The Russian Doll (Ben Sign Book 3)

by Matthew Dunn

  “Because it would damage her career?”

  “No. Because she doesn’t want Natalia to be sad.”

  Knutsen stood. “I need to get out of my suit. Once I’m in jeans and T-shirt, are you up for a couple of pints at our local boozer, and a game of darts?”

  “One hundred percent, sir. But, I must warn you that I’ve been practising darts at the pub, without you knowing.”

  Knutsen laughed. “You really do talk bollocks.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The next morning, Archer entered the care home that housed and treated her mother. It was located in Godalming, a forty five minute train journey south of Waterloo station. The place was on a hill, close to the prestigious Charterhouse School, and was once a sixteen bedroom private house, with six acres of beautiful grounds, that – during its two hundred and twenty three year existence – had been lived in by a high court judge, film star, opera singer, general who’d seen active service in World War Two’s Operation Market Garden, American evangelist who’d turned the place into a venue for his religious cult, and a Turkish billionaire. The property had gone into receivership after it was discovered that the billionaire was avoiding UK tax and was making most of his money by illegally buying and selling blood diamonds, ivory, and vulnerable black girls and young women from Africa for use in European brothels. After five years in prison, the billionaire was thrown out of Britain. That’s when the care home took possession of the property. The new owners, husband and wife, were Quakers, doctors, conscientious objectors who’d served in numerous battles in the Vietnam War as combat medical soldiers, subsequently worked for NGOs in Central and South America, set up their own malaria treatment hospice in Papua New Guinea, and could afford to buy the property after the wife’s father, an investment bankers whose principles she loathed, had bequeathed his daughter five million dollars in his will. After he died, the husband and wife agreed that the money earnt via greed needed to be fed back into society. They bought the three million pound property on Charterhouse Road, spent a substantial sum on getting it converted, employed highly trained staff, and opened for business as a care home. It was their retirement of sorts. The husband and wife were now in their eighties. They were no longer up to the task of 24/7 looking after others – younger people did that for them – but every day they’d visit the fifteen occupants of the facility to check they were okay, were being cared for, and to see if they had any special needs. The home was one of the most expensive in southern England, but it had to be that way. The location was beautiful, the grounds were stunning, and the staff were highly paid because the Quakers only wanted the best for their residents. Their staff included two groundsmen who’d previously worked at Kew Gardens, a chef who’d trained in a Michelin Star restaurant, two on-call doctors who could have taken other highly lucrative jobs in the UK or overseas, nurses who were on twice the pay they’d have received if they’d stayed in the NHS, two Polish cleaners who were given free accommodation in a lovely cottage on the grounds, free food, and a healthy salary, and two mechanics who ensured that all medical machinery in the home were operating correctly. Thirty percent of all profits from the business were donated to the NHS, ten percent to the local church and state schools, and the rest was used to run the impeccable facility.

  Some of the patients were here long-term; others were brief visitors who stayed until they were able to be safely cared for by their family. Jayne’s mother was somewhere in between both camps. She wanted her mum to live with her in her house in south west London, but she also needed her to be fit. Jayne couldn’t keep a constant eye on her; she was summoned overseas at short notice; and she wasn’t medically trained.

  Jayne approached the reception desk. She smiled. “Hello Ricky. They’ve got you working front of house today.”

  Ricky shrugged. “Gives me a chance to put my feet up. I’ve clocked seventy hours doing nursing duties this week.” He held up his phone. “Since I’ve been here from six this morning, I’ve managed to get to level seventeen on Call of Duty. How are you Miss Archer?”

  “I’m just checking in.” She patted the carrier bag she was holding. “I’ve brought mum some Belgium chocolates and an academic thesis on how massive landmass, frightening winters, a depressed population that is spread out, alcohol and other substances, and an overwhelming sense within the population that life isn’t worth living, will inevitably produce a collective sense of being inhuman. It doesn’t refer specifically to Russia. It doesn’t need to.”

  Ricky munched on an apple. “You sure know how to cheer your mum up.” He nodded toward the corridor. “Usual place. She’s had breakfast.”

  Jayne walked into the communal lounge. It was a very large and sumptuous yet eclectic room that had a mixture of old and modern fittings, with large bay windows overlooking the grounds’ manicured lawn and array of bushes and trees that were trimmed into different shapes – Jayne always thought of the gardens as indicative of a set from Alice In Wonderland - , leather armchairs, oak side tables, gold rimmed paintings of city and county side scenes from 1920s England, widescreen wall-mounted television, Nintendo Wii which could be used by residents between the hours of ten to eleven AM so that patients could exercise their limbs by playing bowling, white-water rafting and other video games, a library containing books that ranged from the classics to popular modern-day fiction, a green-felt-clad table that was used for communal games of bridge and other card games, and The Heaven Telescope, as it was nicknamed by residents. The telescope was long, mounted on a tripod, was pointed out of a window at the sky, had once been owned by an eighteenth century astronomer who’d discovered previously unknown stars, and the more religious residents of the home liked to think it gave them a glimpse of the place they’d be going to when their presence on Earth was no longer needed.

  Simon Doyle’s face lit up when he saw Archer. He was the co-owner of the care home. Eighty three years old, holding a cane, the American was, as ever, immaculately dressed. Today he was wearing purple corduroy trousers, brogues, shirt and cravat, and a waistcoat with a time piece attached to a chain nestled in a breast pocket. “Jayne my dear. How’s my sexy broad doing today?”

  Archer laughed. “I keep telling you not to call me that. Your wife will be jealous. Anyway, you’re too young to be referring to me as a broad. I think that term went out of fashion in America in the forties.”

  Doyle looked mischievous. “Some terms stand the test of time. I’m an old fashioned guy. Anyway, my wife’s back in the kitchen, checking on the lunch menu with the chef. She doesn’t know about our little affair.”

  Archer smiled wider and put on an American accent. “Do you think you’ve got enough left in your pants to keep up with this gal?”

  Doyle shrugged. “We won’t know until we find out.” He hobbled over to her and put his arm on hers. He looked over his shoulder. “She’s in her usual spot at this time of day – in one of the bay window sections, by the table, reading. Hey, we’re serving tea and coffee in a few minutes. Do you fancy a hot one?”

  “That would be lovely. How’s she doing?”

  “Pretty much the same as before. She gets tired after dinner, wakes early, can get in to a chair and bed but has to summon a lot of energy to get out, incontinence remains an issue but she and we are managing that, her blood pressure’s a bit low, occasional dizzy spells persist, speech and cognitive faculties are good, muscle wastage is constant but slow, no signs of cancer or any other terminal disease, and she’s in good spirits.” He rubbed Archer’s arm. “It’s just old age.” He patted his hip. “And I know all about that. This hip replacement of mine is a nuisance; it’s on the side I always used to like to sleep on. I keep forgetting. Wake in the night feeling like I’ve been bitten by a rattlesnake down there. Mrs. Doyle never swears except when she’s lying next to me in our bed and I wake her up at three in the morning because I’m yelping like a pig that’s been shot in the arse.” He looked at Elizabeth, who was on the far side of the room. Elizabeth was reading, obli
vious to her daughter’s presence and out of earshot of Doyle’s conversation with her. “The only thing that’s changed is she’s getting dehydrated. We have to administer fluids via intravenous drips. She’s on one now. At the moment it’s not a twenty four hour thing. The doctors and nurses have judged that she needs a top up only twice a day. It’s not your ma’s fault – she drinks plenty. It’s just the liver and kidneys aren’t processing stuff as well as they should.” He looked back at Archer. “We can’t release her into your care just yet. But, I don’t see why she has to be here for much longer. Once you’ve finished getting your house converted it will be fine, providing either you or a care worker can be with her when she’s awake. Even when she’s not awake, you’ll need to think about night time routines. She’ll want to pee fairly frequently. And other bodily functions.”

  “I know.” She embraced Doyle and stood back. “How are you and your wife doing?”

  Doyle laughed. “We’re not spring chickens anymore. But we’ve got good people working this gig. All me and my gal do is potter – check on menus, chat to the residents, write quiz questions for Thursday night’s residents competition, sit in front of our accountant and listen to him telling us how much this place costs to run, sign documents, have a nap in the afternoon, take a walk around the grounds before dinner, get one of the gardeners to drive us down to Waitrose once a week. Our days of heavy lifting are long gone. But, we like it here. Two crazy Yanks living the life in leafy Surrey. We only came here because my gal thinks she came from English stock. She isn’t. I researched it. She’s part Irish, French, Italian, Scandinavian, and Austrian. She knows that I know that. But, we don’t talk about it. What’s the point? Her heart’s in England.” He nodded at Elizabeth. “Go and sit with her. I’ll make sure you get two cups of tea. Let’s keep swapping notes. I’ll let you know when your mother’s ready to be released; you let me know when you’re ready to have her.” He was about to attend to his duties but hesitated. “Jayne. I know you’ve spoken about this before, but don’t feel guilty about putting Elizabeth into a care home. You haven’t got someone to help you out, you’re busy, and your ma does need medical supervision. She likes it here. And she needs support. Professional medical support. Better this place than being in a hospital bed, trust me.”

  “I know. I just wish my damn job wasn’t pulling me in all directions right now.”

  “Even if it wasn’t we wouldn’t recommend releasing her just yet from medical care. I’m not saying that because I want your money. We don’t operate that way. If you didn’t have the bucks to pay our fees we’d still keep het here for free if you wanted. Or we’d refer her to the NHS.”

  “Bless you Simon. The world’s a better place with you and your wife in it.” Archer walked to her mother. “Hello Mum. Mind if I join you?”

  Elizabeth looked up. “Jayne, my dear. I wasn’t expecting you for a couple of days. Is everything okay?”

  Archer sat next to her mother. “I just thought I’d stop by for a cup of tea with you. Also I have news.”

  Elizabeth gripped her daughter’s hand. “Susan?”

  Archer chose her words carefully. “Finding out what happened to Susan will take time. But, I am on the case. I’ve engaged an expert to look into the matter. He’s ex-MI6.”

  Elizabeth placed her book to one side. “Does he know Russia?”

  “Yes. And he’s the smartest person I know.”

  Two orderlies came to Elizabeth’s chair. One of them removed her drip, while the other poured tea. When they left, Elizabeth sipped her tea. Her hand was shaking from nerve damage. “Being smart is one thing. But, does he have the capabilities required to find out what happened to Susan?”

  Archer nodded. “He was on the fast track in MI6, tipped to be the next chief. He threw it all away to become a private consultant. He’s significantly better than anyone if have at my disposal in my department. Plus, he has the advantage of being independent.”

  “He can break laws to get to the truth.”

  “Correct.”

  Elizabeth slowly placed her cup and saucer on the table, careful not to spill the drink. “Do you trust him?”

  “He’s very discreet.”

  “Do you like him?”

  Archer pondered the question. “We joined the service at the same time and did our training together. After that, our paths rarely crossed. From what little I’ve seen of him, and what I’ve heard about him I’d say he’s charming, ruthless, kind, rebellious, results-driven, hates boredom, feels dislocated from people, and carries sorrow in his heart. It’s hard to answer your question. He’s a chameleon who changes shades depending on the environment he finds himself in. I suspect it would take me a long time to find out who the real person is beneath his various disguises.”

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “He’s not the only one in your world who has multiple personalities.”

  “True.”

  “How will he go about establishing what happened to Susan?”

  “He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask him.” Before her mother could interject, Archer held up her hand. “He’ll have his methods and he’ll want to keep them private, for two reasons: first, he won’t want me interfering; second, if he does have to break rules, he’ll want to do so without implicating me.”

  Elizabeth laughed, making no attempt to hide her sarcastic tone. “How very noble of him.” Her expression changed. In a softer voice she said, “He does sound like the right person for the job. I shall think of him as a solitary falcon, watching everything from high altitude, and waiting to dive to Earth when he spots his quarry.” She rubbed her arm and winced. “Be a darling and get me a new set of bones and muscles. All that prancing around like an idiot, with the other residents, in front of the Wii box while pretending to be skiing down a slope at Whistler, doesn’t seem to be having the desired effect on my body. If anything, it just puts more aches and pains in my body.”

  Archer could feel herself getting emotional. She kept it in check, just. Elizabeth wouldn’t have wanted to see her daughter cry. She had enough on her plate without having to comfort a distraught daughter. “Simon told me that you’re making good progress. The only reason he’d like you to stay here for a bit longer is because the staff want to monitor your levels of hydration. But, if you still need the IV drips on a daily basis, that won’t stop you from moving in to my home. I can administer the IV. The doctors and nurses will teach me, and teach me other things. They’ve very kindly said that I can do a week’s medical course here before you’re discharged.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I do like it here. The staff and facilities are excellent. It’s peaceful, but also stimulating.” There were four other residents in the room. They were watching TV or chatting. They couldn’t hear Elizabeth and Jayne. The rest of the patients were out in the grounds or receiving check-ups in the onsite medical centre. She pointed at each resident. “After Gordon graduated from Eton he was a batsman for the England cricket team, a fashion photographer in the sixties, a school caretaker, a failed polar explorer, and a ship’s captain who used to smuggle marijuana from Morocco, Mexico, and Nigeria. Muriel helped design and build Apollo 11, the first craft to put men on the moon. Before then she was a folk singer, occasional prostitute, and a campaigner for black rights. She was a rebel with a Harvard-educated brain that excelled in rocket-science. Toby was unofficially the first man to swim the entire length of the River Thames. He did so after a drunken bet with his friends. He went to Cambridge University, and was kicked out for punching a don in the face because the academic had declared that sodomy had no place in a Christian society. He joined the French Foreign Legion and was court martialled and severely beaten after he skipped parade in the Legion’s Djibouti base in favour of erecting a huge placard overlooking the military camp saying ‘All Frenchmen Are Closet Homosexuals’. When he was released from military prison, he returned to Britain and ran a safe house for rent boys. He educated them and got them back on their feet. He was awarded an OBE for
his sterling work. Yvonne owned two casinos in Bogota, moved to Ireland in the nineteen seventies, made bombs for the IRA, then became an special branch informant, moved to London, married a film director who cheated on her and died in mysterious circumstances, and hit the headlines when she walked down Oxford Street, topless, campaigning for the sale of untampered milk.” She smiled. “Look at us now. We’re old. All we have is the memory of the trails that we blazed in our past.”

  Archer looked at Gordon, Muriel, Toby, and Yvonne. “You might find it boring living with me.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Gordon’s got cancer and wouldn’t survive an operation. Muriel has dementia. Toby has Parkinson’s Disease. Yvonne keeps trying to kill herself. People here come and go. Most of them go out in a box, so to speak. I will miss the people in this room. But, we’re all resigned to the inevitable. Plus,” she drummed her arthritic fingers over Archer’s hand, “who’d want to miss out on spending time with Jayne Archer? One of the most brilliant students of her generation at Cambridge University, a knowledge of Russian history, language, and culture, that would make most academics extremely unsettled, a glittering career in government, travelling the world, informing and changing government and international organisations’ policies, identifying that spy ring in Munich, so many other huge achievements, oh, and putting that KGB defector in the boot of your car and driving him across the border between Pakistan and Turkmenistan. You could have been killed then, and so many other times. But, you held your nerve.” Elizabeth sighed. “I just want to have a hot bath without medical staff standing in the same room. I’ll be happy and mentally stimulated in your home in Putney. I’m looking forward to driving my mobility scooter down the river promenade. When the sun’s out, the Thames glistens like a huge excitable shoal of silver bass, chasing food just beneath the surface. And when it’s dark, the river becomes moody yet alluring, it’s black surface only visible from the Victorian lamps that straddle the Thames. I like to think the river is grumpy at night yet asleep. I adore that. It reminds me of your father when he was alive.” She waved at one of the orderlies before looking back at Archer. “It’s that time of day where I’m required to go for a stroll in the grounds. When will you come back?”