‘Your portmanteau? Turner wouldn’t even let me take my bag off the steamer. Then those chaps in Helsingfors made me leave everything else behind. How did you get here so quickly anyway?’
‘Ferries, old man. Copenhagen to Malmo, then Stockholm. Stockholm across to Abo in Finland, or Turku as the Finns call it. Used to be the capital. Train the rest of the way. Hun’s not bothering too much now he’s on the run. Capital news really, don’t you think?’
‘What news? I’ve not heard anything for weeks.’
‘No? Well I daresay they’re not saying too much about it in Finland. Never mind, old man, I’ll bring you up to date later. More pressing business at the moment. Have you told your cousin why you’re looking for her brother?’
‘I’ve told her that London sent me. And about the Czechs and Kolchak—’
‘Did you?’ Valentine interrupted. ‘Ah well, never mind. Spilt milk, as they say. The situation’s changed anyway.’
‘How?’
‘The Bolsheviks have strengthened their hand. Your cousin was right in that they arrested Spiridonova and the other Left SR leaders. Lenin talked his way out of the attempted coup at the Moscow congress so the Left SRs took it onto the streets, and made a hash of that, too. Trotsky brought a couple of Lettish regiments into the city and put them down. Until then, apart from Dzerzhinsky, the Cheka was more or less run by Left SRs. They say Dzerzhinsky shot his deputy, Alexandrovich, himself, then cleared out the rest of the Left SRs. Once they were faced with arrest, most of the rank and file turned their coat and supported the Bolsheviks.
‘What difference does that make to us?’
‘I’m afraid it’s left us in a bit of a pickle,’ Valentine said. ‘You in particular.’
‘Me?’
‘What’s a “pickle”?’ Sofya asked coming in with a tray.
‘He means I’m in trouble,’ Paul said.
Sofya put the tray on the table. It held three chipped cups contained black tea and a saucer full of sugar lumps.
‘Why is Pavel in trouble?’
Valentine took a cup. ‘I’m very much afraid, Miss Rostova, that the Bolsheviks know your cousin is in Petrograd.’
‘How?’
‘Well it wasn’t from Olga Volokoskaya,’ Valentine said, nodding at Paul pertinently.
‘Who is Olga Volokoskaya?’ asked Sofya.
‘It’s more likely,’ Valentine said, ‘that since they’ve had no communication from her they’re assuming you arrived safely.’
Paul stared moodily into his tea. “No communication”, he supposed, was a euphemism that meant another woman’s death could be laid at his door.
‘I suppose they’ll think I killed her—’
‘You killed someone?’ Sofya asked in amazement. ‘Who?’
‘No one,’ said Paul.
‘Don’t forget that fellow in London,’ Valentine added helpfully. He placed a sugar lump between his teeth and sucked his tea through it noisily, muzhik-style. Sofya looked at him distastefully.
‘Sorry,’ Valentine said through the sugar lump. ‘Picked up the habit in the factory. I was acting the peasant up from the country.’ He put his cup down. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t worry too much about Volokoskaya, old chap. They’ve got more on you than disposing of an old woman. They’ve got this idea that you’re here to prepare the ground for General Poole.’
‘General who?’
‘Poole. The officer in command at Murmansk. Now they’ve landed at Archangel, Poole’s moved there. General Maynard has taken over in Murmansk.’
‘They landed then?’
‘The beginning of the month.’
‘Trotsky put pamphlets on the streets about that,’ Sofya said. ‘He said it was a capitalist conspiracy. No one was sure it was true.’
‘What makes the Bolsheviks think I’ve got anything to do with that?’ Paul demanded.
Valentine looked perplexed. ‘Well haven’t you, old man? You’re here to liaise between the Legion and Kolchak. The Bolsheviks have quite reasonably jumped to the conclusion you’re connected with the Archangel landings as well. Not that it matters one way or the other.’
‘Not to you, perhaps,’ Paul said. ‘You’re not the one they’ll shoot if they find you.’
‘If it’s any consolation,’ Valentine said, ‘I rather think they’ll shoot us all if they find us. Your charming cousin, Sofya Ivanovna here included.’
‘But Sofya’s got nothing to do with it.’
‘She’s a Rostov,’ Valentine said. ‘That’ll be all the reason they’ll need. They’re looking for Pavel Rostov, don’t forget. It’s just as well you’re here under another name. I assume they gave you papers in Finland?’
Paul took them out of his pocket and handed them across the table.
‘Well, if they are looking for me,’ he said, ‘the first place they’ll try will be the Rostov house. If they do, it’s just as well Sofya came with me, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely,’ Valentine agreed, examining Paul’s papers. ‘These look pretty good to me.’
‘They took them off some poor blighter who died in the Finnish camps. Sofya thinks they’re no good.’
‘They’ve started changing the identity papers on a regular basis,’ Sofya told him. ‘They only last a couple of months now before you have to get new ones. And because of the demand you don’t have to have a photograph now.’
‘So much the better,’ Valentine said, looking at the photo that was supposed to be Paul. ‘Boris Vladimirovich Alenkov. Well it’s safe to assume no one’s going to be looking for you by that name.’
Paul avoided Valentine’s gaze and started playing with his cup.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘There was a woman at the house,’ Paul admitted. ‘I told her my name was Alenkov.’
‘Fedorova,’ Sofya said.
Valentine shrugged. ‘Why should she remember you? And even if she does, there’s no reason for her to put two an two together.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Sofya. ‘That old pizdah never forgets anything.’
Paul turned to her in astonishment. Pizdah was the most vulgar Russian word he knew. And he only knew it because he had once said it to his mother, Mikhail having assured him it was a compliment. It was the one time in his life his mother had ever hit him.
Valentine was laughing. ‘I didn’t expect to hear that word outside the factory floor.’
Sofya blushed, collected the cups and hurried out the room.
Paul felt embarrassed for her. ‘Have you found out who told them I was going to be on the steamer?’ he asked testily.
Valentine shook his head. ‘No time for that sort of thing, I’m afraid. I should imagine someone has talked out of turn.’
‘Lockhart? Perhaps he’s been careless about what he tells Gorky’s mistress. Or Ransome? You said he was pretty thick with the Bolsheviks.’
‘Not Lockhart, old man,’ Valentine assured him. ‘The Cheka arrested him last night. They’re trying to tie him to this Kaplan woman who shot Lenin. And that’s not the worst of it. They broke into the embassy here in Petersburg and shot Cromie.’
‘Cromie?’
‘The naval attaché. He’s been in charge since the ambassador left. They nearly got me, too. I was there for a meeting with Cromie and Harold Hall. Luckily I left early. I’m very much afraid we were betrayed.’
‘Who by?’
‘I’m not sure. There were a couple of Russian agents with us. They managed to get away.’ Valentine raised his eyebrows suggestively. ‘The Cheka were looking for evidence at the embassy that the British were involved in the shootings. Uritsky was shot in Dvortzóvvaya Square and the man who did it — Leonid Kannegisser, they say his name is — ran into the English Club before he was arrested.’