The Russian Concubine

32

Achingly beautiful.

That’s how Theo thought Junchow looked this morning. It had snowed overnight and now the town dazzled. Its drab grey roofs had been transformed into sparkling white slopes with curling eaves like sledges, eager to slip and slide away. Even the solid British mansions were no more than fragile icing. The light from the sky was a strange muted pink that made everything glitter, including the school courtyard below, where the perfect imprint of the paw marks of a night creature trailed through the snow from one end to the other.

‘You go now, Tiyo, or you be late.’

Reluctantly he abandoned the window. Li Mei was standing behind him in a virginal white gown. A snowflake. He took her in his arms and kissed her soft lips but released her when he saw liquid trickle down her cheek. She was melting. He took the top hat she was holding in her hands. It was seal grey and appeared ridiculous to him. He was wearing a morning coat with absurd tails and a stiff white collar. Li Mei touched his cheek, smelled the flower in his lapel, and straightened the hat on his head.

‘You look very fine, Tiyo, my love.’

‘A very fine idiot,’ he laughed.

She laughed with him.

‘Come with me,’ he said.

‘No, my love.’

‘Why?’

‘It would not be fitting.’

‘Bugger fitting.’

‘No, I do other things today.’

‘What things?’

‘I go speak with my father.’

‘With Feng Tu Hong? Damn that devil. You swore you wished never to see him again.’

She lowered her head, her black hair swaying in a rippling curtain between them. ‘I know. I break my oath. I pray the gods will forgive me.’

‘Don’t go to him, sweet one. Please. He might hurt you and I couldn’t bear that.’

‘Or I might hurt him,’ she said, lifting her almond-shaped eyes to his. Achingly beautiful.

Theo tried to concentrate. The wedding service was thankfully short. That was the advantage of a civil ceremony over one of those elaborately drawn-out church weddings, full of fluff and flummery that Theo loathed. This was better. Brief and to the point. Shame for Alfred though. He was quite put out by not being allowed to exchange vows in a church before God, but if he insisted on marrying a woman who had been married before, what did he expect? The Church of England was a bit of a stickler about these niceties.

The bride was sparkling. That was Theo’s problem. He was sitting in the front row of seats behind the groom, only dimly aware of the other guests around him, of hats and perfumes and neatly tied cravats. It was the bride’s cream bolero that was bothering him. It was covered with tiny seed pearls that shimmered and shifted each time she breathed, seizing the light and swirling it around Theo’s head, making it difficult for him to think clearly. He focused on the back of her dress instead, on her slender hips under the ivory-coloured chiffon, on the soft curves and the sweet rise of her buttocks. Abruptly he wished he were at home with Li Mei. In the bath. His tongue trailing up her buttery thigh.

He shook his head. Blinked hard. Emptied his brain of such thoughts. These days it was impossible to know where his mind would wander off next, and that worried him. He removed his grey gloves and chafed his hands together, oblivious to the noise, but a woman behind him tapped his shoulder pointedly, so he ceased. There were no more than about thirty people present, mainly colleagues of Alfred’s from the Daily Herald, and Theo recognised one or two chaps from the club as well, but there was a large-bosomed elderly woman in taffeta, very Russian, whom he didn’t know and a bright but stringy couple with clouds of white hair who smiled a lot. Vaguely he recalled Alfred mentioning that they were retired missionaries who’d lived in the same house as Valentina.

‘Do you, Alfred Frederick Parker, take this woman…?’

No, they’d got it all wrong. It was this woman who was taking Alfred. It was obvious to everyone but the poor blighter himself. This woman and her daughter. Theo brushed a hand over his burning eyes. Where was the daughter?

He recalled noticing her earlier when she walked into the chamber behind her mother, very upright and remote. She knew how to walk, that girl. Like she was queen of the jungle in her leaf-green dress and pelt of shining copper hair. He glanced across the aisle and found her. She was staring stiffly down at the pale green gloves on her lap and picking at their fingers with sharp little tugs. Her hair was draped forward but did not quite hide a long scratch beside her ear. She had clearly been in a fight in that jungle of hers.

Theo leaned back in his seat and risked closing his eyes. Instantly he was swept away in a world of sampans and swaying decks and yellow teeth. As clear as day he could see Christopher Mason adrift on a raft in the wide mouth of the river, covered in snakes devouring his eyes and crawling into his ears.

Theo smiled and started to snore. ‘What do you think, Theo, old chap? Pretty damn decent I’d say, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes, it’s a fine house you’ve rented, Alfred.’ It was at the eastern end of the British Quarter near St Sebastian’s Church, tucked away in a leafy avenue. ‘You and your beautiful bride should be very happy here.’ He didn’t mention the daughter.

‘I think so too.’

They were standing on the terrace looking out over the extensive garden that even in the bleak grip of winter managed to look well cared for. Smoke from their cigars spiralled up into the still air and the brandy snifters were almost empty. Theo was desperate to leave. His eyes ached and his skin prickled painfully. It felt as if a rodent were wriggling around under it, gnawing at the nerve ends. Behind him in the drawing room the buzz of voices enjoying themselves rose steadily as the wedding party made the most of the food and drink. Music drifted out, something by Paul Whiteman’s band. The sound of it scraped like razor blades in his ears.

‘Off soon?’ he asked.

‘Anytime now.’ Alfred checked his pocket watch. ‘The taxi is coming to take us to the station at three-thirty. Then it’s a whole week at Datong. Just the two of us. On honeymoon. Valentina and me.’ His smile was so broad, Theo thought it would split his face in half.

‘You’ll love the Huayuan temple.’

‘I’m really looking forward to seeing it. Valentina too.’

‘I bet she is. What about the girl?’

‘Lydia?’

‘Yes. Staying here is she? Or with…’ Theo’s mind went blank. What was the little blond girl’s name? Sally? Dolly? Polly, that was it. ‘Or with Polly?’

For the first time that day Alfred’s beaming smile faded a fraction. ‘She’s chosen to stay here. There’s the cook and his wife living in, of course, as well as the houseboy and gardener coming in each day, so she won’t be on her own.’

‘No need to worry then.’

‘Well, I can’t say I’m happy about it. She refused to go to stay with the Masons, even though she was invited, and won’t hear of my employing a respectable woman to live here with her as a chaperone while we’re away.’ He removed his spectacles and polished them thoroughly. ‘It’s only a week,’ he muttered to himself. ‘And she’ll be seventeen this year. What trouble can she get into in a week?’

Theo laughed and looked down at the damp grey stone under his shoes to shield from the glare of lights flickering inside his eyes. ‘Don’t fret, dear fellow, that girl knows how to take care of herself.’

Alfred looked at him solemnly. ‘That’s what worries me.’

‘What is it that worries you, my angel?’ It was Valentina, come to join them on the terrace.

‘Ah, I’m worried that it might snow again and make our train late.’

‘Nonsense, even the weather is on our side today. Nothing will go wrong.’

She laughed and stepped up close to her husband, so close she could lean her body against his as she stood beside him. Alfred beamed at her. He slid an arm around her waist and she turned her face up to him in a manner that made Theo think of a flower turning toward the sun. He could see his friend aglow with pride and such naked love that there was something vaguely indecent about it. Theo feared for him.

It was bitterly cold on the terrace and Valentina was wearing only the creamy chiffon dress that floated around her as she moved. He noticed her nipples harden under the flimsy material. Whether from chill or from lust, he had no idea. Theo much preferred the vivid red clothes, red for happiness, that the Chinese wore at weddings instead of the pallid shades of white favoured by Westerners, but even so, he had to admit she looked lovely. Dark hair and eyes shining. Around her long neck hung three strands of pearls, as pale as her skin. Aware of his eyes on her, she turned and held his gaze for a beat longer than was strictly polite, then she smiled up at Alfred again.

‘Angel, do come back indoors. It’s freezing out here and Mr Willoughby is looking very pale.’

‘By Jove, she’s right, Theo, you are a bit on the peaky side. Trust a woman to notice.’

‘Indeed,’ Theo said and headed indoors with the intention of taking his leave.

As the newlywed couple entered the drawing room arm in arm, a cheer went up and everyone joined in singing ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow…’ and followed it with ‘For she’s a jolly…’

Raised voices at the front door broke through. The singing ceased abruptly. A deep roar of anger barged into the room with a native houseboy fluttering with birdlike chirrups in its wake. Theo wondered for a moment if it was one of his hallucinations. It was too bizarre to be real. A huge man, mean and vicious and obviously drunk, had forced his way into the midst of the wedding party with a barrage of Russian curses. He wore a curly black beard and a ragged eye patch, and his clothes looked and smelled as if he hadn’t been out of them since the Bolshevik Revolution. But others were also staring in alarm at the intruder. Bizarre or not, it must be real. The room itself seemed to shake and dwindle in size as the massive creature stumbled forward, growling, swaying, and swerving out of control.

‘The man’s drunk.’

‘Wish I had my gun with me.’

‘Call the police.’

‘Keep back, Johnnie, or someone will get hurt.’

Theo stepped into his path. He wasn’t quite sure what he intended to do, maybe pull the short knife from his ankle scabbard, which he always carried these days. Or maybe the flashing lights in his head had made him invisible and he could smash his fist into the fellow without being seen himself. That crazy thought did cross Theo’s mind. All he knew was that he didn’t want his friend Alfred hurt. Not on his wedding day.

The single black eye swept over him and instantly a massive elbow came crashing toward his face. A fierce yank on Theo’s arm sent him tumbling to one side, and the blow landed on his shoulder instead of destroying his cheekbone. A pair of amber eyes peered into his and he saw the Russian girl’s hands still clutching his arm where she had pulled at him. Then she was gone.

Through the pain that was hammering on his brain and the light blinding his eyes, he tried to make sense of what he saw. The tu-fei, the Russian bandit, charged at the wedded pair. Alfred, mild-mannered and calm Alfred, threw himself forward with an animal cry of fury to protect his beloved, but the great paw knocked him aside with barely a flick of a muscle. Alfred was on the floor, blood on his head.

Screaming. Someone was screaming.

Valentina Ivanova – no, Valentina Parker – was yelling at the big man in Russian. She slapped his face. Not once, but three times. She had to reach up high to do so and looked like a kitten playing with a lion’s muzzle. Yet he didn’t touch her. He growled and roared and shook his great furry head from side to side. He staggered and swayed, too drunk to stand firm, and still she screamed at him.

‘Poshyol von. Get out of here, you stinking Russian pig. Ubiraisya otsyuda gryaznaya svinya.’

‘Prodazhnaya shkura,’ he bellowed and then in English, ‘You whore.’

Theo got himself over to Alfred and helped him to his feet.

‘Stop it, stop it. Prekratyitye.’

It was the girl. She seized hold of the man’s massive arm and pulled him to look at her. His black eye was slow to abandon the bride’s face but eventually shifted to the girl at his side.

‘Poshli, come,’ she said urgently. ‘Come with me. Quickly. Bistra. Or you will be shot like a dog.’

Then it was over. The shouting stopped. The man was gone. Alfred was rushing to Valentina. The girl disappeared. The last thing Theo could recall was the sight of her small figure dragging the big bandit from the room and the odd thing was that he went quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks into his thick beard. The old woman with the vast bosom was standing, arms outstretched, in the middle of the room, gazing up at the ceiling and declaiming in a heavy Russian accent, ‘You shall pay for this. God will make you pay for this.’

Theo wondered if she meant him.