“Francine Matheson,” she said, taking his hand briefly. She was relieved to see no flash of recognition in his eyes. There would be none of the expressions of sympathy that she was still unable to take calmly. No questions about her former life, her election defeat, or what she was planning to do next. At least, it didn’t look as though there would. And if this man did know who she was, he was obviously a very good actor. For the moment, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt; although she knew she’d remain on her guard; a trick she’d learned through long experience.
CHAPTER 3
For the next few days, they continued their early morning meetings. On the seventh day, Anton took the lounger next to hers. And on the ninth day, she agreed to have dinner with him. “After all, it’s Christmas Eve,” he said, “and even someone who likes their solitude as much as you seem to can’t possibly want to be alone at Christmas, now can you?”
He’d told her he was from St Petersburg, a self-made businessman, running a pharmaceutical factory. They supplied drugs right across Russia and to other parts of the former Soviet Union. He was hoping to get licences to supply to Western Europe as well. Especially to France. He admitted he’d long been obsessed with France and all things French. Well, obsessed wasn’t the word he’d used, but that was how she interpreted it. He told her all about growing up in Russia, learning French from an early age, and completing his education in his early twenties with an MBA from the Sorbonne before returning home to set up Petrovpharm just as the Soviet Union was breaking apart. He lived with his mother and sister, who were here in Martinique with him, but neither of whom were swimmers. “And if you come to dinner, you can meet them,” he’d said.
She, on the other hand, had told him very little about herself. But all that was about to change. As soon as she met Anton’s mother, she knew she had found a friend. Mama Dimitriov was an absolute darling. Tiny, wrinkled, and always dressed in black, even in the heat of the Caribbean, she seemed genuinely pleased to meet Francine and told her privately she was happy that her Anton had ‘met someone’. Francine knew he’d been married once, many years ago and it was obvious Mama D didn’t approve of his wife. She seemed delighted that the marriage turned out to be short-lived. When Francine, concerned that Mama D had got the wrong impression, mentioned this conversation to Anton at the pool the next morning, he threw back his head and laughed.
“I wouldn’t worry, Francine,” he said, “she’s a serial matchmaker. She’s always trying to marry me off to some poor woman. Just ignore her.”
Lydia was quite a bit younger than her brother; Francine found her nature to be sweet and loving. She had Down syndrome and Anton told her it was quite rare in Russia for someone like her to be living at home.
“Many families put such children into homes and leave them to rot,” he said. “But my parents refused to do that and cared for her at home. After my father died, I set up home with the two of them, and we’ve been together as a trio ever since.”
Over dinner with the three Russians in a small, rooftop restaurant in the back streets of Fort-de-France, Francine began, slowly, haltingly to talk. And once she started, she was unable to stop. She told them about her early childhood, growing up in Liverpool with an unmarried mother, an absent father and a hippie lifestyle she found increasingly embarrassing as time went on. She told them about her astonishment and delight when her mother met and fell in love with a complete opposite—“well, opposites are said to attract,” said Mama D—a soldier, a member of the Commandos no less. She told him about the pain, and pleasure, of being transported to Devon, where her accent was mocked by her new schoolmates, but where she soon gained their respect due to her braininess. She told them about leaving school, moving to London and taking a degree in International Relations at the School of African and Oriental Studies before beginning her training as a lawyer. She told them about the car accident in her final year that almost killed her, preventing her from taking her final exams, and changing her life forever, not least by leaving her with a slight limp she was able to disguise most of the time, but which was more pronounced when she was tired.
At midnight, they followed the crowds of locals to St Louis Cathedral for the Christmas Mass. She had been brought up a Catholic but had stopped practising many years ago. They were Russian Orthodox, attending church on feast days several times a year; but happy to attend a Catholic service. They sang carols with tunes that were familiar the world over. They watched as the plaster Christ child was laid in the manger. Afterwards, they took a taxi back to Les Trois-Îlets and while Mama D and Lydia headed off to bed, Francine and Anton sat on the hotel terrace overlooking the sea. And still she talked.
She told him about entering politics, at first at a local level, but quite soon afterwards, in the national arena. About entering parliament and her early days as a quiet backbencher, happy to learn from more experienced colleagues. About being appointed to a role in the Department for International Development and rising steadily to the job of Parliamentary Under-Secretary. She talked about the trip to Africa, back in the early days, which threatened, later on, to derail her whole career. She told him about her good friends Suzanne and Charlie Jones, known from her teenage years, lost, then found once more, and the problem they had with Michael Hawkins. A problem as yet unresolved and which she knew still exercised all their minds from time to time.
And finally, haltingly, she told him about meeting Richard, a young student, while in law school. About falling in love with him, marrying him as soon as she was able to walk down the aisle after recovering from her car accident. About the rough patch they’d gone through a few years later, culminating in her ill-fated trip to Africa. How they’d managed to get past that phase and how their marriage grew stronger as their careers developed, she in Westminster and him as legal counsel to some very high-profile organisations. This despite the fact they were able, ironically, to spend less and less time together. And she told him about the phone call that night back in May, which ripped her life to pieces and made the whole issue of a failed election and a lost parliamentary seat seem trivial in the extreme.
By the time she finished, tears were streaming down her face. Anton gripped her hand and squeezed it gently; and they sat in silence, watching the night sky. And a few minutes later, they both gasped as a shooting star flashed across the horizon, from one side of their vision to the other, its tail glowing brightly but briefly before blinking out and leaving just an afterburn on their eyes. Francine said nothing; there was nothing more to say. But for the first time in seven months, she felt the gloom lift, just fractionally.
Francine spent every day with the Dimitriov family from then on; swimming in the pool with Anton each morning before breakfasting on the terrace; lying companionably in the shade as the sun rose, chatting or reading; before they joined his mother and sister, lunching in tiny cafés or picnicking on clifftop walks; sightseeing in the late afternoons as the heat of the day started to dissipate; and dining in the hotel or in quiet secluded restaurants. They saw the New Year in together; slipping away from the noisy crowd at the hotel party to share a quiet moment on the beach. On 5th January, they celebrated Orthodox Christmas, exchanging small but carefully chosen gifts at midnight: they presented her with a bracelet of shark’s teeth, while her gift to them was a framed copy of Desiderata, translated into French and illustrated by a local artist to look like a medieval manuscript. And each night, Anton walked her back to her room, kissed her hand or her cheek and bade her “good night and sleep well.”
As their time together drew to a close, Francine and Mama D sat together one afternoon on the terrace overlooking the sea.
“Francine,” the older woman said, taking hold of her hand, “you don’t really want to go home, do you?” She held up her hand as Francine opened her mouth to respond. “Hush, there’s no need to say anything. And tell me to mind my own business if you like. But I’ve watched you relax bit by bit, here where you are anonymous. I think you’re happier a
way from London, aren’t you?”
Francine stared at her with unshed tears glistening in her eyes, and for a long time, they said nothing. Then Mama D went on.
“We would love to stay here longer with you. But we have to go home. Anton’s factory needs him; his workers rely on him. Lydia and I lead very busy lives even though we don’t work. And I know you must go home at some point to England. But I’m going to make a suggestion. We’ve all enjoyed this past couple of weeks and we’ve become fond of you. Why don’t you come out to visit us? Out in St Petersburg? You can stay with us as long as you like, there’s plenty of room at the apartment; and no-one will know who you are.” She paused then said, “Or you could stay in an hotel if you’d feel more comfortable. Anton has a friend who manages the Grand Hotel Europe; I’m sure he would give you a good room at an excellent rate, as a favour to us.” Once more, Francine opened her mouth to speak, but Mama D put her finger gently against her lips to silence her. “You don’t have to decide anything now. But just know that the offer’s there if you need it.”
Francine stood up and pulled Mama D to her feet, enveloping her in a warm embrace.
“Mama D, you are wonderful. I’ve loved spending time with you all. And you are right; it’s still too soon for me to get on with my life in the UK. I will certainly come and visit you in Russia. I’ve spent a lot of time in Africa and the Middle East, but your part of the world is still a mystery to me. I’d enjoy seeing all the famous sights of St Petersburg and other parts of the country, too. I just need to go back to London first to sort a few things out; I will ring you when I have an idea of dates.”
The Dimitriovs left for Russia the following evening. Francine had another week in Martinique before she too flew home. Her first task the following day was to make enquiries about Russian visas. And three weeks later, with her homes in Devon and London closed up and secure, and her affairs in order, she boarded a plane from Gatwick, with an open return ticket for Pulkovo Airport in St Petersburg.
CHAPTER 4: MAY 2011
They had been to the Mariinsky Theatre to see The Nutcracker, one of Francine’s all-time favourites. Now they were at the Grand Hotel Europe for a late supper. Lydia loved caviar and the wonderful little bar there specialised in it. As they were deciding what to order, someone walked over to their table and stopped just behind Francine’s chair. She saw Lydia, who was sitting opposite her, look up from her menu and give a gasp, putting her hand to her mouth. Francine turned and realised what had startled her.
The newcomer was short, just five feet five or six and stockily built. In fact, he was just on the right side of being overweight. But it was his face that was so striking. His dark hair, tinged faintly with silver, was swept back from the widow’s peak on his high forehead. His chin was clean-shaven, but he wore a thick walrus moustache. His eyes were dark and piercing; his look sent a shiver down Francine’s spine. It was as though the portraits and statues still residing in secret corners of this massive country had just come to life. They were in the presence of someone who looked so much like Stalin, it was uncanny.
“Anton, my dear friend, how wonderful to see you.” Francine felt Anton stiffen at the man’s words. But, somehow, she didn’t think Anton was surprised to hear them. Upset maybe, angry even, but certainly not surprised. He stood up and cleared his throat.
“Mama, ladies, I would like you to meet a business associate of mine, Boris Paulovic Lechkov.”
Mama D was the first to recover. She held out her hand graciously.
“Boris Paulovic, it’s a pleasure to meet you. We’re just about to order supper. Won’t you join us?” She waved to one of the waiters who rushed over and provided an extra chair and table setting. “It’s always nice to meet my Anton’s business associates. It helps me feel more closely connected to what he does all day while I sit at home in the apartment.”
Francine realised Mama D was play-acting. She and Lydia had such a busy social life, the one thing they rarely did was sit at home in the apartment. But she held her tongue.
Boris smiled at all of them. It felt to Francine a little as if a snake was eying them up, trying to decide which one to bite first.
“Oh, we’re much more than business associates, Mrs Dimitriov. We’re old friends. Your son and I go back a long, long way. Isn’t that right, Anatoly Vladimirovich?”
But Anton just smiled frostily and didn’t say anything. Whatever the relationship between these two men, Francine got the distinct impression they were not friends.
That was the most chilling evening she’d experienced for a long time and certainly since she’d arrived in Russia. Mama D kept the conversation flowing, asking Boris all the questions one uses to get to know a new acquaintance: about his family, his profession, his current marital status. Francine tried to help her, for the sake of politeness, as much as anything. After a life in politics, she was used to making small talk with people she would not normally give the time of day to. Anton said very little, and poor Lydia looked positively terrified. Francine suspected she thought they were in the presence of the ghost of Uncle Joe.
But it was Boris’s behaviour that interested Francine most. And it was chilling to watch. He was completely relaxed, seemed totally unaware of the atmosphere around the table and responded to all Mama D’s questions quite politely. Yet, Francine got the distinct impression he was only telling them part of his story, if indeed any of it was true. When they parted an hour or so later, she felt she knew as little about Mr Boris Paulovic Lechkov as she had when he first arrived at the table.
Mama D said very little in the car on the way home, and Anton even less. Lydia slipped her hand into Francine’s, as they sat in the back of the Mercedes, and whispered, “what a horrible man! I hope we never see him again.”
But her wish was not going to be fulfilled. Despite Anton’s obvious disquiet in his company, Boris started appearing all over the place. Whenever she went anywhere with Anton, or when Mama D and Lydia joined them, there he’d be. He never came to the apartment, but they bumped into him at the theatre, in restaurants and in the street. It was almost as though he knew their every move and wanted to let them know he did.
Francine tried asking Anton about Boris. Every time, he just insisted he was an old friend from years ago. And then he would clam up or change the subject. But Francine was convinced, whatever Anton and Boris had between them, it certainly wasn’t friendship.
It was around the same time that Anton started being much more secretive about the company and the business. He stopped asking Francine to go into meetings with him. And then he disappeared for a few days, without telling any of them in advance. The three women had been out for a stroll along Nevsky Prospekt and when they returned, there was a message on the table saying he had to go on an unexpected business trip and would be away overnight. No explanation, nothing. But Francine checked, and he’d taken his passport with him. In fact, he was away for three nights in total. Mama D was very worried, and Lydia was distraught. Then on the fourth day, he walked into the apartment around five in the afternoon, as though he’d just been to the office for the day. He wouldn’t tell any of them where he’d been, or with whom. Francine was convinced there was something very wrong—and what’s more, she was sure Boris was at the bottom of it all.
CHAPTER 5
Francine Matheson walked into Sanjay’s one Saturday evening in July as the sisters were having one last curry—the only ‘hen do’ Suzanne would even consider—and told them she was back for a couple of weeks.
The Jones sisters hadn’t known if their old friend would turn up. Ever since she lost her husband the previous May, Francine had been unavailable, having gone into hiding right after the funeral. Politely but firmly, she’d refused all attempts by her friends to arrange a get-together. She’d spent several months holed up in Devon. Emails had gone unanswered and phone calls were never picked up or returned. Francine had disappeared off the grid.
In December, they received a brief note in a Chris
tmas card. Sorry for the silence. I’m sure you understand. Can’t spend the holiday here. Gone to the sun. Will be in touch when I return. I promise. Fx. But that was a promise she hadn’t kept until now.
“I’ve some things to sort out in Dolphin Square,” she said, “before it goes on the market next month. And you didn’t think I’d miss the wedding of the year, did you, Suzanne?”
“Well, I’m delighted to see you, Francine,” said Suzanne, “we both are.” She paused, then went on. “But I do hope you aren’t disappointed. It’s going to be a small affair on Saturday.”
Charlie had grinned affectionately at her sister.
“You won’t be surprised to hear, Francine, that my sister has everything set out on a spreadsheet and organised to the nth degree,” she joked. “I even think she’s had the weather arranged specifically for next Saturday.”
“Well, I like to keep control of things,” Suzanne protested, before swatting her two companions on their arms as they dissolved into laughter.
The three women spent a joyous evening reliving times past, both from when they were all at school together, and more recently via projects in Africa and Latin America. Francine was vivacious and much more like her old self. But there were shadows under her eyes Charlie hadn’t seen before; and a look which seemed to be bordering on panic at times. She wasn’t surprised when Francine took her to one side as they were leaving the curry house and whispered urgently,
“Charlie, can we meet for coffee one day before I go back? I don’t want to bother Suzanne when she’s got so much on her plate, but I really need your professional advice.”
They agreed to meet on the Tuesday after the wedding once Suzanne and Steve had left for their honeymoon. Francine gave no hint of what she wanted to talk about, but Charlie was fairly certain their friend was very worried indeed.
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