Killing Eve: Bloodline (9)

The ninth episode of a new Killing Eve adventure, published exclusively on Substack

An hour later the housemaid, Larissa, carries a tray of coffee into Villanelle's room. Eve is sprawled in a velvet armchair, reading Igor Trepov's 'Imperial St Petersburg', and Villanelle is lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and playing Ethel Cain's 'Preacher's Daughter' through her ear-buds. Listening to music is a new thing for Villanelle; she likes to fix on an album and repeat it endlessly. She knows all the songs on Preacher's Daughter by heart, and at intervals mouths the words in a scratchy monotone.

            Eve gazes at her fondly. Placing her book spine-up on the arm of the chair, she gets up and pours the coffee, stirring a teaspoon of sugar-crystals into Villanelle's cup.

            'More.'

            'No. That's enough. Your teeth will fall out.'

            'I don't care.'

            'Well, I do. And you'll end up deaf, too, if you don't turn your music down a bit. Deaf and toothless.'

            'You'll still love me.'

            'Don't count on it.' She hands Villanelle her coffee. 'I've been reading about that French doctor. The one whose portrait is downstairs.'

            'Philippe de Lyon.'

            'Yes. Such a weird story.'

            'Mmm.'

            'The Tsarina must've been pretty gullible to think that he could dictate the sex of the child in her womb.'

            'She was desperate. She had to produce a male heir; it was the only way she could get back in favour with the court and the Russian people.'

            'Poor thing.'

            'Poor thing nothing. Before she married Nicholas she was just some minor German princess. As Tsarina she became ridiculously grand and snobbish and cranky.'

            ‘How do you know this stuff?’

            ‘All Russians know.’

            'So she was an easy mark for someone like Philippe.'

            'Possibly. But if Philippe was just a quack and a con-man, why is his portrait hanging in the most important gallery of Russian art in the world? Why did Sergei go out of his way to point it out to me? And why is there another portrait of Philippe right here in this house? Why’s he this… big deal?' She hesitates. 'Help me out, detka. Tell me what you think.'

            I have to bite my lip and turn away at this. It sounds like nothing - the sort of request anyone might make - but coming from Oxana it's a lot. She's been self-reliant all her life; to ask for help is not in her nature. And yet she asks. It's as if she's trying to rewrite herself. For me.

            'I think that there must be some sort of secret history relating to our French doctor. Which must somehow also relate to the Twelve, because why otherwise would Sergei spend so much time here in this... this shrine to the Romanovs? Or you can turn the question on its head, and ask what the Twelve want with Sergei. And what do they want with Valentin?'

            'Who says they want anything with him?'

            'If they don't, why are we here?'

            'Maybe they're more interested in Nikolai. Maybe we're here as a favour to him. To help keep his son on the rails.'

            'I don't think there’s much danger of his going seriously off the rails,' Eve says. 'He's just a party boy. And a bit lost.'

            'Maybe the Twelve want to see how you and I work as a team.'

            'That's kind of what Johnny implied, isn't it. Maybe we should be grateful for a comfortable assignment. Valentin's a bit wild, a bit all-over-the-place emotionally, but that’s all. He's very charming and handsome. Quite the heart-breaker, I'd guess.'

            'Would you?'

            'Wouldn't you?'

            Villanelle shrugs.

            'Angel, are you jealous? Please say that you are.'

            'I've seen how you look at him.'

            Eve sits down on the bed next to Villanelle, kisses her cheek, and lays her head on her shoulder. 'Babe...'

            'Don't babe me.'

            'You are my babe.'

            Villanelle stares ferociously ahead. 'He probably doesn't get enough attention from his mother. I doubt he fancies you.'

            'Can we finish talking about Philippe.'

            Villanelle shrugs.

            ‘Angel, you’re pouting.’

            ‘Fuck you. It’s actually quite sad.’

            ‘What?’

            ‘That you think he likes you. That you think he wants to fuck you. Because he obviously doesn’t.’

            'Fine,’ Eve takes a swallow of her coffee. ‘So, according to this book, Philippe arrives in St Petersburg in 1901, soon after the birth of Nicholas and Alexandra’s fourth daughter, Anastasia. By the end of that year, Alexandra's pregnant again, and Philippe swears that the unborn baby is a boy. But she miscarries, Philippe goes back to France, and it’s not until 1904 that Alexandra finally gives birth to Alexei. So where's our secret history? There's no suggestion that Philippe played any part in Alexei's birth, or in ensuring that he was a boy rather than a girl. The single, unexplainable fact is that although Philippe arrived in St Petersburg a poor man, he returned to France a very rich one. So he must have accomplished something.'

            'I suppose,' Villanelle mutters. She side-eyes Eve.

            ‘You’re so silly, honestly.’ Eve draws Villanelle to her. ‘Do you love me?’

            ‘No.’ 

            ‘That’s a pity. I was going to ask you to wash my hair.’

           Villanelle narrows her eyes, and tentatively bites Eve’s earlobe. 'The first time my mother took me for a haircut in our local town the woman refused. She made us leave the shop.'

            'Why?'

            'Because I had so many nits.'

            'Thank you. Now my head's itching.'

            ‘Good.’ Villanelle reaches for her Bleu de Chanel scent and touches the stopper to her neck. 'What are you going to wear tonight?’

            ‘I haven’t decided.’ 

            ‘I’ll wash your hair on one condition. That you do something for me. Something special.’

            ‘What?’

            ‘I’m not telling you. You have to agree first.’

            ‘Angel, what?’

            Villanelle shakes her head. ‘Agree first.’

            ‘Will I like it.’

            ‘I think… A lot.’

            ‘Yes, then.’

            ‘Yes to whatever?’

            ‘To whatever. Whenever.’ She holds Villanelle’s unblinking gaze, and when her phone rings she answers it without breaking eye contact. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Right away.’ She drops the phone on the bed. ‘It's Nikolai. He wants to see us in the drawing room.'

            Nikolai looks uneasy. He ushers them distractedly towards a gilt sofa. 'It's about Valentin. There's something you need to know. He's... OK, basically, he's got a weak heart. He shouldn't get into situations where there's any possibility of things turning rough.’

            Eve frowns. 'Are you talking about tonight?' 

            'Tonight and generally. He won't thank me for saying this but just... keep an eye on him. Don't let things get out of hand.'

            'We'll do our best,' Villanelle says.

            'These young people. They're so reckless. And they drink so much. I...' He spreads his hands helplessly.

            'Understood,' Eve says.