night, which was a rare treat. It meant they would not only have dinner out of it, but soup for the next day. And as she set the table for the three of them, she found herself wondering if Mashka now had the same considerations. Perhaps a chicken looked luxurious to her now too. If they had been together they could have laughed about it. But now there was no one to laugh with.

“Hello, Antoine.” She smiled at him and thanked him for the name of the doctor.

“You shouldn't have wasted the money,” Evgenia reproached from a chair near the fire. Vladimir had brought them firewood. It was suddenly a day of unexpected riches.

“Grandmama, don't be foolish.”

The three of them enjoyed the chicken, which he served swimming in its own broth, and afterward Zoya sipped tea with them by the fire. And when her grandmother went to bed, Antoine stayed to talk to her again. They seemed to be doing a lot of that, but at least he was someone to talk to. He was talking about his Christmases as a child, and his eyes shone as they talked. He loved being near her.