Granny Dan

Although she'd met him the previous summer at Livadia, it was only now, since she'd been ill, that she really came to know him. And their friendship was strong and growing.

“Can't you call me Nikolai?” he asked. “It seems much simpler somehow.” And very personal, but she didn't think anything of it. She liked him. He asked it so humbly that, like so many other things he said, it touched her, and she smiled at him, looking more like a child than a young woman. Their friendship was so innocent and so harmless.

“Of course, if you prefer it. I can still address you more formally in front of others.” It seemed more respectful, and she was sensitive both to his position and the difference in age between them. He was twenty years older than she was.

“That sounds reasonable.” He seemed pleased with the agreement.

“Will I meet your wife while I'm here?” Danina asked, curious about her, and his children.

“I doubt it,” he said honestly. “She comes to the palace as little as possible. As I said, she hates going out, and declines all the Czarina's invitations, except perhaps once a year, when she feels obliged to.”

“Will it hurt you with the Imperial family?” Danina asked openly. “Does the Czarina get angry about it?”

“Not that I'm aware of. If she does, she is far too discreet to say so. And I think she realizes that my wife is not an easy person.” It was the first real glimpse she'd had into his home life. In truth, although they had spoken of many things, she knew nothing personal about him. And she had envisioned him with a warm family, and a happy home life.

“Your wife must be very shy,” Danina said generously.

“No, I don't think so.” He smiled sadly. Unlike Danina, there were so many differences between them. “She doesn't like wearing fancy clothes and evening gowns. She's very English. She likes to ride and to hunt, she likes being at her father's estate in Hampshire. And anything other than that is boring to her.” He didn't say “including me,” but he would have liked to, to Danina. For a long time now, their marriage had been a disappointment to both of them, but mainly to him, except for the existence of their children. But they were very different. She was cool and aloof, and indifferent in many ways. And he was warm and open. She was bored by the life he led, and in angry moments called him the Czar's lapdog. And Nikolai was sick to death of her complaining about it. It was easy to understand why she had no friends here, she was so cold and so jealous. Even their sons were tired of her complaints. All she really wanted was to go back to England. And she expected him to drop everything, all his responsibilities here, and come with her, which wasn't even remotely likely. If she ever went back permanently, he had warned her, she would have to do so without him.

“Why does she dislike it so much here?” Danina asked with open curiosity.

“The winters, or so she says. The weather is hardly more pleasant in England, although here it's colder. She doesn't like the people, or the country. She even hates the food.” He smiled. It was an ancient litany between them.

“She'd like it better if she learned Russian,” Danina said simply.

“I've tried to explain that to her. It's her way of not committing herself to staying here. As long as she doesn't speak Russian, she's not really here, or so she thinks. But it doesn't make life easy for her.” It had been a long fifteen years for him, particularly for the past few years, but he didn't go so far as to explain all of that to Danina. Or how lonely he was. Or how glad he was to sit here talking to her, or share his books with her. If it wasn't for the boys, he would have let Marie go back to England years before. There was nothing between them now, except their children. “Her father is frightening her now about the war. And he thinks that one day there will be a revolution. He says the country is too big to control, and Nicholas is too weak to do it, which is ridiculous. But she believes that. Her father has always been something of a hysteric.”

Danina listened with worried eyes. She knew nothing about politics. She was normally much too busy dancing to know what went on in the world. “Do you believe that as well?” she asked solemnly. “About a revolution?” She trusted his judgment completely.

“Not for a moment,” Nikolai answered her. “I don't think there is the remotest chance of a revolution here. Russia is too powerful for something like that to happen. And so is the Czar. It's just another excuse to complain about being here. She says I'm risking the lives of our children. She's always been very influenced by her father.” He smiled at her then. She had such fresh ideas, and such an open mind. She had been exposed to so little, other than the ballet, that it was like watching her discover the world around her. A world he found he loved sharing with her. Compared to her, Marie seemed so tired, and so angry, and so bitter. Living in Russia had not improved her disposition.