‘It would be a monarchy, of course,’ the pedant allowed, ‘headed by the Karageorgevich dynasty. If King Peter abdicates in favour of Alexander, then Alexander Karageorgevich will be Yugoslavia’s first king.’
Natalie was glad to hear it.
‘But not tsar,’ the pedant continued stuffily. ‘Yugoslavia will be a kingdom, not an empire.’
As far as Natalie was concerned he was again splitting hairs. If Croatia, Slovenia and Bosnia, and quite possibly Montenegro and parts of Macedonia as well, united in one state with Belgrade as its capital and Alexander as its king, then Serbia would be an empire again.
Seeing her irritation Nikita said, changing the subject, ‘Have you read about the latest battle at Gallipoli? The British and French have occupied two strongly fortified lines of Turkish trenches.’
‘Trenches, bah!’ the elderly man who had taken Natalie to task said disgustedly. ‘What is the good of trench warfare? It wears men out and kills them without achieving anything.’
This time Natalie found herself in agreement with him. Julian had been declared medically fit and released from hospital and was again in Flanders. His letters home were as inconsequential and cheerful as Edward’s and Natalie wasn’t fooled by them in the slightest. Once again he was enduring the stalemate of trench warfare, once again he was living without even basic sanitary comforts.
There were times, when she wasn’t with Nikita and his friends and the conversation didn’t centre entirely on the war and what might happen after the war, when it was hard to remember the conditions being suffered in Flanders and Gallipoli. In many respects life in London was exactly as she imagined it had been in peacetime. Stephen was regularly wheeled around St James’s Park by the nanny employed by her mother-in-law. Though Diana was still a VAD at Guy’s she had plenty of time off and her free time was spent as it had always been. She lunched in smart restaurants with friends, went to parties and danced until the early hours of the morning. Much to her mother-in-law’s furious disapproval, Natalie often accompanied her.
‘Julian wouldn’t mind,’ she said to Diana truthfully. ‘He wouldn’t want me to be bored.’
‘With all your interesting new friends I don’t see how you could possibly be bored,’ Diana had said enviously, ‘Will Nicky really be a member of the government when this new kingdom of the South Slavs is founded after the war?’
Natalie frowned slightly. Nikita had long since asked her to call him Nicky and it irked her that Diana had begun to do so also, giving the impression that she, too, was an intimate friend. As for Nicky one day being a member of the Yugoslav government, she couldn’t remember having ever given Diana that impression but as the belief obviously made Nicky ultra-respectable in Diana’s eyes she saw no harm in allowing her to cling to it.
‘All the founding members of the Yugoslav Committee will hold government positions,’ she said, trying to sound suitably authoritative.
That Diana knew of Nicky’s existence was a source of irritation to her. It had been accidental. She and Diana had been enjoying ices at Gunther’s. Deep in conversation they had stepped out into the street and walked headlong into Nicky. From that moment on Diana had been like a woman obsessed, wanting to talk about nothing else.
‘Are you sure he isn’t a Karageorgevich?’ she had demanded the minute they were out of earshot. ‘He looks like a Karageorgevich. All dark and damn-your-eyes, just like a Balkan bandit.’
‘He’s not a Karageorgevich,’ Natalie had responded, crossly. ‘He’s not even Serbian. He’s a Croat. And what do you mean by likening Karageorgevichs to Balkan bandits? Prince Alexander is nothing remotely like a bandit. He’s very intellectual.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Diana said, appalled by the realization she had been unintentionally insulting. ‘I meant it as a compliment. I meant bandit in the Byronic sense; mad, bad and dangerous to know.’
‘Karageorgevichs are none of those things,’ Natalie said archly, conveniently forgetting a family history thick with murder, kidnappings and skulduggery. ‘We’re royalty, not riff-raff.’
‘Of course you are!’ Diana agreed warmly, looking forward to a future in which she would be a guest at the Royal Palace in Belgrade, ‘and I wasn’t insinuating anything else for one moment. It’s just that Nicky is so dashing and his hair is so dark and curly that he reminded me of Byron, dressed in Albanian costume and about to fight the Turk for Greek independence.’
Natalie’s knowledge of Byron and his connection with Albania and Greece was distinctly sketchy and so rather than risk revealing her ignorance of English poets and British history she allowed herself to be mollified.
‘He is excessively romantic looking,’ Diana eulogized as she paused to buy a posy of gardenias from a flower-seller. ‘How did you meet him? Was he a friend of Julian’s in Belgrade?’
‘I met him at the Serbian exiles club,’ Natalie said truthfully, leaving the second part of Diana’s question conveniently unanswered and adding quickly, ‘He’s a friend of Mr Wickham Steed, the editor of The Times.’
Diana was not at all fazed at Natalie having made friends with a young man to whom she had not been properly introduced, choosing to believe that Wickham Steed, a friend of her father’s, had introduced her to Nicky.
‘Julian is going to be awfully pleased with all the diplomatic contacts you are making,’ she said guilelessly as they continued to stroll through the late summer crowds. ‘It’s going to be an enormous help to him after the war, when he returns to the Foreign Office.’
Natalie made an inarticulate sound that she hoped Diana would take for one of agreement. Privately she doubted very much that Julian was going to be pleased with her. It was far more likely that he was going to be far from pleased. In fact it was quite possible that he was going to be exceedingly displeased.
Irritation at the chance meeting between Diana and Nicky swept over her afresh. If Diana had remained ignorant of Nicky’s existence, Julian wouldn’t have to be told about her friendship with him. Even despite Nicky’s credentials as the friend of Mr Wickham Steed and Mr Seton-Watson, Julian was not going to be impressed. He was immediately going to class Nicky in the same category as Gavrilo and Trifko and Nedjelko and he was going to assume that her friendship with him would lead to disaster, just as her friendship with nationalists in Belgrade had led to disaster.
It was the end of November when he wrote her, telling her that he had leave and would be home for Christmas. Despite her misgivings as to what his reaction would be when he was told of her friendship with Nicky, Natalie was overjoyed. He would cheer and comfort her as he always did and the war news was such that she was in desperate need of cheer and comfort.
The attempt to storm the Gallipoli peninsula had ended in total retreat; Serbia was as cut off from her allies as she had ever been. Even worse was the news from Serbia itself. All through the autumn Austro-German troops had been attacking in force along the Danube front while four hundred thousand Bulgarian troops had hurled themselves across the western frontier. The result had been catastrophic. When news of what was taking place in Serbia had finally reached London it was disclosed that the Serbian army was in retreat and marching without food and adequate clothing across the snow-covered mountains into Albania.
Natalie had at first been disbelieving and then prostrate with grief. How had it happened? Why, why, why hadn’t the Allies ensured that munitions reach Serbia? At the thought of Austrian and German chiefs of staff inhabiting the Konak and Austro-German and Bulgarian troops strutting Belgrade streets she had been physically sick. Not even Stephen’s existence had eased her heartache. What had happened to her father? Was he, too, marching in rags across treacherous icy mountain passes into Albania? Were Max and Sandro with him? And what of her uncle? How could he, arthritic and elderly, survive the hell of such a journey?
‘Napoleon and his army successfully crossed the Alps,’ Diana said to her, trying to take a positive attitude to the news.
‘Napoleon made his march after
long and careful preparation,’ Natalie said bleakly, remembering her childhood lessons in all things French. ‘He didn’t make the crossing with inadequate means of transport and no provisions.’
Diana was suitably chastened. She couldn’t imagine how she would feel if her father or Julian or Edward were retreating over mountains in temperatures which Natalie had assured her would be well below zero. She said tentatively, changing the subject, ‘Where will your mother and sister be now? Will they still be in Belgrade?’
Natalie’s heart-shaped face became even paler. ‘I don’t know. They may have gone to Nish, but the Austrians and Germans and Bulgarians will be in Nish now as well.’
They both fell silent, not wanting to put into words their fears of what Serbia’s civilian population might now be suffering.
She had no warning of his arrival, he simply walked into the house. A maid ran to the nursery where Natalie now spent nearly all her time, to tell her the news. Natalie promptly thrust her son into his nurse’s arms and ran out into the corridor and towards the stairs, Bella at her heels.
He was still in the large hallway, his kitbag at his feet, being greeted by his mother. She called his name from the head of the stairs and as he raised his head, his eyes meeting hers, his mother might as well have not existed.
‘Julian! Oh, Julian!’
As he strode to the foot of the stairs she hurtled down them and into his waiting arms.
Dimly she was aware of her mother-in-law’s frigid disapproval, dimly she was aware that they were being watched round-eyed by half the household staff. She didn’t care. He was home and he would somehow find out from his friends at the Foreign Office exactly what was happening in Serbia and where her family were.
‘Oh, I’ve missed you so much!’ she gasped truthfully when at last he released her.
Before he could reply Lady Fielding said freezingly, ‘Shall we go into the drawing-room? The hall is not the most suitable place for a family reunion, and can you please stop that dog from racing around in circles and barking in such an annoying manner?’
‘Julian hasn’t seen Stephen yet,’ Natalie protested, ignoring completely her mother-in-law’s references to Bella. ‘You must come upstairs this minute, Julian, and say hello to your son. He’s absolutely wonderful. He hardly ever cries and he and Bella adore each other.’
Taking hold of his hand she began to lead him up the stairs, Bella still skittering excitedly around their ankles, and it was only then that she realized just how badly he had been injured.
‘You’re limping!’ she said, her eyes widening in shock. ‘You didn’t tell me you had a limp. You said you had been declared fit for active service again!’
‘So I have,’ he said easily. ‘A limp counts for nothing, these days.
Ignore it. I do.’ And with his hand tightening on hers he continued to walk up the stairs and towards the nursery.
Her delight and pride, as he bent over Stephen’s crib and very tenderly lifted him from it, was marred by concern. For the first time she was able to look at him clearly and she was shocked by the change in him. He was still incredibly handsome, still tall and wonderfully broad-shouldered, his combination of dark-gold hair and brown eyes still as striking as ever, but there were lines on his face that had never been there before and he had lost so much weight that he looked positively emaciated.
‘Hello, old chap,’ he was saying tenderly to his chortling son as he cradled him awkwardly in his arms. ‘You don’t know me yet, but you soon will do. I’m your Pa.’
Natalie dragged her thoughts away from the horrors he had so obviously endured since they were last together and said proudly, ‘Isn’t he absolutely gorgeous? His eyes were almost blue when he was born but they’re hazel now. His hair isn’t remotely like yours though. Even when he was newly born it was obvious it was going to be nearer my colour than yours. I still can’t make up my mind whether he’s going to look more English than Slav, or more Slav than English. He’s going to be handsome though, isn’t he?’
‘Very handsome,’ Julian said thickly, gazing down at the son he had feared he would never see. ‘And I like the name. Is it for Stephen, last Tsar of Serbia?’
She nodded. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind. I named him after you and Papa as well. Stephen Alexis Julian.’
Very gently Julian laid Stephen back down in his crib. ‘We have to go back downstairs,’ he said regretfully. ‘I haven’t seen Pa yet and if we lock ourselves in our room before I do so, we’ll never hear the last of it.’
‘Tell me what happened to you when you were injured,’ she said, her eyes holding his as his arms closed once more around her. ‘Was it far worse than you made out in your letters? Will you always have a limp?’
‘Will it matter to you if I have?’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said with patent truthfulness. ‘All that matters to me is that you are alive.’
He felt weak with thankfulness, not because his limping would not offend her, but because her reply told him that she loved him.
As always, her uninhibited response to him in bed convinced him of her love more than any number of words. There were times when his happiness was so great, as opposed to the horrors he had left behind him, that he felt both mentally and physically disorientated. Instead of being a mere day and a half away, Flanders could have been as far away as the moon.
At a welcome home party that Diana and Natalie arranged for him there were two bands, one American and black, the other Hawaiian. The food was light years removed from the food of the trenches. Instead of bully-beef there were avocados and terrapin and soft-shell crabs and instead of enamel mugs of bitter tea there was champagne and plentiful supplies of claret and brandy.
Though the dancing had continued until dawn and everyone invited declared it a great success, he had not enjoyed it. It had seemed bizarre and excessive and he found it hard to credit that such shenanigins, amid rooms awash with hot-house orchids and roses, could be regarded as normal when across the Channel men were dying in their thousands in conditions of unimaginable vileness.
Natalie sensed his deep inner repugnance to the jollities Diana so assiduously arranged for him and sympathized totally. She, too, found it hard to party when her inner thoughts were on the sufferings being undergone by her country’s retreating army.
‘Can you find out for me if my uncle is still with his troops? If it is Sandro who is leading the army across the mountains and into Albania?’ she had asked him as they lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, their bodies exhausted and satiated after lovemaking.
He had been able to find out very little. ‘There’s been no communication with the Serbian High Command for months,’ he said when he returned from a visit in Whitehall. ‘The rumours are that both King Peter and Prince Alexander are with the troops now struggling to make a crossing into Albania. As to what is happening in Belgrade and Nish, there are no reports whatsoever, not even rumours.’
The lack of information to even someone with Julian’s diplomatic contacts was a crushing disappointment to her but it was one that had to be borne. Another burden was the weight of his annoyance when Diana’s careless talk left her no option but to tell him about Nicky.
‘A Croat nationalist?’ he had asked, dumbfounded. ‘After everything that happened after you made friends with Princip you’ve been foolish enough to make friends with a Croat nationalist? Can’t you understand that these people are only interested in trying to use you? In trying to exploit your family links?’
‘You’re wrong,’ she had said stubbornly, hating the fact that they were on the verge of an argument. ‘All that matters to Nicky and his friends is that I am a South Slav, just as they are.’
‘Being a South Slav has nothing whatsoever to do with it!’ he exploded, running his hand through his hair. ‘If you weren’t a Karageorgevich members of the Yugoslav Committee wouldn’t even give you the time of day!’
‘You don’t understand,’ she said tightly, wishing that she
could have kept Nicky a secret from him, wishing that Nicky and Diana had never met. ‘The Yugoslav Committee is respectable! The editor of The Times is in sympathy with the Committee’s aims! It is the kind of organization Papa would have joined …’
‘Your father would not have wanted you involving yourself with nationalists of any kind,’ he retorted grimly. ‘Have you forgotten what happened last time? You nearly found yourself in an Austrian court on a charge of complicity in the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand!’
‘You’re wrong,’ she said again, mutinously. ‘No warrant was ever issued for my arrest. The Austrians never requested my extradition.’
He turned away from her sharply, thrusting his fists deep into his trouser pockets. When Alexis had written to him, telling him of the Austrian request for her extradition, he had determined never to tell her, seeing no point in causing her further distress by doing so. Now he was sorely tempted to tell her exactly how close she had been to standing trial alongside Gavrilo Princip and his cronies.
She stepped close up behind him, sliding her hand conciliatingly through his arm. ‘Don’t let’s fall out,’ she said huskily. ‘There are only another four days before you return to the front. Don’t let’s spoil them.’
His anger had melted instantaneously. He knew far more about the Yugoslav Committee than she could possibly guess and, to be fair to her, what she had said about it was true. It was respectable. Through its dealings with the British government it had acquired the de facto stature of a kind of government-in-exile for the South Slavs still under the rule of the Habsburg monarchy. Thanks to Yugoslav emigrants in North and South America it had both funds and military recruits.
Whether Nikita Kechko was as respectable as Trumbich. Supilo, Mestrovich and other eminent members of the Committee was another matter entirely and one he intended finding out. For the moment, however, he and Natalie were on loving terms again and he didn’t intend to waste another moment discussing a subject that could only cause tension between them.
Zadruga Page 28
