They sat drinking tea in the living room for a long time, and then Zoya went out with Clayton again. They went back to the Mills house on the rue de Varennes, and they made passionate love for hours. But this time, he insisted on taking her out to dinner. He took her to Maxim's and then regretfully home, and Evgenia was asleep in bed when they got there. The two lovers tiptoed soundlessly around the living room, eating chocolates and whispering, as they kissed in the firelight, and shared their dreams with each other. She wished she could stay with him all night, but there was no way imaginable that she could do that, and when he left, feeling like a boy again, he promised to return in the morning.
The next day he was later than he had been the day before, and by eleven o'clock, Zoya was getting worried. They had no phone, so she couldn't call, but at eleven-thirty he appeared, struggling with an enormous bundle wrapped in brown paper. He set it heavily on the kitchen table with a look of mysterious delight and told Zoya it was for her grandmother. The old Countess came to join them then, and he stood back as he watched her pull the paper off to reveal an extraordinarily beautiful silver samovar, engraved with the crest of the Russian family that had brought it to Paris and been forced to sell it. He couldn't even imagine how they'd gotten it there, but when he'd seen it that morning in a shop on the Left Bank, he had known instantly that he had to buy it for Evgenia.
She caught her breath as she stood back, staring at it, in wonder, and for a moment she felt a sharp pain of sadness, knowing how dear her own treasures had been and how much it hurt when she had to sell them. She was still grieving over the cigarette cases she had been forced to sell just before Christmas. But now she could only stare at the samovar and at the kind benefactor who had brought it to them.
“Captain … you are far too good to us …” Tears filled her eyes, and she gently kissed him, the faded satin of her cheek touching his male flesh, reminding her of her own son, and her husband. “You are so very kind.”
“I only wish I could do more.” He had brought Zoya a white silk dress, and her eyes opened wide with amazed delight as she peeled away the wrappings. It was designed by a little dressmaker he had found on the Left Bank, a woman named Gabrielle Chanel. She had a small shop, and she seemed amazingly gifted. She had showed the dress to him herself and she seemed lively and amusing, which was unusual these days for the war-worn people of Paris.
“Do you like it?” She ran to her room to try it on, and emerged looking absolutely splendid. The dress looked pure and simple, and the creamy white set off the fire of her hair wonderfully. She only wished she had pretty shoes to wear with it, and the pearl necklace Papa had given her that had burned with Fontanka.
“I love it, Clayton!” She wore it to lunch with him that day, and it lay on his bedroom floor later that afternoon.
The next day was his last, he was leaving at four o'clock that afternoon, and she couldn't bear the thought of it as they made love for the last time, and she clung to him like a drowning child, as he kissed her. When he took her back to the apartment, even Evgenia looked sad to see him go. The farewells in their lives had already been far too painful.
“Be careful, Captain … we will pray for you each day,” as they did now for so many others. She thanked him for his great kindness to them both, and he seemed to linger, not wanting to go, unable to leave Zoya for a moment, let alone for months. He had no idea when he would be able to get back to Paris.
Evgenia left them discreetly alone, as tears filled Zoya's eyes and she looked at him in the tiny living room, the silver samovar dwarfing everything in sight, but she saw only him as she flew into his arms with a sob, and he held her to him.
“I love you so much, little one … please, please be careful.” He knew how potentially dangerous it was for her in Paris. There was still a possibility that Paris could be attacked, and he prayed for her safety as he held her. ‘I'll come back the minute I can.”
“Swear to me you'll be careful. Swear!” she commanded through her tears, she couldn't bear the thought of losing anyone else she loved, and not someone as dear to her as he was.
“Promise me you won't regret what we've done.” He still worried about that and he was still desperately afraid she might have gotten pregnant the first time they made love. He'd been careful after that, but not careful enough the first time. She'd taken him too much by surprise and his own desire for her had been too overwhelming.
“I will never regret anything. I love you too much.” She followed him down the stairs to his car, and stood waving until he was out of sight, the tears rolling down her cheeks as she watched him disappear, perhaps forever.
CHAPTER
23
