He looked at the date on the letter and realised with horror it had been written three months before. He switched off the kettle and picked up the telephone.
‘Good of you to come,’ Sir Edward said, leading the way into the drawing room of Balfour Place where they had arranged to meet. ‘Sit down, my boy. Have you eaten?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ He sat down and watched as Edward poured brandy into two large glasses. ‘Tell me what happened. Who is Nikolay Andropov?’
‘A young Russian she met in Paris when we were on holiday last year.’ He handed Alex a glass and went to a bureau to extract Lydia’s letter, which he gave to him to read. ‘As you can see from that, she had some strange idea that her parents were not dead after all and might not know she is alive too.’
‘My father was convinced they had died. Didn’t she believe him?’
‘I always thought she did, but apparently not. I am sure Andropov put the idea into her head, but what his motive was, I’ve no idea.’
‘Why would she believe him rather than us?’
‘I don’t know. He can be very charming and I suppose she was bowled over by him.’
‘She says she is going to marry him.’ Alex read on, hiding his dismay under a calm exterior, something he had learnt to do over the years. No one knew exactly what he was thinking. ‘Do you think she has?’
‘I have no way of knowing. I didn’t know she was still seeing him or I would have taken steps to put a stop to it.’
‘If she was determined, it would have been difficult to stop,’ Alex said. ‘She is twenty-two, after all.’
‘I could have bought him off.’
‘Perhaps. Do you think he is genuinely fond of her?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘If it were me, no amount of money would make me give her up.’
‘But it is not you. I wish to God it were. I had hoped—’ He stopped suddenly and gulped a mouthful of brandy.
‘We cannot choose our children’s life partners, Sir Edward.’ It was said evenly, though his heart was racing. Lydia, his love, was in Russia, where all foreigners were viewed with suspicion and her background would be enough to condemn her. It was a terrifying thought. But he must not let Sir Edward see his disquiet; the poor man was worried enough as it was. ‘What do you know about Andropov?’
‘Nothing but what he told us. He escaped the Civil War with his mother after his father was killed fighting with the Whites. She subsequently died and he has been on his own, living in Paris ever since. Having similar backgrounds was bound to attract them towards each other. I didn’t even know he had come to England. How could she be so secretive? You think you are doing your best for your children…’ His voice tailed off.
‘But you did. No child could have had a better father. She has grown into a lovely young woman and I am sure she loves you and appreciates all you and Lady Stoneleigh have done for her.’ He paused, clinging onto hope. ‘I suppose she really did go?’
‘I think she must have. Her letter was written months ago. I have written to her at Kirilhor over and over again, but have had no reply. Maybe she’s gone somewhere else; she wouldn’t have ignored my letters, would she?’
‘No, of course not. Maybe they have been kept from her.’
‘That’s what terrifies me. I contacted the Foreign Office, but there’s nothing they can do if she went of her own free will. I’ve also been in touch with Lord Chilston at the British Embassy in Moscow, but he can’t do much. The embassy staff are not free to travel about as much as they were and diplomatic relations are difficult.’ He smiled a little stiffly. ‘But you know all that. I even tried the headquarters of the British Communist Party, but they were not very helpful.’
‘I’ll go back,’ Alex said. ‘I’ve got to report to the Foreign Office first to be debriefed after my last trip, and it would be a good idea to have an official reason for being in Russia again so that I have proper entry papers. That might take a little time to arrange, but I’ll go the minute I can.’
‘It’s a lot to ask. Too much perhaps. I’d go myself, but Margaret is sick with worry and to have two of us in Russia would be too much for her to cope with.’
‘I know. You mustn’t think of it. Leave it to me.’
‘Bless you.’ He held up the decanter, but Alex declined a second glass. He needed a clear head. ‘Margaret will be relieved to know you are going,’ Edward went on. ‘But if you should meet her before you go, don’t say too much to her about the difficulties and dangers.’
The difficulties and dangers would be considerable, Alex knew, especially as he risked arrest on the grounds that he was his father’s son and the Bolsheviks had a tendency to assume guilt by association. But nothing on earth would prevent him from going. Lydia had always been his especial concern, ever since his mother had told him to be kind to her on the train to Yalta. He had watched her grow from a frightened toddler who had lost the power of speech, through childhood to womanhood, and had loved her all the way. He had not recognised it as love to begin with, it was simply a feeling he ought to protect her and he still felt that, but now it was more than that, the feeling had blossomed, as she had blossomed, into something far deeper and more complex. He found himself wondering how she would have reacted if she had known that. Would it have prevented her from going off with Andropov? He had never met the man but already he disliked him intensely.
‘When you find her,’ Edward went on. ‘Tell her how much she is loved and missed and persuade her to come home. I want her here, even if it means recognising Andropov as a son-in-law, much as I should dislike it.’
Sir Edward would not dislike it any more than he would, Alex decided, but for different reasons. But it would not stop him trying to rescue her from her own folly.
Chapter Six
‘Push, for goodness’ sake,’ Olga said. ‘It’ll never be born if you don’t do something to help yourself.’
Lydia grunted through the pain and tried to do as she was told. It was Good Friday, a day of suffering and mourning in the Christian calendar, but she did not think anyone in Russia commemorated the fact, unless it was secretly. She should have been eagerly looking forward to the birth of her child, buying baby clothes, shawls, nappies, a cot and a pram, deciding on names. But it hadn’t been like that. The moment she realised a baby was on the way, she knew her hope of returning to England in the foreseeable future had faded to nothing. She didn’t want this child. She had hated the lump growing inside her all through the months of pregnancy. The bump was a symbol of her folly and there was no going back, no undoing what had been done. She felt trapped.
To make matters worse, the love she thought Kolya had for her had turned out to be nothing more than a delusion. His political loyalties seemed to change with the wind and she never knew what he really thought or believed; he never confided in her and more recently hardly troubled to talk to her at all. The day, soon after they arrived, she had overheard him discussing her with Grigori had been a real shock and very frightening. She had come upon them in the coach house pulling the old carriage apart. Battered and broken it had stood gathering dust and woodworm ever since that fateful day when her parents had sent her to Yalta. Someone must have returned it; she supposed it had been Grigori. It was of no use to anyone; its wheels and shafts had already been plundered for firewood. She wondered what they were looking for and had stood in the shadows watching. They evidently had not seen her.
‘Do you think I haven’t looked there before?’ Grigori said, watching Kolya throw the cushions off the seats. They had been nibbled by mice and the stuffing was bursting out of them. He pulled them apart, throwing the wadding behind him and coughing on the dust that flew out. ‘There’s nothing there, I tell you,’ Grigori went on. ‘Everything they had on them when they were arrested was confiscated. There was only a tiny diamond and one small ruby.’