If I Had You by Heather Hiestand Page A

it.
    â€œIvan!” Vera shrieked in Russian as he opened the bedroom door. “Don’t disappear. We need your guidance.”
    â€œI need to sleep.”
    She rose from the arm of the chair where she was resting against Sergei and slapped him on the chest. “You need to hear this. We’re going to take down Ovolensky at the command performance of Macbeth .”
    He felt stupid and slow. “ Macbeth ? How do you know about that?”
    Anatoly smirked, but as always, said nothing.
    Oh God. Were Miss Loudon’s employers involved in this travesty somehow? He stared at his sister, her eyes glittering with excitement.
    Gritting his teeth, he said, “Are the Marvins involved with your little conspiracy?”
    â€œWant in?” she challenged.
    â€œYou know I don’t.”
    â€œThen I won’t tell you anything.” She flounced away and went back to her seat. Anatoly’s close-set black eyes bored into Ivan’s for a moment, before he tossed back the contents of his glass.
    â€œWhy don’t you both go back to Russia, instead of making trouble here?” Ivan said.
    â€œThe battle must be fought on all fronts,” Pavel said. “We have formed a Special Punitive Group as required by the circumstances.”
    â€œI think you are too much of a coward to go back,” Ivan responded. “There is no good in killing a man. You think the British government will want Russians here if you bring fear to these shores? What about all the charities that have helped us? If the common people see us as murderers, we are finished.”
    â€œOur committee has passed a sentence of death upon Ovolensky,” Pavel said calmly.
    â€œNow you sound like a Bolshevik, not a White,” Ivan jeered. “I don’t think the tsar had committees. He was an autocrat.”
    Pavel sneered. “You know nothing.”
    â€œWhat were you before the war? You are older than me. Were you in the army? I know you couldn’t have been an aristocrat. What then? Some humble schoolmaster, in love with a Grand Duchess? Do you think to bring the dead back now?”
    â€œStop it!” Vera shouted. She rose again and snatched his bag from his hand, then slapped his face.
    â€œDo not push me,” he said to his sister, refusing to touch his stinging cheek. “You need me more than you are willing to admit.”
    She stared at him, saying nothing. He looked up at the cracked ceiling, then walked back through the sitting room and out the door. Boris would let him nap on the old sofa in the back of the pawnshop.
    He stayed away from the flat until he had to wash and be back at the hotel. Thankfully Vera and her Special Punitive Committee had gone elsewhere. He had yet to see her alone to ask her about the brooch.
    When he arrived at the hotel that evening, he found a notice requesting him to appear in Mr. Eyre’s office before he started his rounds. While he felt gritty-eyed from the lack of sleep in a proper bed, at least his appearance was impeccable. He wouldn’t let the bloody Special Punitive Group cost him his position. What would those bastards do without people like him who were conned into keeping them going, providing spaces for their meetings, food for them to steal, vodka to fuel their idiocy?
    On a Sunday night, the hotel was quieter than usual. Even the Coffee Room seemed subdued, though it was after eight P.M. , a prime time for the usual crowd who couldn’t afford to dine in a restaurant and were killing time until the clubs opened.
    â€œMr. Salter,” said Peter Eyre, rising from behind his desk and holding out his hand when he walked in.
    Ivan took it, confused. He saw Lionel Dew was present as well. At least the handshake seemed friendly. Would Mr. Eyre have shaken his hand if he were about to be sacked?
    â€œI wanted to thank you for finding those spoons and solving the newspaper dilemma,” Mr. Eyre said. “You are doing good