The Romanov Conspiracy (33 page)

Hanna watched him go. When he reached the river bank he tore off his shirt, his bare chest muscled, but she didn’t fail to notice the angry red scars on his back.

To her surprise, he undressed completely and plunged naked into the icy water. He resurfaced after a few moments with a splash, sucking in air, then he started to swim against the current with strong, even strokes.

She shook her head, smiling to herself. “It ought to be interesting to see what Miss Ryan makes of you.”

And then she turned and started down the hill to the cottage.

41

Boyle carried Lydia’s bag inside the cottage.

She was surprised to find it quite large, with a beamed ceiling and an open fireplace. Coarse slabs of chocolate-brown turf were stacked by the unlit open fireplace, the air rich with the earthy smell of peat.

Boyle moved to the kitchen area, dominated by a black iron range. “Anybody home?” he called out.

When no one appeared, Boyle said, “The cottage was once used by the gamekeeper until Vasily had it rebuilt as a visitors’ lodge, and often used it as a study.” He walked her through, showing her the two bedrooms and bathroom at the back. “The gamekeeper won’t bother us, by the way. He has the week off.”

“Where are the others?”

Boyle put a hand over the cooking range. “They’ll turn up. The stove’s hot, so let’s see if I can rustle up some tea.”

As he pumped water from the sink into a kettle, Lydia studied the room. In front of the fireplace was a rocking chair next to a big old chaise longue, the lime-colored velvet material scuffed and worn. She noticed several silver-framed photographs arranged on a rolltop writing desk.

Most were of a striking young woman, some quite obviously posed. In one the woman was dressed in a flowing white robe, the photograph taken on a theater stage. Lydia picked it up, said to Boyle, “Hanna Volkov?”

“Yes. Chekhov said she was the only actress he trusted to play the lead in
Three Sisters
.”

“She looks like she could be in love with herself, and a bit of a diva.”

Boyle laughed. “Now there you’d be wrong. Hanna’s the most sensible
woman you could meet, with not an ounce of pretension. Onstage, of course, she’s whatever persona she’s playing. Are you a theater lover?”

Lydia put down the photograph. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Boyle, there’s enough drama in my own life.”

Boyle smiled and put the kettle on the stove just as Hanna entered the room, her hair down around her shoulders, her face flushed.

Boyle said, “Speak of the devil.”

“Forgive me for being late. I was helping Mr. Andrev get his bearings.”

“Isn’t he with you?”

“He decided to make the most of the afternoon, but he’ll join us shortly.” Hanna’s gaze turned from Boyle to their visitor and she thrust out her hand. “You must be Lydia. I’m Hanna Volkov. It’s good to meet you.”

Lydia ignored the offered hand. “Boyle explained who you are. Whose idea was it to involve me? Yours or his?”

Hanna withdrew her hand, acutely aware of the tension in the air. “We can talk about that another time. Has Mr. Boyle gone over the sleeping arrangements?”

“He’s gone over nothing.”

“The two bedrooms in the back are for you and Mr. Andrev. I’ve left fresh towels and soap. Once you all get acquainted, you and I have important work to discuss, so come up to the manor house, Miss Ryan.”

“What sort of work?”

Hanna didn’t explain and moved to the door. “I’ll be expecting you and Mr. Andrev to join us at dinner each night in the main house, eight o’clock sharp.”

Hanna went out and Boyle raised an eyebrow at Lydia. “I’d say that went well, wouldn’t you?”

“Are you trying to be funny, Boyle?”

“Aren’t you the quick-tempered one?” He grabbed two mugs, slapped them on the table next to a sugar bowl and milk jug. “By the way, is that arm of yours on the mend?”

“Why?”

“I’ve left provisions in the kitchen cabinets, so it might do no harm for you to play the caring role and prepare a bit of lunch for Mr. Andrev. Get things off to a friendly start.”

Lydia flushed. “Are you trying to goad me, Boyle? Because you’re well on your way. I won’t be ordered around like some kind of domestic servant, as you and your lady friend seem to think I am.”

Boyle heaped two spoonfuls of tea from a greaseproof packet into an enamel teapot and poured in boiling water from the kettle before he put it down. “We have your best interests at heart. Being the actress that she is, Hanna thought it would be a good role-playing exercise for you and Uri to spend as much time together as possible, to get to know each other. A few cozy nights in, walks together, that sort of thing. I must say I agree.”

“Do you now?”

Boyle moved closer and took a fistful of Lydia’s thick hair in his hand, then let it fall and stepped back. “One other thing. Put your hair up, it’ll look better. And wear a little face powder to get rid of that flushed look you’ve got on your complexion right now. It doesn’t do you justice.”

Lydia fumed, picked up a plate from the table, and flung it at Boyle. He ducked and the crockery smashed to pieces against the wall. Lydia picked up another plate, was about to throw it when a man’s voice said, “I’d be careful or someone’s liable to get hurt.”

Lydia froze, the raised plate in her hand as she turned to the speaker.

Andrev stood in the doorway, leaning against the door frame, his hair dripping wet, his shirt drenched and clinging to his chest. As he came in he grabbed a towel from a kitchen rail and began to dry his hair.

Lydia felt something primitive stir inside her. It was a strange feeling, delicious and frightening almost at once, and she struggled to suppress it.

Boyle said, “You must be Uri.”

Andrev’s face illuminated with a smile of great natural charm. “I thought I’d take a swim, it was the perfect day for it. Only it seems I’m missing all the drama. You’re Boyle?”

Boyle shook the offered hand, sizing up his visitor. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Welcome on board. Say hello to Miss Ryan.”

When Andrev offered her his hand, Lydia didn’t hold out hers, if only because she was aware that it would have trembled. As she looked into his face her stomach felt hollow, her throat dry, and for once she was unable to speak. The attraction was instant, like a crack of thunder.

Boyle said to her, “Well, are you going to throw that plate or not? Make up your mind.”

That seemed to be the last straw. Lydia let fly, and the plate smashed into pieces against the wall, barely missing Boyle. She stormed out, banging the door after her.

“I’m hoping that plate wasn’t part of a set,” Boyle said, unscrewing a pewter hip flask he took from his pocket and handing it to Andrev. “Don’t worry about her. Here—try a real Irish welcome. Whiskey.
Uisce beatha
in Gaelic. That means ‘the water of life.’” Boyle winked. “Keep the flask, in case of emergencies.”

Andrev swallowed a mouthful, then moved to the window and watched Lydia hurry across the lawn. “She’s got spirit, I’ll give her that. Did I say something wrong?”

Boyle joined him. “I’d say that was me. She’s a fiery lass. It’s the Spanish blood in the Irish, I always say. They’re the Latins of the north and thrive on a good argument.”

“Is that so?”

“A lot like your own people.”

Boyle smiled broadly, picked up the teapot, and began pouring tea into the two mugs. “Let’s you and I have some tea and I’ll tell you all about her.”

“What’s so amusing, Mr. Boyle?”

“Me? I’m just looking on the bright side, Uri.”

“And what’s that?”

“That it’s you who’s going into Russia with her and not me.”

42

Lydia had no idea where she was going, her mind unable to focus after she left the cottage. Her brain was a fog, her heart racing. It was a long time since she felt that kind of instant reaction to a man, and she couldn’t explain it in any rational way.

She felt flustered as she ran across the lawns to the manor house front steps. Ahead of her was a shiny black door with a brass knocker. Before she could reach the door it opened and Hanna Volkov appeared. “There you are. I take it you met Mr. Andrev?”

“Briefly.”

“You’ll be spending every waking hour together from now on, so you two better get used to each other’s company. Come inside.”

Hanna led them into a black-and-white tiled hallway, dominated by a sweeping staircase and huge chandelier. “Like many Irish manor houses, this one was built by the English aristocracy, an eighteenth-century earl no less. But I doubt you’ll want a history lesson.”

“I know enough about the English stealing Irish land, thank you.”

A wry smile appeared on Hanna’s face. “I had a feeling you might say something like that. This way.”

They moved up the staircase and when they came to the top, Lydia said, “Boyle told me who you are. I saw you onstage when I was sixteen.”

“Really?”

“Our headmistress took our class to see
The Three Sisters
at St. Petersburg’s Imperial Theater. You played a lead role.”

“And what did you think of the play?”

“I thought it was a lot of brooding old nonsense, seeing as you asked.”

Hanna let out a hearty laugh as they moved along the hallway. “At
least you’re honest. Not exactly my best performance, but as an eager young actress of twenty-three I’d never have thought it back then.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Hanna halted outside a door and reached for the handle. “I can only hope that you paid attention during your theater visit, Miss Ryan.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to need some acting skills for your journey. In fact, think of the next few days as rehearsals. We’ll strictly speak in Russian from now on, if you don’t mind. To do otherwise as a spy in Russia could cost you your life.”

They stepped into a bedroom with a huge period fireplace. A mahogany four-poster bed was set in the middle, the drapes a rich burgundy.

On the bed lay a cheap suitcase with leather straps. It looked out of place in the imposing room. Hanna undid the straps.

Inside were ladies’ garments: blouses and skirts, underwear, and a few plain headscarves, along with two pairs of sturdy-looking women’s boots. “These are personal effects for the journey. All the clothes are Russian-made. I think they ought to fit you. Try them on for size.”

“Now?” Lydia answered in Russian.

“No time like the present.”

Lydia plucked out a few clothes. They looked the kind of coarse garments a peasant might wear. She undressed down to her underwear and tried on the garments.

Hanna checked them for fitting. “Not bad. Your Russian’s excellent, by the way.”

“What about identity documents?”

“I was coming to that.” Hanna produced a set of papers and some items from the suitcase.

Lydia saw that they were travel documents and an identity card, a wad of Russian banknotes and some coins in a cloth purse, along with a fob watch.

Hanna handed them across. “The watch will come in useful. Later, Boyle will go over your background cover story. Familiarize yourself with it.”