hadn’t been back a week before she came running into the stables on her way to the hospital and announced, ‘Mama would like to invite you for luncheon tomorrow at noon. Do say you’ll come.’
He was astonished. ‘Your Mama has invited me? Whatever for?’
‘Because I asked her to!’ Tatiana grinned impishly. ‘Don’t worry. She likes you. And you’ll get to meet my siblings as well.’
Dmitri had been in the company of members of the imperial family on numerous occasions but only as a member of the guard, never as a guest, and he was nervous about the protocols. He wished he could consult his mother, who was an expert in such matters, but his parents had not yet had a telephone installed at their home. Instead he had a chat with Anna Vyrubova, the Tsarina’s lady-in-waiting, who assured him that luncheon in these days of wartime was very informal and that he should just be his amiable self.
The following afternoon Dmitri presented himself at the Alexander Palace, his boots and buckles shiny, his chin clean-shaven and his hair carefully oiled and combed flat. A butler showed him to the Formal Reception Room and as the double doors opened, the brightness from the ceiling-high windows reflecting off the mirrors and the lavish gilt décor momentarily blinded him. He blinked and saw Alexandra sitting at a writing desk and her five children on sofas round the fire. Tatiana leapt to her feet to welcome him then led him around, making the introductions. It seemed they spoke English to each other and Dmitri had to concentrate to keep up because he did not often use the language.
‘You’ve met Mama, of course, when she awarded your St George medal.’ He bowed to Alexandra, who gave him a cordial nod then returned to the letter she was writing, but not before Dmitri noticed a strong smell of garlic about her. He wondered what she could have eaten for breakfast.
Next Tatiana led him to her brother, who lay with his feet up on a sofa. ‘This is Alexei, who is recently returned from the front line.’ It was some years since Dmitri had seen the boy. He was now thirteen years old but looked much younger, and Dmitri was shocked to note the deep purple shadows under his eyes and his general air of frailty.
‘Did Your Imperial Highness see any action?’ Dmitri asked
The boy replied with a dejected tone: ‘Sadly, I was not allowed anywhere within range of the German guns.’
His sisters laughed, and Tatiana remarked, ‘I should hope not.’
Next he greeted her older sister, Olga, and Tatiana introduced him to Maria, a slightly plump sixteen-year-old with merry eyes, and fourteen-year-old Anastasia, whose waist-length hair still hung loose in the childish fashion rather than being arranged on top of her head.
‘Don’t ever play a board game with Anastasia,’ Maria warned him, gesturing at a chequerboard and some scattered ivory pieces. It looked as though they had been playing halma. ‘She is an appalling cheat.’
‘There speaks a poor loser,’ Anastasia replied, sticking her tongue out at her sister.
Tatiana quickly interrupted to tell Dmitri that the younger girls had begun visiting the hospitals to entertain the soldiers, and that they were already very popular.
‘I am sure they are.’ He smiled as Tatiana beckoned him to sit in an armchair close to her. ‘Their spirit and beauty would cheer any man.’
Maria asked him about the retired imperial horses who now lived in stables behind the Alexander Palace, where they were able to enjoy their old age. Alexei wanted to know which of the imperial racehorses Dmitri considered would be the fastest when the Stoverstnöm resumed after the war. They all seemed very keen on horses and Dmitri gave his opinions, conscious that while the girls were competent horsewomen, Alexei had never been allowed on horseback because of his frail joints.
A butler announced luncheon and they seated themselves around a table near the window. There was a bunch of peach-coloured roses in the centre, and Dmitri assumed they must have been cultivated in the palace greenhouse; how else could they have roses in April? The cutlery was heavy silver, although Alexandra apologised that they were not using the best plate and that the meal was very plain. Dmitri thought it not at all plain, with a cream soup, followed by fish fillets in a light-as-air sauce, mutton in gravy, and then a dainty dish of apple compôte. The girls led the conversation, alternately teasing each other, asking Dmitri whether he had seen any wild bison or bears at the front (he had, but only from a distance), and discussing patients in the hospital. Tatiana seemed reserved in their company, often stepping in to broker peace between her two younger sisters, and Alexandra seemed distracted, scarcely talking at all.
After the meal, Dmitri was surprised when Alexandra asked if he would join her for tea in the adjoining Portrait Hall. He immediately rose to his feet and followed her, with just a glance of farewell to Tatiana. What did she want to talk about? How much did she know about his relationship with her second-oldest daughter? Might she be about to ask him his intentions towards her, and if so what would he reply?
The Portrait Hall was vast and airy, with burnished gold pillars, a slippery parquet floor and the most exquisite chandelier Dmitri had ever seen, with cascades of what looked like millions of tiny crystals. Alexandra sat on a settee under a huge portrait of Catherine the Great and he took a chair nearby as a waiter poured steaming cups of tea from a heavy silver samovar and set a little bowl of chocolates between them. Dmitri was tempted to take a sweet, because they looked scrumptious, but Alexandra didn’t so he felt it might not be correct etiquette. On a side table, there was a display of the elaborate Fabergé eggs the family gave one another for Easter, each worth thousands of roubles.
Tatiana had told him the family had stopped buying new clothes with the outbreak of war and were having to patch and mend old garments, but the Tsarina looked very grand in a chocolate-brown gown with embroidery of bronze foliage. She wore four strings of pearls around her neck, a diamond-encrusted Star of the Order of St Alexander Nevsky on her breast and a huge aquamarine ring on her finger.
‘Tell me, when you left the front line, had any of the mobile field guns arrived?’ Alexandra began. Her manner was austere but not unfriendly.
‘Yes, they had, but the men have not had much practice in firing them,’ he replied.
‘Is it difficult to fire them?’
‘The machines are heavy. One man in my company was seriously injured by the backwards thrust of a …’ He hesitated, struggling to think of the English word for a shell casing. Alexandra nodded to indicate she understood.
‘Do you think they will make a difference?’ she asked. ‘You may speak freely. I know there are some successes in Galicia but we seem to have reached a stalemate to the north of the line. What do you think it will take to push the invader back behind their own borders again?’
Dmitri noted the term she used: ‘the invader’. These were her own people by birth. What an awkward situation she found herself in. He told her his opinion, that there was no point in pushing forwards at one point in the line only. As they had discovered early in the war, the German troops were quick to cut off and encircle advance parties, with catastrophic consequence. ‘I believe we should not mount another attack until the whole line from north to south has the new weapons and the men are ready to use them in one concerted push.’
She nodded, as if he had confirmed her own views. ‘Tell me, are supplies reaching the men? Were they adequately fed in your part of the line?’
Dmitri hesitated. ‘There were supply problems during our retreat but now that we are static, the situation has improved.’ He could
