Chapter Thirty-Two
Hanover Square
Leaving Dora to accompany Miss Austen home to arrange matters in Sloane Street, Jacob took himself off to the Russian embassy. The new arrivals had set up in Hanover Square, a development of elegant townhouses around a garden located not far from their office. He handed his card to the butler and was invited to wait in the foyer.
The house had the hallmarks of a rented property, walls adorned with unobjectionable landscapes and portraits of forgotten people. The only picture the current owners had had time to change was an expansive view of Moscow that hung on the stairs. The city was set low in the landscape, onion-domed churches and the city walls lifting it out of the plains, holding up the huge weight of the cloudy sky, the Moskva River sweeping past its skirts. It was an image created during the days of Catherine the Great, the current Tsar’s formidable grandmother.
‘His Excellency will see you now,’ said the butler, interrupting Jacob’s study of the picture.
As they progressed to the second floor, a door slammed at the far end of the corridor on the first, attracting his gaze. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a man hurrying towards them then turning abruptly away to the servants’ staircase when he saw Jacob. He wore a brown coat.
Lots of people wore brown coats but instinct told Jacob this was the one he was seeking. Did the man in black lurk somewhere there too? He thought it highly likely.
Count Vorontsov was lying in the centre of a double bed, lightly covered with a sheet. He was staring mutinously up at the ceiling like a very big, disgruntled child sent to bed without supper. Hearing Jacob enter, he waved a hand.
‘Forgive me not getting up to greet you. My doctors have ordered me to lie like this. I cannot even sit up to eat.’
‘As another of that profession, I am afraid I must echo their advice. We are all worried about your spine, as doubtless you have been told.’
‘Yes, yes, they think I will paralyse myself if I leap out of bed– me who has fallen off a horse in a cavalry charge and lived to tell the tale. I am ashamed I have been brought down by a musician!’
‘Consol yourself. It may have been no ordinary musician.’
Jacob took a seat by the count’s bed and waited for the butler to withdraw.
‘Gone, has he?’ asked the count.
‘Yes, he has.’
‘A good man, but he is following the doctor’s orders worse than my mother. Pass me the flask in the side table there, be a good chap.’
Jacob did as he was asked. He wasn’t this man’s keeper, after all.
‘Za zdorovye!’ The count gingerly lifted it to his lips to avoid spillage and took a gulp. He smacked his lips. ‘Ah!’
‘Better?’
‘Yes. Do you want some?’ He waved the flask in Jacob’s direction.
‘No, thank you. A little early for me.’
The count began to screw on the cap but it was an awkward angle for that operation, so Jacob took it from him, sealed it and then slid it under the count’s pillow.
‘I am pleased you called this morning. I want to thank you for saving my life last night.’
‘Think nothing of it. I did what any decent man would do.’
‘I beg to differ; there are many indecent men in existence, unfortunately.’
‘That is undoubtedly true. Sir, I’ve been looking into the events of the concert.’
‘You do not think it an accident.’
‘No, I don’t. And neither do you.’
The count gave a grunt of assent. ‘Aimed at the Frenchman?’
‘I think not, though I’ve often wanted to shoot him with a cannon, if you understand me?’
