Sapphire Skies Read Online Free PDF Page B

fortress of the ancient city many times but this was the first time I had ever been inside. I squeezed Papa’s hand as the car passed under the archway and I caught a glimpse of the secret gardens. The golden domes of the cathedrals sparkled in the fading autumn light. The Ivan the Great Bell Tower dominated all the other buildings. It was said to mark the centre of Moscow. People no longer worshipped at Assumption Cathedral and the Cathedral of the Archangel, but something of the grandeur of imperial coronations and funerals of the past remained in the atmosphere. A thrill ran through me when I imagined ladies dressed in velvet and bedecked in jewels watching soldiers on parade. But I caught myself. Of course life was much better for us now that Comrade Stalin was in charge. The Tsar Nicholas and his predecessors had done nothing for the Russian people except exploit them.
    The car stopped outside the Grand Kremlin Palace and the driver opened the door for us.
    ‘Come on, don’t dawdle,’ teased Papa, reaching out his hand to help me from the car.
    ‘So this is where Comrade Stalin lives?’ I whispered.
    ‘Not quite, Natasha,’ my father replied, grinning. ‘I believe his rooms are in the Amusement Palace.’
    My grandfather had been the official confectioner to the Imperial House and Papa had been to the Grand Kremlin Palace many times with him. After the Revolution, when Lenin was in power, my family became ‘class enemies’, and none of us had been inside the Kremlin since. Now Stalin was in charge, things had changed again. Papa and I were there as guests to a gala dinner in honour of the aviator Valery Chkalov and his crew for having performed the first non-stop transpolar flight to America.
    I smoothed down my silk dress, made by my mother especially for the occasion, and followed my father to join other guests waiting at the entrance. I recognised some of their faces from the pages of Pravda : there were famous chess players, footballers, dancers from the Bolshoi Ballet, as well as celebrated workers and peasants. I spied Olga Penkina, a milkmaid who had received the Order of Lenin for overfulfilling her farm’s production norm.
    ‘Do you think Marina Raskova will be here as well?’ I asked my father.
    The wall above my bed was covered with pictures of famous aviators, and Raskova had pride of place next to my portrait of Stalin. Whenever a pilot broke a record, I’d go with my family to join the crowds cheering them as they were paraded down Tverskaya Street. That was why my mother had forgone her place at the dinner so that I could accompany my father.
    ‘I wouldn’t let you miss out on this, Natasha. Not for anything,’ she’d said.
    My father nudged me. ‘ There’s someone you’ll be interested to see.’
    I turned to where he was looking and spotted Anatoly Serov alighting from a car. The dashing fighter pilot was a hero of the Spanish Civil War. I was even more excited when I saw he had brought his actress wife, Valentina, with him. She was so beautiful. I had tried to copy her look by pouring lemon juice through my blonde hair and sitting in the sunshine, but I had never been able to achieve Valentina’s shade of platinum. A guard appeared and invited us into the palace. We ascended the staircase to St George Hall an unruly group. The peasants stepped timidly on the red carpet, getting in the way of ballerinas who pranced behind them. The footballers spoke loudly, while the factory workers ogled the bronze wall lamps. My father and I followed behind Serov and his wife. How elegantly Valentina moved! There was something feline about her. I watched her every step of the way and tried to imitate her stalking gait.
    At the end of the staircase, we were ushered into the reception hall, where we uttered a collective sigh. The snow-white walls, lit by chandeliers, were dazzling, and the pattern on the parquet floor was of such an intricate design that for a moment I thought it was a magnificent