“Hmm, yes,” Nikolai said, rather vaguely.
“Nikolai Markov,” Nadia said, her tone accusing. “You’ve never read them, have you?”
“No,” Nikolai admitted.
She laughed.
“You’re going to lose your citizenship,” she teased.
“Not at all,” Nikolai said. “It’s very easy to pretend you’ve read them.”
“How’s that?” Nadia said.
“You just have to know two or three famous quotes, and a couple of complaints. Like, I always say, ‘War and Peaceis so good, except for all the parts about farming that drag on and on’.”
“That’s very convincing!” Nadia said.
“Exactly,” Nikolai said. “Now you think I’m educated and intelligent, when really I spent all my teen years reading comic books.”
“Well, I would have as well, if Samara let me,” Nadia said.
“That is why we bought our country house though,” Nikolai said, “for the historical connection. That estate over there, Nikolskoye-Vyazemskoye, that one was the prototype for the Rostov family estate inWar and Peace.”
“Have you owned it a long time?” Nadia asked.
“No,” Nikolai said. “And some of the neighbors weren’t happy when we bought it. The Markovs aren’t as aristocratic as the Lebedevs. I think they thought we were getting above ourselves.”
Nikolai looked moodily out the window at the rolling green hills, and the fields of wheat becoming heavy and golden.
“Maybe they were right,” he said. “It is a sham, buying the place next to Tolstoy’s when you haven’t even read his work.”
“Well,” Nadia said lightly, “nothing’s stopping you reading it now.”
He glanced over at her, the smile returning to his face.
“That’s true,” he said.
They had come at last to the Markov estate. Nikolai drove slowly up to the house, through a double avenue of poplar trees, the leaves just beginning to change from green to gold. Nadia could see the west side of the grounds, with some areas of forest, and an old wooden dock at the edge of a large pond, thickly carpeted with lily pads.
The front approach to the house included a field of purple flowers, which Nadia did not know the name of. Then she saw the mansion house itself, which was made of red brick, with white wooden pillars and balconies, and banks of uniform shuttered windows. One whole side of the house had been taken over by ivy, which grew all the way up to the roof. Like the poplar trees, the ivy was beginning to take on its fall tones of red and orange, particularly on the parts of the wall that received less sunshine.
“It’s beautiful,” Nadia breathed.
“I love this place,” Nikolai said. “I used to come here all the time with my mother in the summer. I’ve only been back once since she died.”
He looked over at Nadia, who had scooted right up to the edge of her seat from her excitement and anticipation.
“She would have loved you,” he said.
“Really?” Nadia said.
“Yes. She liked history and old-fashioned things, just like you. You’ll see in the house.”
He pulled the car to a stop on the gravel drive, then got out quickly to open Nadia’s door for her. He took her hand and led her up the walkway to the front door, which he unlocked with a rusted key that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. It creaked in the lock, but still turned.
He pushed open the door.
Nadia was surprised to find the air inside fresh and pleasant. She saw a stand of lilies in the front entryway and realized that Nikolai must have sent someone ahead to get the house ready for their arrival. He was so organized. He always thought of everything.
