I was actually half-mad with a mixture of lust and rage. ‘Not at all!’ I reassured her enthusiastically. I drew in several salty breaths. ‘If I seem in poor spirits it is because I’ve been separated from you for too long.’
Her face was glowing; she was at once amused and flattered. She controlled her own breathing. ‘Well, I want you to try to be polite to M. Hernikof. Everyone on this ship snubs him. He’s been very ill. And he lost his entire family, you know.’
I held my tongue.
‘He was acquainted with my late husband. They occasionally had business in common. He was then very powerful. A financier. He still has considerable interests abroad. Perhaps he could be helpful, when your mission is over, in backing some of your inventions.’ She arranged her plaid rug over her knees, her hand lingering in her lap.
I could not believe she did not know what Jewish money meant: it corrupted; the best of mankind’s motives were twisted by it and always utilised to the benefit of Zion. How could she have witnessed the descent of Russia into Chaos and barbarism and still not understand the chief cause? Like many women she was moved too much by a personal liking for individuals. Probably the Hernikof who charmed her was in himself no villain. But he represented the forces which most threatened our Christian civilisation. I saw no point in mindlessly attacking such a man. I never approved of concentration camps and pogroms; yet there were sound reasons for these things. And there were reasons for being suspicious of any smiling Jew who held out his bag of silver to you. Where did he acquire that silver? Ask Judas. Would the truth come cheerfully and spontaneously to his lips? Would it to any man’s who had done what he had done?
‘I have no desire,’ I said to Leda, ‘to be rude. All I meant to say was that I’ve little in common with him and have no intention of becoming his closest friend!’
‘You’re as much a snob as the rest,’ she said, ‘It’s incredible.’
I refused to answer at first. Then it occurred to me to tell her how I had been betrayed by a Jew; how I had almost lost my life. I turned to speak.
She smiled at me. ‘Well,’ she said, ending the matter, ‘he’s a decent, kindly man. How lovely a little sunshine is after all that dreadful greyness.’ She touched my arm, careless of the stares of the two little old monkey-sisters as they passed us. She put her face close to mine. ‘I think sexual frustration is ruining your temper.’
I made an effort to seem cheerful. I smiled. The sun caught the waves for a second and turned them to silver, ‘It’s hard to live this ridiculous charade.’
‘And your Mrs Cornelius? Has she complained?’ The warmth of her voice was at odds with the nature of her question.
‘She knows nothing.’
‘I doubt that. Still, young Mr Bragg takes up most of her attention.’
A little offended, I bridled. ‘She finds him amusing company, no more.’ I had told her of the bargain between myself and Mrs Cornelius, how my companion intended to see her Frenchman as soon as we reached Constantinople. I suspected the Baroness of jealousy. She had somehow guessed, as women will, my feelings towards Mrs Cornelius and she was sounding me out, I knew. I remained on guard, even when she responded mysteriously: ‘Then you have a wonderful means of avoiding certain evidence, my dear, for you are not a total innocent. I bow to the power of your imagination.’
This puzzled me. ‘I fail to see the connection between my imagination, which many have praised, and my innocence, which few have remarked upon since I was sixteen.’
I could not understand why she was close to laughter, though I was relieved that she was not pursuing the matter of Mrs Cornelius. ‘Oh, I know you have seen much more of life than I.’ She made an exaggerated gesture of obeisance. ‘And you are much better educated in almost every respect. Indeed, your only disadvantage in life, as far as I can see, is that you are male.’
That was my cue to dismiss her mysteries. Whenever a woman begins to speak cryptically of secret, female knowledge it is always best to ignore her. She is murmuring a spell which has meaning only to herself (if it has meaning at all). What a woman cannot verbalise she will classify, with superb pretence at authority, under the general heading of ‘what a woman knows’. Thus, in argument, she baffles her male opponent, gaining the advantage while he wonders what it is his poor, insensitive masculine brain cannot comprehend. Frequently my confidence has been threatened by this trick. I have only recovered by virtue of my superior intelligence and perception. Why else would so many women have loved and admired me in my lifetime? They soon learn respect for someone who refuses to be drawn into their little traps. Life is in many ways an ongoing contest (which is possibly what Hernikof meant). We must forever be alert, particularly against those who claim they have our best interests at heart. None respects female intuition more than I, but sometimes women will read far too much into a simple situation. So it was with my Baroness. Infatuated with me, she presumed therefore that all women must be desperate to lure me to their beds. I was amused by her curiosity, but remained anxious lest it turn into that crazed feminine jealousy which is, at very least, inconvenient and often very dangerous. In the afternoon we made love as usual, drenched in our mutual fluids until we stank, as she put it, ‘like cats on heat’. By now I was halfway to promising her a few days at least in Constantinople and she was growing excited in her anticipation, ‘If only it could be sooner than that.’ My hands were full of her flesh; of her breasts, her thighs and her buttocks and for a third time in succession I enjoyed the huge warmth of her magnificent cunt. She was like a Grecian goddess, and a welcome change from the young girls I usually chose. I felt I could disappear into her forever and remain safe from all the world’s vicissitudes. In a woman like my Baroness it was possible to escape and explore simultaneously. As the dinner bell sounded I was still inside her. It was with considerable reluctance that we parted, washed as best we could, and emerged, reasonably well-groomed, to face the expressionless stare of Marusya Veranovna, the excited cries of young Kitty, full of the day’s adventures.
Leda did not seem especially concerned, yet I had begun to resent the servant’s unspoken criticism of us. And I hated the circumstances which made us end our love-making sharp at six o’clock, no matter what we were doing. Constantinople seemed a year away.
At dinner, Mrs Cornelius said to me across the table: ‘Yore lookin’ worn art, Ivan. Did I keep yer up larst night? Sorry abart bein’ sick’.
I waved a careless hand. She appeared not to remember the rest of the encounter and I was grateful for that. Attacking her meat-pudding with panache, she smiled around at the officers as if to include them in her apology. Captain Monier-Williams joined us. He looked proudly down at his own piece of pudding before beginning to eat. He often remarked how well his ship was feeding everyone. ‘A good bit of duff keeps your strength up a treat.’ He had heard we should be able to approach Batoum without danger. ‘And probably dock in the harbour, thank goodness. They’ve had very little trouble so far.’ He uttered a small sigh of satisfaction. ‘After Batoum, we’ll be heading back in the right direction. I suppose you’ll both be pleased to get to Constantinople.’
‘As punch,’ said Mrs Cornelius. ‘Though I can’t say this ‘asn’t bin a nice trip.’