Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [384]
And therefore, on the second afternoon, as he strolled up to join them in the alley above the house, Misha was completely dumbfounded when he caught sight of them, standing in the glade just off the park, and saw that Nadia was folded in Pinegin’s arms.
Misha stood quite silently, hardly able to believe it. And still Nadia and Pinegin kissed.
How easy it had been. Perhaps in a way, Pinegin thought, it would have been better still if the girl had, at least a little, loved her husband. But it was not so, and so it was futile to concern oneself with that.
It was strange to be back at Russka. ‘You must come, my dear fellow. I’ll return in a few days to join you. Amuse the ladies at least, I beg you, until then.’ Those had been Alexis’s words. And as he bumped along the road, Pinegin shrugged. How strange that they should have met like that in the street, when he was on his way to take some leave in Moscow. But then, if one believed in fate, nothing was surprising.
Seventeen long years had passed: seventeen long years of distant campaigns, border fortresses and frontier posts. Often he had been in danger; always he had been cool, protected by fate. A man could be a hero though, but still be forgotten at the centre, where promotions were made. A rich man, the husband of Olga, would find himself promoted: but Pinegin was still a captain. Possibly, one day, he would be a major. But something about him, something distant and rather lonely, made that uncertain. He preferred, it seemed, to remain a law unto himself.
Seventeen long years. After the Turkish campaign of ’27, he had lost touch with Alexis. But even in distant places, he had received news. He knew when Olga had remarried. He heard of Sergei’s return from exile; read his works when they appeared. Word of Sergei’s marriage to a general’s daughter reached him and a fellow he knew even managed to send him a little miniature picture of the girl. He heard that they had lost a child. And always these little items about the family who had insulted him were filed quietly away in his memory, like a weapon in an armoury, locked up but kept always burnished in case of some future use.
For to Pinegin, believing as he did in fate, there was nothing to do but wait for the gods, in their proper time, to give him their signal. When it came, they would find him ready. And clearly now, the sign had come; and with icy calm Pinegin had gone about the business. It was very simple, quite inevitable. Tit for tat: humiliation. He would seduce Sergei’s wife.
For as Alexis had long ago observed, Pinegin was dangerous.
All the rest of that afternoon, Misha wondered what the devil he should do. He loved his Uncle Sergei. He couldn’t just let this terrible business go on. Besides, since Pinegin had only been here a few days, surely the affair could not have gone too far as yet.
That evening, therefore, while the others were sitting out on the verandah playing cards, he found an excuse to walk alone with Pinegin, and take a turn up the alley. He was very careful to be pleasant and polite. But when they reached the place opposite where Pinegin had kissed Nadia, Misha quietly observed: ‘I was here this afternoon, you know.’
Pinegin said nothing, but gave him a thoughtful sidelong glance and puffed on his pipe.
‘I hardly know my sister-in-law,’ Misha went on quietly. ‘She has been left alone here all summer, of course. And I probably misunderstood what I saw. But you will understand, I’m sure, that in the absence of my father and my Uncle, Captain Pinegin, I must ask you to make sure that nothing takes place which would bring dishonour to my family.’
And still Pinegin puffed on his pipe and said nothing.
He had not