“Russia,” he said, “will not change until those who govern Russia change their thinking. Tolstoy said it best: ‘Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.’ Remember, Tatushka, never be afraid to embrace new ideas. Without them, your mind will cease to grow and your spirit will harden.” Tatiana had taken to spending her study hours in her father's library, surrounded by the many leather-bound books he had brought from Russia. Sergei would often take the opportunity to talk to his daughter about the ideas he had gleaned from those books and that were always forming and re-forming in his mind. He hoped to inspire her to embrace a life of books and learning, as he had dreamed of doing before their life in Russia had been interrupted by politics. He knew she was the brighter of his two daughters, but he recognized that she had a stubborn streak that would cause her to resist if pushed too hard.
“I fear for poor Nicky and his family,” Sergei told her. “They are living in the past and cannot see that Russia is changing for the worse. How long can they ignore what is happening in the streets?”
Although it sometimes took weeks, even months, for them to receive news from Russia, they knew of the terrible things that were happening there. The peasants were still virtual slaves under the autocratic rule of the nobles, who were under the autocratic rule of the Tsar. When Nicholas began to reverse the reforms he had promised after the first revolt in 1905, the level of discontent rose and spread. Unfortunately, the Tsar chose the route of greater repression, not understanding that he was, in fact, helping to create a political underclass that would gain its support from the oppressed workers and peasants who had nothing to lose. Tatiana would be twenty years old when the Bolsheviks murdered her Romanov cousins and took over her homeland. In the meantime, in the rapidly changing city of Shanghai, she was becoming a young woman and experiencing life on her own terms.
As Tatiana grew into womanhood, Shanghai was developing into a place that catered to the tastes of thrill seekers and the reckless. Anything could be had in Shanghai for a price—and the price was relatively low. Those looking for excitement, from gambling and drinking to uninhibited sex and drugs, were drawn to Shanghai. Nightclubs and cabarets began appearing in the International Settlement, and every hotel had a ballroom with a dance band that played all night.
When Tatiana was sixteen, she started going out with Olga and her French boyfriend, Jean Paul. In those early days, their parents thought there was no harm in it. People went out to have fun, not to indulge in depraved and lewd behaviour—and the girls were instructed to be home no later than ten o'clock. At first they would go to a restaurant or teahouse, then go dancing at one of the fashionable hotels. As soon as they left the house, Tatiana would put on red lipstick so that she looked older, and she began to cultivate what she thought was a sophisticated look. She pinned her hair up and when she sat down, she crossed her legs and exposed her ankles and part of her calf, which was very daring in 1913.
Olga was horrified and embarrassed that her younger sister was behaving this way in front of Jean Paul. “Tatiana,” she whispered hoarsely in her sister's ear, “sit up straight and pull your skirt down. Do you want people to think you are a—”Olga stopped, not wanting to say the word.
“A what,” Tatiana said, loud enough for Jean Paul to hear. “A whore?”
Olga was mortified, but Jean Paul, who seemed to understand that Tatiana needed to be outrageous in order to test the limits and the patience of those who loved her, was more tolerant. He was older than Olga by a few years, the son of a good family from France that had prospered in the textile business in China, the land of silkworms and cheap labour. Jean Paul had been to university in France. He had seen young women behave far more outrageously than Tatiana. During those years, he had enjoyed hanging out with painters and poets—and their women. Jean Paul was neither handsome nor talented, but he was gentle and kind, qualities that appealed to Olga, who was neither as beautiful nor as bright as her younger sister. But Jean Paul, neither tall nor short, his hair thinning but not yet bald, fair and pale-skinned and needing to wear glasses to read, was attracted to the shorter, darker, more sensible sister, possibly because she reminded him of his mother, who was also short and dark and sensible. Her ancestors from generations back had come from the Basque region of Spain, where plain looks could hide a fiery temper and a passionate spirit. Jean Paul found that possibility appealing.
One night, when the three of them were at a cabaret, a young woman approached their table. She was a little wobbly on her feet, and she spoke to them in English with a heavy French accent. “’Allo, kids. Wanna buy me a drink and hear l'histoire de ma vie?”
“Sure,” said Jean Paul and signalled for her to join them. Olga didn't look too pleased, but what did it hurt to talk to someone? He called to the waiter, “Catchee gin tonic, chop chop,” and the waiter scurried off.
To Tatiana's inexperienced eyes, the woman was very beautiful. She was probably in her late twenties and had thick, curly red hair that she had piled on top of her head so that some of the curls cascaded over her forehead and ears. Her green eyes and milky skin were dramatically set off by the emerald green silk shawl she wore draped over her pale shoulders. Her full bosom was enhanced by the cut of her dress, but she was otherwise slender, with long legs and slim ankles. She wore startling red lipstick on her full lips that emphasized the paleness of her beautiful skin. She introduced herself as Annette and began to tell them her story.
She had been born in France but had grown up in Saigon, in Indo-China, where her father had owned a small textile factory. Her family had fallen on hard times, however, when her father had become ill, and she and her brothers were forced to leave school to find work. Annette and her mother had worked as seamstresses, but sewing bored Annette. “So I found myself a rich lover,” she said. But he was Vietnamese and had been betrothed since childhood to the daughter of a wealthy Saigon family. “I knew he would never marry me, but what did I care about marriage? I was only sixteen.”
On the day of his marriage, Annette discovered she was pregnant. “That's when I decided to leave Saigon and the whole mess behind. I came to Shanghai to have my baby.” She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “I know what you're thinking,” she said. “Why didn't I try and get money from him? I could have had a comfortable life, right? And raised my son, who would be called a bastard and half-breed, in some backstreet in Saigon. No, thank you. Not the life I wanted.” She indicated that her glass was empty, and Jean Paul ordered more drinks all round. When Tatiana, who had listened intently to every word, asked for a gin and tonic, Olga raised her eyebrows in annoyed surprise, but Tatiana ignored her and turned to Annette.
“Qu'est-ce que vous avez voulu?” she asked. What did you want?
“I wanted adventure. I wanted to be surprised by life, not to have every day the same.”
“And what about your child?”
“My son, my Daniel, is six years old, and he's beautiful, the best part of my life.”
“But how do you support him?” Olga asked.
Annette just laughed. “Shanghai is full of opportunities, if you know where to look. Maybe I'll show you someday, chérie.”
Tatiana looked at Olga and laughed, but Olga frowned and shook her head. Tatiana was fascinated by Annette and wanted to know more—about everything.
They were to run into Annette often after that night. She was usually in the company of a man or with a party of men and women. The men were always in well-tailored evening clothes, mostly French but sometimes British. Occasionally she would be on the arm of an American businessman who wore cologne and smoked large, smelly cigars. Olga usually clucked her disapproval, but to Tatiana it was all very glamorous. To be out drinking champagne and dancing every night with rich men didn't seem so bad to her.
“You are so innocent,” said Olga. “Can't you see she's a whore?”
“She is not. Do people call you a whore because you dance with Jean Paul?”
Olga was clearly annoyed. “I can't believe you're being so stupid.”
“Oh, leave her alone,” said Jean Paul. “She's just a kid.”
But