It was not, she saw in that instant, shame or guilt that made Duvierge behave so insultingly: it was hatred, plain and simple, for Russia and the Russians. Lolya to him was not the issue. He was a Frenchman, brought up since the Revolution, come to manhood in the blaze of light that flooded the world from the new sun which was Napoleon. He was one of the new breed of men, belonging to the new world: he despised Russia as old, corrupt, decaying, impotent; and yet the greatest soldier in the new world had not managed to conquer it.
And Lolya, poor simpleton, had fallen in love with his careless good looks, and had persuaded herself that he loved her. But André Duvierge loved only two things, as Anne saw very clearly just then: he loved power, and he loved André Duvierge, and the two things were inextricably linked.
All this passed through her mind in the instant of time it took Caulaincourt to catch Nikolai’s raised hand; even as she gasped, he was saying, ‘No, Nikolai, not that way! Duvierge, guard your tongue! I will not hear any woman insulted, least of all the daughter of my old friend.’
Duvierge gave Caulaincourt one glance, in which Anne read the contempt he felt for a Frenchman who could call a Russian a friend; and then his face was smoothly expressionless again, and he said in his light, polite voice, ‘I beg your pardon, Excellency. I was in error. Madame, my apologies.’
He bowed to Anne, who felt her body rigidly refuse to acknowledge the gesture. Her face was stiff with resentment as she said, ‘Will you please tell us, Colonel Duvierge, if Lolya is with you. We have travelled far in great anxiety: do not prolong our sufferings.’
Was he ashamed? Anne hoped, but did not think so. He answered easily, just meeting her eyes. ‘Yes, she is in my lodgings.’
Nikolai, whose body was braced against Caulaincourt’s restraint, made a small movement of relief so intense it could not be articulated. Anne saw some of the tension go out of him. Caulaincourt released his wrist, and he lowered his hand slowly to his side.
Anne waited for him to speak, and when he did not, she went on, ‘Is she well? Has she been taken care of?’
Duvierge raised a brow again. ‘She has travelled in one of my coaches, attended by her maid, and has eaten as well as I have. Do you not think I take care of my – guests?’
Anne had an uncanny certainty that he had been about to say ‘possessions’.
Nikolai was able to speak at last. ‘Take me to her,’ he said harshly. ‘I have come to take her home.’
Duvierge gave a slight bow in his direction. ‘I will take you to her with pleasure. But I should perhaps warn you, monsieur – explain to you, rather – that you are wrong in your assumptions I have not abducted your daughter, nor do I keep her here against her will. She wished to come with me.’
‘Take me to her,’ Kirov growled. ‘And keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.’
‘Take them to your lodgings, Duvierge,’ Caulaincourt said, making it clear that it was an order and not a request. ‘Take the guard with you from the ante-room – to ensure your safety, madame,’ he added apologetically to Anne. ‘They will escort you back to me when you have – completed your business.’
Anne nodded, grateful for his kindness. She remembered her own earlier misgivings, that the flight to Duvierge had been Lolya’s idea. It seemed that they were about to be confirmed.
Duvierge had set himself up in a house off the main street, and Anne saw at once that he was not a man to travel in discomfort. She suspected that having lived a little while in Petersburg, he had absorbed enough information about the Russian winter to respect Caulaincourt’s advice more than Napoleon was inclined to. In the courtyard of the house were two strongly built carriages, mounted on runners instead of wheels, and two peasant kibitkas, loaded to the canvas with supplies. The door to the house was opened to them by a suitably dressed servant; there was a heap of furs on the hall table, and a smell of coffee on the air.
Duvierge met her eyes as she sniffed, and gave a shrug. ‘When we first reached Moscow, there was plenty of everything, but the fools who plundered the houses first loaded themselves with furniture and gold candlesticks. I had more foresight: I made sure of the commisariat first.’
‘Yes,’ Anne said neutrally. It was good for Lolya that he had, but it did not make him easier to like.
‘Never mind that. Where is my daughter?’ Kirov said impatiently.
‘Come this way, please.’ Duvierge led the way into a drawingroom. Again it was sparsely furnished – stripped during the first occupation, Anne guessed – but the few pieces that had been placed around the fire were good, expensive and harmonious, and she thought he had probably brought them with him from Moscow to make his journey more tolerable. It took only the fraction of a second to notice that; then she was looking at Lolya, who had jumped up from her seat by the fire as the door opened. Her expression of welcome changed to one of dismay as her father entered behind Duvierge, and the book she had been reading fell from her hand and hit the polished boards with a solid thump.
‘Papa,’ she said in a small, frightened voice, and she looked from him to Anne and back with the expression of a child caught in some naughtiness – an expression comical in its inadequacy. Then she laughed nervously. ‘André, you should have told me we were expecting guests,’ she said, trying to sound like a sophisticated hostess.
She was looking well, Anne noticed with relief. She looked rosy and healthy, warmly dressed in a long-sleeved gown of fine grey-blue wool, with an expensive cashmere shawl draped gracefully round her shoulders, and her hair had been dressed by her maid’s skilled hand into a cascade of Roman curls. She seemed to feel the incongruity of it when she looked at Anne, dressed in Cossack trousers and sheepskin jacket, and with her hair in a plait, for she touched her head with nervous fingers, and tweaked a curl out of place.
Kirov felt all his rage seep out of him at the sight of her. ‘Lolya, child,’ he said, his voice shaky with relief. ‘You’re safe! Thank God!’
Duvierge walked away to stand at a little distance, his arms folded across his chest, as though he had no part in the scene, was merely watching it as one watched a play at the theatre.
‘Of course I’m safe,’ Lolya said, sounding genuinely surprised. ‘Didn’t you read my note? I told you I’d be all right. André takes care of me, just as I knew he would.’
Nikolai went on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘How could you do such a thing? To betray your aunt’s trust – to give us all so much worry – so much trouble. We’ve been breaking our hearts over you! Thank God we’ve found you! But what on earth possessed you to go with him – a Frenchman, the enemy of your country?’
Lolya’s surprise gave way to disapproval, and the last few words hardened her expression. ‘Now, Papa, I can’t have you speaking badly of André. And as to trouble, you needn’t have come all this way, just to see if I’m all right. I told you in my note I would write when we got to Paris.’
‘We’ve come to take you home, child,’ Kirov said, understanding her words with difficulty. ‘Pack whatever you need as quickly as you can. Your maid is still with you, is she? Anna Petrovna has come to chaperone you. We may yet be able to hush this up. No one knows but your aunt and uncle, and your silly friend in Kaluga.’
Lolya interrupted. ‘Stop it, Papa! I’m not going with you. I’m staying with André. We’re going to Paris. I’ve told you! Why don’t you listen to me?’