“No, thank you. All he said was that he did not want to be disturbed during the flight as he has had a very hard week.”
“Of course, sir,” said the stewardess. “We’ll be taking off in a few minutes,” she added, and picked up the two coffee cups and whisked them away.
The man tapped his fingers impatiently on the little table. At last the chief steward appeared at his side.
“There’s been an urgent call from your office, sir. You’re to return to Whitehall immediately.”
“I had been half expecting it,” he admitted.
Adam stared up at the Russian plane as it climbed steeply and swung in a semi-circle toward the east. He couldn’t understand why Romanov hadn’t boarded it. Surely he wouldn’t have taken the BEA flight. Adam slipped back into the shadows the moment he saw him. He stared in disbelief. Lawrence was striding back across the tarmac, a smile of satisfaction on his face.
EPILOGUE
SOTHEBY’S BOND STREET
LONDON W.1
October 18, 1966
SOTHEBY’S BOND STREET
OCTOBER 18, 1966
“SOLD FOR FIVE thousand pounds to the gentleman in the center of the room. We now move on to number thirty-two,” said the auctioneer, looking down from the raised platform at the front of the crowded room. “An icon of Saint George and the dragon,” he declared, as an attendant placed a little painting on the easel next to him. The auctioneer stared down at the faces of experts, amateurs, and curious onlookers. “What am I bid for this magnificent example of Russian art?” he asked expectantly.
Robin gripped Adam’s hand. “I haven’t felt this nervous since I came face to face with Romanov.”
“Don’t remind me,” said Adam.
“It is, of course, not the original that hangs in the Winter Palace,” continued the auctioneer, “but it is nevertheless a fine copy, probably executed by a court painter circa 1890,” he added, giving the little painting an approving smile. “Do I have an opening bid? Shall I say eight thousand pounds?”
The next few seconds seemed interminable to Robin and Adam.
“Thank you, sir,” said the auctioneer, eventually looking toward an anonymous sign that had been given somewhere at the front of the room.
Neither Adam nor Robin were able to make out where the bid had come from. They had spent the last hour seated at the back of the room watching the previous items coming under the hammer and had rarely been able to work out whose hands they had ended up in.
“How much did the experts say it might go for?” Robin asked again.
“Anywhere between ten and twenty thousand,” Adam reminded her.
“Nine thousand,” said the auctioneer, his eyes moving to a bid that appeared to come from the right-hand side of the room.
“I still think it’s amazing,” said Robin, “that the Russians ever agreed to the exchange in the first place.”
“Why?” asked Adam. “They got their original back, the Americans extracted the treaty, and I ended up with a copy. As an example of diplomatic ingenuity, it was Lawrence at his most brilliant.”
“Ten thousand from the front of the room. Thank you, sir,” said the auctioneer.
“What are you going to do with all that money?”
“Buy you a new double bass, get a wedding present for my sister, and hand the rest over to my mother.”
“Eleven thousand. A new bidder on the center aisle,” said the auctioneer. “Thank you, madam.”
“No amount of money can bring back Heidi,” said Robin quietly.
Adam nodded thoughtfully.