Danielle Steel - Zoya

“You make me happy, Clayton. Happier than I've ever been …” she smiled honestly, “in a long, long time anyway.” She turned to him with serious eyes, “I don't want anyone younger. It doesn't matter how old or young you are. It only matters what we feel. I wouldn't care if you were rich or poor, or a hundred years old, or ten. If you love someone, none of those things should matter.”

“But sometimes they do, little one.” He was older and wiser than she was. ‘This is a strange time, you have lost everything, and you're trapped here, in a war, in a strange land. We're both strangers here … but later, when things quiet down, you might look at me and ask yourself what am I doing with him?” He smiled at her, afraid it might happen just as he predicted. “War does funny things.” He had seen it happen to others.

“For me, this war is forever. I can't go home again. Oh … some of them think we will go back one day … but now there has been another revolution. Everything will always be different. And we're here now. This is our life now, this is real …” She looked at him seriously, suddenly no longer a child no matter how young she was in actual years. “All I know is how much I love you.”

“You make me feel so young, little Zoya.” He held her close again, as she felt his warmth and his strength, all the good things she had felt long before when her father held her. “You make me so very happy.” This time she kissed him and suddenly he pulled her more tightly into his arms and had to fight his own passion for her. He had dreamed of her for far too long, ached for her, needed her, and now he could barely fight his own feelings and desire. He stood up and went to look out the window into the garden, and then slowly he turned to her, wondering which path their lives would take now. He had come back to Paris to see her, and yet suddenly he was afraid of what might happen. Only Zoya seemed sure and calm, certain that she was doing the right thing being there with him. Her eyes were peaceful as she looked at him. “I don't want to do anything you'll regret, little one.” And then, “Are you dancing this week?” She shook her head and he smiled. “Good, then we'll have time before I have to go back to Chaumont. I suppose I should leave you now.” It was three o'clock in the morning, but she wasn't tired as she walked him to the door and Sava followed.

“Where are you staying?”

‘The General very kindly let me use Ogden Mills's house this time.” It was where they had met, the beautiful hotel particulier on the rue de Varennes, on the Left Bank, where they had walked in the garden the night of the reception for the Ballet Russe. “May I come to get you tomorrow morning?”

She nodded happily. “I'd like that.”

“I'll come at ten.” He kissed her again in the doorway, uncertain of where they were going, but aware to his very core that there was no turning back now.

“Good night, Captain,” she teased, her eyes dancing as they never had before. “Good night, my love,” she called softly as he hurried down the stairs on feet that wanted to dance. He couldn't help smiling to himself, thinking that never in his life had he been this happy.

CHAPTER

21

“You must have gone to bed very late last night.” Her grandmother spoke quietly over breakfast. Zoya had sliced some of the apples for her, and made a precious piece of toast from the bread that Clayton had brought them.

“Not very.” She averted her eyes as she sipped at her tea, and then stealthily gobbled a chocolate.

“You're still a child, little one.” Her grandmother said it almost sadly as she watched her. She knew what was coming and she was afraid for her. He was a good man, but it was not a desirable situation. Vladimir had said as much to her the night before and she couldn't disagree with him, but she also knew that she couldn't stop Zoya. Perhaps the Captain would be wiser than the child, but having come all the way from Chaumont to see her, she thought it unlikely. And it was obvious to everyone who saw him, that he was desperately in love with Zoya.

“I'm eighteen, Grandmama.”

“And what does that mean?” The old woman smiled sadly.

“It means that I'm not as silly as you think.”

“You're silly enough to fall in love with a man old enough to be your father. A man who is in a foreign land, with an army at war, a man who will go home someday and leave you here. You must think of that before you do anything foolish.”

“I'm not going to do anything foolish.”

“See that you don't.” But she was already in love with him, and that was enough to cause her pain when he left. And he would leave, when the war was over, if not sooner. “He won't marry you. You must know that.”

“I don't want to marry him anyway.” But that was a lie, and they both knew it.

When Clayton arrived at the apartment shortly after breakfast, he saw the guarded look in the old woman's eyes. He brought her flowers this time, three fresh eggs, and another loaf of bread.

“I shall grow fat while you visit us, Captain.” She smiled graciously at him. He was a charming man. But she was still very much afraid for Zoya.

“There's no danger of that, madame. Would you like to take a walk in the Tuileries with us?”

“I would.” She smiled, almost feeling young again herself. He seemed to bring sunlight and happiness with him everywhere, with his thoughtful gifts and gentle ways, so much like her own son, with his warm eyes and quick laughter. “But I'm afraid that my knees won't agree. I seem to have a touch of rheumatism this winter.” The “touch” she referred to would have crippled a lesser woman. Only Zoya suspected how much pain she was in.

“Will you allow me to take Zoya for a walk then?” He was proper and well bred, and she liked him immensely.

“You're very kind to ask me, young man. I don't think there would be any stopping Zoya.” They both laughed while Zoya went to get her things with a happy blush that outshone her worn clothes, and tired dresses. For the first time in months, she longed for something pretty to wear again. She had had so many lovely dresses in St. Petersburg, all of them burned and gone now, but not yet forgotten.

Zoya kissed her grandmother good-bye, and the old woman watched them go, feeling happy for them, as Clayton took Zoya's hand. One couldn't feel anything less for them. They seemed to light up the room with their excitement. Zoya was chatting happily as they left, and she could hear them as they hurried down the stairs. He had one of the staff cars outside, that had been commandeered for the army.

“Well, where would you like to go?” He smiled at her from behind the wheel. “I'm entirely at your service.” And she was free too. There were no rehearsals or performances to worry about. She could spend every minute with Clayton.

“Let's go to the Faubourg St. Honoro. I want to look in all the shops. I never have time to do things like that, and besides there isn't much point anyway.” She told him, as they drove, how much she and Mashka had loved clothes, and how beautiful Aunt Alix's dresses had been. “My mother was always beautifully dressed too. But she was never a very happy person.” It was an odd thing to admit to him, but it seemed so natural to tell him everything, she wanted to share her every thought, every wish, every dream, every memory, so he would know her better. “Mama was very nervous. Grandmama says Papa spoiled her.” Zoya suddenly giggled, feeling young again.

“You should be spoiled too. Maybe you will one day, just like your mother”

She laughed openly at him as they parked the car and got out to walk. “I don't think it would make me nervous.”