The Russian Tapestry Read online

  ALSO BY BANAFSHEH SEROV

  Under a Starless Sky

  Copyright

  Published in Australia and New Zealand in 2013

  by Hachette Australia

  (an imprint of Hachette Australia Pty Limited)

  Level 17, 207 Kent Street, Sydney NSW 2000

  www.hachette.com.au

  Copyright © Banafsheh Serov 2013

  This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study,

  research, criticism or review permitted under the Copyright Act

  1968, no part may be stored or reproduced by any process without

  prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record of this book is available

  from the National Library of Australia.

  978 0 7336 2986 0

  978 0 7336 2927 3 (ebook edition)

  Cover design by Ellie Exarchos

  Cover photograph woman courtesy of Getty Images, gates and trees courtesy of Trevillion, St Basil’s Cathedral courtesy of iStockphoto

  Author photograph by Lorrie Graham

  Map by MAPgraphics

  For Mark

  ‘And only now, when his head was grey, had he really fallen in love as one ought to.’

  Anton Chekhov, The Lady with the Little Dog

  Contents

  Also by Banafsheh Serov

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  1

  St Petersburg, September 1913

  The carriage moved slowly along the cobbled streets towards the Mariinsky Theatre. Marie Kulbas drew back the curtain to gaze at the starlit sky and the moon, suspended above the baroque buildings like a perfect pearl.

  ‘Close the curtain, Marie,’ Pauline Kulbas instructed. ‘There is nothing so unbecoming as a young lady staring out the window with a dazed expression in her eyes.’

  ‘That’s unfair, Mama.’ Marie moved away from the window, but continued to peek out from the corner. ‘It’s my first visit to St Petersburg, after all.’

  ‘Mama is right.’ Nikolai leant forward and pulled the curtain closed. ‘You need to make the right impression if you want your first season to be a success,’ he teased.

  ‘Never mind, dear child.’ Monsieur Kulbas, looking uncomfortable in his evening suit, patted Marie lightly on the knee. ‘You’ll get the hang of society soon enough.’

  Every September Marie’s parents visited St Petersburg from Narva for the start of the season, and this year Marie, who had just graduated from school, was joining them for the first time. Ahead of her was a month of invitations to gala balls, festivals and masquerades. Marie had spent the past weeks attending fittings for gowns and commissioning feathered hats from the best dressmakers and milliners in the city. Tonight, dressed in a full-length amber-beaded gown and a bejewelled Roman headdress, Marie was making her debut. As a graduation present for his sister, Nikolai had secured a box at the Mariinsky Theatre to watch the Imperial Russian Ballet.

  Their coach came to a stop outside the entry and the coachman opened the door, offering his hand for Madame Kulbas. Stepping down after her mother, Marie looked in wonder at the pale green building with white trim before her eyes were drawn to the finely dressed crowd lingering in front of the Romanesque facade.

  ‘Look, Kolya, that’s the former prima ballerina Mathilde Kschessinska,’ Marie whispered to her brother. ‘I’ve heard so much about her.’

  ‘So have I.’ Nikolai leant closer. ‘It’s rumoured that your prima ballerina was the Emperor’s mistress before he was married.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ Marie said, scandalised.

  Nikolai shrugged. ‘Believe what you like, but he did buy her a mansion.’

  As they approached the red carpet leading to the vestibule, Nikolai offered his arm to his sister. ‘May I?’

  ‘Oh, Kolya, I never imagined it to be so wonderful,’ Marie said when they walked inside.

  Dazzling chandeliers, dripping with crystals, hung from the ornate ceiling and bouquets of large flowers stood in huge urns. Women with long feathers in their hair and high-waist fitted dresses walked arm in arm with men in evening jackets, their hair carefully pomaded.

  ‘Why, Masha, I do believe you are swooning,’ Nikolai said with a laugh.

  They followed their parents to the second level, where an usher led the family to their box at the right of the stage.

  Marie drew in her breath and squeezed her brother’s arm as she gazed around at the ornate walls and row upon row of dark velvet seats.

  ‘See over there?’ Nikolai pointed to the large gilded box at the back of the theatre, facing the stage. ‘That’s the imperial box.’

  ‘Why is it empty?’

  ‘Apparently the Empress doesn’t enjoy society. Last time she attended the theatre she walked out halfway through the performance. It caused quite a stir!’

  The lights dimmed and the conductor led the orchestra into the chords of the overture. Latecomers hurried to their seats and a hush fell across boxes and stalls. Marie’s heart beat faster as she turned to the stage.

  Ballerinas in white hooped skirts and jewelled bodices glided with effortless grace, their every leap and turn a cause of wonder and admiration to Marie. Mesmerised, she soon forgot her nervousness about making a good impression. Slightly leaning forward in her seat, she immersed herself in the full drama of the unfolding love affair.

  At the conclusion of the final act, when the spirits of Prince Siegfried and Odette ascend into the heavens above Swan Lake, Marie joined the crowds in applauding the dancers. Afterwards, waiting outside with her parents for their carriage, she felt slightly light-headed, as if stepping out of a dream. Before them, there was a long row of carriages and automobiles waiting to pick up the patrons.

  ‘What’s keeping that blasted driver?’ Monsieur Kulbas paced the footpath, stopping every once in a while to check along the queue for their carriage. ‘May the devil take him! We are going to be late.’

  ‘Herman, please.’ Madame
Kulbas looked about her to see if anyone had noticed her husband’s blasphemy. ‘If you must curse, at least try to keep your voice down.’

  Pulling out his pocket watch, Monsieur Kulbas checked the time. ‘We should have been at my cousin’s home ten minutes ago.’

  ‘I’m sure he will not mind if we are a little late. He knows there is always a wait for carriages following the ballet,’ said Nikolai.

  A car tooted its horn, startling Madame Kulbas. ‘Those horrible, noisy things!’ She turned to Marie. ‘You know Nikolai has convinced your father to order one. Personally, I can’t see the attraction. I’ve already told your father I refuse to ride in them.’

  Marie smiled. ‘You’ll soon be used to them, Mama.’ She looked at the crowd milling at the front of the theatre. The whole evening was like a fairy tale and she did not want it to end. She started when Nikolai touched her on the elbow.

  ‘Marie, I want you to meet a friend of mine, Pyotr Arkadyich.’

  Turning, Marie saw a young man with wavy flaxen hair and round glasses.

  ‘Enchanté, Mademoiselle.’ Clicking his heels, he bent to kiss Marie’s gloved hand. Straightening, Pyotr opened his mouth to say something more when they were interrupted by the Kulbas’s carriage pulling in at the kerb.

  Nikolai turned to his friend. ‘Do you wish to ride with us to Mostovsky’s?’

  Pyotr’s eyes flicked to Marie’s, then back to Nikolai. ‘Thank you, but my mother’s carriage should be here any moment.’ Turning to Marie, he clicked his heels once again. ‘I shall look forward to meeting you again shortly, Mademoiselle.’

  At the Mostovsky mansion, the hosts stood at the entrance greeting their guests.

  ‘How are you enjoying your first season, Masha?’ Madame Mostovsky enquired, giving Marie a warm smile.

  ‘I’m enjoying it enormously, Madame.’

  ‘We are very much looking forward to having you stay with us while you’re studying in St Petersburg, Darya especially.’

  ‘Madame is very kind.’ Marie curtsied.

  She followed her parents and brother up the wide curving staircase, past the full-length mirrors and bouquets of colourful flowers, to the ballroom. Inside the large rectangular room, chandeliers bathed the scene in dazzling brightness. Fires in the marble hearths kept the room at a pleasant temperature and an orchestra played softly in one corner. Fashionably dressed women sipped champagne while openly scrutinising one another’s appearance.

  As Marie made her way through the crowd to where her cousin Darya was standing, she saw Pyotr talking with a group of young men who called to her brother.

  ‘You seem to have caught Pyotr’s eye.’ Darya fanned herself lazily with a large ostrich-plume fan.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Marie saw that Pyotr was watching them. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Dasha. It must be you he’s looking at.’ With green eyes and a tall slender figure, Darya was never short of admirers.

  Darya laughed. ‘I have known Pyotr for a long time, Masha, and he has never looked at me that way.’

  Marie turned again and saw Pyotr lean towards Nikolai and whisper something. She hurriedly turned to her cousin again as the pair left their group and headed in the girls’ direction.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ Darya said, fluttering her fan coquettishly.

  ‘My dearest cousin.’ Nikolai kissed Darya’s hand. ‘You look charming tonight.’

  Marie rolled her eyes at her brother’s honeyed tone then caught Pyotr staring at her, his lips curled in a bemused smile. Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes.

  They chatted idly, with Darya and Nikolai doing most of the talking. Around them, waiters in bow ties carried trays of food to long tables in the adjoining dining room.

  ‘I’m famished,’ Nikolai said, looking longingly at the passing trays. ‘Shall we get something to eat?’ He offered his arm to Darya, who took it demurely.

  Pyotr held out his arm to Marie. ‘Mademoiselle?’

  Copying her cousin’s manners, she took Pyotr’s arm and they followed Nikolai and Darya to the dining room. Around them, the other guests made their way to the tables, conversing in subdued tones.

  Long tables arranged with elaborate and exotic dishes lined the room. Vases of flowers decorated each end of the tables, while a pair of stuffed white swans took pride of place in the centre.

  ‘Did you enjoy the ballet?’ Pyotr asked as they moved along one of the tables.

  ‘Yes, very much. Thank you.’ Marie held her plate out to a waiter in white coat and gloves who served her a slice of lamb. ‘Tchaikovsky is a genius.’

  ‘Was this your first ballet?’

  Marie felt her cheeks grow hot. Surely he must know this was her first season. ‘Yes, it was,’ she replied with as much grace as she could muster.

  ‘And what did you think of our ballerinas?’

  ‘They are extremely talented. I especially enjoyed Karsavina’s performance. But of course, this being my first season, I have little to go by. How did you find the performance?’

  ‘I confess, I don’t know enough about ballet to comment. I tend to favour the written word over performance.’

  He paused as another waiter put food on their plates.

  ‘Nikolai tells me you intend to study law,’ Pyotr continued.

  So, they had been discussing her. ‘I start next May. My uncle has been kind enough to invite me to stay here while I’m in St Petersburg.’

  ‘Law is an unusual choice for a woman.’

  ‘Not according to the women’s emancipationists. They believe women should have the right to vote and run for office. Finland already has women in its parliament.’

  ‘Are you going on about women’s suffrage again?’ Nikolai interrupted as he and Darya joined them. ‘Hope she’s not boring you, Pyotr.’

  ‘We’re not going to spend the rest of the evening talking about politics, are we?’ Darya said with a pout.

  Nikolai stopped a waiter who was carrying a tray of champagne flutes. ‘No more talk of politics.’ Placing his plate on a nearby table, he passed them each a glass. ‘Let’s drink a toast.’

  ‘To what?’ Darya asked.

  ‘To a long and happy life.’

  The five-piece English orchestra struck up a waltz. A murmur ran through the crowd and, led by the host and hostess, couples started to move back to the ballroom.

  Marie saw Darya’s eyes seek out Nikolai’s.

  Obliging her, Nikolai bowed deeply. ‘Would you give me the honour of this dance?’

  Leaving their plates and glasses for the waiters to collect, they made their way to the edge of the circle. Taking a firm hold of Darya’s waist Nikolai guided her confidently into smooth gliding movements.

  ‘They make a handsome pair,’ Pyotr observed as he and Marie followed them out.

  ‘They do,’ Marie replied absently. She was growing increasingly eager to join the dancing, yet Pyotr seemed not to notice that all around them couples were taking to the floor.

  ‘Do you enjoy dancing?’ She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. First she had lectured him about women’s suffrage, now he would think she was inviting him to dance. He must find her dreadfully forward.

  Turning to face her, Pyotr bowed stiffly. ‘If you’ll excuse me, please.’ And without waiting for her reply, he withdrew in the direction of the drawing room.

  Marie’s eyes stung with tears of shame. She hurried out of the ballroom, not looking to her left or right for fear she might meet with a familiar face.

  ‘Marie!’ It was Nikolai. ‘What’s wrong? I saw Pyotr leave and then you rushed away …’

  ‘I’ve never felt so humiliated,’ Marie said.

  Nikolai shook his head sympathetically. ‘Poor Masha.’ He offered her a handkerchief. ‘This is very uncharacteristic of him. I have known Pyotr for a long time and never have I seen him behave like this.’

  ‘He is proud and snobbish,’ Marie retorted. ‘I never want to see him again.’

  ‘Don’t be so qui
ck to judge,’ Nikolai advised. ‘Stop these tears. How do you expect to make a success of your first ball with red-rimmed eyes?’

  ‘I think I’d rather go home.’

  ‘Nonsense! Now go dry your eyes and then I will have my first dance with my sister.’

  Marie agreed and a few minutes later, having reapplied powder and lipstick, she entered the ballroom. Escorted by her brother, she moved to the centre of the floor.

  Following her dance with Nikolai, other young men approached. Occasionally, as she was whirled about the room, she saw Pyotr standing to one side, staring fixedly at the dance floor with a pained expression. When her eye caught his she quickly looked away, determined to avoid all contact with him.

  It was not till many hours later, when the family was waiting for their carriage, that Marie was forced to face him again.

  ‘I trust you enjoyed your evening?’ he asked politely.

  ‘I did, thank you,’ Marie said tersely.

  ‘You seem fond of dancing,’ Pyotr persevered.

  Marie, who had been avoiding his gaze, turned to look at him. What a curious character he was. After humiliating her before the whole of St Petersburg society, he now had the gall to engage her in conversation.

  ‘It’s Marie’s first season,’ Madame Kulbas offered when it became apparent Marie was not going to respond.

  Pyotr opened his mouth then closed it, as if unsure of what to say. Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘May I call on you during your stay?’

  ‘I’m afraid we have a very busy schedule, which leaves little time for other activities,’ Marie said coldly.

  ‘Marie,’ her mother hissed in her ear, ‘what has come over you?’

  ‘Maybe at a later stage,’ Pyotr persisted, ‘when you have settled at your cousin’s place.’

  To Marie’s surprise, Pyotr’s expression seemed to hover somewhere between despair and regret. She felt her resolve waver.

  ‘She would be glad to receive you,’ Nikolai broke in as their carriage arrived.

  ‘Of course.’ Marie glared at her brother.

  ‘Why did you say that?’ she demanded as the carriage pulled away. ‘You saw how he treated me. Why did you make me promise to receive him?’

  Nikolai took her hand. ‘Masha, Pyotr did not mean to offend you. It is just that his shyness makes him awkward around women. Give him another chance.’