There was an irony not lost on Paul in the fact that the Legion had been elected to defend Kolchak’s rear. The irony lay in the fact that Kolchak despised the Legion, and yet the Supreme Governor had, through necessity, had to accept being defended by them. He had invested all his faith in his new army which had now, except for a few units, disintegrated. The Legion was all he had left. Had he known how things would turn out, Paul supposed the admiral might have acted differently. And not only the admiral. There were certain matters in which Paul would have liked to have acted differently, too. But a year had passed since he had last been in Omsk. Only a year, but it seemed so much longer.
Paul hadn’t seen Kolchak since the admiral had visited Ward in his train on the evening of the coup. Ward had wasted no time in conveying to Kolchak Paul’s determination to resume his work as a liaison officer with the Legion but the admiral had made it plain that if Paul did, he would be liaising along a one-way street; Paul would not be granted access to the Supreme Governor’s staff.
Giving Paul the news, it was not without some obvious satisfaction that Ward informed Paul he would have to travel to Ekaterinburg in order to report to Syrový, effectively getting him out of Omsk as Sofya had wished.
The evening of the coup, Paul had been present at a meeting with Kolchak and Ward, along with a Russian colonel named Frank, Kolchak’s liaison officer from Stavka. The representatives from Knox’s staff, Nielson and Steveni were there too, as well as a Times correspondent called Frazer. Kolchak had been dressed in the full uniform of a Russian admiral, imperial epaulettes and all, and it had seemed to Paul that those present were in some way conscious of the importance of the meeting. It was an awareness lost on Paul himself. He still felt morose following his meeting with Sofya — and the realisation of the probable consequences of what he had decided to do.
When Paul and Ward had watched Kolchak and Lieutenant-colonel Nielson drive away together earlier that afternoon, the admiral had been on his way to visit the French High Commissioner, M.Regnault, whose train was parked in a siding at the main railway station. Nielson — with an excuse that apparently satisfied neither Ward nor the man from The Times — said later that he had been offered a lift by the admiral by chance, and he had just happened to be carrying a bottle of champagne. His account certainly didn’t fool the French. As far as they were concerned the only possible explanation for the coup, for Nielson’s presence and for the champagne, was British perfidy.
The meeting in Ward’s train on Kolchak’s return was supposedly a courtesy to Ward as the ranking British officer in the town. Paul suspected that without the meeting, had it not been for a cut in telegraphic communication with the east overnight, the Middlesex colonel would have found himself reading Kolchak’s justification for the coup in a telegram from Knox. As it was, the admiral’s reasoning sounded to Paul little more than a veneer of excuses, barely covering Stavka’s fait accompli and the admiral’s own egotism.
Not that Ward was in any position to do much about it. Although, being temporarily freed from Knox’s oversight by the cut telegraph, he did take the opportunity to impress upon Kolchak his view that the British people would not stand for members of a legitimate government being kidnapped. All he was able to do in practise though was to reiterated an earlier request for guarantees of their safety.
‘Since,’ he had intoned in what Paul supposed to be Ward’s best parliamentary manner, ‘I have received no information regarding my enquiries concerning their safety, nor to the note I sent in the care of Colonel Nielson to the relevant Russian authorities…’ and he had paused at this point to look significantly in Nielson’s direction, as if not entirely sure that the note had actually been delivered. This had discomforted Nielson sufficiently to make him shift awkwardly in his seat while Ward turned back to Kolchak and concluded, ‘…I will be writing direct to Your Excellency care of Colonel Frank after this meeting.’
Kolchak, sitting stiffly on the same sofa he had occupied during Paul’s interview several days earlier, inclined his head in acknowledgement but chose not to reply.
‘And on a connected matter,’ Ward added while holding the floor, ‘I must inform you that it has been brought to my attention that certain threats have been made to a British officer temporarily under my command by a Russian officer said to have been involved in this very kidnapping of the Directory members.’
To Paul’s acute embarrassment everyone in the room had turned towards him, even the journalist, Frazer, to whom Paul had not even been introduced.
Kolchak asked Ward the name of the Russian officer in question.
‘Krasilnikov,’ said Ward.
‘And which of your officers has Colonel Krasilnikov supposedly threatened?’
Ward breathed deeply, adding both to his self-importance and his chest measurement.
‘Sufficient to say, an officer under my command.’
It was a poor fig leaf to be sheltering behind but one Paul was grateful for nevertheless.
Kolchak turned to Colonel Frank, the Russian liaison.
‘Do you know anything about this? Has Krasilnikov threatened Captain Rostov?’
Paul squirmed, his fig leaf torn away.
Frank’s expression was one of bored indifference.
‘A personal matter, Admiral. Concerning a lady, I believe.’
Kolchak smirked at Ward. ‘I can hardly be held responsible for disputes of the heart between fellow officers, Colonel. No doubt the matter will be settled as these things generally are between gentlemen.’ He glanced contemptuously in Paul’s direction. ‘In the event that Colonel Krasilnikov chooses to call out Captain Rostov, might I suggest we assume it to be the Russian half of the captain’s heritage that has caused Krasilnikov offence, rather than the British? That way no one’s national pride suffers injury.’
Paul was on the point of protesting that he had caused Krasilnikov no offence whatsoever — that it was far more likely to be his cousin who was behind the threat; but given that they were all looking at him again — Steveni in particular — Paul was afraid his argument would sound weak. And if he began blathering about details of his family background none of it would make much sense. He settled for silence and an orderly retreat.
Stretching credulity — even his own — Paul might have satisfied himself on a drawn engagement had not Ward immediately informed Kolchak that Paul would be leaving Omsk forthwith to resume his previous status as liaison officer to the Legion. Announcing this so soon after Kolchak had intimated that Krasilnikov might chose to challenge Paul to a duel, it turned what Paul might have imagined to be an orderly retreat into a rout, making his decision to go back to the Legion sound like an act of cowardice.
He should have had the presence of mind to inform Kolchak that there had been no question of Krasilnikov calling him out. Rather that the Cossack had taken the underhand opportunity of manufacturing a slight concerning Sofya’s affections to simply add Paul’s name to an existing list of those who were to be murdered.
But at the time he hadn’t had that presence of mind.
One reason was that Steveni was present. The meeting had been Paul’s first opportunity to take a look at the man. Until then, Steveni’s name had been all he had known, cropping up as it had ever since Paul had been in Russia.
He was aware that Steveni, like himself, had been born in Petersburg, although under what circumstances he didn’t know. He guessed Steveni to be a little older than he was, and judging by an incident or two during the meeting, that he spoke Russian well. Ward didn’t speak a word of Russian and, since both Kolchak and Frank knew English, the meeting was held in that language. On occasion, though, Kolchak had stumbled over a word or phrase. Where Frank was unable to help, Steveni had stepped into the breech, glancing at Paul as if to seek corroboration.