Hot Siberian (57 page)

Authors: Gerald A. Browne

BOOK: Hot Siberian

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CHAPTER

TWO WEEKS PASSED BEFORE NIKOLAI LEARNED ABOUT SAVICH'S
death. He happened to come across a small item deep inside the section of the
Times
that Vivian usually disregarded. The item said, in effect, that according to an official bulletin from Tass, Minister of Foreign Affairs Grigori Savich had died recently of natural causes. It didn't say exactly when or where or give any further details, merely said that he'd died.

The news deeply saddened Nikolai. And Vivian as well. She tried her best to be metaphysical about it, but she was unavoidably heavyhearted. Nikolai vowed that someday, if circumstances ever permitted him to return to Russia for a visit, he'd seek out where Savich was buried and pay his respects. He'd remember how much Savich appreciated fine things, take along some delicacies and an excellent wine and set table on Savich's grave slab. It occurred to Nikolai that now he might also have Savich hovering around giving advice and encouragement. He'd welcome it, of course, he thought, but with Grandfather Maksim and Irina and now Savich, wasn't it getting a bit crowded?

Nikolai assumed that before Savich died he must have spoken to Churcher and made the concessions needed to deliver him from the System's bad graces. A few days ago a letter had arrived from Churcher. Not a typical, stodgy piece of Churcher correspondence, rather a brief informal one in Churcher's own hand, saying how much over the years he'd found it pleasant doing business with Nikolai and that if ever Nikolai was in London with an hour or so to spare by all means to pop by. The postscript, Nikolai believed, was the letter's real purpose. In it Churcher inquired as to Nikolai's future professional plans.

Lev remained a puzzle. Nikolai tried various explanations for Lev's behavior but none were acceptable. That Lev had come there was not in itself remarkable. But that he'd shown up in exactly the nick of time was incredible. And that he'd known enough to kill the woman and then had walked away without a word was absolutely confounding. Nikolai hoped he'd be hearing from Lev soon, so he could get all this straight. Grandfather Maksim had something to say regarding that. He told Nikolai there were things better left unknown.

That year's summer was now peaking and Devon was at its most beautiful. Nikolai and Vivian awoke one morning, and after they had done rigorous facial exercises and laughed at each other, Nikolai told her he thought it would be a good idea if they became spouses.

Within the week they were married. The ceremony was performed by the vicar of St. James's Anglican Church in Pennyworth. Outdoors, beneath a sycamore close by the church cemetery, which was what Vivian wanted. She thought it nice to have all those old tombstones and, quite possibly, spirits in attendance. After reciting the traditional vows, including the for-richer-and-for-poorer one, Vivian pledged aloud to make a very earnest effort to live within Nikolai's meansâwhatever they might be. Archer gave the bride away. His Tessa was maid of honor. Tessa was not quite as beautiful as Archer had made her out to be, but she was surely a charmer. Vivian threw the bridal nosegay right at her.

Following the ceremony they went to Archer's to celebrate. Vintage Roderer Cristal and an elaborate cake that the four of them wouldn't be able to eat in ten years.

“Time for gifts!” Archer announced.

Two of his servants carried in a large carton. Vivian did the opening. She was very excited. The carton contained a
bureau de dame
, a makeup table.

“It's Hepplewhite,” Archer said. “Genuine, dated 1753.”

“It looks older,” Vivian said dubiously. She placed her hand on a corner of the table to get more familiar with it. That caused it to shake on its thin, inadequate legs. It had numerous tiny drawers, hardly large enough to contain a single lipstick. Vivian tried a few. Most of them stuck. The knobs came off some.

“Certainly an ugly little piece,” Vivian remarked.

“Isn't it, though?” Archer said.

“It's not me at all.”

“I thought it would be better than getting you a lot of little
tchotchkes
.”

“That was sweet of you, Archie. But hell, I'll never put this thing to use, and I certainly won't want it standing around where I have to see it. I suggest you take it back.”

“I can't. It was a final sale.”

“Where did you purchase it?”

“A place on New Bond. They let me have it for a mere fifty thousand. They won't take it back â¦ and neither will I.”

“Oh, Archie. I don't know what we're ever going to do with you.” A capitulating sigh from Vivian. “I suppose we'll just have to take the bloody thing home, but don't expect to see it there when you come to call.”

“Righto!”

Vivian and Archer beamed fondly at one another. Vivian knew Archer would have liked to have given them a fat check. And they could surely use the money. But he didn't want to cause embarrassment. This was his way of getting around that. It was like old times.

“Now in order, a gift for the groom!” Archer exclaimed.

That was the cue for a servant to bring in another carton, this one smaller.

Nikolai opened it. Wrapped like a mummy in strips of cotton cloth was a carved gray chalcedony kitten with demantoid eyes. And a tiny desk clock of strawberry red guillochÃ© enamel. And a carved stone figure of a soldier of the Imperial Escort. They were all there, all seventeen, Grandfather Maksim's entire legacy of FabergÃ© objects. They were the last thing Nikolai expected would ever again be his. He was stunned.

“I obtained them from a friend,” Archer said.

“From that old fellow on Bruton Street? He was such an avid collector I would have thought he'd never part with them.”

“Beckhurst was one of my mother's retainers, used to be her chauffeur,” Archer explained. “He was quite convincing as a wealthy old fart, don't you think?”

Nikolai thanked Archer with a good, tight hug. He was tempted to show in a Russian way how fond he was of him by kissing him on the mouth. But he reminded himself that he was now in the West.

That day, Nikolai thought, was the happiest day of his life. Actually, he had another very happy day soon coming. The London solicitors Atkins & Pomeroy were at that very moment getting ready to notify him. They had to their satisfaction confirmed the death of their client Grigori Savich, and now would execute his wishes. Which were that the funds held in U.S. dollars in account number 13-6389 at the Foreign Commerce Bank, Bellariastrasse 82, Zurich, Switzerland 8038, be made available without condition to his son, Nikolai Petrovich (Grigorievich) Borodin. The solicitors had no idea how much money was being bequeathed. Nikolai would not realize how much it was until two months later, when, needing some capital to get into a business deal along with Archer, he went to make a withdrawal.

Three hundred and seventy-four million dollars.

Acknowledgments

The author wishes to acknowledge those friends and informants who, in one way or another, helped bring this story about. Especially:

Nadya Demisov, Tamara Ustinov, Aleksei

Voynovich, Vadim Federovska, Joy Burkett,

Joan Tompkins, Reta Alley, Sterling Lord,

Alan Williams, Dr. Marvin Belsky, Dr. Richard

Coburn, Dr. Ruth Ochroch, Cowboy and Jill,

Jeff and Viv Wattenberg, Marcie Egan, Chris

Watkins, Harold Blits, Sheldon Rosenfeld,

Inessa in Leningrad and Natalya in Moscow.

About the Author

Gerald A. Browne is the
New York Times
âbestselling author of ten novels including
11 Harrowhouse, 19 Purchase Street
, and
Stone 588
. His books have been translated into more than twenty languages, and several have been made into films. He attended the University of Mexico, Columbia University, and the Sorbonne, and has worked as a fashion photographer, an advertising executive, and a screenwriter. He lives in Southern California.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Jason Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-4532-2089-4

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com