br /> ‘That would be nice. I’ll email you in the week to make a plan.’
‘When are you back?’
‘Monday.’
‘Great,’ said Ginny seeming reassured. ‘I’m proud of you, you know that.’
Abby nodded, not feeling especially proud of herself.
Abby sat in the back of the taxi watching the streets of west London slip by and asking herself what the hell she was doing. It had all happened so quickly, and at the time it had seemed to make perfect sense.
No sooner had they left Clive Desmond’s home the previous Sunday than Elliot had made an action plan. Abby was to speak to as many of Dominic’s friends as a) were alive, b) she could track down, c) were willing to speak to her. Elliot meanwhile was going to look into the more specific allegation of his involvement in espionage.
By Tuesday she had only managed to contact three of Dominic’s associates, and that was with the assistance of Andrew Shah. Elliot, meanwhile, had not only tracked down a former employee of Soveyemka newspaper, but had arranged a meeting with a KGB colonel. By Wednesday he had flown to St Petersburg; within another twelve hours he had arranged for Abby to fly out to meet him, calling her and telling her the plan in so casual a way that he had made it sound as if they were going to the British Library for the afternoon.
Despite her anxiety, Abby slept for most of the three-and-a-half-hour flight to Pulkovo airport, landing late in the afternoon. Elliot was waiting for her at arrivals, and she almost sighed with relief to see him.
‘Remind me what I’m doing here again?’ she asked him as he brushed his lips across her cheek to greet her.
‘Working,’ he smiled, taking her case and leading her to a waiting chauffeured vehicle – a black giant of a car that looked as if it was used to ferry dignitaries around.
He refused to tell her much on the short journey into the city centre, and his semi-paranoid silence made her feel like a spy herself, putting her on edge.
When the skyline of St Petersburg came into view, however, she felt a flutter of energy that was pure excitement rather than nerves. Her gaze trailed the rooftops. The turrets and domes were more beautiful than anything she had ever seen, like something out of a pop-up fairy-tale book.
‘Have you been to St Petersburg before?’
She shook her head.
‘There’s a lot of water,’ she said, thinking it looked like a cross between Venice and Amsterdam, even though she hadn’t been to either place. She smiled to herself at how you could pick so much up from movies.
‘It’s coastal for a start,’ said Elliot. ‘The Gulf of Finland is over there. As well as that, the city is built on about a hundred islands. There are fewer than that today, because some have been linked by bridges, but most of them have got their own individual personalities. Kammeny used to be the island for the ruling elite, so it’s full of run-down dachas, the great mansions they built for themselves. Aptekarsky is home to the botanical gardens, Petrogradsky has the universities. In fact the city was called Petrograd for a little while before it was changed to Leningrad after Lenin’s death. Some of the islands even have drawbridges that come up at night. We should watch for that if we go exploring.’
The car pulled to a stop.
‘And this is where we’re staying,’ he said, as Abby looked up at the grand white baroque facade in front of her.
‘Wow,’ she whistled through her teeth.
Inside, the hotel had the quiet grandeur of somewhere very expensive. The atrium was a high, vaulted space with a chandelier the size of a small car, twinkling golden light around the reception. Abby checked in – this instantly reassured her that she and Elliot were not sharing a room, a thought that had crossed her mind on the flight over – and they took the lift to the fourth floor.
She pushed her key card into the lock of room 406 and gasped when she peered inside.
It was a suite, definitely a suite, she thought, clocking the small separate sitting room. She went into the bedroom, where there was a four-poster bed and double doors that opened to a balcony with views across the city. A silvery thoroughfare headed to the north, busy with traffic. Either side of the road she could see gorgeous medieval buildings, the Arabic influence evident in the pillars and carvings.
She heard the door of the suite close behind her, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Elliot standing in the doorway of the bedroom.
‘This is amazing,’ she laughed, trying to dissipate her awkwardness. ‘It’s like a palace. I’m amazed the Chronicle let you put this through on expenses. Things are obviously better than they are at the RCI.’
‘Back in the glory days I could have stayed somewhere like this,’ said Elliot. ‘Nowadays we’d be lucky to be in the local Travelodge, so I thought I’d sub the trip before I put you off journalism completely.’
She kicked off her shoes and almost moaned as her feet sank into the carpet, then scooped up a fluffy robe and held it to her face; it was as soft as cashmere. ‘Can we live here?’ she grinned. ‘I love it.’
He smiled as if he was enjoying watching her.
‘I’m not sure even my dad’s expense account stretches to that. Besides which, we’re here to work, remember?’
She felt a knot of disappointment and the intimate mood seemed to shatter.