The Secret Wife

by Gill Paul

  She winced. ‘I couldn’t bear to become a newspaper story, to have all these strangers queuing up to decide whether or not they recognise me. The only person I ever wanted to find was you.’

  Dmitri spoke without thinking. ‘Come to America then. I’ll help you.’

  Her face lit up, then a cloud passed over it. ‘I will not be responsible for taking you away from the mother of your children, Malama.’

  A vision of Rosa came into Dmitri’s head and he felt stricken. For the last twenty-four hours, since meeting Tatiana, he hadn’t given her a thought. Now her sunny smile, her generous body, her optimistic nature came to him as if in a vision. He could never hurt Rosa. He loved her too much. How could he have betrayed her so thoughtlessly? What could he do?

  ‘I’ll tell you what will happen,’ Tatiana told him, while he hesitated. ‘I will come to America with you and I will translate your books into good English but I will live alone. I have become a solitary person over the years and I think that would suit me best.’

  Dmitri frowned: ‘But you are my wife. I want us to be lovers.’

  She took his chin between her fingers, looked him in the eye, and said. ‘Yes, I rather think that is inevitable.’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Lake Akanabee, New York State, 11th October 2016

  In the few days since she was last there, it felt as if the temperature on the lake had dropped ten degrees. Kitty slept huddled in her fleecy dressing gown with her thick green cardigan piled on top of the bedding roll but still she woke several times shivering. The alarm on her phone was set for 6.30 a.m. and for the first time she caught the sunrise over the lake. If anything, it was more spectacular than the sunsets, with streaks of flamingo-pink and tangerine heralding a shimmery white sun. A black bird with red wings was crying ‘Coralee, coralee’ as if searching for a lost love. She made herself a cup of instant coffee and took her phone to the end of the jetty, where the signal appeared to be strongest.

  There were clicks and buzzes before a phone began to ring thousands of miles down the ether. A voice answered in Czech, so Kitty said slowly and clearly, in English, ‘Could I speak to Hana Markova, please.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ the voice answered, with traces of an American accent.

  While she waited to be connected, Kitty wondered briefly about the cost of the call then decided that this is what Dmitri would want her to do with his money. He would want her to clear his name.

  A voice came on the line: ‘Ahoj!’

  ‘This is Kitty Fisher. Is that Hana Markova?’

  The voice switched to flawless English. ‘Well, hello. Kitty! My goodness, am I really speaking to Dmitri’s great-granddaughter?’

  Kitty paused, puzzled. ‘Yes, did you know him?’

  ‘Not personally, but my father said Irena often spoke of him. And when she left in 1948, he was pretty sure she had gone to find Dmitri.’

  ‘How did she know him?’ Kitty felt as though she was being particularly slow, as though Hana was several steps ahead of her.

  There was a pause, and she couldn’t tell if it was a delay on the line or Hana’s hesitation. ‘They met in Russia, during the war. The First World War.’

  ‘But then she married your father?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘And she was your stepmother?’

  ‘No, I was born after Irena left. My mother was Dad’s second wife.’

  Kitty paused, but there was no point to this call unless she was straight. ‘Did the police tell you that a body I found buried near Dmitri’s cabin might be hers?’

  ‘Yes. They asked if I knew anyone who could provide DNA or dental records but I’m afraid I can’t help with that.’

  Kitty chose her words carefully. ‘They seem to think Dmitri might have had something to do with her death. But from what I know of him, I can’t believe it. That’s why I wanted to call you, to see if you can tell me any more about them.’

  There was a muffled sound that could have been a laugh, or an indignant snort. ‘That’s ridiculous. He would never have harmed a hair on her head.’

  ‘Were they lovers?’

  Hana sighed. ‘It’s a big story, and not one that should be told on the telephone. But as Dmitri’s great-granddaughter you have the right to know …’

  Kitty spoke impulsively. ‘Why don’t I come to see you? I could fly out next week.’

  Hana was surprised. ‘You would come all the way from America to Brno?’

  ‘I’ve got to be in London on Thursday but I could come to you on Friday.’

  ‘And you have no idea what this is all about?’ Hana sounded incredulous.

  ‘Perhaps I have an inkling,’ Kitty said. ‘I have a Russian diary dating from 1918. I’ll bring it with me.’

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Istanbul, September 1948

  Two days after they found each other again, Dmitri and Tatiana caught a train to Istanbul, then sailed in a caïque across the Bosphorus to his sister Valerina’s house. It was in a walled courtyard surrounded by dark green forest on all sides and looked out over the sparkling water from a high vantage point. Dmitri hadn’t told his sister he was bringing another guest and when he walked in with Tatiana, Valerina recognised her immediately. Her eyes widened in shock and she caught her breath before she bent her knees in a curtsey.

  ‘Please don’t,’ Tatiana begged. ‘I am no longer royalty. For many years I have been a farmer’s wife.’

  ‘Come, sit down,’ Valerina fussed, pointing to a comfortable armchair by a window. ‘You must be tired from your journey. I will have a room prepared.’

  Dmitri looked at Tatiana then back at his sister before he spoke: ‘We would like to share a room – if it is acceptable to you.’

  ‘Well, of course …’ Valerina was momentarily flustered but soon regained her composure. ‘Of course you would. I’ll make arrangements. Are you well, Your …’ She paused, unsure how to address her guest.

  ‘Please call me Tatiana. These last decades I have been known by the name Irena Markova but I miss the name of my birth.’

  ‘So you were brought out of Russia by men from the Czech Legion?’ Valerina asked.

  ‘One man. Yes.’

  Dmitri was consumed by jealousy. Who was this man? Was he the one she had married?

  ‘I can’t even begin to imagine what you have been through,’ Valerina said softly. ‘You are welcome in my house for as long as you like. Both of you.’

  Dmitri hugged her. ‘Thank you. I knew you would say that. I am going to apply for a passport and visa so Tatiana can come to America with me and I don’t know how long it will take, so if we could stay here in the meantime …’

  ‘Of course.’

  Dmitri was astonished by how quickly the women became friends. Tatiana may have told him she did not want to talk about what had happened in the years since they last saw each other, but Valerina had soon coaxed most of the story from her, after serving them glasses of sweet amber-coloured sherry.

  ‘The man who brought me to Czechoslovakia is called Vaclav Markov,’ Tatiana said. ‘He is a good man, a Czech soldier, as you guessed, and he smuggled me out of Russia and all the way to the village of his birth, outside Brno. I was in the depths of despair after hearing the fate of my family. Although I hoped desperately that it was not true, I had a feeling right from the start that it must be. We all knew death was close those last weeks. I think we accepted that we were unlikely to survive once we arrived at that wretched house in Ekaterinburg – even little Alexei.’

  She shook herself as if to expunge the memory.

  ‘I wrote to your mother’ – Tatiana looked at Dmitri – ‘and received a reply saying that you had died at the battle of Tsaritsyn. And that’s when I gave up all hope …’

  Dmitri was furious with himself. If only he had written to his mother so she knew he was alive … Everything would have been different. ‘Malevich died at Tsaritsyn,’ he explained. ‘I couldn’t bear to stay in the army af
ter that. I left to continue searching for you.’

  Tatiana gave him a look of compassion. ‘It’s all so long ago. We’ve both had to live with the decisions we made. I married Vaclav because it was the only way to stay in that village without attracting attention. We always worried that the Bolsheviks would find me so we lived unobtrusively on a farm. That’s where I’ve been all these years.’

  ‘Did you have children?’ Valerina asked. It was the question Dmitri had felt unable to press her on after she told him she didn’t, but from his sister it felt natural.

  Tears welled in Tatiana’s eyes. Up to that point she had been composed, but now she could not speak. Valerina rose, knelt at her feet and took her hands. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said quietly.

  The tears began to flow as Tatiana spoke. ‘My only son, Jaroslav, was executed by the Nazis. It happened five years ago but feels like yesterday.’

  Dmitri came to put her arms around her shoulders and she leaned her face into his waist and wept. He felt useless, lumpen, that he was unable to take away her pain.

  ‘It was too cruel,’ she sobbed. ‘After everything else. Then that.’

  Valerina and Dmitri caught eyes. There was nothing to say, so they remained there, holding Tatiana, until her crying passed. Dmitri felt the scale of her loss keenly – her homeland, her family, her son. It was unthinkable.

  ‘But now I have you.’ She looked up at him through wet lashes and he knew that whatever happened he must keep her close for the rest of his life.

  The passport and visa came through, in the name of Irena Markova, since that was what she was called in her Czech documents. Dmitri and Tatiana bade farewell to Valerina and flew to New York together in early December 1948. It was a long, gruelling flight with six stop-overs between Istanbul and New York, but much faster than a ship’s crossing. Rosa had been expecting Dmitri weeks earlier – he had been absent for three months rather than one – and despite several expensive international calls from Valerina’s house, he knew she was anxious.

  He and Tatiana caught a train from Grand Central station and she gazed out the window at this country that would be her new home. Light snow was falling and the grass sparkled with frost, while stark trees waved against a white sky, almost like their Russian homeland. As the train neared Albany, Dmitri walked along to alight from another compartment, as he knew Rosa would be waiting on the platform. He had given Tatiana an envelope full of money, instructions on where to find the taxi rank and the address of a good hotel – and thus his double life began.

  When Dmitri saw Rosa on the platform, wearing a coat the colour of raspberries with three oversized black buttons down the front, and a pillbox hat with two black feathers sticking up jauntily, he felt a gush of warmth for her. She ran along the platform and threw herself into his arms, and Dmitri couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder to check if Tatiana was watching. He couldn’t see her, so he hugged Rosa and kissed her on the cheek. This was going to be hard. Already he felt torn: on the one hand he worried that Tatiana might not find her hotel safely, that she might feel lonely on her own in a strange land, and on the other he was nervous that Rosa might sense his infidelity, might smell it on his clothes or detect it in his manner. She had always been good at reading his moods and he was not practised in deception.

  Back home, he was greeted by Malevich, now a rather elderly dog with grey whiskers and arthritic joints, but still retaining a puppyish enthusiasm. He could no longer jump up but licked Dmitri’s hand and wouldn’t stop following him all evening. It was midweek and the children were at college, but Rosa had made a feast of his favourite Russian dishes: Borscht soup, pirogi dumplings filled with meat and cheese, and a salmon coulibiac, with fish, rice, spinach and hard-boiled eggs wrapped in pastry. As he ate, Rosa told him the latest news: the children’s examination results, a neighbour who had been admitted to hospital, her worries for her mother, who was getting increasingly frail. Dmitri half-listened, making appropriate murmuring noises, and trying to calm her with his still presence, because she seemed agitated.

  ‘So these problems with the company, you are sure they are sorted?’ This was the excuse Dmitri had used for his delayed return. He nodded vaguely. ‘I wish you would leave the job now that we don’t need the money any more.’

  ‘They’re family,’ he soothed. ‘I can’t leave them in the lurch. But I’ve told Alex I’m resigning soon and he accepted it. I just have to find someone to take over.’

  Rosa was pleased. ‘Do you have an idea what you will write next? Did Europe provide any inspiration for a new novel?’

  ‘Perhaps. I haven’t decided yet. As you know, I can only write in the peace and quiet of my own home.’

  After dinner they went up to the bedroom where he opened his suitcase and gave her the presents he had brought from Europe: a bottle of the coveted Chanel No. 5 perfume from Coco Chanel’s rue Cambon shop in Paris; a recipe book from Vienna, written in German; and a length of fine silk from Milan, the iridescent turquoise of a kingfisher’s wings. He’d also brought gifts for the children, and for her mother and sister, and she admired them and complimented his taste.

  And then came the moment he dreaded as Rosa leaned in to kiss him and reached her hand between his legs.

  ‘It’s been such a long time,’ she murmured.

  He froze and began formulating the words to tell her that he was tired from the journey and needed to bathe, but his penis betrayed him by responding to her touch. Rosa knew his body intimately; his cells held a memory of all the sensual delights of their past decades, and it proved impossible to resist her. He liked the familiar way she used her muscles to grip him, the places she touched him, the little cry she gave as she came. That’s how Dmitri found himself making love to Rosa just twenty-four hours after he last made love to Tatiana.

  Afterwards, as she lay in his arms, Dmitri experienced new depths of guilt. Of all the bad things he had done in his life this was the most despicable. He listed them in his head: he hadn’t visited his parents before they died because he was too busy trying – and failing – to rescue the Romanovs; he had almost certainly caused the death of the farm girl Yelena through his blinkered selfishness; he had done his best to save Tatiana but in doing so he might have sealed her family’s fate; he had let Rosa fall in love with him even though he loved another. But now, this huge infidelity – this was inexcusable.

  During their stay with Valerina his sister had warned him he would never be able to manage an affair, that it would tear him apart. But how could he hurt either of these women? He couldn’t bear it. He loved them both in different ways, wanted them both to be happy and to be part of his life.

  Rosa seemed to have no idea of his turmoil. She curled her body around his with a sigh of contentment and fell asleep in his arms.

  The following day, Dmitri left home at the time he would normally go to the office, despite Rosa pleading with him to rest and recover from his jetlag. He drove straight to the town-centre hotel where Tatiana was installed and hurried up to her room, where he found her reading by the window, quite content to wait for him.

  ‘Is Rosa all right?’ she asked, smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to ask.

  ‘Yes, fine.’ He was uncomfortable talking about Rosa. ‘And you? Is the hotel to your liking?’

  ‘It is utterly luxurious. I had a delicious dinner last night then spent an hour in the bath so I feel quite pampered.’ She smiled and stretched, cat-like.

  He sat down on the bed. ‘Tatiana, I don’t think I can do this. The dishonesty feels fundamentally wrong. I think I should tell Rosa that I’ve found you and that we have to be together. She will be devastated but at least I won’t be lying to her.’

  Tatiana shook her head decisively. ‘What you’re saying is that you would rather make Rosa suffer than live with your guilty conscience.’ She held his gaze. ‘If you hadn’t met me, would you be leaving Rosa now?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well, ou
r relationship need not change anything between you two. In her position, I would rather keep the man I love, with whom I had raised two children, than be left on my own.’

  Dmitri sighed and pursed his lips.

  ‘You will get used to it. All will be well.’ Tatiana rose to put her arms round his neck, pulled his head to her breast. ‘First, we need to find somewhere for me to live.’

  Dmitri resigned himself to the situation for now. ‘We can visit a real-estate agent this morning and pick out somewhere.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s best that we are not seen together around the town. Why don’t you choose? Pick an area where Rosa seldom goes but not too distant that you can’t visit easily. Whatever you like is fine with me, so long as it has a little outdoor space where I can grow a few plants. I will wait here for your return.’

  She seemed to have thought it all through, Dmitri mused. Perhaps women understood these matters better. He found the whole idea of the deception abhorrent. It certainly didn’t come naturally to him.

  He followed Tatiana’s instructions and found her a two-bedroom cottage in Buckingham Lake, just walking distance from his rug import office but on the opposite side of town from their home and the area where most of Rosa’s friends and her mother and sister lived. He opened a bank account for her and put in plenty of money so she could furnish the cottage and buy all that she needed in the way of clothes and household goods.

  Back at the hotel they had lunch together and talked about the translation of Interminable Love, which she was keen to start. To anyone watching from the outside, they could have been two old friends. But after lunch they went up to her hotel room and made love, still discovering each other, still overwhelmed by the force of their feelings for each other after thirty years apart. While in her arms, Dmitri didn’t think of Rosa once.

  He pulled up in his driveway at six o’clock, the time he would have got home from a day at the office, and Malevich came limping out to greet him.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Rosa asked as he kissed her in greeting. ‘I called the office and they said you hadn’t been in.’