himself, keep everything inside from flying apart. She ran her slender fingers through his wild black hair, whispering words of comfort to him as if he were a small boy, a child who’d lost his way and had now found his way home at last.
He looked up at her and finally found the courage to speak without a tremolo in his voice. He said, “But now I am here, aren’t I? We’re both young and alive. We’re together. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
Her forced laughter was like the sound of glass breaking.
“Yes. For now, my darling.”
“I still don’t understand what happened. I saw you. I saw the stretcher, watched them putting you aboard the airship. I don’t see how you can be here. It’s impossible. Eyes don’t lie.”
“It wasn’t me, Alex. I never left the house. Until I was arrested by the KGB the following day.”
“I saw your arm drop, your ermine sleeve, it fell from beneath the blanket when they lifted you up to…”
“It wasn’t me, dear Alex. It was Katerina. Katerina Arnborg, my father’s Swedish housekeeper. She came into my room and found me on the stretcher, waiting for the airship to depart. I was drugged, couldn’t move or speak. He did that to me. My own father. When I woke up, I was in a linen closet, hidden under the dirty linen. The stretcher was gone. The airship was gone. Everyone was gone, everything. Except the red-stained snow below when I looked out my window.”
“This Katerina, she took your place on the stretcher? Under the blanket.”
Anastasia nodded. “It’s the only possible explanation.”
“But why? Why did she do it?”
“She’d heard things in that terrible house. Over the years. She knew things. Evil things. Terrible secrets.”
“Tell me.”
“No. It is not for you. Not anymore. The past is dead and buried. Katerina was a good woman. I think in the end she wanted to save me from him. And in the end she gave her life for me.”
“She saved you. For me.”
“And who saved you?”
“No one. I just wasn’t ready to die. It was only afterward, after I killed your father, that I wanted to die. In the worst way.”
“Because you thought you had killed me, too.”
“Yes. I was sure of it.”
“Alex. Please. End this. For both of us. It’s unbearable, really, these horrible memories. We should be happy. We are both alive, as you said. And we have a child together. The most beautiful little boy in all the world. He looks exactly like you, my darling. He even smiles like you, which will of course get him into no end of trouble when he learns how to use it.”
Hawke lifted his head and smiled, really smiled, for the first time in memory. “What did you call him?”
“Alexei.”
“Alexei. It’s perfect.”
“I thought so, too.” She looked down, gazing at him with her perfect smile, and for a moment he lived once more in the bright green worlds of her eyes.
“How old is he now?”
“Almost three. His birthday is tomorrow. We’ll have a little birthday party.”
“Where is he? May I see him?”
“Of course. He is up in the nursery playing with his toy soldiers. I’ve told him that his father was here to see him. He’s very excited. He asked me what a father was and I told him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said a father is a tall, handsome man. Very strong and very brave. A good man, true and full of life and beauty.”
Hawke got to his feet and held out his hand. “It’s all a miracle. Let’s go and see him now.”
“He’s coming here. Nurse is bringing him. I’ve only to call.”
Hawke smiled as she picked up the receiver next to the divan and spoke a few brief words in Russian.
A lexei and his English nurse appeared at the library door a few minutes later. When the door swung open, the little dark-haired boy peeked out from behind his nurse’s skirts and stared wide-eyed at Alex for a few long moments, then ran to his mother’s arms, hiding his face in the folds of her skirt. He was dressed like a little prince, which, in some respects, he was. The late Tsar’s grandson wore a suit of dark blue velvet, with a ruffled white collar at the neck. His shoes were black patent leather with small black satin bows.
“Good morning, sir,” the attractive young nurse said, with a slight curtsy and a very proper British accent.
Anastasia gestured at Hawke as she said to the child, “Alexei, that is your father standing over there beside the fire. He’s come a very long way just to see you. You must be on your very best behavior. Show him what good manners you have. Can you say hello?”
The child peeked out at Hawke for a second or two, then hid his face once more in the folds on his mother’s skirts. Hawke went to him and dropped to a knee on the floor beside his son.
“Alexei?” he said softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Alexei?”
The boy responded to the voice and touch and turned to stare silently at Hawke, seemingly memorizing every curve and plane of his face. Alexei’s eyes were big and blue and lively. He seemed totally unafraid of the tall stranger now. Hawke was shocked to see a very small version of himself. It was the face he’d seen in scrapbooks his own mother had kept, little Alex building castles by the sea, little Alex on his pony, little Alex reading a picture book.
“Does he speak English?” Hawke asked, his eyes never leaving his son.
“Almost as well as he speaks Russian. We’ve been teaching him both since he first learned to talk,” the young English nurse said, and then she slipped silently from the room.
“Hello,” Hawke said, reaching up and lightly stroking the boy’s plump cheek, lit to a lovely flame, the flush on the face of a child after a warm bath on a cold evening. Alexei turned to hide his eyes again, then, seeing his nurse gone, turned back to stare openly at this person called a “father.”
“Say hello, Alexei,” Anastasia said. “Say hello to your father. Wherever have you put your manners?”
“Hello,” the child chirped. “Hello, hello, hello.”
“How old are you?” his father asked.
He looked shyly at Hawke for a moment, then raised his chubby pink hand, holding up three fingers.
“Good for you! And how many is that, Alexei?”
“Free?”
“Three, that’s right. Do you want to know a secret?”
Alexei nodded his head vigorously, already a great lover of secrets. His father said, “When I was three, I was exactly your age. Isn’t that something?”
The boy nodded again, instinctively knowing he was expected to agree, and his mother watched father and son together, finding a lovely peace wash over her.
Alex said, “You’re a very big boy for three, Alexei. Will you give your father a wee hug? I would like that very much.”
Anastasia bent down and whispered in the child’s ear. Alexei looked at Hawke’s open arms for a moment, unsure of himself, but then stepped into his embrace. Hawke held him closely, looking up at Anastasia, his eyes gleaming with unchecked emotion. He saw her look away, overwhelmed perhaps, and he suddenly felt as if all the molecules in the room had risen up and then rearranged themselves before settling down into a strange new pattern.
He had found his life at last. The life he’d been meant to live.
“Our baby boy,” he said. “Our beautiful, beautiful baby boy.”
His mother turned her noble head slowly so that her eyes rested with overwhelming tenderness and affection on the man and the boy.
“Will you give him a kiss before he goes back upstairs, Alex? It’s past time for his nap, I’m afraid.”
Hawke bent forward and kissed his son on the forehead, then ruffled his curly dark hair, and stood back up. The nurse reentered the room and picked Alexei up in her arms. As he was carried away, looking back over her
