At this moment Mr. Korolenko walked to their table, accompanied by another man, who looked every inch a British civil servant of a certain age. “I am sorry we are a little late,” said Mr. Korolenko. “My friend was held up at the office. Everyone, I would like you to meet Inspector Blount. Inspector Blount, Madame Koska, Madame Golitsyn, Miss Saltykov, Mr. Saltykov, and… I am sorry, we were not introduced?”
“I am Wilma, darling,” said the young woman and winked at Mr. Korolenko, who did not seem to notice. “Yes, Miss Wilma,” he said with utmost decorum. Madame Koska was amused at his obvious reluctance to use the young lady’s Christian name, but he had no option since no last name was provided.
“Inspector?” asked Madame Golitsyn with interest. “Where exactly…”
“Scotland Yard,” said Inspector Blount. He did not seem to be much of a talker, thought Madame Koska. She glanced at Mr. Korolenko and he smiled. “I have known the inspector for many years,” he said to her quietly while the others were still talking. “I have occasionally done some work for them.”
“Is there anyone in Europe you did not do some vork for?” asked Madame Koska, and laughed.
“Well, this one must persuade you I am rather legitimate,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“Perhaps,” said Madame Koska. She did not want to pursue the subject, even in jest. The waiter approached. “May I suggest the traditional Christmas dinner?” he asked.
“What is it, darling?” asked Wilma curiously. “I would like to see how you darling Russians celebrate.”
“I highly recommend it,” said Vasily. “It’s delicious, and the Petrograd Room’s chefs have a very good reputation, so they probably do it very vell. You vill like it.”
The waiter started reciting the menu of the traditional meal, which included mushroom soup, baked fish, beans that were cooked all day, new potatoes with chopped parsley, and tiny bobal’ki, small biscuits combined with sauerkraut or poppy seed with honey, followed by oranges, figs, and dates as dessert. Miscellaneous items such as ground pepper, peas, nuts, and garlic were mentioned but where they fitted in was not entirely clear to anyone except for Madame Golitsyn. Everyone decided enthusiastically to try the interesting meal which needed good red wine to go with it.
“Vell, since ve are so traditional, should I do the honours and follow vhat the father of the family does on Christmas?” asked Vasily.
“Yes, by all means,” said Mr. Korolenko. “Inspector Blount and Miss Wilma will enjoy the novelty, and the rest of us, the Russians, will like being reminded of old times.”
“So I am Father now,” said Vasily. “I vill do it all in English, except for the prayer vhich I just don’t know how to translate so quickly. Garcon—please bring a pot of honey, and a small bowl of chopped garlic. Annushka, my dear, vill you do the Mother, please?”
“And if you like, I’ll translate the prayer as soon as you are done,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I know it by heart.”
“Ah, yes!” said Vasily. “I forgot you are a linguist. Please translate.” The waiter brought a pot of honey and a bowl of garlic and placed them in front of Vasily, who passed the honey on to Madame Golitsyn but kept the garlic. He recited a short prayer. Mr. Korolenko immediately translated it, and it turned out to be a prayer of thanksgiving for the blessings of the past year and for the good things to come in the next year. Vasily then looked around the table benevolently, and greeted everyone in English by saying “Christ is born!” Madame Golitsyn, Natalya, and Madame Koska, who knew the routine, responded with “Glorify Him!” Wilma applauded with delight.
Madame Golitsyn got up, and walking around the table, stopped in front of each person, dipped her finger in the honey, and drew a cross on their forehead, saying a blessing, “In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, may you have sweetness and many good things in life and in the new year.” She returned to her seat, and Vasily broke the pagach and gave a piece to each person. He showed them how to dip the bread first in the honey, to symbolise the sweetness of life, and then in chopped garlic to show acceptance of life’s bitterness which must come with the sweetness.
“And now,” he said, “ve can eat vhat is called The Holy Supper. If anyone vants to go to church later, vhich is the custom after this meal, it is usually possible to do so until midnight.”
“Look at him, is he not a veritable Russian bear?” said Wilma affectionately and patted Vasily’s hand. “I would love to go to church after dinner, darling. We should all go!” Could she really like him, Madame Koska asked herself. Vasily was a very pleasant man, with the same charm and kindness that characterised Madame Golitsyn, but he could not be called young or handsome. The nickname Russian bear truly suited him. He was under middle height, with very broad shoulders and a stout, though not really a fat figure. He kept all his thick, grey hair and had a short beard, and while his features were plain, his very frequent, sweet smile illuminated his face. Yes, Madame Koska decided. It was entirely possible that Wilma could like him. Not enough to want to marry him, since he was poor and Wilma would seek money, but enough to spend some time with him and really enjoy his company. The Englishmen she usually dated were probably not as warm and open as Vasily.
Natalya got up and said, laughing, “I must wash my hands… they are covered with honey. I touched my forehead.” As she walked away from the table, Madame Koska suddenly noticed that Natalya’s appearance has changed dramatically. She wore a cream-coloured, shot silk suit that flowed over her too thin figure, hiding its flaws and giving it elegance. The skirt reached half way between the knee and the ankle, and the coat, also quite long, glided elegantly over it. It was the first time Madame Koska saw Natalya properly dressed, and she was surprised how well she looked. Why, the girl could be almost pretty! She certainly was more stylish in that outfit than Wilma in the vulgar flapper dress… But her neighbour, Inspector Blount, spoke to her privately and she turned toward him.
“Mr. Korolenko told me about the break into your atelier, Madame Koska,” he said without any preliminaries. “I found it interesting, since nothing, he tells me, was taken.”
“Yes, the police vere quite perplexed over it,” said Madame Koska. “I think the thieves vere simply interrupted before they got to the safe.”
“Possibly,” said the inspector. “But I think they were looking for something and could not find it.”
“Vhat can it be?” asked Madame Koska.
“I don’t know,” said the inspector. “I was hoping you can think of something.”
“Not a thing. Ve are a new business, the only valuable things vere the fabrics, and really, who vould vant that…” said Madame Koska. “But I told all that to the police, Inspector Blount.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Madame Koska. I can see you are not one to be frightened into silly hysterics. I believe they will come back.”