By day they relaxed, taking luncheon at one and afternoon tea at four, after which they would always dine with Dr Philippe and either Stana or Militza or both and talk long into the night about spiritualism, or indulge in palmistry and tarot, while Dr Philippe would tell them stories of his close friend Papus, otherwise known as Gérard Encausse, who had founded a new Martinist Order which he, Philippe, was particularly interested in.
‘It is so exciting and enlightening,’ he said over dinner, taking a large sip of wine. ‘The light we all carry within ourselves drives the shadows of the night away and the inner sun rises from the darkness.’ He paused to look out at the moonlit sea beyond the dining-room window. ‘You are Man,’ he enthused, turning to stare into Nicky’s pale blue eyes. ‘Never forget that you are the manifestation of human dignity. Respect this noble heritage, for that is your first and foremost task upon the earth.’
‘I have spent my whole life respecting my noble heritage,’ replied Nicky. ‘Have you any idea how suffocating that is? To be forced to rule, torn away from the bosom of your family?’
‘It is your human dignity you should be thinking about,’ declared Philippe, with an ebullient wave of his hand.
‘But what if the heritage gets in the way of the dignity?’ Nicky lit a cigarette and looked at Philippe.
‘All journeys are personal, that’s what the Martinists believe. And Jesus is The Repairer. Through Jesus all things can be achieved.’
‘So Martinism is a part of Christianity?’ asked Alix, sounding a little relieved.
‘Most certainly,’ assured Philippe. ‘We are esoteric Christians.’
Nicky nodded and smoked. ‘I think it sounds very interesting, you must introduce me to your Papus if he comes to St Petersburg.’
‘Like the Golden Dawn, I am presuming they are both theurgy based? Using rituals? Seeing magic in nature?’ asked Militza.
‘Honestly, Militza,’ Alix said, laughing, ‘sometimes I don’t understand where you learn all these things!’
‘They are both equally tolerant of women,’ concluded Philippe.
‘I have been reading the works of Hermes Trismegistus,’ said Militza.
‘And learning to read the stars as a way to oneness – henosis,’ added Stana.
‘As you know, I am also a follower! Hermetic medicine, astrology, alchemy, magic. Are you hoping to open a Lodge in St Petersburg?’ asked Philippe.
‘All in good time. As Hermes Trismegistus said: “The punishment of desire is the agony of unfulfillment,”’ Militza said, laughing, as she looked across at Alix whose lips twitched briefly into a smile.
‘Indeed,’ agreed Nicky, picking up a small clay pipe and filling it with some of Dr Badmaev’s hashish. ‘And we’ve all had our fair share of that.’
It was towards the middle of August – on the sixteenth – while Philippe was out taking some air on the beach, when Nicky called both Militza and Stana to his office. Despite the good weather and his wife’s advanced confinement, he looked pale. Sitting at his expansive desk, surrounded by walnut panelling, his fingers lightly drummed the top of a large cream-coloured folder as he looked out to sea. He was clearly deep in thought.
‘Sit,’ he said, not bothering to look at either of them, indicating two Moroccan-leather chairs. Militza glanced across at her sister. This did not look good. Did he know about the afternoons she spent with his wife? ‘So,’ he said, slowly turning around, ‘it seems, my mother, or rather the Okhrana, has been to Paris.’
‘What are the secret police doing in Paris?’ asked Stana, her back straight, her hands clasped anxiously on her lap. Militza touched her arm, indicating she should be quiet.
‘And it seems that they, or indeed, she, have compiled a little report.’
‘A report?’ asked Militza.
‘It seems,’ he continued, ‘that Our Friend is a little bit of a fraud.’
‘No!’ replied Militza shaking her head, her heart pounding.
‘Absolutely not!’ added Stana. ‘He cured Roman, last summer.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Militza. ‘My son had whooping cough and he came and it went away.’
‘He can cure syphilis,’ asserted Stana.
‘I know,’ he agreed, wearily. ‘I am not sure what I find more disappointing, my mother’s duplicitousness, or the fact the Okhrana actually carried out her instructions over my head.’
‘It is terrible,’ said Militza.
‘Not as bad as the things written in here. That he’s lied, cheated, that he’s a charlatan, that he’s impersonated a doctor and practised without a licence.’
‘But he was highly recommended! He was introduced by a dear friend of mine,’ insisted Militza.
‘I know, I know,’ Nicky nodded. ‘And he calmed the storm when we were on the Standart.’
‘Yes!’ agreed Stana. ‘I remember how lucky we felt to have him on board.’
Nicky smiled. ‘So very lucky.’
‘And he’s been such a good friend to us, he is “Our Good Friend”,’ said Militza. ‘And also, you are about to have your son.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded, exhaling slowly, as he pondered. ‘I am forced to believe – but it is not me I worry for. It is Alix.’
‘Why?’ asked Stana. ‘She is soon to produce an heir and all her problems will be over.’
‘Her problems are immense,’ said Nicky as if talking to himself. ‘There are rumours at court that I am to divorce her. Much like Napoleon did Josephine, when she failed to produce an heir after fourteen years of trying. And we are only in our eighth year.’
‘Eight long years,’ agreed Stana, a little too enthusiastically.
‘So this report,’ Nicky said, suddenly steeling himself, ‘I shall dismiss it. I shall dismiss it out of hand and just to make sure my mother realizes I don’t believe a word of it, I shall dismiss the agent, or agents, who prepared it. That way, there is no misunderstanding as to how I feel.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Militza, with a firm nod of the head.
‘And Alix shall be told nothing,’ added Stana.
‘My wife will not hear a thing.’
‘What shall I not hear?’ asked Alix as she wandered into the office, dressed in a white floating robe, her fecund pregnant belly protruding before her. ‘I came to see if you wanted fresh lemonade but now I am intrigued! What secrets?’
‘No secrets, my love,’ replied Nicky as he got out of his chair.
‘I do so hate it when you lie,’ replied Alix. ‘I can always tell, you know I can.’ She began to talk towards the desk. ‘What little secrets?’ she teased, smiling.
‘Nothing,’ Nicky replied.
‘Oh, come on.’
‘Honestly. Nothing. Leave it alone.’
‘Don’t be so mean,’ she said childishly as she swayed towards the desk.
‘GET AWAY!’ Nicky shouted, pulling her back from his desk, but as he did so her sleeve caught the corner of the Okhrana files, sending leaves of paper and photographs floating to the floor.
The Tsar was the first on his knees, scrabbling about on the rug, picking up the documents as quickly as he could.
‘Oh look, that’s Philippe?’ said Alix, more than a little curious. ‘Is that a police report? Has he been arrested?’