‘Oh, Maxim!’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘Isn’t it beautiful here? So peaceful and relaxed. I’ve never been so happy. Never.’
‘I’m always happy with you, wherever we are,’ Maxim replied, meaning every word. ‘You help to make the pain go away.’ He regretted these words the moment he had uttered them, having never said anything remotely like this to her before. He tended to keep certain thoughts to himself, was an intensely private man.
She sat staring at him, a small knot of perplexity settling between her eyebrows, and she opened her mouth, was about to say something when a waiter arrived with their drinks.
‘Grazie, grazie,’ Maxim said, and once they were alone he lifted his glass, touched it to hers, then took a swallow. ‘That tastes good,’ he said. ‘Very refreshing.’
Anastasia followed suit, tasted the drink, put her glass down, and gave him a keen look. ‘What did you mean when you said I help to make the pain go away?’
What a stupid slip of the tongue, he chastised himself, wondering how to answer her. ‘I honestly don’t know what I meant,’ he lied, and then added quickly, with adroitness, ‘I was always so disappointed in love, disappointed with the women I took out before I met you. I was a bit lonely I would say, looking back. Yes, that’s what I meant…’ He reached out, squeezed her long, tapering fingers. ‘And you have changed all that.’
She beamed at him. ‘I’m so glad, Maxim. I can’t bear to think that you were ever unhappy or sad. You weren’t lonely as a child, were you?’
He shook his head. ‘Of course not!’ he exclaimed a little too heartily. ‘I had Teddy, and good old Stubby.’
At this moment Giovanni appeared and regaled them with the day’s specialities, and immediately took their order. When the proprietor had hurried off to the kitchen Maxim started to speak to Anastasia about his impending trip to Berlin to see Irina Troubetzkoy. ‘And I thought you might like to go with me,’ he finished. ‘I plan to leave about the tenth of the month.’
‘I want to go, and I can’t bear the idea of being away from you,’ Anastasia said with another small frown. ‘But I don’t want to leave Alix again. Not so quickly after this trip to Venice. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Naturally I mind, but I understand.’ He gave her a most loving smile, and his eyes were tender as they rested on her.
Their lunch arrived a few minutes later, and it was delicious. They started with warm polenta, the cornmeal lavished with the tiniest of fried shrimps, herbed and seasoned most delicately. They were slightly oily, and so soft they melted like butter in the mouth. Next, they had fritto misto, tiny little fried fish of all kinds, crisp and succulent; the fish went well with the simple green salad and crisp local bread which Giovanni had sent out to them with the waiter. Maxim had ordered chilled white wine, and it was light, clear, greenish, a young wine and one he had drunk before in Venice, the perfect choice.
‘Wasn’t that good!’ Anastasia exclaimed when they had finished, looking across the table at him. ‘But I would still like something else. Do you think I’m eating for two?’
‘Possibly three, the way we’ve been going at each other since we got here,’ Maxim responded with a wicked smile. ‘And I certainly hope so. Twins would please me well.’
She laughed delightedly, and when the waiter reappeared to take their plates away and enumerate the desserts, she settled for fraises des bois, the tiny wild strawberries endemic to France and Italy, slightly perfumed and tasting their very best when eaten without cream or sugar. Maxim ordered a sliver of Bel Paese cheese with grapes for himself, and black coffee for them both.
***
After lunch they took a boat across to the Giudecca at the other side of the lagoon.
They went walking along the street which was called the Giudecca, and which faced towards the Giudecca Canal, and the Grand Canal beyond, the two waterways flowing into the lagoon.
Maxim stood with his arm around Anastasia’s shoulders, staring out into the distance. Venice lay across the wide expanse of water, and the whole of the city was stretched out before them—resplendent, glorious, magical, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.
‘It’s the most wonderful view I’ve ever seen,’ Maxim said, suddenly turning to her. ‘Look at the perfect alignment of spires and towers and cupolas.’
Their eyes swept over the Palace of the Doges and the great palaces of long-dead Venetians, the Palladio churches, and the salt houses, where salt from the lagoon had been dried centuries before. And they were both struck by the breathtaking beauty of Venice which appeared to float on the water before their eyes.
‘No wonder Canaletto and Turner wanted to paint Venice,’ Anastasia said. ‘What artist wouldn’t want to capture this splendour on canvas.’
‘It does have a timeless beauty. It’s unique, there’s nowhere quite like Venice in the entire world,’ he said, a hint of awe in his voice.
They sauntered on, hand in hand, to the end of the Giudecca, and then retraced their steps, and eventually they took a boat back to the Danieli.
***
They lay together in the deep bed, reclining on huge soft Continental feather pillows, the kind he remembered from his childhood in Berlin. They were lazy and languorous after their lunch and the boat trips, but the bedroom was cool and restful, shaded from the hot sun by the slatted wooden shutters.
Maxim ran his lips down her bare arm, enjoying the feel of her silken skin, the smell of her. Anastasia’s body was fragrant from the sun, and it held a tinge of salt from the sea wind that had blown up on their boat ride back to the hotel from Giudecca Island. Golden skin, the colour of an apricot, and just as smooth, he thought, running a finger from her shoulder to her wrist. But it has the bloom of the rose upon it.
Anastasia turned her huge pellucid eyes to him and smiled lazily: she was satiated from their lovemaking of the last hour, and sleepy from the wine at lunch.
‘Have a nap,’ he suggested, bending down to kiss her hair.
‘Mmmmm, I think I will,’ she said, nestling into the pillows, pulling the sheet up over her naked body.
He rested on one elbow, continuing to contemplate her for a while, loving her so much. She was the most extraordinary girl, full of enormous warmth and joy, and so very generous and giving of heart. She was sensual and voluptuous, too, a discovery which had delighted him, given him tremendous satisfaction.
Very erotic, my little Botticelli angel, he thought, smiling inwardly, remembering their honeymoon. Virgin though she had been when he had married her, she had taught him more about sexuality than any other woman he had known intimately. There was no coyness or false modesty about her, and after the first few months of marriage he had come to understand her needs and desires, since she made it clear what pleased her the most. Also, in a curious way she had taught him about his own body, had made it come alive as never before. She adored his body and told him so, took all the pleasure she wanted from it and from the fulfilment he gave her. She pleasured him in return, as no woman ever had, and they cried out in their mutual need, in the excitement and ecstasy of their lovemaking, and there was no restraint between them.
Maxim slid off the bed and walked over to the window, and stood where Anastasia had stood that morning, gazing across the water, marvelling at the incredible beauty spread out before him in the fading light of late afternoon.
He would never forget their times in Venice, would always remember the softness of the air here… the serenity… the mists and the blue-grey skies the colour of her eyes… the balmy nights… the lapping sound of the canals as the water slapped against the pilings whilst they slept. And Venice would always be associated in his mind with the exquisite Anastasia, his beautiful dreamer, the girl of his dreams, his true love, his dearest wife, the only wife he would ever want.
FORTY-FOUR
‘Thank you for a wonderful lunch. You outdid yourself,’ Maxim said, smiling at Princess Irina Troubetzkoy, placing his napkin on the table, pushing the chair back slightly, and cr
ossing his long legs.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ she said, also smiling, her bright blue eyes lighting up with pleasure at his compliment.
‘I always do, but I still think it was far too hot a day for you to be in the kitchen. You should’ve let me take you out, as I wanted to.’
‘No, no. I insist on making one meal for you whilst you’re in Berlin, Liebling. You’re so good to me, it’s the least I can do.’
‘But I am taking you out tonight, Aunt Irina. We’ll have dinner at one of your favourite restaurants, and then, if you like, we’ll go dancing afterwards. I know how much you enjoy that.’
‘You spoil me, Maxim—you make me feel young again,’ she said with a gay laugh.
‘You’re not old!’
‘I was fifty in March, don’t forget.’
‘That’s still not old, and you certainly don’t look anywhere near fifty,’ he answered in absolute truthfulness, thinking how beautiful Irina was today, slender and elegant in a delphinium-blue silk dress that exactly matched the colour of her vivid eyes. Her auburn hair was as burnished as ever, and no doubt owed a great deal to the skill of the hairdresser these days, he was quite certain of that. Nonetheless, it did not look dyed, and it was as becoming as it had always been with her clear pink-and-white complexion. But perhaps the most remarkable thing about her was her face, which was still lovely and relatively unlined, despite the very hard life she had had.
‘You’re staring at me,’ Irina said, her expression questioning as she gazed back at him.
‘But admiringly so, Aunt Irina. You do look extremely well, you know.’
‘Thanks to you and your love and care, and the help you have given me over the years, and Teddy, who has also been so affectionate. You’ve both been wonderful to me. I can never thank you enough.’
‘Thanks are not necessary, we’re your family,’ he replied. ‘Now, how about a glass of lemon tea? After that Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte of yours I really need it.’
Irina laughed at his expression. ‘I didn’t force you to eat it, and it is your weakness, you know,’ she said, laughing again. ‘You’ve loved it since you were a child.’
‘Chocolate and cherry tart with lashings of cream might be permissible when you’re four years old, but it helps to put the weight on when you’re twenty-seven.’
Irina frowned slightly, shook her head, said slowly, ‘I keep forgetting how old you are. It seems like only yesterday that I held you on my knee and rocked you to sleep, when I used to stay with your parents at the villa in the Wannsee.’
‘Time flies, Aunt Irina, doesn’t it?’
‘It truly does. Just imagine, your father was your age when I first met him. Goodness me, so long ago… before you were even born.’ Irina suddenly averted her face, stared into the distance, then stood up abruptly, unexpectedly. ‘I had better go and ask Hilde to make the tea, if you’ll excuse me a moment,’ she said, hurriedly walking away from the table.
Maxim, who had risen with her, said, ‘Let’s have it in the living room, shall we?’
‘Why not, it’s much cooler in there anyway,’ she replied as she rushed across the dining room, making for the kitchen.
Conscious of the sudden change in her mood, he stared after her in puzzlement, shrugged, swung around and strode out to the entrance hall, where he veered to his left. The living room opened off the hall through an arched doorway, and it was spacious and airy in feeling, looked down onto the Lutzowufer and the Landwehrkanal. He strolled up to the windows and stood staring out across the canal; his eyes focused on the leafy green treetops of the Tiergarten beyond.
He and the baron, Irina’s stepfather, had bought this apartment for her in 1956. When he and Teddy had flown to Berlin to see it, both women had laughed because the new building was so close to the spot where Irina’s ‘little abode’ had once been. He had never seen her ‘hole in the ground’, but he had heard about it from Teddy, and it sounded like an appalling place for anyone to live, especially a Romanov princess.
When he had come back to Berlin for the first time since his childhood in 1950, Irina was already ensconced in the studio off the Ku’damm, a place which Mrs Reynolds had found for her in 1949. This had been merely adequate, in his opinion, and even the larger studio on the Budapesterstrasse, which she had moved into later, had seemed cramped and dismal. And so when this apartment had come up for sale he had been delighted to help pay for it, having always wanted her to have somewhere which was gracious and comfortable, and which she could make into a proper home.
Through an arrangement with the Deutsche Bank in Frankfurt, established by the Rossiter Merchant Bank, he had been sending money to Irina since he was sixteen. She had not asked for anything, nor was she aware that he had anything to give, as far as he knew, but the conditions under which she was living at the time, and her plight in general, had so disturbed him that he had been determined to assist her. Teddy, as his legal guardian, had agreed, and the banks had worked out a way to transfer the money directly to her. Her stepfather, although not a rich man, helped out as well: also, Irina had been earning money herself for several years, had become a respected freelance translator for various German publishing houses. Maxim did not care whether she worked or not. He was delighted to support her. She had been very close to his parents, and he knew his father would have done exactly the same thing under the circumstances, had he been alive.
What gratified Maxim the most was the way she had created beauty, charm and comfort in the flat, using furniture the baron had given her from the castle in the Black Forest—plus much flair and ingenuity. Maxim’s eyes swept around the living room and he noticed a few new additions since his last visit: handsome silk cushions on the big cream brocade sofa and several silk-shaded lamps. Also new were the framed photographs of his baby daughter Alix, arranged on the piano along with the other pictures.
Walking over to the piano, Maxim bent forward and peered at them. To one side were replicas of his own favourites, which he had had since boyhood, and which Teddy had copied for Irina years ago. Mutti and Papa in evening dress—the famous ‘portrait’ taken in 1935—and the family group which commemorated his fourth birthday. The third picture was the one of Mutti and Teddy and himself standing outside the Plaza Athenee in Paris in 1939. His marriage to Anastasia was well represented; he picked up a silver-framed photograph of his wife and himself on their wedding day in Paris, stood looking at it, admiring her, thinking how beautiful she was in her lace wedding gown, flowing white veil and coronet of orange blossoms.
After a moment he put it back in its place and swung around, as Irina came gliding back into the living room, carrying two glasses of steaming lemon tea on a tray.
She set this on the coffee table in front of the sofa, looked across at him, and said, as she sat down, ‘I had a rather nice letter from Margot and Alexander Derevenko the other day. They’ve invited me to stay with them in Cannes… the last week of September.’
‘I think you should go, it’ll do you good,’ Maxim told her, walking over, sitting down in one of the two armchairs on either side of the sofa.
‘I was going to accept. They’re a lovely couple, and I enjoy being with them.’
Maxim said, ‘Alexander just bought an extraordinary painting at auction—another Degas. I must say, he is acquiring an impressive collection of art—’ Maxim broke off, reached for the glass of tea Irina had placed in front of him, and took several sips, sat back in the chair. A thoughtful look slid onto his face, and he appeared to be momentarily distracted.
Irina studied him intently for a second, the expression on her face as thoughtful as the one on his. The pause lengthened. Eventually, she said softly, ‘You’re thinking about the Westheim Art Collection again, aren’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what happened to the Renoirs, and all the other great works my family collected.’
‘I’m afraid not… they’re gone, lost without a trace. But so many valuable paintings
and objects of art belonging to so many people disappeared during the war, Maxim. Some were destroyed in the bombing raids, or were confiscated by the Nazis. Stolen is perhaps a better word to use.’
Maxim focused his dark, penetrating gaze on her. ‘I’ll never understand why my father didn’t leave Germany in the thirties, when so many Jews were getting out.’
‘You’ve said that to me every year since you were sixteen, and I’ve never had a proper answer for you, or an explanation. I still don’t, I never will.’
‘He was such a brilliant man, an international banker,’ Maxim muttered. ‘And he knew so much about everything. As long as I live, I will never be able to fathom out why he lingered the way he did, why he left it until it was too late.’
‘So many did, Maxim. Millions of German Jews thought nothing would, or could happen to them, especially those of wealth and standing and position. It was a terrible misjudgement, of course.’
‘I know, and you’ve told me that so many times in the past. But I still cannot comprehend how my father could have ignored all the signs—’
‘Your father wasn’t the only one who miscalculated!’ she exclaimed peremptorily. ‘Millions made the same mistake. If they hadn’t, if they’d left Germany, there would have been no Holocaust.’
‘Yes, so I realise.’
‘When he did decide to get out, to get the entire family out, we thought there was enough time, Kurt and myself, Reinhard and Renata. We were quite sure we could get you all to safety with the help of Admiral Canaris and Colonel Oster… but, of course, I’ve told you this before.’
‘I’m sorry to keep mentioning it every time I come to Berlin. I suppose I just can’t help myself.’
‘I understand, I really do. There are so many memories for you here, and you’re bound to think of your mother and father.’ Irina’s eyes strayed to the photographs on the piano and she stared at the portrait of Ursula and Sigmund for a long moment, then, with a faint smile, she murmured, ‘You look so much like he did when he was your age. He—’ Irina cut off her sentence. Her mouth trembled and tears suddenly brimmed. She brought her hand up to her mouth swiftly, and turned her head away.