‘Alexei, what we really want to know is what happened to Dominic Blake, not whether he was a spy or not.’
‘And why is this important fifty years after his death?’
‘Because the people he loved deserve to know.’
Alexei gave a slow, soft exhale.
‘The problem with being in the intelligence services is that it can make you reckless. You spend so long leading a double life, avoiding detection, taking greater and greater risks, that you believe you have become invincible. Dominic Blake was such a man. A charmed individual in so many ways, a thrillseeker who thought he could do anything.’
‘Like the solo trip into the jungle.’
‘Perhaps today it would be possible. With technology, GPS . . . In 1961 it was a death wish.’
‘Rosamund said he had done a similar trip twelve months before.’
‘And had been luckier. My friend, the life of Dominic Blake was somewhat complex, but his death was relatively straightforward.’
‘He simply ran out of luck,’ said Abby grimly. She glanced at Elliot, who didn’t look convinced.
‘And you’re sure that the KGB or the GRU didn’t have anything to do with his death?’ he asked pointedly.
Alexei hesitated.
‘I don’t know for sure. I doubt it. There were grumbles in the organisation when Dominic became close to Rosamund Bailey. His usefulness depended on the establishment thinking he was one of them, and his relationship with Rosamund put that in danger. But regardless of what you might see in Hollywood spy movies, we do not get rid of our comrades for no apparent reason.’
Alexei had recommended Café Musica for dinner, and eventually they found it, hidden in a warren of alleyways by the river. Apparently he had phoned ahead and told the staff they were coming, as Abby and Elliot were greeted with a smile and led through the restaurant to a terrace at the back overlooking the dark, shimmering water of the River Neva. Abby took a seat and drank in the view. The lights of the ornate buildings opposite twinkled as if tiny bonfires had been lit inside their depths.
‘I can’t believe we’ve taken a restaurant recommendation from a member of the KGB,’ she smiled as she accepted a glass of Russian wine from the waiter.
‘It’s nice to step off the tourist track, regardless of how we got here,’ said Elliot, holding her gaze.
Abby looked away, unsettled by the romance of their surroundings. She wondered if Alexei had chosen this place deliberately. Whether he had thought that her relationship with Elliot was more than professional, a question she did not want to think about too deeply.
‘So what’s the GRU?’ She didn’t doubt that Elliot would know.
‘The KGB collected information on behalf of the Soviet government. The GRU was military intelligence. They were actually rivals. The KGB doesn’t exist any more. It’s called the SVR now, although the GRU still very much exists.’
‘Do you know everything?’ she asked, glancing up from her menu playfully. She caught herself, aware that she was flirting with him.
‘No,’ he smiled, tipping back his wine. ‘I don’t know that much about you.’
She shut the menu and put it on the table in front of her.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘What made you want to be an archivist?’
‘I fell into it.’ She shrugged quickly.
‘How?’
She felt awkward talking about her past, not because she had anything to hide, but because she never thought anyone would be interested.
‘My mum’s drinking got so bad that I was almost taken into care. We avoided it, but I pretty much had to bring myself up. Mum didn’t work. We had no money, no support network. I worked weekend shifts at one of the hotels in Portree, and the owners kept me on the straight and narrow. They were wonderful, big travellers before they decided to settle in Skye. The hotel was full of books and photographs of all the places they had been: Venice to see the Doge’s Palace, Florence to visit the Uffizi, Canada for the Native Indian art. I was interested in it all, and they encouraged me to apply for an art history degree. After that, it was a short hop to thinking about careers in galleries or museums. I got an internship at the V and A. It went from there.’
Saying the words out loud made her think about whether she had been proactive enough in her life. Whether she had let decisions make themselves, or perhaps had been too influenced by others.
The waiter stopped her dwelling on it as he took their order, while Elliot topped up her wine glass. The light was starting to fade and the waiter lit the candle on the table between them. The terrace suddenly became even more magical, and looking up, Abby was caught unawares by how handsome Elliot looked in the soft, flattering glow.