Chapter 46
It seems wrong leaving Valentin behind, especially now. I realize the importance of the conversation we’re about to have and I must make certain to ask the questions he would have and it’s awkward as fuck as I follow them into a magnificent reception room.
It’s as if I have wandered into a Russian palace. It’s certainly grand enough. The elegant furniture is covered in blue and ivory silk, the curtains at the window heavy and trailing withblue and ivory flowers. The polished antique furniture is home to several silver frames and the amazing floral arrangements set in urns around the room fill the air with a heady floral scent.
Unlike my aunt’s homes, nothing is worn, used, or past its best. I doubt there’s any dirt because it would take a microscope to find any.
Now I understand the reason behind Valentin’s desperation to return to his well-organized life, because my aunt’s properties held no comparison to this.
I sit beside Ana on the blue silk couch and her mother takes a Queen Anne chair opposite.
A maid serves us tea in bone china cups with saucers and there is an array of finger food on a silver tray.
I spread the starched white serviette on my lap and my hands shake as I accept the cup of tea and only when the maid has left does Grace say with a trace of sympathy, “I’m sorry for your loss, Polly. That was a truly terrible ending for my dear friend.”
“Did you know her well?” Ana says with interest, and Grace nods.
“It was years ago. We were young back then and the four women in this photograph met by chance at a finishing school in Switzerland.”
I listen with interest as Ana delves further. “Who are the other ones?”
“Well, that’s Marsha.” Grace points to her and rolls her eyes. “She was a formidable force to be reckoned with, and if I’m honest, she terrified me.”
Ana laughs out loud. “I don’t believe you.”
Grace smiles. “It’s true. She had opinions on everything. I’m not sure what happened to her, though. The last I heard, she was involved with a man who lived in Chicago.”
I say nothing as Ana points to the fourth woman. “Who is that?”
“Adele Heatherington. We were good friends once. I understand she married a senator, Charles Kenricky, and is involved in charity work now.”
Ana turns to me and smiles sympathetically. “Tell me about your aunt, Polly.”
I sense Grace studying me with interest and I cough slightly, setting the cup down on the small table by my side.
“I’m sorry, I can’t.” I shrug. “I heard of her. I just never met her. When she died, she left everything to me as her last remaining relative. It’s all been a lot to take in and I’m grateful for any memory you may have of her to fill in the gaps.”
I turn to Grace as I speak and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of relief in her eyes and she nods a little too vigorously.
“Of course. My memory isn’t what it used to be, but Veronica was a lovely friend to have at Two Points.”
“Two Points?” Ana asks and she nods.
“The finishing school. Courtesy of the two mountains that it nestled between. Such happy times.”
She says sadly. “Veronica never married, to my knowledge. She was a bit of a loner, more Marsha’s friend than mine. She was the only British woman in our friendship group and never really fitted in with the rest of us. Adele and I shared many past acquaintances and came from the same state, whereas Marsha came from a small town in Idaho. She had won a scholarship to the school because her family was poor and I suppose that’s what drove her. I believe she is quite the successful businesswoman now, but I only learned that through the gossip columns.”
Ana is silent and I’m still feeling awkward and Grace gazes down at the photograph and sighs.
“I’m sorry you never got to meet your aunt, Polly, but take it from someone who did. I doubt you would have learned much about her, anyway. Veronica kept her life private and never gossiped like the rest of us. She was a woman of secrets and it didn’t surprise me at all that we lost touch with her when we graduated.”
“Did you keep in touch with the others?” Ana asks and Grace shakes her head.
“Only Adele for a short while because I met your father, and the rest is history. I came to Russia and my old life faded into memories.”
She smiles and hands me the photograph.
“But you’re here now, Polly, and despite my son robbing me of the society wedding I crave, let me formally welcome you into the family as the first Romanov bride of the next generation. God help your soul.”