The Concubine's Secret

by Kate Furnivall

  Conversation was stilted. Lydia didn’t much care, but Dmitri appeared amused and she couldn’t imagine why. Antonina and Alexei said little, drinking their coffee and smoking their cigarettes. Antonina was dressed in black and using a neat ebony cigarette holder which Lydia loved. There was an air of anticipation. Everyone waiting for something to happen. No one quite sure what.

  ‘Have you made good use of the food I brought you?’ Dmitri asked, eyeing her over the rim of his feather-fine coffee cup.

  ‘The puppy has been enjoying the ham.’

  Now why did she say that? Just to annoy him?

  ‘It was meant for you, Lydia.’

  She leaned forward, elbows on the pristine white cloth as she met his gaze and gave it one more go. ‘Tell me, Dmitri, please, have you managed to find out yet where Jens Friis is being held?’

  ‘I’ll say this for you, my dear. You don’t give up.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So no, I’m sorry. I’m afraid not.’

  She frowned at him. ‘You’re a useless liar.’

  He threw back his head and released a great rush of laughter. ‘Listen to the girl, Antonina. She thinks I’m a bad liar.’

  His wife tipped her head to one side, considering the point for a moment, like a bright-eyed blackbird. ‘She doesn’t know you as well as I do, does she?’

  He laughed again. ‘The trouble with women,’ he said to Alexei, ‘is that they think they know you better than you know yourself. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘In my experience,’ Alexei said a little stiffly, but with every appearance of courtesy, ‘they usually know more than we think they do.’

  A silence, so brief it was barely noticeable, scuttled across the table. Lydia fiddled with her spoon, rattling its silver edge against the saucer to fill the gap, and flicked a glance at her brother. Ever since she’d returned to their room in the grey light of early morning he had been aloof and uncommunicative. He made no secret of the fact that he disapproved of Chang, regarded him as an unwelcome distraction. Well, she disapproved of his disapproval.

  ‘Your brother appears to be a connoisseur of women,’ Dmitri teased. ‘Don’t you agree, Antonina?’

  His wife turned her head and studied the silent figure of Alexei sitting beside her. ‘I think he looks tired,’ she murmured gently and smiled, first at Alexei, then at Dmitri.

  ‘How long do you intend staying in Moscow, Comrade Serov?’ Malofeyev asked.

  ‘As long as it takes to get my business completed.’

  Malofeyev inclined his head. ‘If I can be of assistance, don’t hesitate to ask. I have contacts in this city.’

  ‘So have I,’ Alexei responded curtly. Under the table Lydia stepped on his toe.

  ‘I don’t doubt that for a moment,’ Malofeyev said, his tone cooler. He regarded his guest in silence for the time it took his wife to fit a new cigarette into her holder. ‘I’m only offering help. If you should need it,’ he added.

  ‘Like you offered help to my sister. Is this a habit of yours? Helping strangers?’

  Chyort! Lydia cursed under her breath. She glanced across at Antonina and found her smiling, a big broad smile, eyes bright with amusement. She looked ten years younger, and for once the white gloves were free from fretting fingernails.

  ‘Lydia,’ she said, ‘don’t you think this place is charming?’ She gestured at the crystal chandeliers and the silk water lilies that floated in a fountain of fragrant water in the centre of the room. ‘It’s so civilised.’

  ‘So civilised,’ Lydia repeated softly. A needlepoint of anger pricked under her ribs. She snapped her head round to face Dmitri. ‘Unlike the place you were stationed in before, I believe.’

  He didn’t move. She wondered if he was even breathing he was so still. It was Antonina who laughed delightedly and tapped her husband’s arm with the tip of her cigarette holder.

  ‘What do you think, my darling? Is Moscow more civilised than Trovitsk camp? Or less? I can think of arguments for both.’

  Her husband ignored her. Just as he ignored Lydia.

  ‘It seems to me, Comrade Serov, for a brother and sister, you are not at all alike.’

  ‘That, Comrade, is where you are mistaken. Lydia and I are very similar.’

  ‘Is that so? In what way?’

  ‘In the way we view the world.’

  ‘What, from under a pile of rules and regulations like everyone else?’

  ‘Perhaps. But nevertheless we do believe we can influence what happens to us.’

  ‘Ah, I see. The cult of the individual. Surely Marx and Lenin and Stalin have firmly established that it is the forward progress of the collective whole that counts, not the cogs in the wheels. They are . . . dispensable.’

  Lydia and Antonina exchanged a glance.

  ‘Dmitri,’ Antonina interrupted with an anxious flick of her hair, ‘let our guests enjoy their coffee in peace. You are so provocative.’

  ‘I believe your husband is right,’ Alexei pointed out. ‘Certain cogs are dispensable. It’s a matter of choosing the right ones.’ He leaned back in his chair, his face set hard.

  ‘Dmitri,’ Lydia said quickly and jumped to her feet. A nudge of coffee spoiled the whiteness of the cloth. ‘Come with me, please. I want a word.’

  Dmitri Malofeyev and Lydia walked towards the large revolving front door of the hotel, but before they reached it she spotted a heavy oak door off to the left, marked CARD ROOM. She pushed it open, entered and held the door ajar to admit Dmitri after her.

  ‘You in the mood for a game of poker?’ he smiled.

  ‘I’m willing to gamble, if that’s what you mean.’

  The room was unused at this hour of the morning. Small square green baize tables were dotted around, and an impressive aspidistra plant blocked most of the light from the window so that the air had a strange greenish shimmer to it. As if they were underwater. Lydia turned to face her companion. She placed her hands on her hips to keep them still and spoke seriously.

  ‘Dmitri, help me. We both know you can. Please.’

  He didn’t smile or laugh or raise a mocking eyebrow this time. He regarded her with a solemn expression. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘The same as before. Where Jens Friis is held.’

  Slowly he shook his head, his red hair closer to purple in this strange light. She knew her own must look the same. ‘That’s not possible, Lydia. I’ve told you already. Now you must stop asking me.’

  ‘It is possible. All you have to do is tell me. No one need know.’

  ‘But I would know.’

  ‘Does that matter?’

  ‘Yes, I rather think it does.’

  The gap between them was about three paces. Very deliberately, her mouth as dry as the green baize, she reduced it to two.

  ‘What would persuade you to say yes?’ she whispered.

  To her astonishment his eyes grew sad and he murmured, ‘I’m not worth it, Lydia. Take your beautiful wares elsewhere before I spoil them.’

  ‘I’m staying right here.’

  ‘Ah, I see. This is where you fall into my arms and I whisper sweet prison names in your ear in return.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘It’s what I should have expected.’

  ‘You make me feel cheap.’

  ‘No, lovely Lydia, you’ll never come cheap, of that I’m certain. The price will always be high.’

  She swallowed, beating down a sense of being out of her depth. Of drowning in this strange watery light.

  ‘It’s not a high price,’ she insisted. ‘One prison name and address. Easy for you.’

  He let his eyes inspect her carefully, from her scruffy shoes to her thin hips, up to her breasts, her throat and finally her face, as though judging her worth. Her cheeks started to burn.

  He smiled, an odd crooked smile. ‘You are particularly desirable when you blush like that, Lydia. Do you know that?’

  ‘Are you in the mood to gamble, Dmitri?’

&nb
sp; Again he surprised her. Each time she tried to take control he seemed to sidestep her. He pulled his silver cigarette case from inside his jacket, removed one cigarette and tossed the case to her. She caught it.

  ‘Use that, Lydia. Go and buy yourself your information. I have no intention of destroying my future career in the Kremlin just because I can’t say no to a beautiful girl. Not even one with the face of an angel and the eyes of a tiger, ready to rip my heart out of my chest if I don’t do what she asks.’

  Lydia was stunned. She wanted to drop the silver case to the floor but her fingers wouldn’t let it go. She watched him light his cigarette with a steady hand.

  ‘So,’ he said when he had exhaled a grey plume of smoke from his nostrils, ‘what would you do if you knew the address of this prison? Write to Jens Friis? Hello, how are you? I’m having a good time in Moscow. Is that what you plan to do?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  They stared at each other. Suddenly hostile.

  ‘They aren’t allowed letters or contact of any sort,’ he said. ‘You must know that.’

  ‘I’m not thinking of sending a postcard.’

  ‘No.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I dare say you aren’t.’

  This was it. Her heart banged on her ribs. She took another step forward. They were close now, so close she could smell the spicy fragrance of his hair oil, see the tiny pockmark on his jaw. He stood immobile, the cigarette dangling from his fingers, but his grey eyes watched her.

  She reached out, took the cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray on the nearest table. She lifted his hand and placed it over her racing heart. His mouth softened instantly. She stretched up on her toes, encircled his neck with her arms and pulled his head down to hers till her lips were pressed hard against his. At first he didn’t respond. Unyielding and reluctant. She feared she’d got it all wrong. But as soon as she leaned her weight against him, letting the heat of her body sweep over his, he changed abruptly. His tongue darted into her mouth, his hands started to pull at her blouse, and a sound like a drunken moan escaped his lips. He had her now. Exactly what he wanted.

  Lydia kept her eyes open. Forced herself to look at him as his hand slid under the waistband of her skirt.

  ‘Well, what a pretty party this is. Can anyone join in or is it private?’

  Lydia froze. Dmitri unwound himself. He breathed out heavily.

  ‘Hello, Antonina,’ he said with an untroubled smile. ‘Lydia was just teaching me the skills of gambling.’

  ‘Bidding high, were you?’

  ‘Extremely.’

  Antonina’s fingernails began to trace a path up and down her long white gloves. ‘Lydia, your brother wishes to speak with you.’

  Lydia felt a tremor moving like a snake in her gut. Without a word and without a glance at the Russian husband and wife, she walked out of the room. The snake shifted its coils inside her, sliding up from her stomach to her throat till she thought she would be sick.

  ‘Lydia Ivanova, you’re under arrest.’

  Lydia spun round to face the speaker, heart racing, legs tensed to run. A scruffy mop of milk-white hair and a boy’s wide grin greeted her. Even the dog in its sack on his chest had its pink tongue lolling out, laughing.

  ‘You bastard,’ she moaned and tried to clip Edik on the ear, but he ducked away with ease and pranced up on his toes beside her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘I needed some air. So I’ve come to take a look at the Kremlin.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to see where all the decisions are made. Where it is that someone can just scribble his name on a piece of paper and decide my future.’ She shrugged in the bitter wind that rose off the water. ‘Whether I live or die.’

  They were walking along a rough path on the edge of the River Moskva, the massive red walls of the Kremlin towering over them, its shadow heavy and cumbersome, its crenellations like teeth eager to bite. Lydia tipped her head back and studied it thoughtfully. ‘Do you know what I think, Edik? I think this fortress is a poisonous spider hunched at the centre of the web that is Moscow, and I feel as though I’m caught inside its sticky mesh. If I move, I know the spider will come for me.’

  The boy stared at her for a second, then burst out laughing and swept a hand through the air with a rapid slicing movement. ‘That’s what I do to spiders’ webs. Tear them apart. It’s easy.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘I envy you, Edik.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you see life in black and white. No greys.’

  ‘Is that wrong?’

  ‘No. I remember when not long ago I saw it like that too.’

  ‘So?’

  She ruffled his hair and he danced out from under her hand, skipping ahead but backwards, so that he was facing her. She noticed for the first time that the grey tinge of his skin was gone and that his cheekbones had lost their sharp edges. The sausage and the ham and the warm coat were getting to work on him.

  ‘So hang on to your blacks and whites. They make life simpler. ’

  The boy pulled a face. He didn’t understand. Why should he? She wasn’t sure she did herself. But he had all the rest of his life to find out what she meant. She pulled a face back at him. He made her, at only seventeen, feel old. She removed from her coat pocket the dainty cake with the sugary cherry that had accompanied her coffee earlier.

  ‘Look, Misty, I’ve brought something for you.’

  It was meant as a treat for Edik but the dog came first with him. The puppy yapped and scrabbled to jump free, so the boy tipped his pup on to the path, its grey ears instantly buffeted into wings by the strong wind.

  ‘Half each,’ she insisted as she handed the cake over to Edik.

  He knelt down, nibbled a small bite and dangled the rest above the little animal’s head until it danced up on its spindly hind legs.

  ‘I’m teaching her tricks, see. To earn money.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Tricks. For money. Just like she used to do. In China she’d believed that was the key. But now? She shrugged again, aware of the Kremlin walls. Now she saw more clearly despite the black shadows.

  ‘So what are you and Misty hanging round here for?’

  He was concentrating on keeping the dog wobbling on two legs. ‘Looking for you.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘I got a message for you.’

  She grabbed one of Edik’s ears hard, so that he squealed. ‘And when exactly did you intend to pass on this message?’

  The puppy leapt up, trying to nip at her fingers.

  ‘Now,’ he said with a surly scowl. She released him.

  ‘Well?’

  The boy narrowed his eyes at her speculatively. ‘Any more cakes?’

  ‘You thief,’ she complained and handed over the one she’d been saving to slide on to Chang’s tongue tonight. ‘You vor.’

  He grinned. Popped the cake into Misty’s mouth. ‘He wants to see you. Right now.’

  Before he’d finished speaking, she’d spun on her heel and was running over the wet grass.

  44

  Chang An Lo was naked. As Lydia burst into the room, the sight of him stopped her in her tracks and stole her breath. He was standing by the window looking out, a blade of pearly light painting the long lines of his body, defining the muscles of his chest and the strong tendons that ran from his hip to his thigh. He was beautiful.

  He must have been watching for her approach, checking no one had followed her. And when she entered he turned his head, looking at her over one shoulder. She didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.

  His eyes were as naked as his body. Dark, complex, a battle-ground of emotion. The centre of him, that stillness she so loved, was plunged into turmoil. His gods must be laughing at him. Yet one corner of his mouth started to curl into a smile.

  It was an image she knew she would not forget.

  When Lydia
opened her eyes, Chang was leaning on his elbow watching her. She wondered whether he’d seen her dreams.

  ‘Hello,’ she said and smiled up at him.

  He kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose, but avoided the temptation of her lips. That was when she knew he was ready to talk. Outside the wind was fierce, scratching at the window, sliding through the gaps, and the sound of it made her nervous. It was the sound of things falling apart.

  He stroked her face. ‘Are you ready to listen?’ he asked.

  Her pulse set up a beat in her ears. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve found him.’

  ‘Jens?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She couldn’t speak.

  ‘I’ve been to the prison. I’ve inspected his workroom.’ Chang gazed down at her, his black eyes gentle and watchful. ‘I’ve seen him. I’ve spoken with Jens Friis himself.’

  She started to shake.

  ‘Don’t cry, my love.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she whispered.

  ‘He’s well. Tall and strong.’

  ‘How?’ It was all she could say.

  ‘I requested a visit by our delegation to prison 1908. Of course the Russians refused at first. They were shocked by the fact I even knew the place existed and it made them nervous of what else our Chinese secret agents might know.’

  She watched his mouth move but had to listen hard to hear the words. There was too much noise in her head. He stroked her, softening the sharp edges of her thoughts.

  ‘I asked our delegation leader, Li Min, to point out that we don’t wish to know what it is their prisoners are working on, but rather how they construct an institution like that. So many fields of expertise assembled from different camps and all working on one project. Still they said no.’ His finger twined around a lock of her hair. ‘So I reminded them of their food shortages and of China’s abundance of rice.’ His dark eyes gleamed briefly with satisfaction. ‘They quickly understood.’