The Forbidden Territory

VIII — The Price of Information

When Simon got back to the Metropole he asked his guide to get seats for that evening’s performance at the Moscow Arts Theatre, and on this occasion he and the Duke really made use of the tickets.

Both were lovers of the theatre, and enjoyed the finish and technique of the production; De Richleau was enraptured with Valeria Petrovna and her performance. In the first interval he turned to Simon with a sigh.

“Ah, my friend, why am I not twenty years younger? I envy you the friendship of this lovely lady.”

Simon laughed a little self-consciously. “Well, I shouldn’t care to have you as a rival, as it is!”

“You have no cause to fear on that score.” De Richleau laid his hands gently on Simon’s arm. “The chère amie of a friend is always to me in the same category as an aged aunt, and in any case I think it best that you should not present me; develop this friendship with Valeria Petrovna on your own; it will give more time for me to work on other lines.”

When the play was over the Duke made his way back to the hotel alone, and Simon waited at the stage door, as he had been instructed. Valeria Petrovna appeared in a remarkably short time, and whisked him back in her big car to her luxurious apartment and a charming petit souper à deux.

She was in marvellous spirits, the room rang with her laughter as she told him of the scene she had had after his departure that afternoon with Leshkin.

“You should ’ave seen ’im,” she declared. “’Ow ’e rage and stamp ’is big feet, but I tell ’im ’e is a great fool. I am no little chorus girl to be told ’oo I entertain; a few years ago, that was different; but now, I will ’ave ’oo I choose to be my frien’! Come, fill up your glass, little Simon, that red-’ed can go to ’ell!”

“Little” Simon filled up his glass, also Valeria Petrovna’s. He was just a trifle anxious that, instead of going to hell, the large and brutal Kommissar might wait outside for him on the pavement, but he put such unpleasant thoughts quickly from him; fate had sent him this delightful companion, who glowed with life and beauty, the heavy curtains shut out the falling snow, the subdued lights lent an added richness to the warm luxury of the room. With all the hesitant, tactful charm with which he was so well endowed, Simon set himself to captivate the lovely Russian.

Even if Leshkin had meant to waylay his rival that night, the long wait in the bitter cold must have quenched his furious jealousy, for it was some hours before Simon left the apartment, and even then Valeria Petrovna was reluctant to let him go.

The next few days were crowded with incident for Simon. In the mornings with De Richleau he visited the places of interest in the city. It was necessary — indeed, vital — to sustain their character of intelligent and interested tourists. They visited the cathedrals and palaces — the latter now turned into museums — the Lenin Institute, and the Museum of the Revolution, formerly the English Club.

They kept a sharp look-out for the man with a cast in his eye on these expeditions, and caught a quick glimpse of him now and then, so they did not dare venture near the “Tavern of the Howling Wolf”, or communicate with Jack Straw in any way. They felt that he would manage to let them know if he received any news of Rex.

The Duke’s shrewd, observant eyes missed nothing of Simon’s restlessness and preoccupation during these days; it was he who planned a different excursion for each morning, and exerted himself to interest and amuse his friend, recreating for him in vivid pictures the changes that had taken place in Moscow since he had first visited it in the early ’eighties, as a small boy of nine.

At lunch-time they parted, for Simon and Valeria Petrovna lunched together every day and spent the afternoon sleigh-riding, driving in her big car out into the country, or skating on the frozen ponds. Simon was a most graceful skater, and the swift motion in perfect unison was a delight to both of them.

The guides did not bother Simon, as long as he was with the famous actress. Valeria Petrovna was the idol of the Russian public, and Simon shone with her reflected glory in the eyes of the two interpreters.

He dined each evening with the Duke, and they went alternately to a theatre or the opera, the latter being one of Simon’s greatest interests in life. Afterwards he would call for his beautiful lady at the Arts Theatre, and have supper with her in her apartment, only to leave her in the small hours of the morning.

Six days went by in this manner, but they had failed to secure any further information regarding Rex. De Richleau persisted in his inquiries through the Embassies and Legations, and also through various American and English trading houses to which he obtained introductions; but without result. Rex might have been spirited away by a djinn for all the traces he had left behind him. Simon raised the question tentatively with Valeria Petrovna several times, but she always brushed it aside quickly.

“I ’ave told you — it is not a thing which can be done at once. Leshkin must be in a good ’umour. What do you say — ‘wheedled’, is it not? For this information which you want, at present it is ’opeless — ’e is so jealous, ’e is like a bear.” Then, suspiciously: “Why are you in such a ’urry — are you not ’appy with me?”

Simon hastened to assure her. They had grown very intimate these two — a strong mutual attraction and many hours spent alone together for a number of days in succession is the soil on which intimacy thrives. Never before had Simon met a woman who had at the same time, her beauty, her intellect, and her vitality.

Constantly he put away from him the thought that in a week or so at most he would have to leave Moscow. He grudged every moment of time not spent in her company, and bitterly resented the fact that they were in Moscow and not in London, Berlin, or Paris. In any of the latter cities he could have heaped flowers and gifts upon her — it would then have been his car in which they were driven about, his wines that they would have drunk together, but the limitations of life in Moscow taxed to the utmost his ability to display one-tenth of his innate generosity.

She was appreciative of the ingenuity that he showed to give her pleasure, but her generosity matched his own and she delighted to entertain him as her favoured guest. His subtle brain and mental gymnastics delighted her intellect, his charming humour and diffident, thoughtful kindness made irresistible appeal to her heart.

Kommissar Leshkin hovered in the background of the affair, arriving sometimes unexpectedly at Valeria Petrovna’s flat, or glaring at them from a distance with his red-rimmed eyes when they were lunching at the hotel. Simon disliked the man intensely, and Leshkin displayed an equal hate, but Valeria Petrovna seemed unperturbed. She mocked the Kommissar in her soft Russian tongue when he came on his blustering visits; and Simon smiled his little amused smile as he watched her handling of this undoubtedly clever and powerful man.

It was the seventh evening that Simon and Valeria Petrovna had spent thus delightfully together; he thought that she seemed worried and depressed when he fetched her after the theatre, and taking both her hands in his he asked her gently what it was that troubled her.

“Alas, mon ami,” she said sadly. “I fear that I must love you very much.”

“Darling,” Simon murmured, clasping her hands more tightly, and gently kissing their rosy palms.

“Yes, I am sad — for I know now where is your frien’.”

Simon’s eyes lifted quickly. “He — he’s not dead, is he?” he asked with a sudden fear.

“No, it was as you suppose, ’e is in a prison of the State.”

“But that’s splendid — do tell me where!”

“I will tell you later,” she said with a sigh. “The night eet is yet young — you shall know all before you go.”

“But, darling, why are you so sad about it? I mean, we’ll get Rex out, that is, if we can — and even if I have to go back to London I’ll come back here later — next month. After all, Moscow’s only two days’ journey from London by ’plane.”

“Ah, that is what makes me so sad, my Simon. I ’ave ’ad to pay a price for this knowledge about your frien’.”

“How — what exactly do you mean?” he asked anxiously.

She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. “It was Leshkin ’oo tell me what I want to know. I ’ave been at ’im for the last two days.”

“I didn’t know you had spoken to him yet.”

“How should you, little one? But I have promise you that I will ’elp you find your frien’, and I ’ave succeeded!”

“But — er — what did Leshkin want?”

She smiled, though tears were brightening her eyes. “That I promise ’im that you leave Moskawa tomorrow, and not return!”

For a time they sat silent; both had known that in any case Simon’s stay in Moscow must be limited, but each had put that thought firmly at the back of their minds. And now the moment had come it found them utterly unprepared in the first mad rush of their passion for each other.

“You can come to London,” he said at last, suddenly brightening.

“Not for a long time, Galoubchick, it is so recent since I ’ave been there — the Soviet do not like their artistes to go to other countries. Besides, I ’ave my duty to the Russian people. My art is not of myself — it belongs to them!”

“I could meet you in Berlin.”

“Perhaps — we will see, but tell me, what will you do about your frien’?”

“Apply for his release or public trial, through his Embassy,” Simon suggested, but he had little faith in the idea.

“That will be of no use; officially the Kommissars will deny all knowledge of ’is existence. ’e was found wandering in forbidden territory. That is the bad trouble. ’e may know things that the Kommissars do not wish the world to know.”

“You — er — haven’t promised that I shall leave Russia, have you? Only Moscow — ”

She smiled. “No, it is Moskawa only that you must leave, but I can guess, I think, what you will do — you will go searching for your frien’ in the forbidden territory, like the ballalaika player of the old days who search for your King Richard the Lion-’earted. Oh, my little Simon, it is you ’oo are Lion-’earted, but I am frightened for you!”

Simon laughed, a little bashfully. “Doesn’t seem much else to do, does there?”

She left the divan, and went over to an Empire escritoire in which she unlocked a drawer, taking from it a small, square ikon set with pearls. She looked at it carefully for a moment, studying the delicate oval miniature of the Madonna and Child which it contained — then she brought it over to him. “Take this, Batushka, and carry it always with you. It will be of great protection to you.”

“Thank you, my sweet — why are you so good to me?” Simon took the scared picture. “I — er — didn’t know that you were religious — I didn’t think that Russia was religious any more.”

“You are wrong,” she said, quietly. “Many of the popes have been done away with — they were evil, drunken men, unfitted for the service of God. That ees a good thing, but there is freedom of thought in Russia now. One can follow a religion if one will, and Russia — Holy Russia — is unchanging beneath the surface. With a few exceptions, all Russians carry God in their ’eart!”

Simon nodded. “I think I understand — anyhow, I shall always keep this with me.”

“Eef it ees that you are in what you call a ‘muddle’, send the little ikon back to me. Look!” She took it again, quickly, and pressed a hidden spring. “In ’ere you can send a little letter — nobody will find it — all Russia knows Valeria Petrovna. It will come to me surely, wherever I am.”

“Mightn’t it be stolen?” asked Simon, doubtfully. “I mean these pearls — they’re real.”

“They are small, and only of little value — also you will say to ’im ’oo brings it: ‘Valeria Petrovna will give you a thousand roubles if you bring this safe to ’er.’”

“You’ve been wonderful to me,” said Simon, drawing her towards him. “How can I ever tell you what I feel?”

The late dawn of the winter’s morning was already rising over the snow-white streets, and the ice-floes of the Moskawa River, when Simon Aron slipped quietly out of the block of flats which contained Valeria Petrovna’s apartment; but he left with the knowledge that Rex was held prisoner amid the desolate wastes of the Siberian snows, in the city of Tobolsk.