The travails of Christina Onassis continue. Married last August to a Soviet shipping official, Sergei Kauzov, she fled Moscow almost immediately for Greece. Poor Christina had realized she made a mistake; the world sympathized. Then she dumbfounded everyone by returning to live in a Moscow apartment with Sergei (and briefly his mother). The obscurity she pleaded for was hers. Then winter settled in, and gradually Mrs. Kauzov found Russia lonesome, dull, and, for her thin Mediterranean blood, irredeemably cold. “I am certainly not considering living here,” she told reporters. “I am trying to obtain an exit visa for my husband.”
As of last week Christina and Sergei were in Paris—proof that his visa had come through. Now he can go back and forth across Soviet borders as he pleases. This, friends say, does not necessarily bode well for their marriage. He, 37, and she, 28, are not the cuddly couple they were on their wedding day—nor are they the expectant parents so long rumored in the press. Unfortunately, her friends in Athens report, the newlyweds seem to be playing out the scenario the cynics predicted. “Christina has lost her interest in Kauzov,” says one sympathetic chronicler of Onassis family feelings. “But she feels sorry for him. She wanted to get him out of Moscow only because she couldn’t leave him there. She pities him.”
A balm to the pitier and the pitied alike, an elegant apartment in the chic 16th Arrondissement has become their new home. Naturally, the couple’s sudden appearance in the French capital threw Christina’s minions into a tizzy. “Why didn’t we know about this?” demanded the doorman at Maxim’s. Having procured the visa for Sergei, Christina is expected to appoint him to a job in a new Onassis branch in Moscow. She could then resume her somber rounds of Europe’s playgrounds and capitals, taking what comfort she can from her business. Alas, it may not be great. “Work is driving her up the wall with boredom,” says a friend. “She couldn’t care less whether this or that ship is just now in this or that port, and she finds captains’ reports, which she has been told to read every night, the most boring literature in the world.”
Even the most sanguine of Christina’s friends are concerned by her growing isolation. Her favorite uncle, Professor Theodoros Garoufalidis, died last fall, and she shows no interest in returning to Greece. They dismiss the notion that she and Sergei could rekindle their love now that they are back in Paris where the romance began two years ago. Christina is confused, they say; she needs to find herself. But the omens are discouraging. On one of their first evenings in Paris she and Sergei ventured forth to see The Greek Tycoon. Braving reporters and popping flashbulbs, they wandered the Champs-Elysées, only to discover at last that the movie was no longer being shown. Discouraged, they went quietly home.