I have never shared the romantic attraction of many Slavs for the Scots. It is an affliction common to most Europeans. I remember in later years meeting an Italian who ran a fish-and-chip shop in the Holborn area of London. This Italian had been so obsessed with the Scots he had kept a complete Highland kit under his bed throughout the Second World War. When the British took his garrison, he simply donned the costume and, complete with a full set of bagpipes, fell in with a column of English troops who accepted him, bizarre accent to boot, as someone separated from a Highland regiment. He was eventually repatriated to England where he started his business which was called
But I was a long way from fish-and-chip shops as I sat in the strawberry-coloured luxury of the Wagons-Lits Internationales dining car on the Kiev-St Petersburg Express and filled myself with delicious croissants, marmalade, apricot jam, cheeses, cold meats, steamed egg, aware of the admiring gaze of a lovely young Russian girl who had all but guaranteed me the sexual companionship I had begun to need. I reminded myself to get hold of Sergei Andreyovitch’s address. If I could make contact with his friends I would know where cocaine was sold and might also have an entree into bohemian life. Cocaine, Shura had once told me, was much more expensive in the capital. Most of it was actually imported via Odessa.
The train crawled forward a few more miles and stopped again. This time we waited in a siding while a long military train went past. This camouflaged train had armoured coaches and huge steel plates protecting the loco. It flew various flags and had positions on the roof for machine-gunners. On flat cars sandbagged artillery was guarded by half-frozen soldiers in greatcoats and woollen caps, vast felt mittens gripping long rifles. Not a few of the passengers waved and cheered at the stolid soldiers, who did not wave back.
‘On their way to the Western Front,’ said a young captain to his pretty wife. ‘That’s the sort of stuff we’re sending the Boche. He’ll be done for in a matter of weeks.’
I was heartened by this news. I reported it to Seryozha as he lay, fully-dressed and shivering, in the compartment. He complained about the cold. ‘I’ll never arrive on time. So many envy me. Foline’s bound to give someone my best parts. That will be the end of my career. You don’t know what a fight it is, Dimka, to make a name for oneself in the ballet. Particularly in Russia. It’s easier abroad, where there’s hardly any competition.’
‘Go to Paris,’ I suggested, ‘and astonish them all.’
He gave me an odd smile. ‘I’d rather stay in Peter.’
‘It’s likely every train will be late,’ I said. ‘For all you know the rest of your troupe is still stuck somewhere outside Kiev and we’re ahead of it. That’s been known to happen.’
He told me I was a dear and I had a good heart and that he was grateful to me for all I had done. It was little enough, I thought, but I took the opportunity of asking for his address. He wrote down the address of a friend instead: Nicholai Feodorovitch Petroff. He said that he had not yet decided on permanent lodgings in the city. If all else failed and I wanted to contact him urgently, he would always be glad to see me at the Foline, God willing. They would be leaving for America, he hoped, in the spring. He prayed that America would not come into the War or there would be absolutely nowhere to go. ‘At least people are glad of entertainment in wartime. The number of new theatres and clubs opening in Peter in just the last month or two, I’m told, is incredible! It used to be such an unfriendly city, you know. Not like Moscow. I love Peter. It’s the only civilised place in the whole country. But it isn’t really friendly, even now.’
I was disturbed to hear this. I had a feeling there was something Teutonic and arrogant about the St Petersburg citizens. When we eventually began to pull into the station it was grey and smoky and somehow characterless. It was too big.
Sergei was in a hurry to leave the train and get to the company to ensure himself of his position. He kissed me on both cheeks and lugged his cases down the corridor while old ladies and generals grumbled at him. I was glad he had left in such a hurry, for I had acquired his snuff-box, which he had left in his bunk. He would easily be able to replenish it. But it would keep me going for a long while. I would return the box itself as soon as I had used the contents.
