Zoya

Zoya turned away for a moment and then turned back to look at her honestly. “I think he likes me, Crandmama … too much …” She faltered on the words and Evgenia frowned.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that he …” Her face blushed furiously in the soft light and she looked like a child again. “That he … he touched my hand tonight….” It seemed stupid to have to explain it now … maybe it didn't mean anything.

“You're a pretty girl, and perhaps you bring back memories for him. I think he was very fond of your mama, and I know he was close to Konstantin when they were young. They hunted with Nicholas more than once … don't be too sensitive, Zoya. He means well. And it was nice of him to come to see you tonight. He's just being kind, little one.”

“Perhaps,” Zoya said noncommittally as they turned off the light and slipped into the narrow bed they shared. In the dark, Zoya could hear Feodor snoring in the next room, as she drifted off to sleep, thinking of how magical the performance had been.

But the next morning, she was sure that Vladimir wasn't just being kind. He was waiting for her downstairs, when she left for rehearsal again.

“Would you like a ride?” She was surprised to see him there, and he was carrying flowers for her.

“I don't want to put you out … it's all right.” She would rather have walked to the Châtelet. He was suddenly making her uncomfortable the way he looked at her. “I like to walk.” It was a beautiful day, and she was excited to be going to rehearsal again. The Ballet Russe was the happiest thing in her life these days, and she didn't want to share it with anyone, not even the handsome white-haired Prince who stood so gallantly holding white roses out to her. They only made her feel sad. Marie had always given her white roses in the spring, but he couldn't have known that. He knew nothing about her at all, he was her parents’ friend, not hers, and it suddenly depressed her to see him standing there, his jacket worn, his collar frayed. Like everyone else, he had left everything behind, and escaped with his life, a few jewels, and the icon he had given them a few days before. “Perhaps it would be nice if you called on Grandmama.” She smiled politely at him, and he looked hurt.

“Is that how you think of me? As your grandmother's friend?” She didn't want to say yes, but it was. He seemed a thousand years old as he stood looking at her. “Do I seem so old to you then?”

“Not at all … I'm sorry … I have to go. … I'll be late and they'll be very angry at me.”

“Let me drive you then. We can talk on the way.”

She hesitated, but she was going to be late. Reluctantly, she let him open the taxi door for her and she stepped in, leaving the white roses between them on the seat. It was nice of him to bring her gifts, but she knew that he could ill afford to bring her anything. No wonder Yelena was annoyed at them.

“How is Yelena?” she asked to pass the time as they drove, and she avoided his eyes, as she glanced at the other cars and then slowly back at him. “She seemed very quiet last night.”

“She's not happy here.” He sighed. “I don't suppose many of us are. It's such a sudden change, and no one was prepared….” He said the words and then reached over and touched her hand, startling her with what he said next. “Zoya, do you think that I'm too old for you, my dear?”

Her voice caught in her throat and she gently took her hand away. “You're my father's friend.” Her eyes were sad as she looked at him. “It's hard for all of us, we are all clinging to what we no longer have. Perhaps I am part of that for you.”

He smiled. “Is that what you think it is? Do you know that you're very beautiful?”

She could feel herself blush and silently cursed the fair skin that went with her fiery hair. “Thank you very much. But I'm younger than Yelena … I'm sure she'd be very upset….” It was all she could think of as she wished they would get to the Châtelet so she could escape him.

“She has her own life to live, Zoya. And I have mine. I would like to take you to dinner sometime. Perhaps at Maxim's.” It was madness … the champagne … the roses … the idea of dinner at Maxim's. They were all starving, he was driving a cab, she was dancing with the Ballet Russe, and there was no point spending the little he had on her. He was far too old, but she didn't want to be rude.

“I don't think Grandmama …” She turned unhappy eyes to his, and he looked hurt.

“You'd be better off with one of us, Zoya Konstantinovna, someone who knows your world, than with some young fool.”

“I don't have time for any of that, Vladimir. If they keep me on at the ballet, I'll have to work day and night to keep up.”

“We can find the time. I can pick you up at night …” His voice drifted off as he looked at her hopefully, and she shook her head with an unhappy look.