«Who will look after Misha in England?»
As for me going to Oxford, everyone agreed on the first day, after much debate of course. It took a long time to convince me… Not even Dad (!), but Martin, who just couldn't live without me.
– Why do you have to go anywhere, sister? Isn't there a university in Warsaw worthy of you? – He asked me unhappily, greeting me with a hug.
– It's not a matter of principle, it's a call of the heart» I answered him seriously. And no lies.
I hugged all my relatives, stood in the centre of the circle of chairs in which they were sitting, and felt like a clown in the circus.
– I knew you wouldn't stand for it and come here to stick your nose in grown-up business» said my father, smiling. – But Martin is right: if you had chosen any university, not even in Warsaw, but in Poland or the Czech Republic, I wouldn't have been so concerned about your choice. But you chose England for some reason.
– I think Oxford is the best place to start my life. I'm not going to America, I'm only going to England! – I retorted to my father.
– It's your 'just' that's killing me» Mum grumbled. – Maria, what are you going to tell Mischa?
Maria shook her long hair, which was the same colour as mine, and indeed, like the rest of our family: we were all golden-haired.
– I'll say to her, «Write often, my friend!» – Maria said cheerfully.
I sent her a kiss, but then I remembered that I didn't have to play the role of the cranky girl I hated, so I pulled myself together and made a serious face.
– Well, let's remove this question, – said the father tiredly, – and continue our reasoning: who to entrust Misha in England?
– We have decided that it will be your cousin Christopher, – Mscislav reminded his father. – He, as no one better, will be able to look after his great-niece.
– No, Christopher can not: I called him this morning – he went to Australia, breeding kangaroos. What the hell is he doing there?
– I think Frederik Haraldson is at Oxford now» Martin began, but his father, his face contorted with rage, interrupted him sternly.
– Not a word about him and his family! – he exclaimed in an angry voice.
«Whoa! What's the matter with him? What a violent reaction to the name of this Frederik!» – involuntarily ran through my mind.
– How many times, Father? You haven't spoken to each other for three years! Poor Frederik, I feel sorry for him! – Martin said unhappily to his father.