‘Thank you, Yuri, that’s most considerate, as I’ll have two important speeches to work on.’
‘So do you want to hear the good news first, or the bad news?’
‘The good news,’ said Sasha, playing along.
‘Over fifty per cent of Russian women think you’re better-looking than George Clooney.’
Sasha laughed. ‘And the bad news?’
‘You’re not going to be pleased to learn who Yeltsin has appointed as his new prime minister.’
Book Six
45
Alex and Sasha
En route to Amsterdam, 1999
Alex picked up the phone on his desk.
‘There’s someone on the line called Dimitri,’ said Miss Robbins. ‘He says he’s an old friend, and that he wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t urgent.’
‘He goes back even further than you, Pamela, and is indeed an old friend. Put him through.’
‘Is that you, Alex?’
‘Dimitri, it’s good to hear from you after all this time. Are you calling from New York?’
‘No, Saint Petersburg. I thought you’d want to know the sad news that your Uncle Kolya has died.’ Alex was speechless. He felt guilty that he hadn’t been able to see his uncle when he’d last visited Saint Petersburg. ‘I would have called Elena, and not bothered you,’ continued Dimitri, ‘but I didn’t know how to get in touch with her at work.’
‘You can bother me whenever you want to, Dimitri. I’ll let my mother know, because she’ll want to go to the funeral. Do you know when it is?’
‘Next Friday, at the Church of the Apostle Andrew. I know it’s short notice, but if you were able to come, the family are hoping that you might deliver one of the tributes.’
‘It isn’t short notice for someone who saved my life,’ said Alex. ‘Tell them I’ll be honoured.’
‘The family will be so pleased. You’re a bit of a hero in this city, so be prepared for quite a homecoming.’
‘Thank you, Dimitri. I look forward to seeing you.’
Alex put the phone down and pressed the button under his desk. Miss Robbins appeared moments later, pad in hand, biro poised.
‘Clear the diary. I’m going to Saint Petersburg.’
‘It’s at times like this,’ said Charlie with an exaggerated sigh, ‘that I wish you had a private jet, so we didn’t have to bother with endless queues and hold-ups.’
‘Would you please open your bag, madam?’
‘Were you put through all this hassle when you were a minister, Dad?’ asked Natasha as she unzipped her bag.
‘No, but then it’s always in the back of your mind that you’ll only be in government for a limited period. Margaret Thatcher once said, only the Queen can afford to get used to it.’
‘But if you became president...’
‘Even that has a statutory limit of eight years,’ said Sasha as he retrieved his bag. ‘The Duma recently decreed that a president can only serve two consecutive four-year terms, and who can blame the Russians after suffering centuries of dictatorship. Besides, frankly, eight years is more than enough for any sane person.’
‘Grandma’s looking a bit down,’ whispered Natasha, as they strolled through duty-free. ‘I didn’t realize she’s never been on a plane before.’
Sasha turned round and his mother gave him a weak smile. ‘I don’t think that’s the real reason she’s so nervous,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget, she hasn’t been back to Russia for more than thirty years, and it was her brother who made it possible for us to escape and begin a new life in England.’
‘Do you sometimes wish you’d got into the other crate, Dad,’ asked Natasha, ‘and ended up living in America?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Sasha, placing an arm around her shoulders. ‘If that had happened, I wouldn’t have had you to brighten up my life. Although I have to admit, it has crossed my mind from time to time.’
‘You might have been a congressman by now. Even a senator.’
‘Or perhaps my life would have gone in a totally different direction and I wouldn’t even have been involved in politics. Who knows?’
‘You might have ended up with that private jet Mum so yearns for.’
‘I’m not complaining,’ said Charlie, linking her arm in Sasha’s. ‘By selecting that crate he also changed my whole life.’
‘Will all passengers travelling on BA flight 017 to Amsterdam, please make their way to gate number fourteen, where boarding is about to commence.’
Anna looked out of the little cabin window to see Alex striding across the tarmac, the inevitable phone nestled on his shoulder as if it were a third arm.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said as he entered the cabin. ‘I sometimes wish the cell phone had never been invented.’
‘But not that often,’ said Anna as he took his seat next to her. No sooner had he fastened his seat belt than the heavy door was closed and a few moments later the plane began to taxi towards the south runway, exclusively reserved for private aircraft.
‘Your mother’s hardly spoken since she got on the plane,’ whispered Anna.
Alex looked back to see Elena sitting next to Konstantin, who was holding her hand. She gave him a weak smile as the Gulf-stream jet began to accelerate down the runway.
‘Don’t forget my uncle was her only sibling, and she would have gone back to see him a long time ago if it hadn’t been for the thought of Major Polyakov standing on the tarmac waiting to welcome her.’
‘But she must be excited about returning to Russia after so many years?’
‘And apprehensive at the same time, I expect. She’s probably torn between fear and excitement, a toxic combination.’
‘How different your life would have been if Polyakov had gone to the football match that afternoon,’ said Anna, ‘and you’d decided to stay in Saint Petersburg.’
‘All of us can point to a moment in our lives when something happens that causes us to go in a totally different direction. It can be as simple as that time you stepped onto a train and decided to sit next to me.’
‘Actually, it was you who stepped onto the train and decided to sit next to me,’ said Anna as the plane took off.
‘Or choosing which crate to get into,’ said Alex. ‘I often wonder—’
‘Dad, where will we stop to refuel?’ asked Konstantin.
Alex looked over his shoulder and said to his son, ‘Amsterdam. We’ll have a short break there before flying on to Saint Petersburg.’
‘How long will we be in Amsterdam?’ asked Natasha as they strolled into the transit lounge.
‘A couple of hours before we have to make the connection with our Aeroflot flight.’
‘Will there be enough time for us to take a taxi to the Rijksmuseum?’ asked Charlie. ‘I’ve always wanted to see The Night Watch.’
‘I’d rather not risk it,’ said Sasha. ‘The mayor of Saint Petersburg told me he’s expecting a large turnout at the airport, and if we were to miss the plane...’
‘Of course,’ said Charlie, once again reminded just how nervous her husband was. ‘In any case, I can always visit the Hermitage while you’re electioneering, and we can do the Rijks another time.’