At about four, Stana arrived, running into her sister’s salon. Her face was flushed with excitement and her dark eyes shone as she hurled herself into her sister’s arms.
‘A boy! A boy! A boy!’ She kissed her sister, hugged her tightly and started to laugh. ‘I am giddy!’ she exclaimed. ‘Positively giddy! It really is incredible. I thought it would never happen. Do you think it was Seraphim? Philippe? Dr Badmaev’s herbs? The dolls? The poppets? And have you heard the other news?’ she said, smiling even more.
‘What other news?’
‘Nikolasha told me.’ Stana looked like she was fit to burst. ‘The Vladimirs are furious! Incredibly furious because Kirill, Boris and Andrei are now one step further away from the throne.
‘Apparently,’ she said, grinning, ‘Vladimir went completely silent at luncheon when he received the telegram. He left and didn’t return for an hour, then when he did return, he continued to sit in silence, all the while being handed fresh cigarette after fresh cigarette, by the Cossack standing behind him. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife, apparently. No one knew what to do or say. And when your host isn’t speaking, what are you supposed to do? Nikolasha was told by the American military attaché who was there! It was only when he was leaving to return to St Petersburg that Colonel Mott found out what was in the telegram and what had made them so annoyed!’
‘Oh, the poor Vladimirs, all that plotting, all that money, all those connections, undone by a baby that is not even twenty-four hours old.’
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
‘Are you ready?’ asked Peter, marching briskly into the room. He was dressed in a white naval jacket with golden buttons and large gold epaulettes, clearly ready to go out.
‘For what?’ Militza looked confused.
‘There’s been a telephone call inviting us to come and look at the baby.’
‘So soon?’ asked Stana, her eyes darting from her sister to her brother-in-law. ‘Are we to be the first?’
‘Well, apart from Ella and Sergei who were there for luncheon today, I suppose we are.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Peter. ‘Apparently, almost as soon as Alix sat down for luncheon at twelve thirty she felt pains; she went upstairs immediately and then the baby was born less than half an hour later.’
‘Just in time to ruin someone else’s luncheon,’ smiled Stana. Peter looked across at her. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, shrugging, ‘I’ll explain another time.’
‘So I have the car ready,’ continued Peter. ‘We should go.’ He looked at the two sisters. ‘Immediately.’
Driving through the streets of St Petersburg and out into the countryside beyond was one of the most memorable journeys of Militza’s life. The air was warm, the sky was a clear, cobalt blue and the noise of singing and the ringing of bells, plus the strains of the national anthem, serenaded them almost all the way to the Gulf of Finland. Even in the tiniest villages, where the chickens outnumbered the wooden houses that clung either side of the dirt road, they were celebrating. Royal flags were as ubiquitous as the smiles on the faces.
But no one was smiling quite as much as Nicky. When he met them on the top of the steps of the Lower Dacha, it was as if all the worries of the last few years, all the strains that had etched themselves all over his ashen face, had disappeared. He looked so happy, so light and carefree, he almost danced like a feather in the wind before them.
‘What an unforgettable day!’ he declared from the threshold, his pale eyes shining. ‘How blessed we are! How blessed we were the day we met Maître Philippe. Come and see him. Come and see the future Alexei II.’
‘Alexei?’ asked Militza, as she walked into the hall.
‘Named after the father of Peter the Great! Alexei the Great, that’s what they’ll call him! My son! My heir!’
‘How exciting!’ said Stana.
‘He is such a big boy!’ continued Nicky. ‘Eleven and half pounds.’
‘And the Tsarina?’ asked Militza.
‘In heaven!’ he replied. ‘And he is feeding well already. He suckled the breast almost immediately. What an appetite! He’s so perfect and I can’t wait for you to see him. He has blue eyes!’
‘All babies have blue eyes when they are born,’ said Militza, handing over her hat and gloves.
‘Not as blue as these!’ Nicky shot back as he bounded towards the stairs. ‘They are as blue as the Caspian Sea! As deep as Lake Baikal. Hurry up! Alix is desperate to see you! Desperate to thank you! What a wonderful day! It’s a sign, you know; our luck is changing. His birth will bring about a speedy and victorious end to the war in Manchuria. In fact,’ he stopped at the top of the stairs, ‘I am going to make all the soldiers, the entire army fighting at the front, Alexei’s godparents!’ He stood, grinning, his arms outstretched. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think it’s a perfectly capital idea!’ replied Peter, as he climbed the stairs behind the Tsar. ‘That’ll boost morale.’
‘And I shall send them all icons. Icons of St Seraphim, Russia’s greatest saint!’
‘Amen,’ added Stana.
At the top of the stairs the four Grand Duchesses, all dressed in matching frocks, giggled and jostled with excitement.
‘Out of the way, girlies!’ said Nicky, sweeping them aside in a rustle of white chiffon. ‘They’ve come to see Alexei!’
The party reached the top of the stairs and paused for breath.
‘I think,’ said Peter, ‘perhaps ladies first?’ He gestured towards the closed bedroom door. ‘And perhaps you and I should have a little brandy?’
‘A glass of champagne,’ corrected Nicky. ‘I think we have cause for it.’
As the two men retired back downstairs to Nicky’s study, Militza and Stana knocked on the door.
Inside the room, the curtains were drawn, and behind a screen of white with blue cornflowers, lay Alix. Propped up in bed, on a mountain of soft pillows, surrounded by numerous glittering gold icons and dressed in a white frilled shift, she smiled broadly as they entered, a look of soft joy and elation all over her face.
‘Stana! Militza!’ She spoke softly, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘He is here! At last. Can you believe it? My son. How can I ever thank you? How can I ever thank Philippe? I know it was that night, bathing in the waters. I felt it. I felt everything change. I hoped. I prayed. I believed. And now God has, at last, given me a son. A son to rule Russia. I am so happy.’
Tears welled up in her eyes and she did not bother to hold them back or disguise them in any way. She held out her hands. Both Stana and Militza leant forward and kissed them. ‘My sisters,’ she said. ‘My very beloved sisters. Please tell Philippe how grateful I am. Please let him know what he has done.’
‘What you have done!’ enthused Stana, squeezing Alix’s hand.
‘What we all have done,’ corrected Militza.
‘Yes, all of us,’ said Alix. ‘Together.’
‘Together,’ repeated Stana.
‘But write to Philippe,’ said Alix, ‘for I no longer know where to find him.’
‘I will do,’ reassured Militza. ‘He resides in Paris now; his health is not good.’