Anne’s first view of her was not a disappointment. She had been prepared to be impressed, even if only because a woman who believes herself to be impressive will usually manage to be so, but Vera Borisovna was the, mistress of the grand entrance. She halted in the doorway, with the sound of the orchestra drifting in behind her, and her crowd of retainers just visible beyond her, and stood, head up, to be viewed.
She was not a tall woman, but she was large – not fat, precisely, more bulky and hard-looking – and she looked larger by virtue of her clothes. She wore a voluminous pelisse of royal-blue velvet, trimmed with dangling squirrel-tails, and, despite the summer heat, an enormous round hat of dark fur decorated with a diamond spray. Her arms were encased to the elbow in soft suede gloves of sky blue, the wrists clasped by diamond bracelets, and she held in one arm a goggle-eyed Chinese dragon-dog, pure white and sporting a diamond collar. In her other hand she carried a large, jewel-encrusted lorgnon, which she opened with a practised flick and used to subdue anyone not completely undone by her entrance.
Her face was long, like the Count’s, but the jaw was more pronounced and the nose less shapely. She had grey-green eyes, rather protuberant, even without the magnifying effect of the lorgnon, and a sharply down-turned mouth. Her whole expression was one of haughtiness and readiness to be displeased. A woman of no particular talent or mental attainment, she had early learnt that one sure way to avoid the charge of mediocrity was to become famous for ill-humour; Anne could well understand the Countess’s apprehension. For the moment, however, having surveyed the room, the Dowager put down the dog, stitched a terrifying smile into place, flung out her arms, and cried, ‘Koko!’ in a voice so vibrant that she managed to infuse five inflections into the one short word.
The Count, so designated, stepped forward and kissed both cheeks. ‘Mother dear,’ he said. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘Koko, mon cher fils.’ The Dowager advanced her head without moving her body, like a tortoise, to receive the greeting. ‘It has been such a time – such a disagreeable time – since we met! You have been away far too long, you wicked boy. What can there be in Europe to keep you from home?’
‘The Emperor’s business, Mama,’ the Count said mildly, and looked towards his wife. Thus prompted, she stepped forward dutifully, looking as blank and beautiful as if she had no fear in the world, and curtseyed to the dragon.
‘Ah, Irina Pavlovna,’ the Dowager said, as if she had only just managed to remember the name at the last moment. As the young Countess rose, the old one placed her hands on her arms and kissed the air over each shoulder, with a smile that made Anne want to scratch and spit. ‘How very – exotic you look, ma chère! And what an unusual gown! But you always do manage to wear something surprising. How lucky you are, Koko,’ she went on, her voice creaking with acerbity, ‘to have a wife with such imagination.’ Imagination, it was clear from her expression, was an attribute more usually to be found in criminals and lunatics.
‘Fräulein Hoffnung, you know of course,’ the Count went on, apparently unaware of these undercurrents.
‘Of course. How are you dear Fräulein Hoffnung?’ Vera Borisovna cried with so marked a warmth in comparison with her greeting of her daughter-in-law, that Anne thought the Count must surely notice it. She smiled sweetly, and the Fräulein’s cheeks grew pink.
‘Very well, thank you, madame,’ she said, her eyes bright with gratitude at the attention.
‘How is your old trouble? Better? Ah, but not worse I hope? We must have a long talk together, as soon as I have settled myself.’
‘And here,’ the Count went on, ‘is a new addition to our household, Mama: Miss Anne Peters, who has kindly consented to teach our little Yelena.’
The smile snapped off, and Vera Borisovna raised her lorgnon to look at Anne, and did not, it seemed, much care for what she saw. Anne curtseyed as slightly as she thought she could get away with. The Dowager made no sign of acknowledgement, and said rudely to her son, as if Anne were not present, ‘What sort of a name is that? Is she English? An English governess?’
‘Yes, Mama. Anne Peters is an English name,’ the Count said with patient humour. ‘But we call her Anna Petrovna.’
Vera Borisovna stared at Anne offensively through the lorgnon.
‘Why?’ she demanded coldly.
Anne caught the Count’s eye over her shoulder, and had to bite her lip to prevent herself from laughing.
‘Never mind, Mama,’ the Count said hastily, laying a hand on her arm and turning her away. ‘Come, let Vasky take your coat. The children are waiting to be presented to you. And where is Sergei? Don’t tell me you left him behind in Moscow?’
‘I was obliged to,’ the Dowager said, successfully diverted. ‘It is impossible to travel in the same carriage with him. The child cannot sit still for a moment. I don’t know what they teach them at school nowadays. I’m sure when you were his age, you were not so wild. But Alexandra’s children are just the same. She hasn’t the way of managing them. I left him with her to travel in her carriage.’
Vasky came forward with the bread and salt. The Dowager nodded it away, and then waved a hand for her own people to help her off with her hat, pelisse and gloves. Thus divested, she stood forth in a gown of puce silk, an elaborately arranged head of grey curls, complete with false-front in the style of twenty years before, a surprising quantity of pink powder and rouge, and a great many glittering jewels, including the diamond bracelets, several rings on each hand, and a massive necklace of rubies and diamonds with matching earrings.
The Count escorted her into the octagon room and placed her on a sofa with the little dog beside her, where she sat looking about her with sharply critical eyes. ‘Well, Irina Pavlovna, you have not seen fit to move that table, as I suggested to you the last time I was here,’ she began. ‘No doubt you had your reasons for leaving it in the very spot where the sunlight will strike it and take all the colour out of it. And the pictures are crooked. When the servants dust them, they must make sure they are hanging straight afterwards. It is precisely attention to such details that mark out the mistress of the house who is worthy of the name, from one who merely enjoys the privileges of the position.’
Irina bore all this with a pallid, ‘Yes, Belle-mère,’ while Anne longed for the distraction of the arrival of the children, whom Fräulein Hoffnung had gone to fetch. When at last they came into the drawing-room, Yelena pulled free at once, and ran eagerly forward crying, ‘Gran’mère, Gran’mère, here I am! Oh, you’ve got your rubies on! I like them best of all. Did you put them on for me?’
To Anne’s astonishment, the Dowager did not in the least object to the familiarity. A smile, which seemed in danger of cracking something, transformed the enamelled visage, and she held out both hands and said, ‘Ma Belle Hélène! Come here, my love, and let me see how you’ve grown! Oh, you have such a look of your dear mother about you! I’m sure you are lovelier every time I see you. Kiss your grandmother, my precious.’
Yelena did so noisily but briefly, and then repeated the salute on the dog. ‘Darling Nu-nu! I like his pretty collar, Gran’mère. It’s just like the one you wore with your grey dress at New Year. Where’s Seryosha? Did you bring me a present?’