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Authors: Stephen Wade
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Irina Danova is the sweetest creature, born to delight, distract, seduce – everything a woman should do who knows and values her own exceptional charms. Many women are attractive but few have the true beauty of ideal form. She is of middle height, with auburn hair curled down to her shoulders; her eyes are brown and her form that of a young woman newly emerged from gauche girlhood to true feminine perfection.
Every man of wealth and standing here fancies that she could be either his wife or his mistress. Many adore her and flock to her concerts to worship her. I’m told that locks of her hair encased in silver sell at a high price in Paris. But this jewel of perfection, with a smile to melt an icy heart and a laugh to soften the most crusty old general, is responding to my rather clumsy attempts to woo her. We have been out dining twice and we have walked out. She holds my hand and she laughs at my jests and stories of adventures in deserts and mountains. In truth, she seems like a girl with me, and myself – well, I am like a brother in some ways but not in most because today we kissed.
June 3
Today was my second hour of joy as a concert-goer, watching her and humming along with a feeling of joy for the rest of the day. She ate with me and we talked for hours about plays and songs and poetry. Irina is teaching me about Shakespeare and I tell her about the tribesmen of the Khyber and the wild horsemen of the Tibetan high plains.
All was happiness and childish play until the late evening when her face changed and a frown put a darkness on her face. She had received a letter from someone, and she was suddenly fearful. I held her and tried to say comforting words, but she would not answer my questions. Nothing I could say could make her reveal the contents of that awful missive.
‘All I may tell you, dearest George, is that my family have enemies back in Mother Russia and their evil words and menacing images plant weeds in a bright garden.’
June 4
I am still not able to ride nor even walk freely and so here I am in Tehran, which is in truth a place in Paradise, because Irina is here and she still likes my company. We were at the ambassador’s ball tonight and I had to watch her jealously as her dance-card filled up in seconds, as the crowd of male admirers flocked to her. But she smiled at my grumpiness and patted my head like a big sister.
I went late to bed, and was not alone.
June 5
The medical man called today and tutted over my stiff and aching limbs, drawing particular attention to the accursed thigh. There appears to be a possibility that riding may be deuced uncomfortable for some time. He has ordered some more treatment and I have more pills. But of course, she is still here, so joy, say I. After last night I realise that in truth, this is an entirely new sensation with regard to women.
June 6
Damnation be on Fate, the goddess of us all! Irina came this morning, most distracted and perturbed. Her whole manner was one tormented by some gadfly of fear. Even as I held her, those beautiful dark brown eyes flashed, her glance darting to right and left, as if she looked for something threatening her very being. She said that she had to leave for Paris today, with her manager, Glazin, and that she could not confide in me the reason why she was so afraid. She said, ‘It is a Russian matter, you need not have any anxiety, George – I will be fine once back in France.’
I determined not to press her further, but made her promise to write to me, and asked that we meet in London as soon as we were able. I gave her a kiss, and on sudden impulse, I gave her my golden brooch, the little owl. ‘This is Glaucus, the owl of Minerva,’ I said. ‘If ever you need me to come to you … at any time … send this to me.’ I asked her to vow to do so, and she did. ‘But I have Rudolph Glazin to take care of me. He is my cousin, and he is with me everywhere. He will shield me from what happens back home,
Irina Danova is the sweetest creature, born to delight, distract, seduce – everything a woman should do who knows and values her own exceptional charms. Many women are attractive but few have the true beauty of ideal form. She is of middle height, with auburn hair curled down to her shoulders; her eyes are brown and her form that of a young woman newly emerged from gauche girlhood to true feminine perfection.
Every man of wealth and standing here fancies that she could be either his wife or his mistress. Many adore her and flock to her concerts to worship her. I’m told that locks of her hair encased in silver sell at a high price in Paris. But this jewel of perfection, with a smile to melt an icy heart and a laugh to soften the most crusty old general, is responding to my rather clumsy attempts to woo her. We have been out dining twice and we have walked out. She holds my hand and she laughs at my jests and stories of adventures in deserts and mountains. In truth, she seems like a girl with me, and myself – well, I am like a brother in some ways but not in most because today we kissed.
June 3
Today was my second hour of joy as a concert-goer, watching her and humming along with a feeling of joy for the rest of the day. She ate with me and we talked for hours about plays and songs and poetry. Irina is teaching me about Shakespeare and I tell her about the tribesmen of the Khyber and the wild horsemen of the Tibetan high plains.
All was happiness and childish play until the late evening when her face changed and a frown put a darkness on her face. She had received a letter from someone, and she was suddenly fearful. I held her and tried to say comforting words, but she would not answer my questions. Nothing I could say could make her reveal the contents of that awful missive.
‘All I may tell you, dearest George, is that my family have enemies back in Mother Russia and their evil words and menacing images plant weeds in a bright garden.’
June 4
I am still not able to ride nor even walk freely and so here I am in Tehran, which is in truth a place in Paradise, because Irina is here and she still likes my company. We were at the ambassador’s ball tonight and I had to watch her jealously as her dance-card filled up in seconds, as the crowd of male admirers flocked to her. But she smiled at my grumpiness and patted my head like a big sister.
I went late to bed, and was not alone.
June 5
The medical man called today and tutted over my stiff and aching limbs, drawing particular attention to the accursed thigh. There appears to be a possibility that riding may be deuced uncomfortable for some time. He has ordered some more treatment and I have more pills. But of course, she is still here, so joy, say I. After last night I realise that in truth, this is an entirely new sensation with regard to women.
June 6
Damnation be on Fate, the goddess of us all! Irina came this morning, most distracted and perturbed. Her whole manner was one tormented by some gadfly of fear. Even as I held her, those beautiful dark brown eyes flashed, her glance darting to right and left, as if she looked for something threatening her very being. She said that she had to leave for Paris today, with her manager, Glazin, and that she could not confide in me the reason why she was so afraid. She said, ‘It is a Russian matter, you need not have any anxiety, George – I will be fine once back in France.’
I determined not to press her further, but made her promise to write to me, and asked that we meet in London as soon as we were able. I gave her a kiss, and on sudden impulse, I gave her my golden brooch, the little owl. ‘This is Glaucus, the owl of Minerva,’ I said. ‘If ever you need me to come to you … at any time … send this to me.’ I asked her to vow to do so, and she did. ‘But I have Rudolph Glazin to take care of me. He is my cousin, and he is with me everywhere. He will shield me from what happens back home,
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