The Lost Symphony, page 38
‘You obviously didn’t invite me here at this hour for a champagne breakfast, Katerina.’
‘Of course not. What I’m about to tell you is in strictest confidence, although I expect it will soon become public.’
‘You can count on my discretion.’
‘I know I can. And I may need a favour ...’
‘Anything.’
‘It’s about Jack.’
‘Jack? But he’s in Russia, making good progress with his investigation, I hear.’
‘Yes, you’ve put him in touch with all the right people. That’s not the problem.’
‘Oh? There’s a problem?’
‘Yes, a very serious one,’ said the countess. ‘But before I tell you about that, there’s something else you have to know first because it’s all connected. Something sensational involving the two murders.’
‘Really? There’s been a development?’
‘You can say that again. Lapointe and Dupree believe they have found the Black Widow and Le Fantôme, the woman who blackmailed you and played a part in the fire at Dupree’s house and his son’s tragic death.’
‘But that’s great! What a breakthrough, and so quickly.’
‘Yes, but we may never know for sure—’
‘Why?’
‘Because they are both dead!’
‘Are you serious?’
‘They burned to death in a suspicious house fire yesterday with most, if not all, of the evidence going up in smoke. It’s all very hush-hush at the moment because it’s still under investigation. That’s why there hasn’t been anything in the press about this yet.’
‘Incredible! But how’s this connected to Jack in Russia?’
Close to tears and finding it difficult to speak, the countess looked at Darrieux. She reached into her handbag, pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her teary eyes.
‘My goodness, Katerina, what’s wrong?’
‘Jack’s in intensive care in a hospital in Yekaterinburg,’ whispered the countess. ‘He almost died.’
Darrieux looked shocked. ‘What happened?’ she shrieked, making heads turn at the other tables.
‘He’s been stabbed. That’s all I know.’
‘Stabbed? What about that young woman he’s travelling with?’
‘Alina? She’s missing. Let me tell you about her. You’re in for a shock.’
The countess then told Darrieux about Quasimodo and the police investigation, the DNA analysis, and what that meant. She also told her about the difficult phone conversation with Jack regarding Alina the other day, and why she felt somehow responsible for what had happened to him.
‘Are you suggesting that Alina tried to kill Jack?’
‘Certainly looks that way.’
‘And that she’s the—’
‘One who killed Aubert, and most likely Fabron as well,’ said the countess.
‘Seriously? A young woman like her?’
‘The police certainly seem to think so. Apparently, the evidence is overwhelming.’
‘This is bizarre,’ said Darrieux, shaking her head.
‘That’s all I know at the moment. The Australian embassy has been notified, but you know how these things work. Consular assistance takes time, especially in Russia. Jack’s on his own.’
‘Have you been able to speak to him?’
‘No. His phone’s been dead ever since we found out about this. I don’t know what happened to it, and besides I don’t think he’s in any condition to talk.’
‘Jesus! Can’t Dupree or Lapointe help?’
The countess shrugged. ‘Not much they can do. At least not straight away. They are both frantically busy with this investigation.’ The countess put her hand on Darrieux’ arm. ‘That’s why I need your help.’
‘All you have to do is ask, Katerina, you know that. I would go through fire for Jack. After all he’s done for me.’
‘I thought you would say that. Thank you, Adrienne.’
‘So, what do you have in mind?’
‘I’m going to Yekaterinburg to see what I can do—’
‘You want me to come with you?’ Darrieux cut in, becoming excited.
‘Yes. You seem well connected in Russia, and I speak the language. And besides, I don’t want to go by myself. Between us, I’m sure we can come up with something to help Jack.’
‘Count me in! When do you want to leave?’
‘Tomorrow morning. A ten-thirty flight. I have tickets. Is that a problem?’
‘Absolutely not. Breakfast?’
‘Yes please. I’m starving.’
69
Dorozhnaya Bol’nitsa, Yekaterinburg: 9 March 2017
As soon as they arrived in Yekaterinburg and had cleared customs at the airport, Countess Kuragin and Darrieux went straight to Dorozhnaya Bol’nitsa, the hospital where Jack was being treated. Before being allowed to visit him, they had to see the emergency doctor for a briefing.
The doctor, a young man in his thirties, told them that Jack had been incredibly lucky. The blade had missed major arteries and organs by millimetres and the catastrophic blood loss that could have killed him had been stemmed by a resident nurse at the hotel until the ambulance arrived. This had saved Jack’s life. The damage caused to his chest had been surgically repaired, and all that was needed now was rest. Because the patient was otherwise healthy and strong, it was expected he would make a full recovery. The doctor warned them that Jack had been heavily sedated and would not be able to speak. However, it was likely that he would be conscious and able to hear them. In any event, the visit had to be short, because he already had a visitor in his room right now.
A visitor? thought the countess as she followed the nurse down a corridor smelling of cleaning fluids, the pungent odour making her feel nauseous.
‘In there,’ said the nurse. She pointed to a door and left. The countess looked at Darrieux for encouragement, took a deep breath, and then pushed the door open.
At first it was impossible to see anything in the dimly lit room as the countess stepped hesitantly inside. Then the outline of a bed came into view with a dark shape standing next to it like a sentinel guarding the patient lying in the bed, surrounded by blinking machines and with plastic tubes protruding from his mouth. A shiver of fear raced through the countess as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom.
Slowly she approached the bed, tears welling in her eyes and refusing to accept that the body lying motionless in front of her like a Frankensteinian corpse being kept alive by machines, was in fact Jack.
‘Oh my God,’ whispered the countess. Darrieux walked up to her from behind and gripped her hand. ‘At least he’s alive,’ she whispered.
‘He can hear you,’ said a deep voice. The countess looked at the man in the black cloak standing next to the bed. ‘I am Serapion, the abbot of the Novo-Tikhvinsky Convent. Mr Rogan came to see me a few days ago,’ said the man.
‘About Pavel Ustinov?’ said Darrieux.
If the abbot was in any way surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead he nodded and looked at Darrieux. ‘He will get better soon, have no fear. We have been expecting him for a long time, and all of us at the monastery are praying for him.’
‘Expecting him?’ said the countess. ‘How come?’
The abbot smiled. ‘Because it has been foretold.’
‘This is all about Kazanskaya Bogomater, isn’t it?’ said Darrieux, fascinated by the old man with the long white beard and pillbox hat who looked like some biblical saint straight out of a Rembrandt painting.
‘Yes. We believe he’s the one who will return the Protectress of Russia to where she belongs: right here in Yekaterinburg.’
‘You say he can hear us?’ said the countess, sounding concerned.
‘Yes. I’ve been praying with him just before you walked in. That’s why I know he’s conscious and can hear us. I’ve been here several times since he was admitted. He’s definitely getting better.’
‘Praying?’
‘Yes. He even had his eyes open,’ said the abbot. ‘The power of prayer is remarkable and will aid his recovery. Perhaps even more so than these machines here.’
‘Thank you,’ said the countess, recognising the kindness in the abbot’s voice. ‘It’s good to know that our friend hasn’t been alone. He is a strong believer in destiny.’
‘I know, and so am I.’
‘And you believe that destiny will guide him to Kazanskaya Bogomater?’ said Darrieux, her curiosity aroused.
‘Oh, yes; soon,’ said the abbot. ‘It has been foretold. But it is time for me to go. I can see Mr Rogan is among friends now. I am no longer needed.’ With that, the abbot took a bow and headed for the door. Just before he opened it, he stopped and turned around. ‘Angels watch over this man. Please take good care of him.’
‘We will,’ said the countess in Russian, deeply moved. ‘We certainly will.’
The countess turned to Darrieux after a gruff nurse had ushered them out of the room a short time later. ‘Do you think he heard us?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I think so. He even opened his eyes. You saw. He knows we’re here, I’m sure of it. And I’m glad you told him about the Black Widow and the fire. At least now he knows. After all, she was the one who sent Alina … The sooner he comes to terms with that, the better.’
‘You don’t think it was too much?’
‘No. This is Jack, remember?’
The countess looked gratefully at Darrieux. ‘I’m so glad you came along, Adrienne. This is much harder than I thought it would be.’
‘I saw his eyes move when you mentioned Tristan and Anna, and told him they sent their love.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve got to get him out of here,’ said the countess, ‘and quickly.’
‘I agree.’
‘And I know exactly how we are going to do that.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes,’ said the countess with a knowing smile.
‘How?’
‘Watch.’
The countess pulled her phone out of her handbag, and called Isis.
70
Time Machine Studios, London: 11 March 2017
Exhausted but elated after the long flight from Yekaterinburg on Isis’s private jet, Countess Kuragin began to relax. Sipping a martini, she sat back in the comfortable lounge chair in Isis’s penthouse above the Time Machine Studios, and looked pensively across the Thames and upriver towards the illuminated Tower Bridge. The familiar view had a calming effect after the turbulent few days full of tension and unexpected developments.
Jack had managed the flight without a hitch under the watchful eye of a nurse Isis had brought along from London. He was resting in the guest accommodation, which had been transformed into a state-of-the-art hospital room, with all the necessary equipment monitored by experienced carers around the clock.
‘What a day!’ said the countess. ‘I still can’t believe we pulled this off,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘And all thanks to you, Lola. It’s truly amazing how you’ve arranged it all.’
Lola waved dismissively. ‘It wasn’t all that difficult,’ she said. ‘Once we told the local radio stations about Isis’s visit and agreed to give a brief interview, it all fell into place. The old girl still has some pull. Even the usually prickly authorities were eager to help. In Russia, red tape is always the problem, but not this time. It all went from there.’
After the countess had contacted Isis, explained the situation and asked for her help, Isis and Lola had swung into action without hesitation. Calling in favours left over from Isis’s iconic Echoes from the Grave World Tour in 2011, which still resonated strongly with fans in Russia who remembered Isis’s spectacular concert at the Olympic Stadium in Moscow, Isis was welcomed in Yekaterinburg with open arms. While Lola and the countess arranged Jack’s transfer from the hospital to Pegasus, Isis’s private jet waiting at the airport, Isis was giving interviews and wowing lucky fans who had been allowed into the studio to see their idol.
Darrieux turned to Lola sitting next to her. ‘Where is she?’ she asked.
‘Preparing to make her entrance, I imagine. It’s a ritual before dinner,’ said Lola, smiling. ‘Especially when friends are present. She can’t help herself. A consummate performer, even now in retirement. She misses the limelight terribly.’
She’s not alone, thought the countess, who had witnessed these performances before. Isis and Adrienne could be a double act.
‘An entrance? What do you mean?’ asked Darrieux.
‘You’ll see in a moment. Here she comes now. There, top of the stairs; watch.’
Wearing riding boots, a full-length fur coat and a jaunty Karakul Kubanka Cossack hat she had worn during the interviews in Yekaterinburg, Isis looked like a film star straight out of Dr Zhivago.
Taking her time, she stopped at the top of the glass staircase and looked down into the spacious lounge area below. ‘What do you think, guys?’ she said, unbuttoning her coat. ‘Perhaps a little over the top for someone my age?’
‘Not at all,’ said Darrieux. ‘You look absolutely fabulous!’
‘You really think so?’
‘Very stylish. Fur coat looks great, and the Cossack hat suits you. The only thing missing is the beard,’ said the countess, and lifted her glass in salute.
‘I can’t do much about that, now, can I? The fans loved it, that’s the main thing, don’t you think?’
‘Quite so,’ said Lola. She looked at the countess and rolled her eyes, trying hard not to laugh.
‘Enough of that!’ said Isis and turned around. ‘We have a surprise dinner guest. Boris, bring him down.’
Moments later, Boris, Isis’s bodyguard, appeared at the top of the stairs. He was carrying Jack in his powerful arms. Over the years, Boris and Jack had become quite close and formed a friendship, and Boris, a former wrestling champion, was delighted to be able to carry his injured friend down to dinner.
Jack appeared in good spirits and was waving. Incredible, thought the countess, shaking her head. ‘Isn’t this a little premature?’ she asked, as Isis and Boris came slowly down the stairs.
‘Not really,’ said Lola. ‘The doctors actually suggested he should get up and exercise more. A little every day. And besides, keeping Jack in bed isn’t easy, as you well know.’
‘No, it isn’t. I suppose he wasn’t going to miss this: his friends, here, all in one place having dinner, especially as Adrienne and I are going back to Paris tomorrow.’
‘No way! He could have walked down, you know,’ continued Lola, lowering her voice, ‘but Boris wouldn’t let him.’
‘This will do him good,’ said Darrieux. ‘He’s a people person.’
‘I could get used to this,’ said Jack cheerfully as Boris lowered him into a comfortable chair.
‘Don’t,’ said Boris, patting Jack on the back. ‘We are going walking tomorrow morning, early. Doctor’s orders.’
‘What’s for dinner?’ asked Jack.
‘Cottage pie; your favourite,’ said Isis. ‘What else?’
‘Great! Real tucker at last! The food in the hospital was crap, I tell you.’
The countess winked at Darrieux. ‘He’s in good form,’ she said.
‘Looks that way.’
‘This calls for a toast,’ said Isis, her face aglow with excitement. She pointed to a large ice bucket full of champagne bottles and held up her empty glass. ‘Boris, would you please do the honours? I’m dying of thirst.’
During dinner, Jack began to open up. It was the first opportunity for him to talk about his visit to Yekaterinburg, and the extraordinary encounter with the Seeker and the Guardians in the underground chamber below the church. He gave a detailed account of the meeting, but not once did he refer to Alina, or what had happened in the hotel room the night he almost died.
‘This is amazing,’ said Isis. ‘So, what’s your next move? You are not giving up now, surely?’
‘Giving up? Are you kidding? In many ways, this is just the beginning. For the first time since we found that letter in the music box, I feel that I’m getting somewhere with this.’ Jack pointed to his chest. ‘But I have to let this heal first. After that—’
‘Dupree called me this morning,’ said the countess. ‘I didn’t have a chance to tell you earlier.’
‘Oh? What about?’
‘He had a message for you. He said it was a coming-home present.’
Jack looked at the countess. ‘What kind of message?’ he asked, curious.
‘He said the third clue is about to pay off. Apparently, you would know what that meant.’
‘Do you?’ asked Isis.
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘How intriguing. Tell us about it, Jack. We would all like to know,’ said Isis.
Feeling stronger and relaxed for the first time since the dreadful stabbing at the hotel, the storyteller in Jack didn’t need much encouragement.
‘According to Dupree, the investigation into the Amber Safe murder at the Ritz has generated three promising clues: a hair, a limp and a curious meeting in a casino in Paris.’ Jack paused and looked dreamily across the Thames, reflecting myriad coloured lights pulsing through the vibrant city.
‘The limp pointed the way to Emile Fabron, the safebreaker who was brutally killed on his boat after Dupree and I paid him a visit. Fabron left us a message before he died, a symbol painted in his own blood that pointed an accusing finger at the Black Widow, vindicating Dupree’s hunch.’
Jack took a deep breath. ‘And as you all know, the hair found under Aubert’s fingernails exposed the killer …’
He still finds it difficult to talk about this, thought the countess, watching Jack carefully. ‘Malenkova, the Black Widow, and her assistant, Le Fantôme, are both dead,’ said the countess, changing direction and coming to Jack’s assistance. ‘Killed in that recent house fire, effectively closing part of the case. So, what is this third clue all about?’
