A new lady moved in the next villa in posh Knightsbridge area of London, not very far from the luxury department stores Harrods. Harrods had been there for generations in the capital and catered to the royal family household.

But the whole area had taken a new significance since Lady Diana Spencer; Princess of Wales had become friend with Dodi, the son of the owner of Harrods. The tale of their romance did feel at the time like a typical London summer love until tragedy struck and both lost their lives in a car crash in a tunnel in Paris. Harrods was more than a department stores now; it had become somehow a landmark. Yes she had come to shop there often, and no matter on which floor you landed one always felt a fleeting sadness around the place.

Many had bought available mansions and luxury suites in the area, and the price of the real estate has become extravagant, even more extravagant than during the oil dollar boom, when wealthy Arabs bought estates at very high prices.

Anyhow, somehow, the place had caught the fancy of the richest of the Russian, and not too long ago a Russian woman had bought a large suite, located within walking distance from Harrods…The place was very British in architecture, and there was a porter in uniform to guard the building.

And in that particular morning, he was talking to his neighbor, a younger man about the new owner. He said yes she came, she is a very old lady, a Russian, but trust me she frightens me she looks like a witch. The young Irish lad laughed and exclaimed: well that is a first, so far no woman you described was out of your taste. I say, she must be real ugly.

The porter felt a bit insulted and pinched his lips and stayed silent…As they continued cleaning the front porch, the porter stood up immediately, pale, and went to open the door of the lodge…Soon an old woman appeared. She had a very odd and very lonely look about her. It was spring day, but she was wearing a long black mink coat with a black toque, she had laced boots on, like the Russian army's, very polished very shiny, she had black leather gloves and a black bag. She said " Thank you porter" and gave him a note of five sterling pounds note…The youngster thought to himself: well not bad for just opening a door…But as he looked at the porter he found that the man did not give his shining smile as he did to others when he received a tip. Five pounds for opening the door, wow the young man approached closer, to be in the view of that woman, in case well she would find some use for him, he sure could use the money…As he looked up at her, he too froze, she was past 70 years old, had a few hair left which obviously had been tinted jet black, she had painted her face with a whitish cake cream foundation and her lips were bright red, a la Paloma Picasso. But what frightened him at once was the fact that she wore a black strap over her right eye, a pirate eye cover. Her smile was full with gold teeth.

He froze too…. He did not feel like looking at her.
She did not seem to care, and gingerly hailed a taxi…. She looked so odd. And her voice was like a broken record, they heard her repeating no less than ten times to the taxi driver Harrods, Harrods, Harrods…as she climbed in the taxi. None of them felt like earning an extra five pounds, and let her open the taxi door. They did not feel like earning her money for some reason.

She did not care, her mouth full of gold teeth was wide open and they shuddered at the sight.

Natasha was her name, and she was indeed Russian. She went to Harrods and people walked away from her…she looked like a witch and that is exactly how she had been called for a witch for a long time though. She did not seem to care, and knew the place oh too well. She went to the Boucheron jewelers and asked them to show them necklaces with fine cut diamonds, sapphire and aquamarine.
They made her sit, and offered her coffee in a fine porcelain cup…She was a valuable customer. After much display of jewels, she made up her mind for the loveliest and the costliest piece they had, a 55,000 Sterling pounds jewel. She instructed them to have a few extra sapphires set to the jewel. The necklace would be delivered to her suite in the evening. She said in her atoned voice: "Thank you, do please be on time 7pm on the dot."

They smiled, she was odd, but she was an excellent customer.

Then she proceeded to the Delicatessen Floor it was a prompt purchase, she ordered some Fois Gras and caviar and Dom Perignon.

She attempted to walk a bit more in the department store, but she felt tired already.

She hailed a taxi back and came back to the Suite. The suite was posh and cozy. The two service staff, she had hired for the envening, had been sent by an agency and were working on setting the place for her soiree, they knew what she wanted…

She went to rest for a while. Downstairs, the two porters were gossiping about how repulsive her appearance was, they never saw such a witch figure before.
But then, to their utter dismay. bouquet after bouquet started to arrive for her, and the porter was kept very busy, he had counted not less than 120 bouquets so far.

For Madame Natasha, the delivery people would say, the porter had never seen so many flowers in his entire life…. He was puzzled. He asked the delivery people, from where are you? They always gave the same response: either a cold silence or " we are not at liberty to say".

The porter would go to the Suite, and each time he brought a bouquet, the maid slipped a fiver in his hand. What a day for him, he never had made that much money in a year and that easily too. He started to love the witch, as he now foundly nicknamed her.

For three days they did not see her, she did not come out, but the bouquets continued coming, and the porter felt an immense love for Madame Natasha. He decided in his heart not refer to her as a witch anymore, but called her La Grande Dame, and with great reverence too.

On the third day, afternoon, caterers started to bring dishes of food in porcelain and crystal balls, silver trays; a catering truck from Harrods brought it all.

That evening, Rolls Royces parked in front of the building and were tipping the porter heavily; some people came on foot. Yes, the beautiful people as others call the rich and beautiful started arriving for La Grande Dame.

The porter showed the place to many of them and each time, he got a glimpse of La Grande Dame, she was wearing a sort of diamond tiara and lots of jewels, she sparkled a lot, and he revered her, he loved her so . She looked wonderful bejeweled. He had forgotten the witch, he loved his Grande Dame.

Soon the place was full.

Inside Natasha welcomed each and everyone personally; all of them were from White Russian, the descendants of the Tsar family. A violinist was playing tzigane melodies, and everyone was smiling back to Natasha.

Natasha was happy, but there was an intense look in the only eye that was visible, she was waiting for one more guest. It was past midnight, and at long last one more ring was heard. She jumped on her feet inspire of her age, and went quickly to open the door, pushing aside the staff.

There, at the door, stood a tall and slender young woman of 25 with a white skin and very long and wavy chestnut hair, she was wearing a long velvet coat of night blue with gold embroidery.

As she stood there, Natasha smiled at the young woman, and said come in Anataali; I have missed you so.

The young lady entered and embraced La grand dame, smiling and saying: Anoushka, I missed you too.

As Anataalia came in, everyone felt envious of her closeness to the otherwise distant Grande dame. La Grande Dame came from a very wealthy white family and her name only demanded grand respect. Anataalia was not even Russian; she was a French actress, a debutante. And they felt hurt that Natasha would prefer her to them who were for some, famed Bolshoi Stars or owned chic restaurants in London and Paris, some were bankers. Why her?

But they felt the bond was strong. Yes they were intelligent and understood that the bond was indeed very very strong.

"Anataalia, come and sit besides me"
Natasha ordered.

Anataalia left her velvet cape with the maid. She wore a full-length fluid light mauve jersey dress, with an open back to the waist; she was indeed a natural beauty.

Soon, the party resumed, and everyone loved the place, the food was great, the music was fabulous

Suddenly the place grew cold and quiet, everyone felt uneasy, and everyone felt a stab in their heart, a sad and profound vibration. They looked towards Anataalia and Natasha, It was so strange: the tears were rolling down the powdered face of Natasha, and Anataalia was holding her hand. They were puzzled, and astonished for not once did they see Natasha cry, not once, even when everything had been taken from her then, when they left Russia like vagabonds, when her husband died, when she was told she had cancer.

Anataalia was motionless and did not attempt to console Natasha in any way, she held her hand, and said :
" Cry deeply Natasha, it must have a purpose the tears, cry deeply…"

She held the hand of Natasha and closed her eyes for a while. She remembered. How could she ever forget? She relived that time in their past, a time that was hidden to others, and yet common only to Natasha and Anataalia: the secret bond"s key.

Two years ago, she had met Vladimir in London. He had an antique shop in Kings' road and was doing well. Anataalia was shopping and she had noticed a lovely samovar that she had seen in the window display of Fedor's place.

Immediately a friendship was struck. Both felt as if they had known each other for a long time. They talked about his life of a Russian émigré issued from an aristocracy line that did not mean a thing anymore. Her mother was a well known and a famous poetess, and a great beauty in her youth, her father had been a portraitist. Whilst they were chased from Russia by the red army, his father had secured a position as the official portraitist of the late Shah of Iran, the house of Pavlavi. They accumulated a great wealth once again.

Her mother was a favorite in the entourage of the Empress Farah Dibah of Iran, and soon she spoke farsi fluently. She was invited everywhere the Pavlavi family went. Natasha was of extreme beauty. Yet, Vladimir recalled with a tinge of hate in his voice, his husband developed a taste for pretty ladies, and the royal family seemed to encourage this.

Natasha was very hurt, but she was a woman of great courage and never raised the subject, or confided in Vladimir who was still very young, hardly 10 years old when the conflict, the break-up in the marriage first appeared.

Soon Natasha was in great demand by the court of the Shah. Slowly rumors emerged that the Shah was a playboy and wanted Natasha as his own. He sent her present after present, which she did neither accept nor refused. She just kept them in a cupboard unopened; she did not send back replies or letters of thanks.

The Shah was annoyed that she remains so cold or irresponsive to his overtures.
So he called her husband and commissioned him to make the portrait of Natasha. Fedor did not really care; he did the portrait and delivered it to the Shah against a very handsome payment.

Natasha was called once again to the royal household and was shown the portrait that the Shah had received from her Fedor. A terrible anguish struck at her heart, but she did not show it. She said:
" Your Highness, thank you for the honor, but portraits mean so very little to me."
The Shah then asked:
"What matters to you, Natasha?'

Foolishly she said:
"Mmy heart is called Poetry and my soul spirituality."

The Shah smiled and reveled in the personality of Natasha, she was the most beautiful and intriguing woman he had ever met on earth, and she was like a dream

She left again with gifts, jewelry and boxes of caviar, textiles that a courtier was carrying for her, and she was driven back to the family house.

The Shah once more sent for Fedor. Fedor was happy because he was in great need of money, overnight he spent a lot on his favorite of the moment, and he had started gambling and was loosing heavily. He was hardly at home, and Natasha did not want to meet her husband while he was in this mood. They had talked in weeks.

Fedor was to come to the palace quickly he was told. Fedor shaved, put his best outfit and rushed to the Royal Household.

He was granted entry to the private chamber of the Shah almost immediately. The shah commanded Fedor to sit, which was a great honor as everyone stood in front of His Highness. To sit in the presence of the Shah was a sign of great friendship and trust. Yes the Shah did like him, he felt glad and the hope of receiving more money filled his heart with anticipation. He had so much debt to repay, gambling debts

The Shah was composed and cold and he said:
"Fedor my friend you are a great artist. I know you are a portraitist, but you are such a great artist, surely you would know how to write me a poem if I asked you. You see my friend I have fallen deeply in love with a lady who is cold as ice."

Fedor at once replied:
"Well , Majesty, no lady ever remain cold after I write her a poem."

The Shah said:
"Thank you Fedor, please bring it here tomorrow. Put emphasis on the eyes of the ladies, they are like deep burning embers"

Fedor smiled. Yes he knew. Ladies'eyes, that were not so hard to put in words, he said to himself.

So he went home and put himself to task, the words came so easily to him. The next morning he went to the Shah and said there you are Majesty:

Your eyes fill the void
Of my heart
With burning embers
Your eyes empty the shame
Of my soul
With dew tears
Your eyes are mine
To eternity.

The Shah was pleased and paid Fedor a great amount of money. And that evening Fedor feasted with his new lover went gambling, he won, he was very happy.

That evening, a courtier had come to the house of Natasha and had delivered the same poem engraved on a gold leaf. Natasha had seen her husband write those lines, She did not say a thing, and she did not let him know that she had read the lines. When the gold leaf engraved with the words came, she was overwhelmed with joy. Fedor was coming home at last. She called her son Vladimir and said Vladimir we shall be happy again, a real family. I know. She was so happy.

At the precise time she had talked to Vladimir. Fedor was in the night club, with his latest favorite, drinking and drinking singer came on stage and said the Shah of Iran has written this verse for the love of his life, we have been asked to sing it around for one month every night. As the singer began to sing, Fedor immediately recognized his lines. Fedor was pleased. Ah he did not mind that the Shah said he had written the words himself. The Shah could say that, after all he had paid Fedor so generously.

The night was over, and then Fedor went home half drunk as usual. Natasha was up, looking so marvelously beautiful; Fedor felt shame in his heart. He said my own Natasha is the most enchanting woman, why do I not stay home, a perfect beauty. He looked at her as he looked on her the first time they met, and recalled how he fell madly in love with her. It was not so long ago, a decade.

He came close to her and he took her hand, she did not pull away. He felt glad, she had grown cold to him lately because she knew of his doings. They had not fight over it, they were just estranged. Fedor respected Natasha for her personality.

Tonight, she was ravishing, and he came closer, she said:
"Fedor, thank you, for the lovely poem".

He was puzzled:
"He said: what are you saying Natasha? "

She pulled the golf leaf for the drawer of her desk, and read the words that were engraved on it. Then Fedor understood it all, the plot: women were sent to him to distract him away from Natasha, while all the time the Shah had set his intent on his wife. Why?

He was drank and shouted at Natasha:
"Why did you go to him? "
Nataasha was bewildered,she said:
"To whom Fedor? I do not understand you?"

Vladimir had woke up from his sleep and was crying. Fedor took the boy and threw him against the wall. Natasha was pale with intense anger, she said:
"Do never raise your hand on my son"

Fedor was mad: his beautiful wife, how they had carried on behind his back. He loved her eyes, he still did.

He took the paper cutter from the desk, grabbed Natasha by the throat and plunged it into her right eye.

That was years ago, Natasha had spent time in a private clinic in Switzerland and had taken Vladimir with her. She wore a black patch ever since over her right eye.

Fedor stayed in Iran, and continued his dissolute life. As the years went on
Vladimir had grown into a successful artist and auctioneer, He had been married too his marriage had not worked well too, and he was divorced.

Many times, he had asked his mother:

"Mother, why do you not want to have a glass eye put on your right eye, it would look so nice."

She invariably replied:
" No. I want Fedor if he even came back to see for himself what had become of me."

Vladmir was sad but he respected his mother.

Then on that day, when he sold the Samovar to the French Actress, Anataalie, he knew he had fallen madly in love. She was the woman he had dreamt of. He told her so then, like a foolish schoolboy. She would smile, and say:
"Be quiet Vladimir, we are good friends"

She had been invited often for supper and she and Natasha enjoyed each other's company a lot, they would talk for hours about Pushkin and Tolstoi. Natasha spoke French, as all the great families of white Russia, the young ladies were taught French even before Russian.

Vladimir tried to win over the heart of Anataalia to no success. Out of frustration, Vladimir had become a womanizer and Natasha was very sad about it. She confided in Anataalie, and said
"Anataalia, I have so much anguish. Vladimir is following his father's steps to nowhere."

Anataalia always replied:
"Let it be Natasha, he lives his life, live yours, everything will be all right."

But everything was not all right. Anataalie came one evening and said she had to go to Madrid for a year to do a film. Vladimir felt an immense pain in his heart, he went to his study, and took out the poem that his father, now deceased, had written. Yes it was the same one that brought so much tragedy in the life of his mother and read it aloud to Natasha

Poem

Your eyes fill the void
Of my heart
With burning embers
Your eyes empty the shame
Of my soul
With dew tears
Your eyes are mine
To eternity.

The he stopped for a while pale and very distraught.

Suddenly he took the paper cutter, and plunged it twice, once in his right eye, the second time in his left eye.

He stood, and shouted, with blood pouring out from the pierced eyeballs: "Natasha, Anataalia, now is the time for a great game, the game of my father: the roulette, the Russian roulette, the gambling of the heart.

He stumbled into the sitting room where Anataalie had run to Natasha, he had a small hand gun in his hand and pulled the trigger. Vladimir was dead on the spot. Blood was everywhere, even on Anataalie's dress.

Anataalie and Natasha were bonded with the tie of blood; they were family of the broken heart genealogy

It had been three years since then, it felt like yesterday. Anataalie slowly opened her eyes as she felt the burning tears of Natasha dribbled over her hand. Natasha said:

"Anataalia, you are my daughter, truly. You are I, we have had the same fate, Fedor for Vladimir, and me for you. Be my daughter Anataalie"

As she spoke the words, she took out the marvelous diamond and sapphire necklace, and closed the clasp around Anataalie's neck.

"Anoushka, Anataalie said, "yes I shall be that to you. Forever."

None knew the true bond between those two women. Many were envious of the good fortune of Natalie. Natasha was a revered woman of great wealth; everyone would be fortunate to be a friend, declared a friend by her.

"They will never know Anoushka, I promise," Anataalia whispered.

The next day, Natasha went flying to Greece to spend some time there. It was the last time they met. Natasha died while cutting a rose in her garden, the doctor said she did not suffer; it was a sudden heart attack.

Everyone was told so, but only Anataalia knew that Anoushka's heart had been in pain for longer and deeper than anyone would ever imagine. She died over a broken heart, ravaged twice by selfish and cruel men.

Anataalie took the samovar she had bought from Vladimir's shop, packed it and put it away for good in the attic. But yes, it was a good thing. La Grande Dame had died of a sudden heart attack

And for many years the Porter who worked at the Knightsbridge ' luxury building would talk of the grand dame, and the fortune he made while she was there.

Copyrighted Rahman,Brigitte Arlette-2000-All rights reserved.