Kate Furnivall - The Russian Concubine

She could break her word. She’d done so before.

No. No.

This was different. This was… she sought for the word… this was… fundamental.

In desperation she rolled onto her side and instead let her mind return like a homing pigeon to the feel of Chang An Lo’s body next to hers, inside hers, on top of hers. The taste of his skin on her tongue. The look in his eyes when he said he loved her. He loved her.

But underneath it all she was aware of a deep swirling anger in her stomach. An acid. Burning her. Alexei Serov. He had betrayed her.

‘Good morning, Lydia.’

She didn’t feel like speaking.

‘I said good morning, Lydia.’

She sighed. ‘Good morning, Alfred.’

‘That’s better. Here, coffee.’

‘Thank you.’ She took the cup from him but placed it on her bedside table. Sitting cross-legged and fully clothed on the bed, she made no effort to stand up or be courteous.

‘We need to talk,’ he said.

‘Do we?’

‘We all have to be very adult about this situation.’

‘Tell my mother that.’

He looked at her sharply and removed his spectacles, polished them on his clean white handkerchief, and replaced them in a precise manner. He folded the handkerchief back into his pocket.

‘Do you mind if I sit down?’

She was surprised he even asked. She nodded at the chair.

‘Thank you.’ He sat down and folded his arms across his chest. Now they were on the same level.

She waited. He took his time.

‘Lydia, what you did last week was very wrong and your mother and I are deeply upset about your behaviour. You should be ashamed.’ His brown eyes studied her. ‘But I don’t think you are. I have spoken to Wai and he tells me he hardly saw you all week and that you were always in the shed or in your room.’ He glanced around him as if he might yet find Chang behind the door. ‘Clearly you were with your Chinese friend. Is that correct?’

She nodded.

‘And your friend is a fugitive Communist?’

She was more wary now.

‘I do not intend to ask about the degree of… intimacy between you,’ a red flush of embarrassment made him pause, ‘… but I trust you sufficiently to know that you… well… that you would not do anything unwise. Immoral or unchristian,’ he added with sudden intensity.

‘Alfred, he was ill. I nursed him. Is that unchristian?’

‘Of course not, my dear. It is to be commended. The Good Samaritan, eh?’

‘The Good Russian.’

It made him smile. ‘Exactly.’

He was showing signs of beginning to relax. Only a little, but it was something. She picked up the coffee.

‘Mmm, it’s good,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

He leaned back in the chair and unfolded his arms. ‘What we have to discuss is where we go from here. I don’t want to cause any of us unnecessary grief.’

She controlled her relief, keeping it from her eyes and her face. He was coming around.

‘So I feel I must remind you of the promise you gave me in the teashop. Our bargain.’

Her relief ebbed away. She brushed a hand across her face to hide her disappointment. ‘So what orders are you giving me?’

‘Lydia, I don’t like that tone of voice. I do not consider the word orders to be appropriate, but I am saying that you must not see this Chinese Communist again. It is too dangerous for you.’

‘No. Please.’

‘I insist.’

Lydia could feel her face slowly fall apart. She hid it in her hands.

There was a long silence in the room. Then he was on the bed beside her. ‘There, there, my dear. It’s for the best. Don’t cry.’ He patted her shoulder.

She wasn’t crying. Just dying.

‘Alfred,’ she said through her fingers, ‘how would you feel if I said you must never see my mother again?’

‘That’s different.’

‘It’s not.’

‘Oh Lydia, my dear girl. You are too young to be going through such despair.’

‘Please, Alfred. Let me see him.’

He stroked her head, and she knew by the touch of his hand he was going to say no. She sat up and suddenly smiled at him.

‘Mama told me you want a baby.’

He blushed fiercely and looked away, at the snow on the sill outside where a sparrow was fluttering, its feathers ruffled against the cold.

‘I think it’s wonderful, Alfred.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Excellent.’

He was delighted. She could see it in his eyes, and it touched her that he should care what she thought.

‘So how about another bargain?’

‘Pardon?’

‘A bargain again. I’ll do everything I can to persuade Mama to come around to the idea of having a baby, if you…’

‘No.’

‘Let me say it. If you let me visit Chang An Lo while he’s at Mr Theo’s house.’

‘Look, Lydia, I…’

‘Mr Theo can always be in the room. We’d never be alone, I promise. Please. I need to see that he’s getting better and is still safe.’

‘I’m not happy about it.’ He frowned at her, but his eyes were softer.

‘It matters to me so much,’ she said quietly.

He took a deep breath. Teetered on the edge.

‘A baby would be lovely,’ she urged.

His mouth widened into a smile, despite himself. ‘You are a very persuasive young lady, you know.’

‘So I can see him?’

‘Oh, very well, Lydia. You can see him. No, don’t look so elated. I will permit you only one visit and not until tomorrow when you are at school. To say good-bye.’

Lydia said nothing.

‘I will speak to Willoughby and arrange it,’ Alfred continued. ‘Now, let that be an end to the matter.’

Lydia reached out and gently touched his hand on the eiderdown. ‘Two visits, Alfred. Please let it be two visits?’

He surprised her by laughing. ‘You are a strong-minded miss, aren’t you? Very well. Two visits. Under Willoughby’s strict supervision.’

‘Thank you.’

He kissed the side of her head, less awkward than before. ‘Right.’ He stood up.

‘And you’ll speak to Mama? Make her say yes to my visits?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And I’ll get her to agree to the baby. If you bought her a piano it would help.’

For a moment their eyes met, and both knew a bond had been formed. Alfred nodded to her, not quite certain what to say.

‘Alfred,’ Lydia said, ‘for someone who has never been a father, you are very good at it.’

He blushed again and rubbed his chin self-consciously, but he was smiling as he left.

‘Mama.’

No answer.

Valentina was holding a newspaper up in front of her face, but Lydia doubted that she was reading. It was her way of finding privacy. At intervals her foot in its velvet slipper would tap impatiently. Supper had been a stiff and stilted affair, but in the drawing room afterward Alfred had asked, ‘Lydia, do you play chess?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you like a game?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good show.’

He’d brought out a superb set of ancient ivory figures and proceeded to outmanoeuvre her with ease, but she learned from it. About the game. About him. And about herself. His patience was impressive but his mental discipline was too rigid, whereas she was impetuous. It was both her strength and her weakness. She needed to slow down.

‘Thank you,’ she said when her king lay flat on the board.

‘You’ve the making of a good player, my dear, if only you would…’

‘Think more before I move. I know.’

‘Exactly.’ He smiled at her, his brown eyes warm behind his gold spectacles. ‘Exactly.’ He left the room to put away the box of chess pieces.

‘Mama.’

Slowly Valentina lowered the newspaper and looked coolly at her daughter.

‘Did Liev Popkov know your family in Russia?’

Valentina’s expression did not change, but Lydia could tell she was not pleased.

‘He worked for my father. A long time ago,’ Valentina said shortly and raised the paper again. Subject closed.

Chang An Lo opened his eyes and saw her face. For a second he was sure it was another of the dreams of her that the gods granted him in his sleep, but he could feel her hand firm on his wrist and the tickle of her hair brushing the skin of his cheek as she bent over him.

‘You are real,’ he whispered.

She smiled, that wide wonderful smile that stole his heart from his chest, and instantly he knew this was no dream. She bent closer and kissed his mouth, her lips soft and inviting.

‘That’s to prove I’m real,’ she murmured.

He held her close for a moment, felt her cool cheek against his hot face, breathed in the fresh outdoor smell of her hair and her skin, heard her blood pounding in his ears. So alive. So full of flames. To lose her would be like drowning in mud.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better.’

‘You look feverish.’

‘Inside I am better.’ He reached out and touched the fires in her hair. ‘The sight of you drives away the fever.’

She laughed and laid her head lightly on his chest. She kept it there. His fingers stroked the silky, unruly hair that any Chinese girl would have oiled and fixed flat with clasps or bound into tight knots. He loved the freedom of her hair.

‘Lydia,’ he said softly.

She lifted her head. ‘We don’t have long,’ she murmured and glanced over her shoulder at the door.

It was open and the tall elegant figure of the schoolmaster in his black academic gown was leaning against it, but he was standing with his back to them, one of his foul-smelling cigarettes in his hand, a student’s exercise book in the other. He made a point of reading it intently to indicate his ears were closed. Nonetheless they spoke in low voices.

‘Your parents?’

‘They have forbidden me to see you more than twice while you are here. But I didn’t mention what might happen when you leave.’ Her amber eyes were full of light. ‘I have a suggestion.’ Suddenly she was shy. But excited.

A little of her bright light lifted the edge of the darkness inside him. He knew there could be no suggestions. He touched her eyebrow and her ear.

‘What is it that puts a strong heartbeat into your words?’

She leaned closer, eyes fixed on his. ‘We could leave together.’

‘You are taunting me.’ But hope leaped unbidden into his throat and breathed life into his limbs.

‘No, no, I mean it.’ She spoke in a whisper. ‘I’ve worked it all out. You said you must leave Junchow. I will leave with you. I have some money still and maybe I can get hold of more. It would be enough to hire a boat to row us across the river in the dark and then we could…’

‘No.’

‘Yes, we’d be safe if we travelled by night and slept by day. It would take time, I know, but we could go far away from here to a remote village somewhere and I would wear a Chinese tunic and wide hat like at the funeral, so no one would notice and I’d learn Mandarin and…’

‘No.’

‘Listen to me, my sweet love, it is our only answer. I’ve thought it through. You can’t stay here, so there’s no other way.’

‘Lydia. Don’t, Lydia.’

‘I’m not foolish. It wouldn’t be forever. I know that when you’re better and strong again, you’ll want to return to one of the Communist camps and continue to fight against Chiang Kai-shek. Of course I know that. But,’ he watched a soft pink flutter to her cheek like the shimmer of a flamingo’s wing, ‘I will come too. I know women train and fight in Mao Tse-tung’s army, so there’s no reason why I can’t become a Communist freedom fighter. Is there?’

After school there was a lot to do. First, the dress. Lydia hurried right across town to Madame Camellia’s salon.

‘Thank you, Madame Camellia, it looks like new again.’

The dressmaker bowed, a graceful dip of her groomed head. ‘You are welcome. Try not to let it get wet again.’

‘Please put the cost on my stepfather’s account.’

‘Certainly, Miss Parker.’

Miss Parker? Miss Parker? Lydia laughed and shook her head as she shot off toward the Masons’ house on Walnut Road. Polly hadn’t turned up for school today, so Lydia wanted to make sure her friend wasn’t sick. The awkwardness between them last time over Chang An Lo still rankled and made it even more important to check that she wasn’t just hiding at home because she couldn’t bear to face Lydia. That would be awful. It was a long way to Walnut Road but at least it was a crisp bright afternoon. The sky was a rich clear blue that made the world feel bigger and though the wind was cold, the sun gave Junchow a glow that turned Lydia’s usual disgust with the town to an amiable affection. Maybe it was the thought of leaving it.

As a Communist supporter. Lydia Ivanova, freedom fighter. She tried it on her tongue out loud and liked it. She even let her mind hold for just a brief second the sound of Lydia Chang, or Chang Lydia, as they would say in China. She let it reverberate around her thought waves, but that was a step too far into the unknown. She wasn’t ready for that yet. Chang An Lo had said no. Of course he did. She knew he would. He was worried about her safety. But she’d seen the expression on his face. His mouth held tight in case it let out words that would betray him. The huge pupils dilated in astonishment. She saw something deep within him burst, and when she held his body tight in her arms she could feel the rapid beating of his heart.