unnecessarily. ‘Earlier I heard you mention to Wilfred that Mara was up to something? That she needed a big favour?’
Nick Sanford took her hand and gave a slight nod. He looked embarrassed, as if she’d caught him in a compromising situation.
‘Well,’ Amelia said, ‘it seems you may have had prior knowledge of Mara’s little scheme, but I’ve just discovered that I am that favour.’
She didn’t wait for an answer, but withdrew her hand and walked into the dining room without a backward glance.
7
A rmed with bag, hat and gloves, Amelia decided to brave the cold and make her way up Tverskaya Street. It was late morning and a slow trickle of people was starting to emerge from the metro exits and underpasses.
Saturday. A whole weekend lay ahead of her. What would she do with all that time? So many busy, overworked people would kill for a weekend with no obligations or commitments, and it was true that a little more than a year ago she too would have considered herself very lucky to have this kind of a break, but now she dreaded it. When she’d lived here as the Canadian ambassador’s wife, she’d never felt a complete sense of freedom. Security and logistical considerations meant that her trips outside the embassy and official residence had either been short or in the presence of other people. How often had she not yearned for fewer restrictions. The irony of it wasn’t lost on her – now she had all the time and freedom in the world, was accountable to no one, and yet she couldn’t enjoy it.
The rush to get to Moscow had been so overwhelming that she hadn’t taken into account that there would in effect only be half a week to get things done before the weekend would slow everything down and force her to endure long hours in a city she didn’t really want to be visiting.
What’s more, the previous evening’s party at Mara and Wilfred’s house weighed on her. She thought of Nick Sanford and how she’d treated him. Only now, in bright daylight, did she feel a stab of guilt about snubbing him so frostily before the dinner had even started. Had she been unreasonable? Had she judged too harshly? She pushed the thought aside, not particularly keen to analyse what had happened.
There was little she could achieve over the next two days. Her appointment with the new Canadian ambassador was only on Monday morning. She didn’t want to confront Patrick until she’d checked the truth of Kiriyenko’s account, so visiting him and Cathy were out of the question. As for contacting other people, she simply didn’t have the energy for it. What remained was solitude, something she’d grown accustomed to. Sitting around the hotel was out of the question, however, and she had a destination in mind.
Moskovsky Dom Knigi was a well-known and well-stocked book store that lay just a few blocks away from her hotel. It was as good a stop as any and she was in need of fresh things to read anyway. The only reading material she’d brought had been the wad of clippings currently weighing down her shoulder bag. If she was honest with herself, it had become a safety blanket. She seemed to have difficulty parting with it and carried it with her wherever she went. Every time she started doubting her actions, which happened often, she pulled out the clippings and read one of them. Somehow it never failed to strengthen her resolve.
The security guard posted just inside the entrance gave her the expected once-over as she stepped inside the bookstore. A wave of heat hit her. With it came the smells of people, damp wool and books. The store was crammed with the latter from top to bottom, the aisles so narrow that it was a challenge to squeeze past other people in their equally thick coats. Once past travel guides and language books, she aimed for the architecture and history sections. On her very rare visits before, she’d noticed that the selection had been surprisingly good.
She managed to kill a good fifty minutes before she
Nick Sanford took her hand and gave a slight nod. He looked embarrassed, as if she’d caught him in a compromising situation.
‘Well,’ Amelia said, ‘it seems you may have had prior knowledge of Mara’s little scheme, but I’ve just discovered that I am that favour.’
She didn’t wait for an answer, but withdrew her hand and walked into the dining room without a backward glance.
7
A rmed with bag, hat and gloves, Amelia decided to brave the cold and make her way up Tverskaya Street. It was late morning and a slow trickle of people was starting to emerge from the metro exits and underpasses.
Saturday. A whole weekend lay ahead of her. What would she do with all that time? So many busy, overworked people would kill for a weekend with no obligations or commitments, and it was true that a little more than a year ago she too would have considered herself very lucky to have this kind of a break, but now she dreaded it. When she’d lived here as the Canadian ambassador’s wife, she’d never felt a complete sense of freedom. Security and logistical considerations meant that her trips outside the embassy and official residence had either been short or in the presence of other people. How often had she not yearned for fewer restrictions. The irony of it wasn’t lost on her – now she had all the time and freedom in the world, was accountable to no one, and yet she couldn’t enjoy it.
The rush to get to Moscow had been so overwhelming that she hadn’t taken into account that there would in effect only be half a week to get things done before the weekend would slow everything down and force her to endure long hours in a city she didn’t really want to be visiting.
What’s more, the previous evening’s party at Mara and Wilfred’s house weighed on her. She thought of Nick Sanford and how she’d treated him. Only now, in bright daylight, did she feel a stab of guilt about snubbing him so frostily before the dinner had even started. Had she been unreasonable? Had she judged too harshly? She pushed the thought aside, not particularly keen to analyse what had happened.
There was little she could achieve over the next two days. Her appointment with the new Canadian ambassador was only on Monday morning. She didn’t want to confront Patrick until she’d checked the truth of Kiriyenko’s account, so visiting him and Cathy were out of the question. As for contacting other people, she simply didn’t have the energy for it. What remained was solitude, something she’d grown accustomed to. Sitting around the hotel was out of the question, however, and she had a destination in mind.
Moskovsky Dom Knigi was a well-known and well-stocked book store that lay just a few blocks away from her hotel. It was as good a stop as any and she was in need of fresh things to read anyway. The only reading material she’d brought had been the wad of clippings currently weighing down her shoulder bag. If she was honest with herself, it had become a safety blanket. She seemed to have difficulty parting with it and carried it with her wherever she went. Every time she started doubting her actions, which happened often, she pulled out the clippings and read one of them. Somehow it never failed to strengthen her resolve.
The security guard posted just inside the entrance gave her the expected once-over as she stepped inside the bookstore. A wave of heat hit her. With it came the smells of people, damp wool and books. The store was crammed with the latter from top to bottom, the aisles so narrow that it was a challenge to squeeze past other people in their equally thick coats. Once past travel guides and language books, she aimed for the architecture and history sections. On her very rare visits before, she’d noticed that the selection had been surprisingly good.
She managed to kill a good fifty minutes before she
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