d.i.c.k rang Sam Cohen within minutes of arriving at his office and reported the conversation to his lawyer.

'Symonds must have advised her to witness the signing of the contract,' suggested Cohen.

'But why?'

'So that Maureen will be able to claim that over the years she has played a leading role in your business success, always being there to support you at those key moments in your career . . . '

'b.a.l.l.s,' said d.i.c.k, 'she's never taken any interest in how I make my money, only in how she can spend it.'

'. . . and therefore she must be ent.i.tled to fifty per cent of your a.s.sets.'

'But that could amount to over thirty million pounds,' d.i.c.k protested.

'Symonds has obviously done his homework.'

'Then I'll simply tell her that she can't come on the trip. It's not proper.'

'Which will allow Mr Symonds to change tack. He will then show you as a heartless man a man who cut his own wife out of his life the moment he became a success, often travelling abroad, with a secretary who-'

'OK, OK, I get the picture. So letting her come to St Petersburg might well prove to be the lesser of two evils.'

'On the one hand . . . ' advised Sam.

'b.l.o.o.d.y lawyers,' said d.i.c.k before he could finish the sentence.

'Funny how you only need us when you're in trouble,' Sam replied. 'So let's make sure that this time we antic.i.p.ate her next move.'

'And what's that likely to be?'

'Once she's got you to St Petersburg, she will want to have s.e.x.'

'We haven't had s.e.x for years.'

'And not because I haven't wanted to, m'lord.'

'Oh, h.e.l.l,' said d.i.c.k, 'I can't win.'

'You can as long as you don't follow Lady Longford's advice. When asked if she had ever considered divorcing Lord Longford, she replied, "Divorce, never, murder, often."'

Mr and Mrs Richard Barnsley checked into the Grand Palace Hotel in St Petersburg a fortnight later. A porter placed their bags on a trolley, and then walked them to the Tolstoy Suite on the ninth floor.

'Must go to the loo before I burst,' said d.i.c.k as he rushed into the room ahead of his wife. While her husband disappeared into the bathroom, Maureen looked out of the window and admired the golden domes of St Nicholas's Cathedral.

Once he had locked the door, d.i.c.k removed the DON'T DRINK THE WATER sign that was perched on the washbasin and tucked it into the back pocket of his trousers. Next he unscrewed the tops of the two Evian bottles and poured the contents down the sink. He then refilled both bottles with tap water, before s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the tops firmly back on and returning them to their place on the corner of the basin. He unlocked the door and strolled out of the bathroom.

d.i.c.k started to unpack his suitcase, but stopped the moment Maureen disappeared into the bathroom. First, he transferred the DON'T DRINK THE WATER sign from his back pocket into the side flap of his suitcase. He zipped up the flap, before checking around the room. There was a small bottle of Evian water on each side of the bed, and two large bottles on the table by the window.

d.i.c.k grabbed the bottle by his wife's side of the bed and retreated into the kitchenette at the far end of the room. He poured the contents down the sink, and refilled the bottle with tap water. He then returned it to Maureen's side of the bed. Next, he took the two large bottles from the table by the window and repeated the process.

By the time his wife had come out of the bathroom, d.i.c.k had almost finished unpacking. While Maureen continued to unpack her suitcase, d.i.c.k strolled across to his side of the bed and dialled a number he didn't need to look up. As he waited for the phone to be answered, he opened the bottle of Evian water on his side of the bed, and took a gulp.

'Hi, Anatol, it's d.i.c.k Barnsley. I thought I'd let you know that we've just checked in to the Grand Palace.'

'Welcome back to St Petersburg,' said a friendly voice. 'And is your wife with you on this occasion?'

'She most certainly is,' replied d.i.c.k, 'and very much looking forward to meeting you.'

'Me too,' said the minister, 'so make sure that you have a relaxed weekend because everything is set up for Monday morning. The President is due to fly in tomorrow night so he'll be present when the contract is signed.'

'Ten o'clock at the Winter Palace?'

'Ten o'clock,' repeated Anatol Chenkov. 'I'll pick you up from your hotel at nine. It's only a thirty-minute drive, but we can't afford to be late for this one.'

'I'll be waiting for you in the lobby,' said d.i.c.k. 'See you then.'

He put the phone down and turned to his wife. 'Why don't we go down to dinner, my darling? We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.' He adjusted his watch by three hours and added, 'So perhaps it would be wise to have an early night.'

Maureen placed a long silk nightdress on her side of the bed and smiled in agreement. As she turned to place her empty case in the wardrobe, d.i.c.k slipped an Evian bottle from the bedside table into his jacket pocket. He then accompanied his wife down to the dining room.

The head waiter led them to a quiet table in the corner and, once they were seated, offered his two guests menus. Maureen disappeared behind the large leather menu while she considered the table d'hote, which allowed d.i.c.k enough time to remove the bottle of Evian from his pocket, undo the cap and fill his wife's gla.s.s.

Once they had both selected their meals, Maureen went over her proposed tour for the next two days. 'I think we should begin with the Hermitage, first thing in the morning,' she suggested, 'take a break for lunch, and then spend the rest of the afternoon at the Summer Palace.'

'What about the amber collection?' asked d.i.c.k, as he topped up her water gla.s.s. 'I thought that was a no-miss.'

'I have already booked in the amber collection and the Russian Museum for Sunday.'

'Sounds as if you have everything well organised,' said d.i.c.k, as a waiter placed a bowl of borscht beetroot soup, a Russian favourite in front of his wife.

Maureen spent the rest of the meal telling d.i.c.k about some of the treasures that they would see when they visited the Hermitage. By the time d.i.c.k had signed the bill, Maureen had drunk the bottle of water.

d.i.c.k slipped the empty bottle back in his pocket. Once they had returned to their room, he filled it with tap water and left it in the bathroom.

By the time d.i.c.k had undressed and climbed into bed, Maureen was still studying her guidebook.

'I feel exhausted,' d.i.c.k said. 'It must be the time change.' He turned his back on her, hoping she wouldn't work out that it was just after 8 p.m. in England.

d.i.c.k woke the following morning feeling very thirsty. He looked at the empty bottle of Evian on his side of the bed and remembered just in time. He climbed out of bed, walked across to the fridge and selected a bottle of orange juice.

'Will you be going to the gym this morning?' he asked a half-awake Maureen.

'Do I have time?'

'Sure, the Hermitage doesn't open until ten, and one of the reasons I always stay here is because of the hotel's gym.'

'So what about you?'

'I still have to make some phone calls if everything is to be set up for Monday.'

Maureen slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom, which allowed d.i.c.k enough time to top up her gla.s.s and replace the empty bottle of Evian on her side of the bed.

When Maureen emerged a few minutes later, she checked her watch before slipping on her gym kit. 'I should be back in about forty minutes,' she said, after tying up her trainers.

'Don't forget to take some water with you,' said d.i.c.k, handing her one of the bottles from the table by the window. 'They may not have one in the gym.'

'Thank you,' she said.

d.i.c.k wondered, from the expression on her face, if he was being just a little too considerate.

While Maureen was in the gym, d.i.c.k took a shower. When he walked back into the bedroom, he was pleased to see that the sun was shining. He put on a blazer and slacks, but only after he had checked that none of the bottles had been replaced by the hotel staff while he had been in the bathroom.

d.i.c.k ordered breakfast for both of them, which arrived moments after Maureen returned from the gym, clutching the half-empty Evian bottle.

'How did your training go?' d.i.c.k asked.

'Not great,' Maureen replied. 'I felt a bit listless.'

'Probably just jetlag,' suggested d.i.c.k, as he took his place on the far side of the table. He poured his wife a gla.s.s of water, and himself another orange juice. d.i.c.k opened a copy of the Herald Tribune, which he began to read while he waited for his wife to dress. Hillary Clinton said she wouldn't be running for president, which only convinced d.i.c.k that she would, especially as she made the announcement standing by her husband's side.

Maureen came out of the bathroom wearing a hotel dressing gown. She took the seat opposite her husband and sipped the water.

'Better take a bottle of Evian with us when we visit the Hermitage,' said Maureen. d.i.c.k looked up from behind his paper. 'The girl in the gym warned me not to drink the local water under any circ.u.mstances.'

'Oh yes, I should have warned you,' said d.i.c.k, as Maureen took a bottle from the table by the window and put it in her bag. 'Can't be too careful.'

d.i.c.k and Maureen strolled through the front gates of the Hermitage a few minutes before ten, to find themselves at the back of a long queue. The crocodile of visitors moved slowly forward along an unshaded path. Maureen took several sips of water between turning the pages of the guidebook. It was ten forty before they reached the ticket booth.

Once inside, Maureen continued to study her guidebook. 'Whatever we do, we must be sure to see Michelangelo's Crouching Boy, Raphael's Virgin, and Leonardo's Madonna Benois.'

d.i.c.k smiled his agreement, but knew he would not be concerning himself with the masters.

As they climbed the wide marble staircase, they pa.s.sed several magnificent statues. d.i.c.k was surprised to discover just how vast the Hermitage was. Despite visiting St Petersburg several times during the past three years, he had only ever seen the building from the outside.

Maureen read from the guidebook. 'Housed on three floors, the collection displays treasures in over two hundred rooms. So let's get started.'

By eleven thirty they had only covered the Dutch and Italian schools on the first floor, by which time Maureen had finished the large bottle of Evian.

d.i.c.k volunteered to go and buy another bottle. He left his wife admiring Caravaggio's The Lute Player, while he slipped into the nearest rest room. He refilled the empty Evian bottle with tap water before rejoining his wife.

If Maureen had spent a little time studying one of the many drinks counters situated on each floor, she would have discovered that the Hermitage didn't stock Evian, because it had an exclusive contract with Volvic.

By twelve thirty they had all but covered the sixteen rooms devoted to the Renaissance artists, and agreed it was time for lunch. They left the building and strolled back into the midday sun. The two of them walked for a while along the bank of the Moika River, stopping only to take a photograph of a bride and groom posing on the Blue Bridge in front of the Mariinsky Palace.

'A local tradition,' said Maureen, turning another page of her guidebook.

After walking another block, they came to a halt outside a small pizzeria. Its sensible square tables with neat red-and-white check tablecloths and smartly dressed waiters tempted them inside.

'I must go to the loo,' said Maureen. 'I'm feeling a little queasy. It must be the heat.' She added, 'Just order me a salad and a gla.s.s of water.'

d.i.c.k smiled, removed the Evian bottle from her bag and filled up the gla.s.s on her side of the table. When the waiter appeared, d.i.c.k ordered a salad for his wife, and ravioli plus a large Diet c.o.ke for himself. He was desperate for something to drink.

Once she'd eaten her salad, Maureen perked up a little, and even began to tell d.i.c.k what they should look out for when they visited the Summer Palace.

On the long taxi ride through the north of the city, she continued to read extracts from her guidebook. 'Peter the Great built the Summer Palace after he had visited Versailles, and on returning to Russia employed the finest landscape gardeners and most gifted craftsmen in the land to copy the French masterpiece. He meant the finished work to be a tribute to the French, whom he greatly admired as the leaders of style in Europe.'

The taxi driver interrupted her flow with his own knowledge. 'We are just pa.s.sing the recently built Winter Palace, which is where President Putin stays whenever he is in St Petersburg.' The driver paused.

'And, as the national flag is flying, he must be in town.'

'He's flown down from Moscow especially to see me,' said d.i.c.k.

The taxi driver laughed dutifully.

The taxi drove through the gates of the Summer Palace half an hour later and the driver dropped his pa.s.sengers off in a crowded car park. It was busy with sightseers and traders, who were standing behind their crude stalls plying their cheap souvenirs.

'Let's go and see the real thing,' suggested Maureen.

'I wait for you here,' said the taxi driver. 'No extra charge. How long?' he added.

'I should think we'd be a couple of hours,' said d.i.c.k. 'No more.'

'I wait for you here,' he repeated.

The two of them strolled around the magnificent gardens, and d.i.c.k could see why it was described in the guidebooks as a 'can't afford to miss' attraction, with five stars.

Maureen continued to brief him between sips of water. 'The grounds surrounding the palace cover over a hundred acres, with more than twenty fountains, as well as eleven other residences.'

Although the sun was no longer burning down, the sky was still clear and Maureen continued to take regular gulps of water, but no matter how many times she offered the bottle to d.i.c.k, he always replied, 'No thanks.'

When they finally climbed the steps of the palace, they were greeted by another long queue, and Maureen admitted that she was feeling a little tired.

'Pity to have travelled this far,' said d.i.c.k, 'and not take a look inside.'