‘That may take a bit of getting used to, sir,’ said Sasha, as his host closed the study door and ushered him to a seat by the fire.
‘I’m glad to be able to have a moment alone with you, Sasha, because I need to seek your advice.’
‘I hope it’s nothing to do with antiques, sir, because I’ve only recently learnt how old a piece has to be before it can even be described as an antique.’
‘No, it doesn’t concern an antique, but a client of mine who may be in possession of what we in the trade call a once-in-a-lifetime discovery.’ Sasha was intrigued, but said nothing. ‘I recently had a visit from a Russian countess, who offered to sell me a family heirloom that, if it’s genuine, would set the antique world alight.’ Mr Dangerfield rose from his chair, crossed the room and bent down in front of a large safe. He turned the dial first one way, and then the other, before he pulled open its heavy door, reached inside and extracted a red velvet box that he placed on the table between them. ‘Open it, Sasha. Because I can assure you, you won’t need any knowledge of antiques to realize you’re in the presence of genius.’
Sasha tentatively flicked up the clasp and opened the box to reveal a large golden egg encrusted with diamonds and pearls. His mouth fell open, but no words followed.
‘And that’s only the wrapping,’ said Mr Dangerfield. He leant forward and split the egg open to reveal an exquisite jade palace, surrounded by a moat of blue diamonds.
‘Wow,’ Sasha managed.
‘I agree. But is it, as the countess claims, an original Fabergé, or a brilliant copy?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Sasha.
‘I didn’t think you would. But after meeting her, you might be able to tell me if the countess is an original or a fake.’
‘The Anastasia problem,’ said Sasha.
‘In one. I’ve already visited the British Museum, the V & A, and the Soviet Embassy, and there’s no doubt that the original egg was owned by a Count Molenski. But is the countess really his daughter, or just an accomplished actress trying to palm me off with a copy?’
‘I can’t wait to meet her,’ said Sasha, unable to take his eyes off the egg.
‘And even if she convinces you she’s the real thing,’ said Dangerfield, ‘why would she have chosen me, a small trader from Guildford, when she could have gone to any number of leading specialists in the West End?’
‘I presume you’ve already asked her that question, sir.’
‘I did, and she told me that the London dealers were not to be trusted, and she feared they’d form a cartel to act against her.’
‘I’m not sure I understand what she’s suggesting,’ said Sasha.
‘A cartel is when a small group of traders join together at an auction with the sole purpose of keeping the price of a valuable object down so one of them can purchase it for less than its real value. They then re-sell the piece for a handsome profit, and split the proceeds between them. It’s sometimes referred to as a concert party.’
‘But surely that’s against the law?’
‘It most certainly is. But such cases rarely end up in the courts, because if there aren’t any witnesses, it’s almost impossible to prove.’
‘If this is the original,’ said Sasha, his eyes returning to the egg, ‘are you able to put a value on it?’
‘The last Fabergé egg to come on the market was auctioned at Sotheby Parke Bernet in New York, and the hammer price was just over a million dollars. And that was a decade ago.’
‘And if it’s a fake?’
‘Then she’ll be lucky to get more than a couple of thousand pounds for it, possibly three.’
‘When do I get to meet her?’
‘She’s joining us for tea tomorrow afternoon.’ Mr Dangerfield looked at the egg once again. ‘If she’s the real thing, the time may have come for me to do something quite out of character.’
‘And what might that be, sir?’
‘Take a risk,’ said Mr Dangerfield.
Ben spent his weekend pinning VOTE KARPENKO posters on all twenty-nine college noticeboards, and even on the occasional fence along the way, despite being aware that Sasha’s opponents could legally tear down any fly postings.
As he moved from college to college, he grew more confident that Sasha was going to win, because whenever anyone stopped to chat, they either gave him a thumbs up, or assured him that they would be supporting his candidate this time. No one raised the subject of Fiona’s false accusations at the last election, and one or two admitted they now regretted not voting for Sasha the last time around. Just two of you would have been enough, Ben wanted to remind them.
He reluctantly had to admit, to everyone except Sasha, that Fiona had turned out to be a rather good Union president. Thanks to her father’s connections in the House of Commons, the list of guest speakers had been impressive, and her firm chairing of the committee, coupled with some innovative ideas, had been acknowledged by friend and foe alike.
Although she and Sasha rarely spoke, Fiona had recently suggested to Ben that the three of them should have dinner, and let bygones be bygones.
‘An olive branch?’ suggested Ben.
‘More like a fig leaf,’ said Sasha. ‘So you can tell her not until I’m sitting in the president’s chair.’
21
Alex
Vietnam, 1972
‘What do you plan to do when you get back home?’ asked Lieutenant Lowell as he and Alex sat in a dugout and shared what passed as lunch.
‘Complete my economics degree at NYU, and then build an empire to rival Rockefeller’s.’
‘My godfather,’ said Lowell matter-of-factly. ‘I think you’d like him, and I know he’d like you.’
‘Do you work for the great man?’ asked Alex.
‘No, I’m chairman of a small bank in Boston that bears my family name. But to be honest, I’m chairman only in name. I prefer to concentrate on my first love, politics.’
‘Do you want to be president one day?’ asked Alex.
‘No thanks,’ said Lowell. ‘I’m not as ambitious as you, corporal, and I’m well aware of my limitations. But when I get back to Boston I plan to run for Congress, and possibly one day for the Senate.’
‘Like your grandfather?’ Lowell was taken by surprise and certainly wasn’t prepared for Alex’s next question. ‘Why didn’t you try to defer? You must have all the right connections to make sure you didn’t end up in this hellhole.’
‘True, but my other grandfather was a general, and he convinced me a spell in Vietnam wouldn’t do my political career any harm, especially as most of my rivals will have made sure they avoided the draft. But you’re right, every other member of my year at Harvard found some excuse not to be called up.’
Alex dug the last bean out of the bottom of the can, and devoured it slowly, as if it was one of his mother’s most delicious morsels.
‘Well, I guess it’s time to go in search of the enemy,’ said Lowell.
‘Some hope,’ said Alex.
On Wednesday evenings, while the rest of the unit went off to Lilly’s, Alex could be found in the canteen, his only companion a book. He had already exhausted Tolstoy, Dickens and Dumas in their own languages, and had recently turned his attention to Hemingway, Bellow and Cheever.
Addie wrote every week, and Alex hadn’t realized just how much he would miss her. He would have proposed, but not in a letter. However, once he was back...
Big Sam kept pressing him to join the boys on the brothel bus, but Alex continued to resist, even showing the Tank a photo of Addie.
‘You wouldn’t have to tell her,’ said Sam, with a huge grin.
‘But I would have to tell her,’ said Alex, as Presley crooned away on the canteen jukebox: You were always on my mind.