JACK OF DIAMONDS

iv

“I want to know who she is,” Chernetsov said, his voice low, controlled, but threatening. He looked at the three men sitting in front of his desk. It was obvious, even to him, that he was fighting to keep himself under control—he could see that looking at his reflection in the mirror behind them—where it was obvious he was fighting to control the anger threatening to get away from him.

It won’t do you any good to lose control of yourself.

They were in the study directly off from the foyer, the books a more personal selection of English Classics, Latin poets, and translations than those found in the library. There were three bookcases standing directly behind the oversized mahogany desk where Chernetsov was standing, pacing, trying to sort things out in his mind. A large floor to ceiling window to his left let the afternoon light in, where it caught the astrolabe beside the bookcases and reflected the light to the far corners of the room. The floor was carpeted, the walls painted in light colours, with potted plants placed on pedestaled plinths and paintings decorating the walls.

“Someone said they spotted a woman leaving on a bicycle shortly after the incident,”Andrew said. He served as a Footman when he was needed—and Chernetsov wondered when it had become an incident rather than the attack it obviously was.

“A woman? What woman?”

“With the extra help we brought in for tonight’s party, no one recognized her.”

“She wasn’t from the village, then?”

“Not that I can say.”

“Not that you can say?” he repeated, the sneer in his voice obvious. “It’s a small village, Andrew. Everyone knows everyone else’s business, even if they don’t want to. If a woman arrives and suddenly starts working here as a maid, someone obviously knows her. The question is who?”

It was frustrating to say the least.

His first thought was that the Solomon brothers had decided they weren’t happy with negotiations and decided they wanted to renegotiate. It was a business tactic and nothing more; after all, no one mentioned Sabini’s Hammerboys would be at tomorrow’s meeting for added protection. They may have taken offence, he told himself, and decided to send a message. But that didn’t seem possible given the time table involved.

“It’s something so simple, we can’t see it,” he said slowly, trying to think of the obvious. Maybe there was something in what Anatoly said about the body?

And what did he say?

‘He was a Russian. And everyone knew it,’ he reminded himself. ‘That means this will most likely be the first place they come to.’ But he meant the Constabulary when he said that. And if they come here because we’re the obvious place to go, why wouldn’t the Communists?

It can’t be the Solomon brothers. They couldn’t have found out and acted against us that quickly. It’s closer.

“It might be personal,” Micheal said. He was the second Footman.

“Personal? What does that mean?” Chernetsov was once again paying attention.

Micheal shifted uncomfortably in the chair and looked at the other two. He looked down at his hands for a moment before looking up at Chernetsov.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of what your son’s been doing of late.”

“What’s he been doing? Speak up, man. You needn’t be afraid of reprisals as far as I’m concerned. I know my son’s not the sainted man he wants us to believe he is. I know he goes to London regularly and associates with the wrong sort of people. He drinks, and probably engages in the use of cocaine.”

“And has a mistress,” Michael blurted quickly.

Chernetsov was stunned. “Are you certain?”

Micheal nodded.

“And you think it was her?”

He shook his head.

“Then what?”

“She’s political.”

“And what does that mean? She’s political—wait. Do you mean she’s a Communist?”

The man nodded.

“A Communist?” he said again, an unforgiving note of disbelief in his voice. He turned and looked out of the window where he saw the ambulance trundling along the drive until it turned out onto the lane. He could see his wife leaning against Katja, while Misha and Dasha tried comforting her. Jaleena hung back, staring at the ambulance until it disappeared from view. Magda had gone with Anatoly, obviously stressed.

Well, they were all stressed, weren’t they, he thought?

“A Communist?” he said again, and Micheal nodded again.

“Andrew?”

“Yes,” he said, not daring to meet those eyes.

“Why would he do that to me? Why would he put me in such a position? Does my daughter-in-law suspect anything?” he asked, turning to face the men.

“I do not believe so,” Andrew replied.

“Thank the Sainted Apostles for that.”

“She lives in London,” Micheal said.

“And you believe she was the one who pushed him?”

“No. He would have recognized her if she’d come herself.”

“Why push him in the first place?”

“I heard she was with child,” Anthony offered, speaking up for the first time. He was the under butler, often serving different gentlemen as the valet.

“You say nothing this entire time, and then you say that?”

He looked at Andrew.

“Is it true? Is she with child?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew said softly. “I may have heard something like that.”

“And you never thought to tell me? No, of course not. Why would you? He’s not the first man to have had a mistress, or to have gotten her pregnant. If that is the reason, it goes no further than this room.”

“No, of course not,” Andrew said quickly, looking at the other two.

If you want your name in the story—as a gangster or some such thing—leave me a tip. The bigger the tip, the bigger the role.