Konrad and Alexandra (pdf) - Rolf Gross

He handed her the necklace. She struggled with the clasp, and he got up to help her.
"Bored is hardly the word for it."
She shivered when he touched her neck.
"The man is insufferable. All he does is show us design templates for windows, doors,
and ornamentation. We had to buy an entire book of such curlicues from which we have to
copy five pages for tomorrow. He is the exact opposite of Henri."
Konrad nodded. "I am not surprised. Look at his building over there, he designed it from
a set of such templates: ‘Russo-Byzantine Ornaments for an Oriental Harem’. Have a look in
his book."
She nodded. "Come to think of it, why could Henri not teach me to design such beautiful
necklaces? Maybe I could even learn how to make them. I will have to ask Henri how he gets
his ideas. Are you coming along?"
Konrad avoided looking at her, the challenge in her eyes made him giddy. "What will
your parents say: a well brought-up young lady like you trying to learn gold-smithing from a
man in the bazaar?"
Her eyes lit up with fierce resolve. "The daughter of a rich father may do anything she
sets her mind on, as long as she remains a dilettante and does not embarrass him by making
money."
She laughed and continued with an alarming obstinacy. "And I do set my mind on the
things I like! But I had hoped that you would applaud my idea."
"Dear, blue-eyed revolutionary, at times I am delighted and at others frightened by your
headstrong determination." He pulled out his watch and consulted the time. "We have to go, if
we don’t want to rush."
He went to fetch her burka.
As he stood behind her, holding her coat spread between his outstretched arms, her
bare neck lay in front of him for the third time on that evening, utterly defenseless. He brushed
it with a kiss.
She spun around and slapped him in the face with her loose glove. Her eyes ablaze.
For a few seconds he stood holding her burka like a crest-fallen, black-winged angel.
She appeared irresistibly beautiful. And then her eyes changed, asked for forgiveness, and
with a smile on her flushed face she gave him a kiss on the affected cheek.
On Golovinsky Boulevard she put her arm under his. "Hold on to me, I might slip on this
wet pavement."
She glanced at him sideways full of affection. Her arm in his was a novel experience;
there was, of course, no danger that sure-footed Alexandra would slip.
"Please don’t embarrass me now," she asked as they entered the crowded foyer of the
theater. "You will see how many people will watch us, we would be the gossip of town
tomorrow. As it is, the two of us appearing together will already lead to enough speculation."
Next to each other they looked stunning.
Tout le monde de Tiflis seemed to be present. She bowed her head to half a dozen
elegant people and steered him to a couple somewhat older than her parents. The gentleman
was of an imposing stature with an enormous handlebar mustache and white unruly hair, his
wife a formally dressed matron. Alexandra introduced him, "Professor Konrad Rost from Berlin
and St. Petersburg, my uncle Prince Luarsab Tarkhan-Mouravi and his wife Princess Sophia
Bagrationi."
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