Danielle Steel - Zoya

“I wish I'd been here when he came.”

“So do I,” she admitted, crying softly again. “Everything's been so terrible since you left … it's all been so awful … and Mashka … oh, God, poor Mashka … at least Pierre said that the bullets killed her quickly. But the others …”

“Don't think about it anymore. You must put it behind you.”

“How can IP” She was still sitting on his lap, and it reminded her of talks long ago with her father.

“You have to, Zoya. Think of your grandmother, think how brave she was. She took you out of Russia in a troika, to freedom, to safety. She didn't bring you here for you to give up hope, to abandon everything, to sit in this apartment and starve to death. She brought you here for a better life, to save your life. Now you must never, never waste it. It would be an affront to her, to her memory, and to all that she tried to do for you. You must honor her and do everything you can to have a good life.”

“I suppose you're right, but it's so hard now,” and then she remembered and looked up at him shyly. “She told me about the money before she died. I was going to send it back to you, but I've been using it.” She blushed and looked more like herself again.

“I should hope so.” He looked pleased, at least, he had done something for her. “Vladimir says you haven't danced in months.”

“Not since Grandmama got sick, and after she died, and Pierre was here. … I couldn't bring myself to go back.”

“That's just as well.” He looked over her shoulder and noticed the samovar with a nostalgic smile.

“What do you mean by that? You know, Diaghilev asked me to go on tour again with them. And I could now, if I wanted to.” She sniffed again, but he smiled at her this time.

“No, you couldn't.”

“Why not?”

“Because you're going to New York.”

“I am?” She looked stunned. “Why?” She looked more than ever like a child as he smiled at her.

“To marry me, that's why. You've got exactly two weeks to sort out your things, and then we leave. How does that sound?” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am, if you'll have me.” He realized with a start, that she was a countess now, but not for long. He was going to marry her before they left Paris. And then she would be Mrs. Clay ton Andrews, for the rest of her life. “If you're foolish enough to saddle yourself with an old man, then that's your problem, Miss Ossupov. I'm not going to warn you anymore.”

“Good.” She clung to him like a lost child, crying again, but this time they were tears of joy and not sorrow.

“In fact,” he said, setting her gently on her feet as he stood up, “take some things with you now. I'm going to get you a room at the hotel. I'm going to keep an eye on you before we leave. I don't want to have to be pounding on that door, shouting ‘tategramme'for the next two weeks.” She laughed at him then and dried her eyes.

“That was very rude of you!”

“Not as rude as you, pretending not to be in. Never mind, get your things. We can come back here in a few days and get what you want to take with you.”

“I don't have very much.” She looked around the room, there was almost nothing she wanted to take with her, except perhaps the samovar and some of her grandmother's things. She wanted to leave the past behind and start a new life with him. And then suddenly in terror she glanced up at him. “Are you really serious?” What if he changed his mind? What if he left her again, or abandoned her in New York? He saw the fear in her eyes and his heart went out to her.

‘Of course I am, little one. I should have taken you with me when I left.” But they both knew she couldn't have left her grandmother, and she hadn't been well enough to travel then. “I'll help you pack.”

She packed a pathetically small bag, and then remembered the dog. She couldn't leave her behind, and she was the only friend she had left, except Clayton, of course. “Can I take Sava to the hotel?”

“Obviously.” He picked up the little dog, who tried frantically to lick his chin, and then he picked up Zoya's small bag, as she quietly turned out the lights. It was time to go home. She closed the door without looking back, and followed Clayton down the stairs, to a new life.

CHAPTER

28

It took less than a day to pack up her things. She packed the samovar, and her books, her grandmother's needlework, and her shawls, her own clothes, and their lace tablecloth, but there was very little else. She gave away the rest to Vladimir, a few friends, and the priest at St. Alexander Nevsky.

They said good-bye to Vladimir, and she promised to write. And then in a matter of days, she was standing next to Clayton at the ministry, and became his wife. It was all like a dream as she looked up at him, with tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. She had lost everything, and now even her own name was gone. But she clung to him for dear life, as they went back to the hotel. It was as though she were terrified that he might change his mind again.

They spent two more days in Paris, and then took the train to Switzerland. They had decided to spend their honeymoon there, and she admitted to Clayton that she wanted to see Pierre Gilliard again before she left.

It took two days to reach Bern, with the train stopping endlessly everywhere, but as she woke up on the last day, her heart skipped a beat. The snowcapped mountains greeted her, and for a moment, it looked as though she were back in Russia.

Gilliard met them at the train, and they went home to have lunch with his wife, who had been the Romanov children's nurse. She embraced Zoya as she cried and Clayton listened as they reminisced over lunch. It was all so painful, and yet they shared such tenderness, such happy memories.

“When will you go back?” Clayton asked quietly as Zoya went to look at photographs with Gilliard's wife.

“As soon as we feel strong again. Life in Siberia was very hard on my wife. I don't want to take her back with me. Gibbes and I have agreed to meet, and see if there is any more we can find out.

“Does it matter now?” Clayton was honest with him. It all seemed to be over now, and there was no point clinging to the painful past. He had told Zoya as much, but Gilliard seemed to be obsessed with it. It was even more real to him, but it was understandable, he had been with the Tsar's children for twenty years, and they were his entire life.

“It matters to me. I won't rest until I know everything, until I find any of them who survived.” It was a new thought.

“Is there any chance of that?”

“I don't believe there is. But I must be certain of it, or I shall never rest.”

“You loved them very much.”

“We all did. They were an extraordinary family, even some of the guards in Siberia softened when they got to know them. They had to keep changing them in order to keep things rough. It frustrated the Bolsheviks no end. Nicholas was kind to everyone, even to those who had destroyed his empire. I don't think he ever forgave himself for abdicating to them. He was always reading history, and he told me that one day, the world would say of him that he had failed … that he had given up … I think it broke his heart.” It was an insight into the man the others would never know. A glimpse back to a special time that would never come again, for any of them. The grandeur of what they had all known dwarfed even what he had to offer Zoya in New York. But he knew she'd be happy there. She would never be cold or hungry again. At least he had that to give. He had already thought of buying a house for her. His own brick mansion on lower Fifth Avenue suddenly seemed much too small.