They both burst out laughing when they discovered that their sleeping compartment only had two narrow single beds.
“We ought to claim half our money back,” said Sasha, as he squeezed in alongside his wife and turned out the light.
* * *
“There’s only one thing I insist on,” said Tremlett once his son had fully briefed him on the sale of 154 Fulham Road.
“And what’s that, Dad?”
“Under no circumstances will you allow the property to fall into the hands of the Karpenkos.”
“That’s unlikely to happen with the price at four hundred thousand.”
“Agnelli could afford it.”
“At his age, Agnelli’s a seller, not a buyer,” said Maurice. “Besides, I know he hasn’t been well of late.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Tremlett. “Because I need you to handle the sale while I concentrate on getting planning permission for the block of flats in Stamford Place.”
“Any more news on that front?”
“Councilor Mason tells me there’ll be an announcement next week, which is why I’ve invited him to join us on our yacht at Cannes for the weekend.”
“That should clinch the deal,” said Maurice.
“Especially as the unfortunate man is going through an unusually messy divorce case. For the second time.”
* * *
Mr. and Mrs. Karpenko returned from Venice a fortnight later, and among the first things Sasha did on arriving back in London was to phone the countess. She invited him to join her for tea the following afternoon.
He knocked on the door of her basement flat in Pimlico just before three, not quite sure what to expect. The door was opened by a maid who was almost as ancient as her mistress. She led him through to the sitting room, where the old lady was seated in a winged armchair, with a rug over her lap.
The flat was spotless, and every surface was crowded with silver-framed sepia photographs of a family who would never have considered living below stairs. She waved Sasha into the seat opposite her and asked, “How was Venice?”
“Wonderful. But if we’d stayed any longer, I’d be bankrupt.”
“I visited it several times as a child,” said the countess. “And often I enjoyed a chocolate gateau and a glass of lemonade in Saint Mark’s Square—the drawing room of Europe, as Napoleon once described it.”
“It’s now crowded with tourists like myself whom I feel sure Napoleon would not have approved of,” said Sasha as the maid reappeared carrying a tray of tea and biscuits.
“Another man who underestimated the Russians, and lived to regret it.”
Once the maid had poured the tea and departed, the countess moved on to the purpose of the meeting.
Sasha listened attentively to every word she had to say, and couldn’t help feeling that if this formidable woman had been born in the twentieth century, she would have been a leader in any field she had chosen. By the time she came to the end of her audacious proposal, he wasn’t in any doubt that the Russian ring had met their match.
“Well, young man,” she said. “Are you willing to assist me in my little subterfuge?”
“Yes, I am,” said Sasha without hesitation. “But don’t you consider Mr. Dangerfield is far better qualified to pull it off?”
“Possibly. But he has the British weakness of believing in fair play, a concept we Russians have never really grasped.”
“My timing will need to be spot on,” said Sasha.
“It most certainly will,” said the countess. “And more importantly, knowing when to stop will be the biggest decision. So let’s run through the details again, and don’t hesitate to interrupt if there’s something you don’t fully understand, or think you can improve on. Before I begin, Sasha, do you have any questions?”
“Yes. Where’s the nearest telephone box?”