The House by the Dvina Read Online Free PDF Page B

Nelly and came back on the 4.10. Being set in his ways, this arrangement never varied. Nelly travelled back on the 5.10 train, which was an hour later than her fatherТs. It fitted in very nicely with her attendances at the theatre.
    That certain Saturday, as she stood on the platform talking to Gherman while waiting for the train, she was horrified to see her father walking towards them. He did not appear to be aware of the young couple and stopped a short distance away.
    My grandfather, Augustus Stephen Cameron, was then a man in his early fifties. Of stocky build, he had clearly defined features and deeply set blue eyes that contrasted sharply with his silver white hair and ruddy complexion. A handsome man, always immaculately dressed, usually in a navy blue suit complete with a grey stetson hat and flower in his buttonhole, he was a well-known autocrat, capable of great generosity or petty tyranny. He also had the disconcerting habit, when annoyed or contradicted, of staring long and hard right through his opponent. Now he was standing still, gazing straight ahead.
    Nelly already visualised the dire consequences at home. The end of all her happy meetings. To my father, this was an opportunity he did not intend to miss. He walked resolutely up to my grandfather, with Nelly a few paces behind him, raised his hat and asked if he would be allowed to introduce himself. He had been introduced to his daughter at a dance some time ago, he continued, and had since met her several times. He hoped Mr Cameron did not think he was too presumptuous to want to meet her father.
    My grandfather glanced coldly at his daughter and back to the young man in front of him. My father felt himself being silently appraised and stood waiting. “Tell me,” my grandfather enquired unexpectedly, “what is happening exactly between your country and Japan?” If my father was taken aback, he certainly did not show it. At that time the attention of the whole world was focused on the war between the small yellow men and the Russian colossus. My father, who like all Russians passionately loved his country and kept abreast with all the events, expressed his opinion. The train came in and after a momentТs hesitation they all got into the same compartment. The conversation continued until they arrived at West Ferry.
    Walking out of the station, Gherman raised his hat and prepared to take his leave. There was again some hesitation, as if my grandfather was trying to make up his mind. “Young man,” he said suddenly, “I enjoyed our conversation. I should like to hear and know a little more about your country.” Something warm and elusive like a shaft of sunlight lit up his proud countenance. “Perhaps,” he continued, “you may care to come along and join us all for lunch tomorrow?”
    Nelly, sitting beside her father, had travelled in silence, listening to the conversation. Now she was too relieved to say anything at all. My father bowed, expressing his thanks and acceptance. Raising his hat once again, he turned and walked away.
    That night he sat down and wrote a long letter to his mother. He described Nelly in every detail. How he had met her and was now invited to meet her people. He was certain his mother would like her. He loved her and wanted to marry her. In the end, according to the old Russian custom, he begged his mother for her blessing.
    The following day Gherman arrived at the house and rang the bell. Bay House, aptly named, stood on the sheltered banks of the bay in West Ferry.
    It was a typically solid Victorian house, built at a time when neither money nor materials were spared to create an air of elegance and prosperity.
    A young maid opened the door and led Gherman into the drawing-room. He found my grandfather talking to a young man who, he learned, was Andrew, NellyТs elder married brother, paying his usual Sunday visit with his wife and children. My grandmother entered, politely shook hands and sat down.
    She was not blessed