“I wonder how many women would marry the same man again, given the opportunity to walk away,” Sadie mused.
Olga’s attention had shifted. Sadie saw Peter Eyre had entered the room. He nodded when he saw the two women. Sadie stood and offered him her chair.
“I’m about to leave,” she said.
Eyre smiled and lowered himself to the chair. He patted his coat as if looking for his cigarette case, but didn’t reach into his pocket.
“Are we still going to do the art exhibit?” Olga asked.
Eyre rubbed his chin. “That’s your vanity project, Princess. I won’t stop you. But I also can’t bring myself to care.”
“None of the artists represented will be Bolsheviks,” Olga said. “We’re representing the oppressed, not the oppressors.”
“Very well, then. You’d better get to work.” He nodded at her.
Olga stood up, all her vitality restored. She nodded at Sadie then left the room.
Eyre gestured to the chair the princess had vacated. “Will you sit?”
Sadie sat down in the opposite chair.
“Did you ever hear what happened to your husband today? I haven’t seen him.”
“No,” Sadie admitted. “He’s vanished.”
“Strange,” Eyre said. “I don’t understand the work he does. He has to stay in the shadows. That’s a hard thing to do. Never recognized, rarely rewarded.”
“What if it had been a bomb, Mr. Eyre? We might all have been killed.”
“You and I might have been killed, attacking Verenich like that,” Eyre said. “We were lucky to catch him red-handed with his equipment. No one will doubt us. Verenich will be expelled from the country. We’ll probably get formal letters of thanks from Whitehall.”
“As you say.” Sadie couldn’t summon any excitement at the thought of the prime minister learning her name. She wanted to know where her husband was. Well, not her husband really. She’d expected some grand gesture after their lovemaking, a new special license, something. Not this lack of anything, this silence. “Are you going to boot the rest of Ovolensky’s party from the hotel?”
“I’ve been asked not to.” Eyre smiled ironically. “We’ve been doing such a good job of keeping them in check, you see. I understand your husband’s surveillance has been very successful, though I don’t know the details of the latest operation.”
“Neither of us does,” Sadie said. “I’m going to return to Les’s flat. He’s told me to stay away from the seventh floor.”
“Yes, don’t go near Ovolensky. It’s not worth the risk given what happened. It’s obvious I need to hire more daytime security after today. You shouldn’t have been my backup. Those waiters were worthless, but what do I expect from waiters?”
“Hire ex-soldiers,” Sadie said. “They’d be better in a fight.”
Eyre chuckled. “It never occurred to me to hire staff who’d be good in a fight, but we bought ourselves a packet of trouble when we renamed the place the Grand Russe.”
“At least you haven’t had any starlets murdered since the grand reopening,” Sadie said.
“Not yet,” Eyre said with an edge of desperate cheer. “Give us time. We have enough film types coming through here.”
Chapter Twenty
Sadie finished washing her dishes and dried them, then carefully tucked them away in the cupboard. Dinner had been cheese on toast, given that she hadn’t had a reason to do any food shopping. Now, though, it was getting late and she needed to make a decision. She could listen to Olga and Emmeline, or even Mr. Eyre, who said to stick with Les. Her instincts told her to hold her ground and leave the man who’d made love to her then disappeared before she’d even woken up the next morning. He’d been unavailable for over twelve hours now.
But, instead of going to pack what little was left of hers in the flat, she went and took that bubble bath she’d promised herself, and soaked her sore wrist until the water went cold. Only after that would she find her luggage and survey the drawers in the guest room. And didn’t that say it all, that she’d never moved her things into Les’s bedroom? Maybe she should, and take possession instead of giving up.
She was just finished bathing when she heard a knock at the front door. Quickly, she threw her dress over her head and pulled it down her body. It wouldn’t be Les. He wouldn’t knock. Should she risk opening it? What if the Russians had found her? She told herself not to be silly. That would require someone having followed her home and waiting for a couple of hours before knocking. Besides, the building had a locked front door. It had to be one of the neighbors, hoping to borrow an egg or something.
Nonetheless, she reached for the sharp letter opener on the hallway table and concealed it in her sleeve before opening the door. She didn’t recognize the man standing there.
“Mrs. Rake?” he inquired politely.
“Yes?” She clutched her hands together behind her back, all too aware that she had nothing on under her dress.
He handed her a box with a florist’s name emblazoned on it, and expensive-looking envelopes in two different sizes.
“Thank you,” she said, confused, then shut the door and locked it. She took the items upstairs to the kitchen. When she cut the string on the box, she found a dozen hothouse roses, a truly extravagant purchase. A small card lay atop the stems. She opened it and squealed in delight.
“Sadie, darling, will you marry me?” she read aloud, then clasped the card to her heart.
She used the letter opener to cut open the envelopes. The larger held a special license, which appeared to have the proper seal affixed to it. The other held a wedding invitation. To her own wedding! At the same place as the first one had been, it was scheduled for tomorrow.
“He’s not wasting any time,” she muttered to herself, then laughed aloud. He’d been missing all day because he’d been making arrangements. Oh, Les. He did love her.
She picked up her roses and danced with them around the room, humming to herself. What was she going to wear? She couldn’t ask Emmeline for help under the circumstances. No, she’d need to find something in a shop during her lunch hour the next day. She was finally going to be Mrs. Drake. All thoughts of packing vanished.
* * *
Late that night, Les paced in the passage outside of the interrogation room at the police station. When he reached the far end he saw Glass come out of the stairwell.
“What’s the news?” the section head asked.
“Blank stares where Mikhail Lashevich is concerned,” Les said. “But I’m not convinced we can’t get a lead on Konstantin.”
“You’ve been out of pocket all day and missed some mischief at the Grand Russe.” Glass flashed him a quick, roguish smile.
“Sadie?” Les asked, fear gripping his throat.
“A real heroine. Clocked Fedor Verenich in the head.”
Les felt cold dread. “She was in danger? Hell. I told her to give notice.”
Glass raised his eyebrows. “What about our plan to use her?”
“I want a transfer,” Les said flatly. “Send us back up north.”
Glass lifted his eyebrows. “What’s this about?”
“I can’t lose Sadie. I want a real marriage, not the illusion my parents had. We need a fresh start.”
Glass twisted his lips. He knew Valentin Drake’s service history. “Are you hoping she’ll be a full partner in your work?”
“That’s up to you. But every day that passes shows me something new about her. How did she end up fighting a Russian? Did Ovolensky attempt to abduct her again?”
“No, Verenich was bugging the government meeting at the hotel. She and Peter Eyre pulled the plug on his operation.”
“By themselves?”
Glass shrugged. “I know. A foolhardy couple. Maybe they are best separated before they do something similar again.”
Les ran his thumb and forefinger down his face. “I can just imagine what they might do if the hotel was in danger again.”
“Dent
said she was looking for you before she ran after Eyre.”
“I was at the docks instead of at her side.” Just like his father, far away during his wife’s crisis. Les’s cheek twitched. “Listen, Glass, I think London is too much for us right now. Too complicated. Between her work and mine, the constant way the Grand Russe gathers trouble to itself, we can go days hardly seeing each other. I don’t want that anymore.”
“Every time one of my operatives falls in love it’s the same way,” Glass said. “I’m never going to be stupid enough to do it. Too distracting.”
“I wasn’t expecting love,” Les admitted. “Just a bit of flirtation, a good time with a pretty girl. How it came to this I can’t say.”
“You fell into her bed,” Glass said. “Girl like that? You were all done in from that moment.”
Les smiled. “I couldn’t stay away despite my best efforts.”
“She’s one in a million,” Glass said, scratching the scar in his eyebrow. “I’ll think about our operational needs.”
The door to the observation room opened and Robert McCall poked his head out. “We’re getting into the Konstantin business now.”
“You will deport me no matter what I say,” Ovolensky’s man Fedor was saying as Les and Glass walked behind the two-way mirror in the observation room. “There is no point in me saying anything.”
“You’re wrong,” Detective Inspector Dent, down to his shirtsleeves, said. “I don’t have to send you back to Moscow in one piece.” Casually, he pulled a set of brass knuckles from a trouser pocket and fitted them into his fist.
Glass chuckled. “Man makes a good point.”
“Now, what do you know about Konstantin?” Dent asked casually.
“Common name,” Fedor sneered.
“The bomber that tried to blow you and your friends up last month,” Dent said.
“Obviously he’s no friend of my organization,” Fedor said.
“He’s a Bolshie from all reports. Likes to lurk in the Grand Russe basement. Your friends from the docks bringing him supplies? Interesting collection of ammunition we found in one of the cargo holds.”
Fedor said nothing. Dent, expressionless, took careful aim at the Russian’s face, pulling back his elbow. When he began the swing, Fedor flinched and jerked his head back. Dent caught him on the shoulder as he went over backward, his chair legs upending. The Russian shrieked when his full weight fell on his bound hands underneath his back and the chair. Dent stood and walked around the table, then stood over him.
“Konstantin,” he said.
“Help me up,” Fedor whispered in agony.
“Konstantin.”
“Novikov,” Fedor wheezed. “That is his surname. That is all I know.”
Les frowned and turned to Glass. “I’ve heard that name recently.”
Glass shook his head. “Does it seem significant to you?”
In front of them, Dent had placed his foot on Fedor’s chest and pressed down. Fedor shrieked.
“Where is he?” Dent asked. “Konstantin Novikov. Where is his hidey hole these days?”
Fedor wheezed. “I don’t know.”
Dent pressed again and repeated his question.
“He has a room near the Natural History Museum.”
“He’s fled from there,” Dent said.
“No,” Fedor shrieked as Dent pushed in his heel again. “It’s a new room.”
“These men you picked up today. Are they part of Konstantin’s organization?”
“No, they were going north to work in the mines.”
Dent grunted. “Labor agitators, not Konstantin’s kind of business. What about the ammunition?”
Fedor spoke in labored breaths. “Separate deal. Not Konstantin. Only bombs. All bombs with him. Very specialized.”
Dent pulled his foot from Fedor’s chest. The Russian rocked his body and rolled to his side, coughing. Dent pulled a knife from his pocket and flipped the blade open. Fedor’s eyes tracked the movement.
“He’s in his room every night at ten,” Fedor wheezed. “Untie me.”
“The address?” Dent asked crisply.
After the Russian gave it, Dent sliced through the ropes binding his hands to the chair with one flick of his knife. He held the knife over Fedor’s face. Fear flared in the Russian’s eyes. Les knew he was reflecting on the obvious sharpness of the blade.
Without speaking further, Dent stepped around the man and left the room. Wisely, Fedor stayed on the floor, sweat, tears, and snot beading on his face.
McCall and Dent stepped into the observation room and faced the two Secret Intelligence Service men.
“Ten P.M.,” Dent said.
Les checked his watch. “It’s after that now.”
“Go anyway,” Glass said. “Take McCall.”
The police detective nodded and Les followed him out of the room. McCall requisitioned a car and they drove through the wet, dark streets toward the Natural History Museum.
“What are you thinking?” McCall asked.
“Well after ten now.”
“Understood. What else?”
“I’m thinking about remarrying Sadie tomorrow night,” Les said. “Then I’ll be leg-shackled for real.”
“I meant about Konstantin.”
Thinking about Sadie reminded Les where he had heard the name Novikov before. Princess Olga’s surname was Novikov. “Devil it,” he muttered.
“What?”
“I’ve found our link between Konstantin and the Grand Russe.”
McCall whistled. “What is it?”
“The Russian princess who supervises the chambermaids. Her name is Novikov. Olga Novikov.”
“That can’t be right,” McCall said, pausing to let a crowd of revelers cross the street. “A Russian princess and a Bolshevik bomber?”
“It may be nothing, but it’s quite a coincidence. Konstantin could be using a false name.”
“What about the princess?”
“Odd that she uses the masculine form of her name, but she doesn’t like being called by her title either. Has a mind of her own.”
“A princess could have a mad relative. That’s common, right?”
“I suppose.”
“A savant of bombs.”
“Precisely.”
“Madness runs in royal families,” McCall repeated. “All that inbreeding.”
“Quite.”
“Have to bring her in for questioning,” McCall mused. “A princess. That’s going to be rough. We’ll have to consult with the higher-ups.”
“With any luck we’ll get Konstantin tonight, save ourselves the trouble.”
“Or be blown up,” McCall said cheerfully. “And right before your wedding, too. Bloody bad luck, I call it.”
“Bastard,” Les muttered. “I’ve put Sadie through enough for one week.”
They parked a block away from the building of modern studio flats where Konstantin was supposedly staying, then surveyed the windows. Les counted up and across. “If that’s the one, it doesn’t look like anyone is home.”
“It’s nearly gone eleven,” McCall said. “Sleeping? Out carousing?”
“This may be his meeting place. He may not actually live here. Fedor might have lied, too.”
“Let’s break in through the back,” McCall said. “See what there is to see.”
Les picked the back door lock. The building was silent except for one crying infant as they ascended the steps. They verified the number on the door of Konstantin’s flat. McCall pulled out a revolver while Les went to work on the lock. When he was done, he opened the door silently.
Light from a street lamp illuminated the room through the thin curtain. The space was sparsely furnished. No bed.
“A meeting place only,” McCall said.
Les pointed him toward the left, where there was a door, while he checked the right wall. The door opened to an empty closet. There was nothing else.
“Nothing really to search,” McCall said.
“No, just surveillance. Hopefully we can pick him up tomorrow at ten.”
“Not you, lad. You’ll be thrusting your way down the River Drake.”
Les grimaced. “I don’t know that Glass will see it that way.”
“You’ll get the night off, boyo. Glass can come with me himself. He’ll enjoy a spot of my company.”
Les chuckled. “Let’s depart before we’re noticed. We don’t want anyone getting wind of us.”
McCall nodded and they left, relocking the door, and crept down the stairs. They left undetected.
* * *
At the end of the work day on Thursday, Olga pulled Sadie aside and handed her a package. “This is a hand-me-down from one of my wealthier relatives. You should wear it tonight.”
Bemused, Sadie followed Olga into one of the three basement bathrooms that were still in use after the tunnel discovery, and opened the package. She opened the string and paper, her eyes opening when she uncovered the delicate lace.
“Chanel,” Olga said with satisfaction.
“Don’t you want to save it for your own wedding?” Sadie touched a finger to the bodice.
Olga smiled. “You aren’t likely to damage the dress when you’ll only be wearing it for a single evening.”
Sadie threw her arms around Olga and kissed her soundly on the cheek. “I knew we were friends. I’ll take good care of it.”
An hour later, they arrived at the chapel after a quick stop at Primrose Hill to retrieve her roses. Les waited inside. He wore a slim navy suit and a natty tie. Sadie could tell he was nervous, because he held himself even more motionless than usual. She reached for his hand, finding it icy cold, and squeezed. He smiled at her.
The space looked much the same, except a row of candles were lit across the altar, giving the room a hushed feeling. The minister left the altar area, where guests waited, and came up to them.
“Where are your friends?” Sadie asked curiously, after Les had shaken the minister’s hand.
Alecia, Emmeline Plash and Olga had all turned up for her wedding, but the party was somewhat bereft of men, the opposite of her first ceremony. Ivan Salter was required at the Grand Russe, as was Peter Eyre. She hadn’t invited her grandfather because she didn’t want him to know she hadn’t been really married all this time. Oddly enough, Teddy Fortress and his wife had appeared, and Teddy offered to act as best man.
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