They had lunch at the Cafe de Flore, and he thought she seemed happier than she had been the previous summer. She was still in shock then, but now at least some of the pain had dimmed. It had been nine months since she'd come to Paris. It was still hard to believe that only a year before she had been in St. Petersburg and life was still normal. “Have you heard from Marie lately?”
“Yes, finally. She seems to like it in Tobolsk, but she's such a good sport, she would. She said the house she lives in is tiny, she and her sisters all share one room, and Uncle Nicky reads history to them all the time. She says that even in Siberia, they're still having lessons. They think they might be able to come out of Russia soon. Uncle Nicky says the revolutionaries won't harm them, they just want to keep them there for the time being. But it seems so cruel of them, and so stupid.” And Zoya was still furious at the English for not granting them asylum the previous March. If they had, they could all have been together by then, in London or Paris. “I'm sure Grandmama would have gone to London, if they were there.”
“Then I wouldn't have met you, would I? And that would have been terrible. Maybe it's just as well you had to come to Paris, while you wait for them to leave Russia.” He didn't want to alarm her, but he had never felt as confident as some that the Tsar and his family would ultimately be safe in Russia. But it was only a feeling he had, and he didn't want to say anything to worry her as they finished lunch and walked down the Boulevard St. Germain in the winter sunshine. Lunch at the Caf6 de Flore had been pleasant, and she felt as though she had nothing but free time on her hands, with no performances and no rehearsals.
They wandered aimlessly for a while, and eventually wound up at the rue de Varennes, as they both realized they were near the house where he was staying.
“Do you want to come to the house for a while?”
She still had happy memories of it from the night they'd met, and she nodded happily as they walked along. He told her about New York, his boyhood, and his years at Princeton. He said he lived in a house, on Fifth Avenue, and she thought it sounded very pretty.
“Why did you never have children when you were married? Didn't you want them?” She had the innocence of youth, the fearlessness about treading on delicate ground that one suppressed when one was older. It never occurred to her that perhaps he couldn't have them.
“I would have liked to have children, but my wife didn't want them. She was a very beautiful, selfish girl and she was far more interested in her horses. She has a beautiful farm in Virginia now, and she has a hunt there. Did you ride much when you were in Russia?”
“Yes,” she smiled, “in the summer at Livadia, and sometimes at Tsarskoe Selo. My brother taught me to ride when I was four. He was dreadfully mean about it, and whenever I fell off he said I was stupid.” But Clayton could tell just from the way she spoke how much she had loved him.
They had reached the Mills house by then, and Clayton used his key to let them in. There was no one else staying there at the time. All of the General's staff were in Chaumont. “Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked, as their footsteps echoed in the marble halls.
“I'd like that.” It was cold outside, and she had forgotten her gloves at the apartment. And suddenly, for no reason at all, she remembered the sable hat she had left in Russia. They had worn heavy shawls over their heads while they were escaping. Her grandmother had wisely thought that elaborate fur hats would catch too much attention.
She followed him into the kitchen, and a moment later the kettle was steaming. He poured out two cups of tea and they sat and talked, as the sun set quietly over the garden. She felt as though she could have sat and talked to him for hours, but suddenly their voices grew quiet, and she sensed Clayton watching her strangely.
“I should take you home. Your grandmother will be worried.” It was after four o'clock and they'd been gone all day, but Zoya had wisely warned her grandmother that she might not be home for dinner. With only four days of his leave to share, they wanted to spend every moment possible together.
“I told her we might not come back till later.” And then she had a thought. “Do you want me to make dinner here?” It seemed a cozy idea, not having to go out, they could sit and talk for several more hours as they had done all day. “Is there any food here?”
“I don't know,” he smiled. She looked so young and beautiful as she sat there. “I should take you somewhere. Maybe Maxim's. Wouldn't you like that?”
“It doesn't matter,” she said honestly. She just wanted to be with him.
“Oh, Zoya …” He came around the kitchen table to hold her close to him. He wanted to get her out of the house before something happened that she'd regret. The pull of her was so great, it was almost painful. “I don't think we should stay here,” he said quietly, far wiser than she was.
