The Jewel of St Petersburg by Kate Furnivall

papers.”
    He made no comment.
    “Prime Minister Stolypin has denounced them,” she added. “For trying to destroy Russia’s economy. They’ve managed to shut down our mines and stop our trains running.”
    He still made no comment.
    “I can’t see them,” Katya complained. “The police are in the way.”
    “Look, there are the tops of their placards,” Valentina pointed out. He could hear the unease in her voice.
    Wait. Just wait. You will see more than you want.
    Ahead lay the backs of policemen, a solid wall of them from one side of the street to the other.
    “Do you think there will be trouble?” Valentina was so close behind him he could feel her breath warm on his collar. He pictured her hands, white and nervous, and the hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Why are these men on strike, Arkin?”
    Didnt she know? How could she not know?
    “They are demanding a fair wage, Miss Valentina. The police are advancing on them now.”
    Slowly, relentlessly. Advancing on them. He could make out batons in their hands. Or were they guns? The chanting of the marchers drew closer, and instantly a sense of real danger sparked in the street. It crackled in the air and people started to run, slipping on ice, skidding on snow. Arkin felt his pulse kick into life.
    “Arkin.” It was Miss Valentina’s voice. “Get us out of here. Do whatever you have to, but get us away from here.”
    “I can’t. We’re trapped in traffic.”
    “Arkin,” Valentina ordered, “please drive us out. Now.”
    He felt the muscle tighten at the corner of his jaw, and his maroon gloves curled around the rim of the steering wheel. “I cannot drive the car anywhere at the moment,” he said evenly, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “We are stuck.”
    “Arkin, listen to me. I have seen what Bolsheviks can do. I’m not going to sit here with my sister like a helpless calf and wait for them to do it again.”
    He heard it then, the whisper of fear. He swiveled around in his seat and looked her full in the face. For a moment their gaze held, until at last he looked down. “I understand, Miss Valentina.”
    “Please do something.”
    “There’s no need to be afraid of them,” he lied. “The marchers only want better pay and working conditions. No one is going to harm you. Or Miss Katya.”
    She lifted her hands as if she would shake him. “Then take out the wheelchair,” she ordered. “I’ll push it up the street myself.”
    “No need for that.”
    Abruptly he swung down hard right on the steering. He shouldered the back of the carriage in front with the Turicum’s fender, forcing it out at an angle. Ahead of them a horse whinnied, but now the heavy car’s wheels were free and Arkin could maneuver it up onto the curb of the pavement and into the open.
    “I’ll get you out of here.”

Five
    W HICH ONES SHALL WE CHOOSE?” “You can have the meringue, it’s your favorite.”
    “What about the chocolate one?”
    “No, you can’t have that,” Katya laughed. “I want it.”
    With a delighted smile Katya circled her fork over the silver tiers of the cake stand in the middle of the table.
    “I shall choose first,” she announced.
    Valentina wanted to act as if nothing had happened. She wanted her sister to enjoy herself, that was why she’d brought her here—and it had been a long time since she’d seen Katya so bright and animated. But Valentina’s cake fork felt like lead in her fingers.
    Arkin had been as good as his word. He’d barged the car along the sidewalks, indifferent to the shouts from the pedestrians who scattered at the approach of the big blue motor. He found a route out of there, just as he’d promised. They drove to another restaurant, La Gavotte, with no further comment on what had passed, and Valentina selected a table against the rear wall, near the door to the kitchens. As far from the front of the establishment as it was possible to be.
    Around her everything went on as normal,