Danielle Steel - Zoya

“I have done this for her good, I can promise you that. And because I also suspect that it is what you want as well. She is younger than I. She will fall in love again. I am certain of it. And now, I bid you both adieu with a saddened, but loving heart.” He had signed it and had it delivered the morning he left by a corporal on General Pershing's staff.

He left on the morning that President and Mrs. Wilson arrived. There was a parade on the Champs-Élysées for them as he steamed slowly out of Le Havre thinking of Zoya.

CHAPTER

25

For weeks after Clayton left Zoya, she sat in Antoine's old room and cried, and thought she would die of a broken heart. Nothing seemed to matter to her anymore. She didn't care if she starved. She made soup for her grandmother, and was surprised they even had enough money left to buy that. Evgenia had sent Prince Markovsky to the bank for her once, shortly after Clayton left, and afterward she had pressed some bills into Zoya's hands.

“I've been saving this. Use it to buy whatever you need.” But there was nothing she needed or wanted anymore. He was gone. It felt like the end of her life. But the money her grandmother had apparently saved and gave to her to buy food allowed her to stay home from work. She told them she was ill, and didn't even care if they fired her. The Ballet Russe was back, and if she'd wanted to, she could have danced with them. But she didn't even want to do that, now. She didn't want anything now, no food, no friends, no job, and certainly no man. He was a fool to have told her she needed a younger man. She didn't need anyone. Except a doctor for Evgenia. She developed a terrible flu on Christmas night. She had insisted she wanted to go to church anyway. But she was too weak even to sit up, and Zoya insisted that she lie back quietly and when Prince Vladimir came she urged him to bring a doctor back with him at once, but it was hours before they came back to see her.

The doctor was a kindly old man, who had learned Russian as a child, and he spoke to Evgenia in her own tongue. Her flawless French seemed to have faded from her mind.

“She is very ill, mademoiselle,” he whispered to Zoya in the living room. “She may not live the night.”

“But that's ridiculous. She was fine this afternoon.” As fine as she ever was now. He had to be wrong. Had to be. Zoya knew she would not survive another loss. She just couldn't face it.

“I'll do everything I can. You must call me at once if she gets any worse. Monsieur can come to find me at my home.” He was recently back from the front himself, and he was practicing medicine out of his home. He glanced at Prince Vladimir, who nodded unhappily, and then looked at Zoya with sad eyes.

“I'll stay with you.” She nodded. She knew she had nothing to fear from him. He had been living with a woman for almost a year, and his daughter had been so furious, she had moved out and was living in a convent on the Left Bank.

“Thank you, Vladimir.” She went to make her grandmother a cup of tea, and when she slipped back into her room she found her almost delirious. Her face was white-hot, and her whole body seemed to have shrunken in a matter of hours. Zoya realized suddenly how much weight she had lost recently. It wasn't as apparent when she was dressed, but now she looked desperately frail, and when she opened her eyes, she had to struggle to see who Zoya was.

“It's me, Grandmama … shh … don't talk.” She tried to help her sip the tea, but Evgenia only pushed it away, muttered to herself, and then slept again. And it was daybreak, before she stirred and spoke. Zoya had been sitting in the chair, watching her, and she hurried to her side to hear the words. Her grandmother had been waving her hand, and Zoya approached quietly, gave her a sip of water for her parched lips, and gave her some of the medicine the doctor had left, but she could see that she was much worse.

“… You must …”

“Grandmama … don't talk … you'll tire yourself.”

The old woman shook her head. She knew better than that. It didn't matter now.“… You must thank the American for me … tell him I am very grateful to him … I was going to pay him back….”

“For what?” Zoya looked confused. Why was she grateful to Clayton? For leaving them? For abandoning her and going back to New York? But Evgenia was waving weakly toward the tiny desk in the corner of the room.

“… Look … in my red scarf….”

Zoya opened the drawer, and found it there. She pulled it out, put it on the desk, untied it, and gasped. There was a fortune there. Almost five thousand dollars when she counted it out. “My God … Grandmama, when did he give this to you?” She was stunned and she didn't understand. Why would he do something like that?

“He sent it when he left … I was going to send it back … but I was afraid … if you needed it … I knew he meant well. We will return it to him when we can….” But she was fumbling behind her bed as she spoke, looking for something she thought was concealed there, and Zoya saw that she was becoming agitated and was afraid it would do her more harm.

“Grandmama, lie down … please …” She was still stunned by the veritable fortune Clayton had sent. It was a grand gesture, but it made her angry at him again. They didn't need his charity. It was too easy to buy them off … but at what price, and then suddenly she frowned at the old wool scarf her grandmother held in her trembling hands, as she seemed to pull it from behind her pillow. It was the scarf she had worn the day they left St. Petersburg, she remembered it well, and now her grandmother held it out to her, a small smile on her pale lips.

“Nicholas …” she could scarcely speak, as tears filled her eyes,”… you must keep it safe, Zoya … take good care of it … when there's nothing left, sell it … but only when you are desperate … not before … there is nothing else left.”

“Papa's cigarette case, and Nicolai's … ?” she asked, but the old woman shook her head.

“… I sold them a year ago … we had no choice,” but Zoya heard the words like a knife to her heart. There was nothing left of them now, no trinket, no souvenir, only memories, and whatever it was that her grandmother now held in her hands. Zoya took it from her carefully and unwrapped the scarf on the bed, and as she did, she gasped … she remembered it … it was the Easter egg Nicky had given Alix when Zoya was seven years old … it was incredible, made by Fabergo, it was a veritable work of art. The Easter egg itself was of a pale mauve enamel, with diamond ribbons circling the enamel gracefully, and a tiny spring opened it revealing a miniature gold swan on a lake of aquamarine, and crying softly, she touched the lever she remembered beneath the wing. The swan spread its tiny golden wings, and walked slowly across her palm. “Keep it safe, precious one …” her grandmother whispered, and closed her eyes as Zoya wrapped it in the scarf again, and then gently took her grandmother's hand.

“Grandmama …” Evgenia opened her eyes again, with a peaceful smile. “Stay with me … please don't go …” She sensed that the old woman was more comfortable, she seemed to breathe more easily.

“Be a good girl, little one … I have always been so proud of you …” She smiled again as Zoya began to sob.

“No, Grandmama …” The words were a farewell, and she wouldn't let her die. “Don't leave me alone, Grandmama … please …” But the old woman only smiled and closed her eyes for a last time. She had given her final gift to the child she had so loved, she had brought her safely to a new life, had watched over her, but now it was over.

“Grandmama …” Zoya whispered in the silent room, but Evgenia's eyes were closed. She was resting peacefully. Gone with the rest of them. Evgenia Peterovna Ossupov had gone home.