Zoya laughed, but she appreciated Axelle's concern. “Work harder. There's no room in my life for a man, Axelle. I'm at the shop till
“Maybe I should fire you, for your own good,” the older woman teased, but they both knew there was no danger of that. Zoya was too important to her now. At last, she had found a safe harbor.
But the next morning, when they went back to Dior again, to discuss shoes this time, they ran into Simon Hirsch getting out of a taxi at the same time they did.
“We meet again, I see. I'd better be careful or you'll be selling the same coats I am!” But he didn't look worried. He cast an eye over Zoya again, this time in a bright pink linen suit that made her look almost girlish.
“No danger of that, Mr. Hirsch,” Axelle assured him, “we've come back to discuss shoes.”
“Thank heaven.” He followed them in, and they met again on the way out, and this time all three of them laughed. “Maybe we should combine our schedules, just to save time and money on taxis.” He smiled at Zoya, and then glanced at his watch. He was well dressed, with obviously handmade English shoes, and a very good-looking suit, and the watch on his wrist was one he had just bought at Cartier. “Do you ladies have time for lunch, or are you too busy?”
Zoya had been about to decline, when Axelle startled her by accepting. And without halting for a beat, Simon Hirsch hailed a cab, and gave him the address of the new George V Hotel.
“They do a very nice lunch. I stayed there the last time I was in Paris.” He looked serious then, as they approached the hotel just off the Champs-Élysées. “I went to Germany then, it was only a year ago, but I'm not going back this time. It was extremely unpleasant.” He didn't elaborate as they got out, and when they reached the dining room, the headwaiter took them to an excellent table. They ordered lunch and he asked Axelle if they were going anywhere else, but she said they only had time for Paris.
“I bought some beautiful fabrics in England and Scotland before I came, for my men's line. Beautiful goods,” he said, as he ordered wine, and Zoya sat back quietly in her chair and watched him. “I won't set foot back in Germany though,” he mentioned again. “Not with all this business with Hitler.”
“Do you think he's really doing the things they say?” Zoya had heard about his hostility to the Jews, but she wasn't quite sure she believed it.
“I don't think there's any doubt. The Nazis have created an atmosphere of anti-Semitism that permeates the whole country. They're almost afraid to talk to you these days. I think it's going to lead to some very serious trouble.” His eyes were quiet but angry, as Zoya slowly nodded.
“It seems difficult to believe.” But so was the revolution.
“That kind of insanity always is. My family left Russia because of the pogroms. And now it's starting here, in a subtler way, of course, but not much. There's nothing very subtle about going after Jews,” his eyes burned with quiet fire, as the two women listened. And then, as though to change the subject, he turned to Zoya with a quiet smile of interest. “When did you leave Russia, Countess?”
“Please,” she blushed in embarrassment, “call me Zoya. In ‘real life,’ my name is Zoya Andrews.” Their eyes met and held, and she looked away for a moment before answering his question. “I left Russia in 1917. Just after the revolution.”
“It must have been a painful time for you. Did your family go with you?”
“Only my grandmother.” She was able to talk about it now. It had taken almost twenty years for her to do that. “The others were killed before we left, most of them. And some a year later.” He didn't realize she was referring to the Tsar, it never occurred to him that she was that well connected.
“Did you go to New York then?”
“No,” she smiled pleasantly as the waiter poured their wine. It was a fine 1926 wine, which Simon had ordered. “We came to Paris. I lived here for two years before I married and went to New York with my husband.” His eyes searched for the wedding ring, and saw with dismay that it was still on her finger, but Axelle noticed it too, and knew Zoya well enough to foresee that she wouldn't explain any further.
“The Countess is a widow” she provided helpfully, and Zoya shot her a look of annoyance.
“I'm sorry,” he offered politely, but it was obvious that he was interested in the information. “Do you have children?”
