Danielle Steel: Zoya

“You never come to visit unless something's wrong, Nicolai,” Zoya pressed him as they sped along the beautiful Nevsky Prospekt. There was fresh snow on the ground and it had never looked prettier than it did then, but Nicolai still staunchly insisted that nothing was amiss, and although she felt an odd twinge of fear, she decided to believe him.

“That's a charming thing to say, Zoya. And besides, it's not true. More to the point, is it true that you've driven Mama to distraction again? I hear she's taken to her bed thanks to you, and has had to be visited twice by her doctor.”

Zoya shrugged, with an impish grin. “That's just because Dr. Fedorov told her that Mashka has the measles.”

“And you're next?” Nicolai smiled at her and she laughed at him.

“Don't be stupid. I never get sick.”

“Don't be so sure. You're not going back there again, are you?” For an instant he looked worried, but she shook her head with a look of childlike disappointment.

“They won't let me. No one can visit now. And poor Anastasia has a terrible earache.”

“They'll all be fine soon and you can go back again.”

Zoya nodded and then grinned. “By the way, Nicolai, how's your dancer?”

He gave a sudden start and then pulled a lock of her hair peeking from beneath her far hat. “What makes you think I have a ‘dancer’?”

“Everyone knows that, stupid … just like they did about Uncle Nicholas before he married Aunt Alix.” She could speak openly with him, after all he was only her brother, but he looked shocked anyway. Outspoken though she was, he expected at least a little decorum.

“Zoya! How dare you speak of such things!”

“I can say anything I want to you. What's yours like? Is she pretty?”

“She is not anything! She doesn't exist. Is this what they teach you at the Smolny?”

“They don't teach me anything,” she said blithely, discounting a very solid education she had gotten there in spite of herself, just as he had years before at the Imperial Corps des Pages, the military school for the sons of noblemen and high-ranking officers. “Besides, I'm almost finished”

“I imagine they'll be awfully grateful to see the last of you, my dear.” She shrugged and they both laughed, and he thought for an instant that he had fobbed her off, but she was more persistent than that as she turned to him with a wicked smile.

“You still haven't told me about your friend, Nicolai.”

“You're a terrible girl, Zoya Konstantinovna.”

She giggled and he drove her slowly home, returning to their palace on Fontanka, and by then their father was home, and the two men closeted themselves in Konstantin's library, which overlooked the garden. It was filled with beautiful leather-bound books, and objects her father had collected over the years, particularly the malachite pieces he was so fond of. There was also a collection of elaborate Fabergo Easter eggs that Natalya had given him each year, similar to the ones the Tsar and Tsarina exchanged on memorable occasions. As Konstantin stood at the window, listening to his son, he saw Zoya bounding across the snow, on her way to visit her grandmother and Sava.

“Well, Father, what do you think?” When Konstantin turned to face him again, he saw that Nicolai was genuinely worried.

“I really don't think any of it means anything. And even if there's a bit of trouble in the streets, General Khabalov can handle anything, Nicolai. There's nothing to worry about.” He smiled comfortingly, pleased that his son was so concerned about the well-being of both the city and the country. “All is well. But it never hurts to be alert. It is the mark of a good soldier.” And he was, just as he had been when he was younger, and his father before him. If he could, Konstantin would have been at the front himself, but he was far too old, no matter how much he loved his cousin the Tsar and his country.

“Father, doesn't Kerensky's speech to the Duma worry you? My God, what he's suggesting is treason!”

“And so it is, but no one can possibly take this seriously, Nicolai. No one is going to assassinate the Tsar. They wouldn't dare. Besides, Nicky is wise enough to keep himself well protected. I think he's in far more danger at home just now, with a houseful of measles-ridden children and servants”—he smiled gently at his son—” than he is at the hands of his people. But in any case, I will call on Ambassador Buchanan when he returns and speak to him myself if he's so concerned. I would be interested to hear his point of view on the matter, and Paléologue's as well. When Buchanan returns from his holiday, I'll arrange a luncheon with them, and of course you're more than welcome to join us.” Most of all he wanted to assist his son's career. Nicolai was a bright boy, with a brilliant future ahead of him.

“I feel better talking to you, Father.” But still this time the fears were not so easily stilled, and when he left the house, he still had a gnawing sense of impending danger. He was tempted to go to Tsarskoe Selo himself and have a private meeting with his cousin, but he knew from what he'd heard about how exhausted the Tsar was, and how worried about his son, that the time was not appropriate. It was an unfortunate time to intrude on him, and it seemed wiser not to.

It was fully a week later, on March 8, that Nicholas left St. Petersburg to return to the front, five hundred miles away in Mogilev. And it was on that very day that there was the first sign of disorder in the streets when the breadlines erupted into angry, shouting people and they forced their way into the bakeries, shouting, “Give us bread!” And at sunset, a squadron of Cossacks arrived to control them. And still, no one seemed overly concerned. Ambassador Paléologue even gave a very large party. Prince and Princess Gorchakov were there, Count Tolstoy, Alexander Benois, and the Spanish ambassador, the Marquis de Villasinda. Natalya still wasn't feeling well and had insisted that she couldn't possibly go out, and Konstantin didn't want to leave her. He was just as glad they hadn't gone, when he heard the next day that a tram had been overturned by rioters on the fringes of the city. But on the whole, no one seemed unduly alarmed. And as though to reassure everyone, the day after had dawned bright and sunny. The Nevsky Prospekt was filled with people, but they seemed happy enough and all of the shops were open for business. There were Cossacks on hand to observe what was going on, but they seemed on good terms with the crowd. But on Saturday, March 10, there was unexpected looting, and the following day, several people were killed during assorted disorders.

And that night, the Radziwills nonetheless were to give a very elaborate party. It was as though everyone wanted to pretend nothing was happening. But it was difficult to ignore reports of turmoil and disturbance.

Gibbes, Marie's English tutor, brought Zoya a letter from Mashka that day, and she pounced on him with open arms, but she was dismayed to read that Marie was feeling “terrible,” and Tatiana had developed ear problems too. But at least Baby was feeling a little better.

“Poor Aunt Alix must be so tired,” Zoya told her grandmother that afternoon as she sat in her drawing room holding little Sava. “I'm so anxious to see Marie again, Grandmama.” She had had nothing to do for days, her mother had absolutely insisted that she not go to ballet because of the problems in the streets, and this time her father had endorsed the order.

“A little patience, my dear,” her grandmother urged. “You don't want to be on the streets just now anyway, with all those hungry, unhappy people.”

“Is it as bad as that for them, Grandmama?” It was difficult to imagine in the midst of all the luxuries they enjoyed. It hurt her heart to think of people so desperately hungry. “I wish we could give them some of what we have.” Their life was so comfortable and easy, it seemed cruel that all around them people were cold and hungry.