Natasha's Dream by Mary Jane Staples Page B

moment of worried introspection was brought to a sudden end as the young man pulled her into the dance again. But she had lost a little ofher zest, and kept turning her head to see what the princess was up to with Mr Gibson.
    It perturbed her, the extent of her feelings. Her feelings were, of course, all related to the necessity of helping Mr Gibson remain a gentleman respected in England. Yes, of course. It was no more than that. His wife and family would not like to see him in the clutches of Princess Malininsky. He never mentioned his wife, or whether he had children. His wife would be terribly unhappy and jealous to see him now. Oh, perhaps she would be even more jealous if she knew he was sharing his apartment with a young woman.
    ‘Smile, smile, you are enchanting when you smile,’ laughed the young man, and whirled her about.
    The music went on and on, the crowded restaurant smoky, the haze patterned by moving colours. The violins throbbed, and Russians who had lost everything but their jewels or their bank deposits, danced the mazurka with the reckless bravado of the defiant and the intoxicated. The cavern-like restaurant took on the atmosphere of a haunt of the laughing and the damned. But it came to an end eventually, when even the strongest Russian began to wilt.Princess Malininsky detained Mr Gibson, who had endured and survived the mad, prolonged mazurka relationship.
    ‘You do not expect me to part with you, do you?’ she said, her crimson-sheathed body still vibrating. ‘You are discovered and must join us.’
    ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Mr Gibson, dabbing his damp temples with his handkerchief, ‘but I’m committed elsewhere.’
    ‘No, no,’ she laughed, ‘one can only commit oneself to the devil, not to people.’
    ‘One can, certainly, if one prefers the fires of hell to the tranquillity of heaven.’
    ‘You believe in heaven and hell?’ she said, ignoring the eyes, the smiles and little whispers of friends.
    ‘One must believe in something of that kind, or the existence of the soul has no purpose.’ Mr Gibson reached his table, Princess Malininsky still beside him. Natasha had not yet been escorted back by the pale young man. Some people were still on their feet, clustering in talkative groups, women using their fans to cool their heated faces.
    ‘You are very naive for a man who looks so sophisticated,’ said the princess, seating herself in Natasha’s chair. ‘Heaven is wishful thinking.Only hell awaits us, hell being the unknown quantity.’
    ‘You mean if we consort with the devil, the unknown quantity might turn out to be quite comfortable?’ said Mr Gibson.
    ‘The devil, my friend, is full of surprises.’
    Mr Gibson nodded and sat down. ‘Have you met the woman claiming to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia?’ he asked.
    ‘Why are you descending from the interesting to the pathetic?’
    ‘I’m a visitor, and I’m curious. The devil may be all of interesting, but why is this woman pathetic?’
    ‘Did I say she was? I did not.’ Princess Malininsky shook a finger at him. ‘It is certain people who are pathetic, the people who know she is what she says she is, but go away and hide themselves.’
    ‘What is she, then?’
    ‘The Grand Duchess Anastasia.’ The princess smiled. ‘True, she’s a sick woman. True, she doesn’t look like a Grand Duchess. But who would after what she went through?’
    ‘Is that why some of her relatives reject her, because she doesn’t look as they would like her to, or expect her to?’
    ‘My friend,’ said the princess, ‘there is far more to it than that.’
    ‘What does far more mean?’
    ‘Who knows?’ said the princess, echoing Natasha, and that made Mr Gibson look around. The talkative groups of people had returned to their tables. He could not see Natasha. Or the pale-faced young man. He felt alarm. He stood up, but could still not see her.
    ‘Damn,’ he said.
    ‘What is worrying you?’
    ‘My companion – a young