“Is that you, Alex?”
“Dimitri, it’s good to hear from you after all this time. Are you calling from New York?”
“No, Saint Petersburg. I thought you’d want to know the sad news that your uncle Kolya has died.” Alex was speechless. He felt guilty that he hadn’t been able to see his uncle when he’d last visited Saint Petersburg. “I would have called Elena, and not bothered you,” continued Dimitri, “but I didn’t know how to get in touch with her at work.”
“You can bother me whenever you want to, Dimitri. I’ll let my mother know, because she’ll want to go to the funeral. Do you know when it is?”
“Next Friday, at the Church of the Apostle Andrew. I know it’s short notice, but if you were able to come, the family are hoping that you might deliver one of the tributes.”
“It isn’t short notice for someone who saved my life,” said Alex. “Tell them I’ll be honored.”
“The family will be so pleased. You’re a bit of a hero in this city, so be prepared for quite a homecoming.”
“Thank you, Dimitri. I look forward to seeing you.”
Alex put the phone down and pressed the button under his desk. Miss Robbins appeared moments later, pad in hand, biro poised. “Clear the diary. I’m going to Saint Petersburg.”
* * *
“It’s at times like this,” said Charlie with an exaggerated sigh, “that I wish you had a private jet, so we didn’t have to bother with endless queues and hold-ups.”
“Would you please open your bag, madam?”
“Were you put through all this hassle when you were a minister, Dad?” asked Natasha as she unzipped her bag.
“No, but then it’s always in the back of your mind that you’ll only be in government for a limited period. Margaret Thatcher once said, only the Queen can afford to get used to it.”
“But if you became president…”
“Even that has a statutory limit of eight years,” said Sasha as he retrieved his bag. “The Duma recently decreed that a president can only serve two consecutive four-year terms, and who can blame the Russians after suffering centuries of dictatorship. Besides, frankly, eight years is more than enough for any sane person.”
“Grandma’s looking a bit down,” whispered Natasha, as they strolled through duty-free. “I didn’t realize she’s never been on a plane before.”
Sasha turned around and his mother gave him a weak smile. “I don’t think that’s the real reason she’s so nervous,” he said. “Don’t forget, she hasn’t been back to Russia for more than thirty years, and it was her brother who made it possible for us to escape and begin a new life in England.”
“Do you sometimes wish you’d got into the other crate, Dad,” asked Natasha, “and ended up living in America?”
“Certainly not,” said Sasha, placing an arm around her shoulders. “If that had happened, I wouldn’t have had you to brighten up my life. Although I have to admit, it has crossed my mind from time to time.”
“You might have been a congressman by now. Even a senator.”
“Or perhaps my life would have gone in a totally different direction and I wouldn’t even have been involved in politics. Who knows?”
“You might have ended up with that private jet Mum so yearns for.”
“I’m not complaining,” said Charlie, linking her arm in Sasha’s. “By selecting that crate he also changed my whole life.”
“Will all passengers traveling on BA flight 017 to Amsterdam please make their way to gate number fourteen, where boarding is about to commence.”
* * *
Anna looked out of the little cabin window to see Alex striding across the tarmac, the inevitable phone nestled on his shoulder as if it were a third arm.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said as he entered the cabin. “I sometimes wish the cell phone had never been invented.”
“But not that often,” said Anna as he took his seat next to her. No sooner had he fastened his seatbelt than the heavy door was closed and a few moments later the plane began to taxi toward the south runway, exclusively reserved for private aircraft.
“Your mother’s hardly spoken since she got on the plane,” whispered Anna.