The White Russian by Tom Bradby Page B

to go now. The Empress is expecting me.” She began to walk away.
    “Madam?”
    She stopped and glowered at him.
    “Could you give me the number of the house to which you sent the dress?”
    She looked puzzled.
    “You said that you sent the dress to her after she had left.”
    He thought Vyrubova might explode as she sought a way out of the trap into which she had led herself. “The household staff dealt with it. You must speak to them.”
    “To Count Fredericks?”
    “No, no. He has many more important things to deal with.”
    “Colonel Shulgin, then?”
    “Yes, but you may not do so now. You must make an appointment.” There was something close to panic in her voice.
    “Tomorrow, perhaps.”
    “Tomorrow, yes. Tomorrow.”
     
    Ruzsky was led back the way he came. The children were still playing with the snow house. Alexei was standing on a block of ice and sweeping snow onto the heads of the two men helping them. He was laughing.
    One of the girls threw a snowball at her brother and he threw one back. Ruzsky noticed that the boy dragged his right leg as he tried to run away.
    “Keep up,” the guard said. “Or I shall be forced to call for assistance.”
    “The boy tries hard to overcome-”
    “It is not your business.”
    “I don’t recall suggesting that it was.” Ruzsky thrust his hands into his pockets. “It’s a good life here. Quiet. I can see why they hate coming to Petrograd.”
    The guard looked at him, then turned on his heel. Ruzsky watched the boy sitting on a bank for a few moments more before following. He turned back once and saw that the heir to all the Russias was watching him.

10
    B y the time he got back to the office, the only light in his department was from Pavel’s desk lamp, but Ruzsky noticed that his partner’s coat was not on the stand in the corner.
    Ruzsky walked over to his own desk. Propped up against the telephone was a letter. He recognized Maria’s hand instantly. He tapped it once against his fingers and then tore it open.
    My dear Sandro, she had written, it was so good to see you today.
    Folded into the letter was a ticket for The Firebird at the Mariinskiy on the following night.
    Ruzsky sat down. He put the letter on the desk and moved it gently to and fro.
    He stood again and looked out of the window into the darkness. Was this just an act of friendship? But hope made him want to dance.
    “Want to tell me what you’re doing?”
    Ruzsky turned around. Pavel stood in the shadows just inside the doorway.
    “I thought you’d gone,” Ruzsky said.
    “ Russia ’s most beautiful woman.” Pavel took a pace toward his partner. “She delivered it herself. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
    “It’s not what you think.”
    “I’ll take your word for it. I should imagine she has many admirers.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Exactly what I said.”
    Ruzsky folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.
    “So,” Pavel continued. “How did you get on?”
    “You’ll never believe what I have to say, so you first.”
    Pavel raised his eyebrows. “Nothing from the embankment. I spoke to some junior official in the Winter Palace household who assured me it was not possible that anyone could have witnessed anything from an upstairs window.”
    “We’ll go and see him together tomorrow.”
    “I don’t think there’s much point. He was quite adamant that the rooms on the top floor are the preserve of the family and none of them were present last night. I don’t think he was lying.” Pavel yanked his trousers up. “But I’ve just come from the American embassy, and that sounded promising.”
    Ruzsky waited. “And?”
    “The official we need to speak to has gone out of town and won’t be back until the morning, but one of his colleagues said they’d had a report from home six weeks ago asking them to ask us to be on the lookout for a Robert White. An armed robber from Chicago. Said they’d passed it on to the Okhrana. I told them a lot