Heads You Win

“The answer is that there has always been another, equally remarkable, woman in my life. I am referring of course to my mother, Elena, without whom none of this would have been possible.”

The prolonged applause allowed Sasha to gather his thoughts. “Without her, I would have had no moral compass, no guiding star, no path to follow. I never thought I would meet her equal, but the gods”—he looked up to the sky—“were to prove me wrong, and excelled themselves when they introduced me to Charlie.”

“It wasn’t the gods,” interrupted Ben, “it was me!” Which was met with raucous laughter.

“Which reminds me,” continued Sasha, “to warn the fourth bridesmaid, who seems to be a sensible and charming young lady, to emulate her three colleagues and reject Mr. Cohen out of hand. She can do so much better.” Hear, hears echoed around the room. “But I can’t,” concluded Sasha, raising his glass, “so I invite you all to join me in a toast to the bridesmaids.”

“The bridesmaids!”

It was some time before the audience resumed their seats.

Ben leaned across to Sasha. “Well done,” he said. “Especially as you had such an impossible act to follow.” Sasha laughed and raised a glass to his friend. “As soon as you’re back from your honeymoon,” continued Ben, suddenly sounding more sober, “we have to start to plan the next move on your journey to the House of Commons.”

“That might not be so easy for a pathetic refugee,” said Sasha.

“Of course it will—especially if you have me as your campaign manager.”

“But you’re a member of the Conservative Party, Ben, just in case you’ve forgotten.”

“And will remain so in every other constituency, apart from the one in which you’re standing. With Charlie by your side, nothing can stop you. And I have another little piece of information to share with you before you disappear off to Venice. I know Charlie won’t thank me for discussing business on your wedding day, but a surprise package turned up on my desk yesterday, which could turn out to be an unexpected wedding gift.” Sasha put down his glass. “The freehold for 154 Fulham Road has come on the market.”

“Tremlett’s restaurant? How come?”

“As you probably know, it’s been losing money for the past couple of years. I suspect his old man has finally had enough, and decided to cut his losses and sell up.”

“How much?”

“Four hundred thousand.”

Sasha took another sip of champagne. “Way out of our league,” he eventually managed.

“That’s a pity, because I’ve no doubt your mother would only have to cross the road to turn the place around in no time.”

“I agree, but it’s still too soon for us.”

“Well, at least you can be thankful that your greatest rival has bitten the dust. And at that price, it’s unlikely to be another restaurant that will replace it. Help,” he said, “I see a formidable woman bearing down on me, clearly not pleased that I’ve been monopolizing the groom. Forgive me while I disappear!”

Sasha laughed as his friend leaped up and melted into the crowd. He stood as the elderly lady approached.

“What a magnificent occasion,” said the countess, sitting down in Ben’s empty chair. “You are indeed

a lucky man. Thank you for inviting me.”

“We were delighted you could join us,” said Sasha. “My mother was particularly pleased.”

“She’s even more old-fashioned than I am,” whispered the countess. “But there’s another reason I wanted to speak to you.” Sasha didn’t refill his glass. “As you know, my Fabergé egg comes up for auction at Sotheby’s in September. I wonder if you’d be kind enough to pay me a visit when you return from your honeymoon, as there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“I’d be delighted to,” said Sasha. “Any clues?”

“I think,” said the countess, “that between the two of us we might just be able to defeat both the Russians and the English. But only if you felt able to…”

“Damned good speech, Sasha. But then, I wouldn’t have expected anything less,” said a voice behind him, who clearly hadn’t left his glass unfilled.

“Thank you,” said Sasha, trying to recall the name of Charlie’s uncle. By the time the man had moved on, so had the countess. But her instructions couldn’t have been clearer.

Sasha mingled with the guests while his wife—he wondered how long it would take him to get used to that—went up to her room to change into her going-away outfit. When she reappeared on the staircase forty minutes later, he was reminded of the first moment he’d seen her at Ben’s party nearly four years ago. Did she have any idea how he had prayed that she was heading toward him? Only recently she’d confessed to Ben that she’d been hoping he wouldn’t turn up at the party with another girl.

It was another half hour before they were able to bid their final farewells and climb into Sasha’s old MG, having abandoned the Rolls-Royce. They arrived at Victoria station only just in time to board the Orient Express for Venice.