Read Online Sashenka by Simon Sebag Montefiore - Free Book Online

and moved into the vacated seat next to Andronnikov, who inclined his head and put his hand on his famous white briefcase, a mannerism that meant: let us deal.
    “Dear Prince, my daughter Sashenka…”
    Andronnikov waved a spongy jeweled hand. “I know…your daughter at Smolny…arrested this afternoon—and guilty by all accounts. Well, I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
    “She’s at the Kresty Temporary House of Detention right now: can we get her out tonight?”
    “Easy now, dearie! It’s a bit late for tonight, sweetheart. But we wouldn’t want her to get three years in Yeniseisk on the Arctic Circle, would we?”
    Zeitlin had palpitations at the thought: his darling Sashenka would never survive that!
    Andronnikov sank into an openmouthed kiss with the youth next to him. When he came up for air, his lips still wet, Zeitlin pointed at the ceiling.
    “My Prince, I’d like to buy your…chandelier,” he suggested. “I’ve always admired it…”
    “It’s very close to my heart, Baron. A present from the Empress herself.”
    “Really? Well, let me make you an offer for it. Shall we say at least…”
    12
    Ariadna’s companion for her nocturnal voyage from Baroness Rozen’s salon and on to dinner was Countess Missy Loris, a cheerful blonde born in America but married to a Russian. Missy had begged Ariadna to introduce her to Rasputin, who, it was said, was virtually ruling Russia.
    Holding Missy’s hand, Ariadna dismounted from the RussoBalt limousine and passed through the shadowy archway of 64 Gorokhovaya Street, across an asphalt courtyard and up the steps of a red threestory building. The door opened as if by magic. A doorman—
    unmistakably exmilitary, surely an agent of the Okhrana—bowed. “Second floor.”
    The women walked up the stairs toward an open doorway lined in scarlet silk. A redfaced man in blue serge trousers and suspenders, clearly a policeman, pointed them inside brusquely. “Ladies, this way!”
    A squat peasant woman in a floral dress took their coats and showed them into a room where a tall silver samovar bubbled and steamed. Beside it, and toying with handfuls of silks, chinchilla and sable furs, diamonds and egret feathers, sat the Elder Grigory, known as Rasputin, in a lilac silk shirt tucked into a crimson sash, striped trousers, and kid leather boots. His face was weathered, moley and wrinkled, his nose pockmarked, his hair centerparted into greasy bangs that formed arches on his forehead, and his beard was reddish brown. Yellow eyes gazed up at Ariadna without blinking, the glazed pupils flickering from side to side as if they saw nothing.
    “Ah, my Little Bee,” he said. “Here!” He offered his hand to the women. Ariadna tipsily fell on one knee and kissed the hand, which moved on to Missy. “I know what you’ve come about. Go into my reception room. My little doves are all here, dear Bee. And you’re new.” He squeezed Missy’s waist, which tickled her, and she squealed. “Show her round, Little Bee.”
    “Little Bee,” whispered Ariadna to Missy, “is his special name for me. We all have nicknames.”
    “Don’t forget to mention Sashenka.”
    “Sashenka, Sashenka. There, I’m remembering.”
    The pair entered the main room, where ten or so guests, mostly women, sat round a table covered in their offerings—a heap of black Beluga caviar, half a sturgeon in aspic, piles of peppermint gingersnaps, boiled eggs, a coffee cake and a bottle of Cahors.
    Rasputin was right behind them. He put his arm around Ariadna’s waist and swung her round, steering her to a seat at the table. He greeted them separately. “Wild Dove, meet Little Bee, Pretty Dandy, the Calm One…”
    Among the women sat a plump moonfaced blonde in a drab, badly ironed and poorly made beige dress—and a treble string of the biggest pearls that Ariadna had ever seen.
    This shinycheeked creature was Anna Vyrubova, and the pretty, dark lady next to her, wearing a fashionable sailorsuit