“I'll have to ask Axelle what she'd like to do. But thank you very much, I'll extend your invitation to her.” She wanted to make it clear to him that she was not available. She liked him very much but he made her vaguely uncomfortable. There was something so intense about his eyes, his handshake was so strong, even the arm with which he guided her as the ship began to roll seemed too powerful to resist, and she had every intention of resisting him. She was almost sorry they were on the same ship. She wasn't sure she wanted to see that much of him. But when she mentioned his invitation to Axelle, she seemed thrilled.
“By all means, accept. Ill drop him a note myself.” She did, and then horrified Zoya by announcing at the last minute that she felt ill from the rolling ship, and left Zoya alone with him in the dining room, which was not what she wanted. But within minutes, she had forgotten her hesitation, and found herself enjoying him. He was describing his year in Georgia, in the textile mill, he claimed that he couldn't understand anything they said with their heavy southern drawl, and finally, in revenge, he spoke Yiddish to them. She laughed at the thought, and she listened as he told her about his family. His mother sounded almost as tyrannical as her own, although they came from very different backgrounds.
“Maybe all Russian women are the same,” she teased, “although actually my mother was German. And thank God my grandmother wasn't like that. She was incredibly kind and tolerant and strong. I owe my life to her, in a great many ways. I think you would have liked her very much,” she said over dessert.
“I'm sure I would.” And then, unable to restrain himself, “You're an amazing woman. I wish I'd met you a long time ago.”
She laughed at the thought. “Perhaps you wouldn't have liked me as much. Adversity has a way of humbling one, maybe I was too spoiled then,” she was thinking of her days of ease on Sutton Place, “the last seven years have taught me a great deal. I always thought, during the war, that if my life ever got comfortable again, I'd never take it for granted again, but I did. Now, I appreciate everything … the shop … my job … my children … all of it.” He smiled, each moment more in love with her.
“I want to know about your life before that, in Russia.” They were strolling outside on the deck by then. The gentle pitching of the ship didn't bother her at all, and the night air was cool as she pulled her wrap close to her. She was wearing a gray satin evening gown, copied from a design of Madame Grès, by Axelle's little dressmaker, and a silver fox jacket she'd borrowed from the shop, but borrowed finery or not, she looked extremely beautiful as he looked down at her.
“Why do you want to know about that?” Zoya was intrigued. What could it matter to him? Was it idle curiosity or something more? She wasn't sure what he wanted of her, yet oddly, she felt so safe with him.
“I want to know everything about you, you're so full of beauty and strength and mystery.” He was so earnest as he looked down at her and she smiled. No one had ever said anything like that before, not even Clayton, but she'd been so much younger then, barely more than a child. And she was so much older now, so much wiser than the girl she'd been then.
“You already know a great deal more than anyone,” she smiled. “I've never told anyone about being a chorus girl before,” and then she laughed, feeling young and mischievous again, “poor Axelle almost fell out of her chair, didn't she?” He laughed too.
“So did I,”he confessed. “I've never known a burlesque dancer before.”
She couldn't stop laughing then, “Think how pleased your mother would be!” He chuckled at the thought, as Zoya grew serious again, “I don't suppose she'd be very fond of me, in any case. If your parents left Russia to escape the pogroms, I doubt if they feel very kindly about the Russians.”
“Did you know the Imperial Family as a child?” He didn't want to embarrass her by agreeing with her, but of course she was right. His mother spoke of the Tsar now and then as a hated figure, responsible for all their ills, his father was gentler about it, but not much. But he noticed then that she was looking quietly at him, weighing something in her mind, and then she nodded almost imperceptibly.
