"One of our agents, Johnny Murray, was murdered and we need to find out who did it.”
“Johnny Murray was an agent? I tried to contact him when I came to England.”
"Yes, we know about that. You also know Igor Zaslavsky. He lives in one of the houses across from the park.”
"Yes, he helped me come to England many years ago."
"I was watching you both at the event. He didn't seem to recognise you."
“No, it’s been a long time. I know Igor as a good man.”
“We believe that one or more of his associates had something to do with Johnny’s murder and that's why we want you to watch the comings and goings.”
“Can’t you do that yourself?”
“Your Russian is better than mine and anyway you are living in one of our surveillance points.”
“So you’ve been to this cottage before. Is Jack working for you?”
“As I said, we could find your daughter for you if you want us to,” said Ron.
“You don’t tell if Jack is working for you?” Mikhail did not get a reply so continued. “If you can find my daughter for me I'll do anything," said Mikhail.
"Good to know you are on board. I’ll tell head office,” replied Ron.
“How do I contact you?”
“I’ll be in touch with instructions. I'll use your codename, Red Fox."
"How did you know I would agree with what you ask me?"
"A father’s love," said Ron.
“My daughter is all I have left.”
"We’ll do all we can to find her for you, Red Fox. By the way, a cup of some of your coffee would go down well," said Ron.
When Ron was about to leave Mikhail asked, "How long have you been watching me?"
"From the day one of our agents gave you money at the Mayfair office. You gave him your full name.”
“Ah the security man, my mistake. You British agents are good.”
“Better than Russian agents would you say?” asked Ron.
Mikhail said nothing. After all these years the profession that he most wanted to escape from was one that was going to help him get his daughter back.
After Ron left the cottage, Mikhail took the photos of Yelena and Marina in his hands and kissed each one before putting them back into the envelope. Not a day went by without him looking at their faces. After all these years he had spent away from his daughter, and in exile from his country, he hoped it would soon be over. That night in the cottage he slept the soundest he had done in years.
Chapter 7
It had been over two weeks since Ron’s visit to the cottage to recruit Mikhail as a spy and he had yet to receive any instructions from Ron or anyone else in British intelligence. Despite having no contact with Ron, Mikhail wasted no time watching who came in and out of the houses surrounding the park. He had a photographic memory that served him well, recording in a small book every detail once he was back in the cottage, even making drawings of faces he had seen. During the day Mikhail spent his time trimming and pruning the grounds. He was mostly alone in the park as the residents hardly used it during the weekdays and only occasionally at weekends, the children living in the nearby houses would come and play accompanied by their nannies.
One of the residents living across from the Pavilion Park was Igor Zaslavsky. On the morning of the 8th July, he had arranged for outside caters to set up the park for his daughter Alena’s eighteenth birthday party. Freshly cut purple roses and white calla lilies were placed on the tables laid by catering staff for a buffet menu along with wine and champagne glasses for the guests attending. Gold napkin rings held the white napkins with a monogram of Alena’s initials AZ. Under a large tent the grass was covered with carpets to allow for five tables to seat eight guests per table. A live band played throughout the evening. Waiters hired for the forty guests served the food. Everything matched the colour scheme of purple, white and gold from the plates, tablecloth, to the candles, chairs and lighting. Igor wished his daughter’s birthday party to be one she would never forget. Arrangements made for her was an extravagant affair with no expense spared. Mikhail was up at 6am in the morning that day to help the caterers set up.
"Papa, I didn't want all this, but I love it, thank you," said Alena kissing her father.
"My dear daughter, I want you to remember this birthday. I want to you to have this with my love,” said Igor. He tapped a gold spoon on a wine glass to get everyone’s attention and took out a gold envelope, handing it to Alena.
“What is it?” said Alena, feeling the outside of the envelope.
“Open it and you’ll see, my darling,” said Igor, as everyone on the table looked at her as she eagerly ripped open the envelope and pulled out a key.
“A key? What is it for? I know it can’t be for a car as I don’t have a licence.”
“No, my darling, open it and read out loud the message,” said Igor.
“You are the owner of a fashion boutique in Carnaby Street. Papa, Carnaby Street! Really?” said Alena, excited and throwing her arms around her father. She stood up from her table and said out aloud, “Now I have my very own fashion boutique, I hope you’ll all come and buy something.” The other guests in the tent cheered and clapped.
As Mikhail walked around helping out the guests, he observed Igor and his daughter Alena. He thought about his daughter Marina’s eighteenth birthday, making him all the more determined to get information for British intelligence so they would help find her.
As the band played a combination of western and classic Russian music, Alena danced with her birthday gift key around her wrist, tied with a purple ribbon. Her father sat at the top table talking business with a collection of associates. Mikhail watched each one, taking a mental note of what they looked like, how long they spent talking to Igor and each time he came near Igor’s table to clear away cutlery or serve drinks he would linger a little longer.
Alena’s birthday party ended at midnight. Most of the guests walked home as they lived in the surrounding houses to the Pavilion Park. The last to leave was Igor. As Mikhail was removing the tablecloths Igor tapped him on the shoulder.
“Jack, I’d like to thank you for helping the party go so smoothly. I am pleased with how Alena's birthday went,” said Igor with his bodyguard beside him.
“It’s my pleasure, sir,” said Mikhail keeping his head down, trying to avoid looking directly at Igor and saying as little as possible in the hope that Igor would not recognise him.
“Well, here is a little something for you,” said Igor taking out an envelope and handing it to Mikhail.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mikhail doing his best not to sound Russian. “I’ve asked my daughter Alena to come over and thank you herself, if she doesn’t she won’t get a twenty-first birthday party here.”
Mikhail smiled and nodded while still avoiding eye contact with Igor. He watched Igor as he walked away and left the park with his bodyguards. When he could no longer see them, Mikhail opened the envelope to find fifty pounds. It was this approach of Igor that Mikhail most admired, taking the time to thank and reward an ordinary man like himself directly.
Later that morning, Alena came to the park to thank Mikhail. Had he not known that she was Russian he would have never have guessed with her British accent.
When Alena arrived home from the park across the road, she went straight into her father’s study to tell him.
“Papa, I’ve done as you wished and thanked the park caretaker.” Igor did not hear her at first as he was talking on the phone.
Alena overheard him saying, “I want you to send someone around to value the paintings. I need to sell them quickly.”
When he had ended the call, Alena asked, “Papa, why are you selling our paintings?”
“I’ve held them long enough, so I’ve asked a Russian art expert to come and value them.”
“How many paintings are you selling, Papa?”
“Don’t worry, young lady, we have a lot. Why have you not gone to your shop yet?”
>
“I went to thank the caretaker first as you asked.”
“I’m glad you did as I asked. I want you always to be a humble person, Alena.”
“Yes, Papa. You’ve always taught me to be good to everyone I meet.”
“It’s because you never know who will be there to help you when you need it. Now go to your shop and make it a success.”
“I promise it will be successful, Papa, you’ll see. I’ve arranged to meet my best friend Carol at my boutique.”
“The workmen will finish the shop by the weekend so you can start when you want,” said Igor.
“I can't wait, Papa. I told you I’m not going to university. I want to work for myself.”
“If you make it a success of it you don’t need to go back. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve called your boutique ‘Alena’.”
“Mind! No, I love it, Papa. I have to go; Carol must be waiting there for me at the boutique.”
“Yes, you go. I’m proud of everything you do,” said Igor.
As Alena was ready to go out of her front door she came face to face with Fred Fredrick, a business associate of Igor. Rushing to the door, sweating and breathing heavily he said,
“Sorry, Alena my dear. I need to speak to your father immediately, where is he?”
“In his study, is anything wrong?” said Alena.
“Nothing he can’t help me with, my dear,” said Fred as he headed towards Igor's study. Alena went out of the door for her chauffeur to drive her to her new boutique.
“What are you doing here so early this morning, Fred?” asked Igor.
“Philip is dead. He was found on the railway station tracks early this morning.”
“Who told you?” asked Igor.
“His wife phoned me; they told her he jumped in front of a train.”
“How could this be? He was in good spirits last night at Alena’s party,” said Igor.
“I don’t know, but he was supposed to give us the property documents this morning from his Russian trip.”
“Did he have them with him when he died? We don’t want the police looking into our private business,” said Igor.
“I don't know. I’m going around to his wife after I leave you to find out,” said Fred.
“That’s good. I want you to do that for me,” said Igor.
“First Johnny out of the window and now poor Philip under a train.”
“Forget Johnny; he could not be trusted for other reasons,” said, Igor, as the doorbell rang.
“Are you expecting anyone else?” asked Fred.
“Yes, a new security officer, my butler will see him in.”
“So, what do we do now?” asked Fred.
“Nothing, you need to get away, Fred. Philip’s death must have been an accident,” said Igor.
A man came into the study and greeted Igor in Russian. He stood by the door looking at Fred without saying anything to him.
“You’re right, Igor. I need a little break,” said Fred.
“Why don’t you go away for a few days, Fred?” said Igor.
“Yes, I think I will."
"Can I get my assistant to book a ticket?" asked Igor.
“Thank you, but I’ll do it myself. Right now I need a drink.” Igor poured him gin; Frank gulped it down quickly.
“Now go home and clean up before you see Philip’s wife,” said Igor.
“You’re right. I’ve been talking stupid this morning. I’m off home.”
When Fred had left Igor’s visitor said, “This man Fred, he’s becoming spooked and drinks too much. Can we afford someone like this in our business?”
“You may be right. Fred needs help, take care of it for me, Sergei.”
“I will do my best to help him,” said Sergei, as he left Igor’s house.
Alena stood looking up at her shop front signage with her name ‘Alena’ and smiled widely before opening her boutique door with her key still on the purple ribbon from the night before at her party.
Inside the boutique, the colour scheme was white and purple. The shop was small but looked exclusive. A comfortable sofa was in the middle. At the back, there was a little office. Alena looked around at every area of the shop with her childhood friend Carol.
“How did your father know you would like this design, Alena?” asked Carol.
“Oh, I’ve been drawing him pictures of what I want for years.”
“And you’re so good at drawing and doing things with your hands,” replied Carol.
“Papa knows I want to be a fashion designer so this is the start. This shop is so me.”
“Yeah, you’re so lucky, Alena. I wish I had a father giving me a shop like this.”
“I am, but Papa will expect me to make money out of this, or he won’t let me be a designer.”
“When are you going to open?”
“There are a few more finishing touches for the workmen to do, like the changing room. The dresses are due to be delivered in a few days, and Papa has hired two assistants so it will be soon. By next weekend, we’ll have the grand opening party.”
“You don’t waste time do you, Alena?” said Carol.
“Why should I when Papa’s made everything easy for me.” Alena’s phone rang, she picked it up and immediately threw her phone into her handbag. Looking shocked she turned to Carol and said, “I’ve got to go home now. Something has happened."
Arriving home from the boutique, Alena ran to her front door and asked the butler, “Why did you call, what has happened?”
“Sorry, Miss Alena, there’s been an accident, that’s why I called you,” replied the butler.
“Where is Papa?” shouted Alena.
"I'm sorry to tell you, miss, but your father is dead," said the butler.
“Dead! What do you mean! What do you mean?” said Alena shouting, shaking and crying.
"He was waiting for somebody to come and assess the paintings and decided to go upstairs. I heard a loud noise. His security found him drowned in his Jacuzzi. It could have been a heart attack," said the butler.
"I want to see him now," said Alena running upstairs to her father's bedroom. She got to her father’s bathroom door ready to open it when one of Igor’s security guards stopped her.
"No, miss, don't go near. I called the ambulance and the police. He wouldn’t like you to see him the like this."
Alena stood at the door looking in as the paramedics came out of the bathroom with a sheet over her father's body and took him down the stairs and out of the front door.
Alena cried uncontrollably. "Oh, Papa, why you? Why now?" She took out her mobile phone to call her mother in Switzerland.
"He's gone! Papa's gone!" she screamed.
Mikhail, hearing sirens and seeing an ambulance parked across the road from the Pavilion Park at Igor’s house, went to see what was happening. He watched as the paramedics carried a body from across the street and into the ambulance just as a police car arrived. Alena came to the door looking pale with tears streaming down her face as a policeman and policewoman went in and closed the door.
Chapter 8
The autopsy established that Igor Zaslavsky had overdosed on sleeping tablets mixed with alcohol just before he got into his Jacuzzi. With a verdict of suicide recorded, his funeral was held quickly with his wife Anna, daughter Alena, his butler and one of his security guards attending the ceremony.
For a man who knew many influential people, with an impressive portfolio of business associates and friends, he wanted a simple funeral.
“I’m flying back to Switzerland tomorrow after the will is read,” said Anna.
“That’s right, Mother, go back to Switzerland and leave me all alone. That’s what you’re good at.”
“You never wanted to come and live with me; it’s always been all about your father,” replied Anna.
“Yes, and you know why you’ve never made Papa happy,” replied Alena.
“You know nothing about our marriage; we were happy before you came along.”
“So happy that he didn’t want to live with you. If you’d been here, he wouldn’t be dead now,” shouted Alena trying to hold back her tears.
“Don’t blame me for what your father did to himself.”
“I don’t believe Papa killed himself. He would never do that, he knew how much I loved him.”
“You think you know who your father was but you don’t,” said Anna.
“What do you mean by that? Papa was a very generous and good man. Everybody knew that,” said Alena.
“After the will is read there is no need for me to come back to this house,” said Anna.
“If that’s what you want it’s fine with me,” replied Alena.
At the reading of the will, Igor left everything he owned in England, his houses, business portfolio and all the money in his UK bank accounts to Alena and nothing to his wife, Anna. Shortly after the reading of the will, Anna left for Switzerland.
Weeks had gone by since Igor’s death. Mikhail still diligently recorded everything he saw in the surrounding houses. The only activity was at Igor’s home, the comings and goings of furniture, paintings, with many crates taken out of the house. Ron still had not contacted him, but Mikhail kept his side of the bargain to record everything he witnessed. He never once worried that Ron would not keep his promise to find his daughter Marina who was in Russia.
One Saturday afternoon as he raked leaves into a bag Alena walked into the park and sat on a bench crying. He watched her in two minds, wondering if he should go over and console her. He waited to see if she would stop crying but she didn’t so he went to speak to her.
“What is the matter, Miss Alena? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“There’s nothing anybody can do for me, Papa is dead, and I’ve nothing,” she said weeping.
“Just a few months ago you were here together, enjoying your birthday.”
“They say he committed suicide; I don’t believe it.”
“Did your father have any business worries?”
“I don’t know. But Papa was not the kind of the man to kill himself.”
“There are things fathers don’t want to tell their children, to not cause pain,” said Mikhail.
The Pavilion Man Page 5