His Highness entrusted Xenia Georgievna to me, and my task did not appear to be simple. The grand princess came down to breakfast with red eyes, looking pale and sad, and that evening she would have several visits to make and then drive to the Petrovsky Palace for supper and a serenade in a narrow circle.
Georgii Alexandrovich consulted me onwhat should be done, and we came to the conclusion that the most effective way of dispelling melancholy was physical exercise. Let her play tennis, His Highness decreed, since the day had turned out dry, if over-cast. After that he dressed in civilian clothes and left on some business that I did not know about, having instructed me to arrange the game.
‘But Afanasii, with whom can I play?’ Xenia Georgievna asked.
Indeed, as it turned out, there were no partners for Her Highness. On instructions from Simeon Alexandrovich, Prince Glinsky had called for the Englishmen and driven them to Sokolniki Park to go riding, and from there to lunch at the governor general’s residence. Remembering the interest that His Highness had taken in the elegant Mr Carr the previous day, I felt alarmed, but not greatly so, since I had more serious concerns on my mind.
After thinking for a little while, Xenia Georgievna said: ‘Go to Erast Petrovich and ask him. There isn’t anyone else, after all.’
So I went to Fandorin’s room. Before knocking, I listened at the door and heard very strange sounds: dull blows, loud snorts and the jangling of glass. Alarmed, I knocked gently and opened the door slightly.
The sight that met my eyes was amazing. Mr Fandorin and Mr Masa, both wearing nothing but white underpants, were performing some strange kind of ritual, taking turns to run, jump to a quite incredible height and strike the wall with one foot, which was the cause of the jangling sound that had frightened me. Erast Petrovich performed this outlandish exercise in total silence, but his servant panted and snorted, and after each attack on the wall, he did not simply bounce back, but tumbled across the floor like a ball.
‘What can . . . I do for you?’ Fandorin enquired jerkily, interrupting his question halfway through for another blow.
A good butler is never surprised by anything. And if he is, then he does not show it. So I simply bowed as if everything was perfectly normal and conveyed Xenia Georgievna’s request.
‘Thank Her Highness for the honour,’ he replied, wiping away his sweat, ‘but I do not know how to play tennis.’
Iwent back to the grand princess, but she had already changed into a loose-fitting tennis dress and white shoes.
Shewas very upset by Fandorin’s refusaclass="underline" ‘What am I supposed to do, serve the ball to myself? Ask him anyway. Say I’ll teach him.’
There were tears in her eyes.
I hurried back to Fandorin and this time I asked him properly, and also mentioned Georgii Alexandrovich’s instructions to me.
Erast Petrovich sighed and gave way. In an instant I brought him Pavel Georgievich’s tennis clothes, which were almost a perfect fit, except for being a little tight in the shoulders.
The lesson began. I watched from the side of the net, since I had nothing to busy myself with. Soon Iwas joined by Masa, and a little later Mr Freyby also came out, attracted by the sound of a bouncing ball, so enchanting to the English ear.
Fandorin proved to be a rather good pupil and after a quarter of an hour the ball was already flying backwards and forwards over the net as many as ten times in a row. Xenia Georgievna became more cheerful, roses appeared in her cheeks and a few strands of light hair crept out from under her hat – she was a joy to look at. Her partner was also a fine sight. He held the racket wrongly and struck the ball powerfully, as if he were slashing with a sabre, but his movements around the court were agile, and it must be admitted that he looked very handsome.
‘They make a lovely couple, don’t they?’ said Mr Freyby.
‘Beootifur per,’ Masa translated succcinctly.
Iwas astounded by this remark and attributed it to a distortion of meaning in the translation. Of course, Mr Fandorin could not possible make a ‘pair’ with Her Highness, not in any sense of the word. However, after those words of Mr Freyby’s I looked more closely at Xenia Georgievna and for the first time, as the common folk say, felt a cat scratching at my soul. I had never seen Her Highness look so radiant, not even before her first ‘grown-up’ ball.
‘That’s all now, Erast Petrovich, no more time-wasting!’ she shouted. ‘You already know enough for us to play one game keeping score. The rules are very simple. I’ll serve, because you don’t know how to anyway. First I’ll hit the ball into this square, then into that one, and so on by turns until the game is won. And you hit it back, only into the court. Is that clear? The loser will crawl under the net. And I’ll ask the Englishman to be umpire.’
She spoke to Mr Freyby in English and he bowed with a serious air and walked up to the net. However before signalling for the game to start, he turned to us and said something.
‘He want bet,’ Masa explained, and sparks of mischief glinted in his little eyes. ‘Two to one on rady.’
‘On the what?’ I asked, mystified.
‘On young rady,’ the Japanese replied impatiently and then he also started babbling away in English, pointing to his master and to Her Highness by turns.
‘All right,’ the Briton agreed. ‘Five to one.’
Masa translated.
With a despairing sigh, he took a brightly coloured wallet out from somewhere under his clothes, showed Mr Freyby a fiverouble note and put it down on the bench.
The Englishman immediately took out a squeaky wallet of fine leather and extracted a twenty-five-rouble note from it.
‘What about you, Mr Ziukin?’ he asked, and I understood that without any translation.
To my mind the idea of betting was not entirely decent, but as Georgii Alexandrovich was leaving, he had ordered me: ‘Fun and relaxation, Afanasii. I am relying on you.’ So I decided to behave in a relaxed fashion.
And anyway, the bet looked like a certainty. Xenia Georgievna had been exceptionally flexible and agile ever since she was a child, and there was no one among the ladies who could match her at tennis. And not just among the ladies, either – I had often seen her outplay Pavel Georgievich, and Endlung, while Fandorin had never even held a racket before today. Masa could only have bet on his master out of a sense of loyalty. I have heard that among Japanese servants loyalty extends to a fanaticism that knows no bounds. They write (I do not know if it is true) that a Japanese servant will rather rip open his own stomach than fail his master. Such self-sacrifice, in the spirit of the butler Vatelle, who fell on his own sword when the fish dish was not served in time, cannot occasion anything but respect. However, the spilling of one’s own intestines on a polished parquet floor is an act that is quite inconceivable in a respectable house.
I began feeling curious as to how far the Japanese valet’s self-sacrifice extended. I happened to have exactly fifty roubles in my purse, set aside to be deposited in my savings account at the bank. I took out the notes and put them in the same place on the bench.
To give the Japanese his due, he didn’t turn a hair. He took another ten-rouble note out of his wallet, and then Mr Freyby shouted: ‘Go!’
I knew the rules of the game very well, so I did not need to pay attention to what the Englishman shouted.
Xenia Georgievna arched over gracefully and served the ball so powerfully that Fandorin barely managed to get his racket in the way. The ball flew off at an angle, caught the top of the net, hesitated for a while over which way to fall, then tumbled over on Her Highness’s side.
Love–fifteen to Erast Petrovich. He was lucky.
Her Highness moved to the other side of the court and hit a very tricky serve with a powerful swerve, then ran rapidly up to the net, knowing in advance where her opponent would return the ball – if he returned it at all.