As luck would have it, there was a droshky waiting at the district gendarmerie.

'Stay here, I'll call him over,' said Hadfield.

'You take it. I can't afford it anyway.'

'For G.o.d's sake!' he said, exasperated. 'If it makes you happy, we can both use him.'

'Where shall I tell the driver to take you?' he asked when they were sitting in the cab. She hesitated, reluctant to commit herself, and Hadfield took her silence for lack of trust.

'I don't mean your address, just where you want to be left,' he said irritably.

'No, no, I wasn't trying to oh, anywhere. The Tsarskoe Selo Station,' she said, fl.u.s.tered.

He leant forward to give instructions to the driver, but before he could speak, she clutched his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. And he turned to look at her with a smile.

'Well? Where to?' the driver demanded bad-temperedly.

'The Church of St Boris and St Gleb.'

Later, as they lay together on the mattress, his knee between her thighs, his chest warm to hers, rising and falling almost together, she wondered how she would find the strength to turn him away when the time came. Was it a mistake to have shared this intimacy, to have sought and accepted love? She watched him dozing, his auburn hair tousled about his face.

He stirred, opened his eyes and, after gazing into hers for a few seconds, he leant forward to kiss her tenderly. 'There's something I must tell you,' he whispered.

'Please. Let's just be happy.'

He smiled and raised his hand to her brow, smoothing away the deep crease between her eyes with his thumb.

'Do you remember in the restaurant that I said I had two new patients? I must tell you of the other one.'

A letter had been delivered to the hospital from a man called Dobrshinsky who wanted to consult him on a medical matter and requested a visit at home.

'I was suspicious and contacted my newspaper friend, Dobson. It seems this man is a special investigator at the Third Section.'

'Why didn't you tell me sooner?' Anna exclaimed, raising herself to her elbow.

He rolled on his back and looked up at her with a wry smile. 'We didn't get further than Patient Number One, if you remember. And what difference does it make?'

'What difference? He'll ask you about me and the party,' she said crossly.

'Yes. And I'll lie.' He tried to pull her down but she wriggled free.

'What will you say?'

The story he told to Major Barclay of their meeting at the clinic, he said, his respect for her work as a nurse and his shock when he heard she was a terrorist. 'Please stop worrying. I'm a respectable member of the medical bourgeoisie. The cream of Russian society is happy to place its life in my hands.'

'I don't think you should go. He could arrest you.' She was tense, but tried to smile.

'He wouldn't invite me to his home if he was going to do that.' He paused and reached up for her again: 'Come here.'

And this time she let him pull her down. And he kissed her, tenderly at first and then more fiercely, his hands kneading her back and b.u.t.tocks until, breathless with excitement, he entered her again. And when they had both reached a climax and lay still in each others arms, he whispered, 'I love you.'

'You will be careful, won't you?' she said.

He did not reply.

27.

For all Hadfield's confidence the night before, he was full of apprehension as he was shown up the stairs to the special investigator's apartment. Collegiate Councillor Dobrshinsky's well-groomed valet took his hat and coat carefully brushing the ice crystals from the collar then led him from the hall into the study and informed him that His Honour would be with him shortly. Hadfield tried to ease his nerves by peering at the books that lined the walls from almost floor to ceiling. It was a catholic selection that included volumes he was sure the censor considered unsuitable. Conscious that his choice might interest the investigator, he deliberately pulled an anodyne history of the Empress Catherine from the shelf and was pleased when he found a reference to his great-grandfather, the first General Glen.

'Do you enjoy reading, Doctor? I'm sorry, I surprised you.'

Hadfield turned quickly to find his new patient at the door. 'You did, sir. I read a good deal.'

Dobrshinsky closed the door quietly and stepped into the body of the room. 'What are you reading?'

Hadfield told him, mentioning his great-grandfather.

'Ah, yes,' said Dobrshinsky with an amused smile. 'And how is General Glen?'

'Are you acquainted with my uncle?'

'I have had the honour of being introduced, yes.'

'He's well, thank you.' Hadfield inclined his head. 'Now,' he said, 'how may I be of a.s.sistance, Mr Dobrshinsky?'

'Anton Frankzevich, please,' said Dobrshinsky. 'My man will bring us some coffee.' Lifting his tailcoat, he eased himself carefully into one of the leather library chairs in front of the desk, indicating with a casual wave that Hadfield should take the one opposite. He was immaculately dressed in a dark brown suit and black tie, his hands beautifully manicured, but his face was thin and there were dark rings about his eyes, his skin an unhealthy grey. Hadfield wondered if he was a little anaemic or taking strong medicine because his pupils seemed abnormally small.

'May I ask who recommended me to you?'

The special investigator did not answer at first but gave him a cool, appraising look, small dark brown eyes fixed on his face. If he was hoping to intimidate he was doing very well. Hadfield bent down to his medical bag and began searching inside it for a journal.

'Surely you can guess, Doctor,' said Dobrshinsky at last. 'You told one of my colleagues that you were a friend of the chief prosecutor's.'

'One of your colleagues?'

'Major Barclay.'

'I see. You're a policeman. I think I may have mentioned Count von Plehve's name, yes,' Hadfield said, rising from the bag with his journal. 'Now perhaps you can tell me what you think the problem may be your symptoms?'

'The problem?' Dobrshinsky gave a little laugh and, with a dismissive sweep of his right hand, brushed a fleck of dust from the knee of his trousers. 'Please excuse me, Doctor, but the problem is not really with my health but with yours.'

'Oh?'

'It seems you've been keeping dangerous company.'

'You mean Anna Petrovna?' Hadfield interrupted. 'I explained to Major Barclay: she was an able nurse and I know nothing more about her than that. Naturally I was shocked to hear she was wanted by the police.'

'Quite so. Quite so. But you didn't mention to Major Barclay that you attended an illegal gathering, that there were a number of terrorists wanted by the police there, one of them the Kovalenko woman.'

Hadfield leant forward. 'I've never knowingly been in the company of terrorists. I'm a doctor . . .'

'We all need doctors, don't we?' Dobrshinsky replied with an amused smile.

'You don't seem to need me,' said Hadfield haughtily, 'but I have patients who do.' He bent again to his medical bag as if preparing to leave.

'Aren't you ready to help our investigation, Doctor?'

'I can't see how I can.'

'Do you know Madame Volkonsky?'

'Yes.'

'Then you will remember her political salon.'

'I do remember a rather disagreeable afternoon at her home,' Hadfield said calmly. And he described briefly the gathering and the discussion, but without mentioning the names of those who were there.

'So you admit there was talk of the attempt made on His Majesty's life?'

Hadfield gave a short laugh. 'There was talk of that in every home in the city.'

'Do you think of yourself as a Russian?'

'I think so, yes.'

'And a loyal subject?'

'Yes,' he lied.

There was not a flicker of emotion anger, disbelief, disappointment in the investigator's face. He was a patient man that much was apparent but Hadfield detected something else, a certain distance in his manner he could not entirely explain.

'Would you inform the police if you knew someone was trying to kill His Majesty?

'Yes.'

'Who spoke up for the a.s.sa.s.sin?'

'A small Jewish fellow called Goldenberg. Red hair. Voluble.'

'He remembers you too.'

'I should hope so. We argued about the attempt to murder His Majesty.'

'But you didn't see fit to inform the police?'

'I thought he was a hothead but essentially harmless.'

The investigator clucked sceptically: 'Goldenberg is a murderer.' He clearly did not believe a word of Hadfield's story, and for another half-hour he snapped question after question at him, dismissing his man servant with a wave when he dared to interrupt with the coffee. Did the doctor expect him to believe he had not seen Anna at the salon? What about the meeting at the opera? Questions, questions. Hadfield batted them back with either an angry denial or a sad, incredulous shake of the head: 'Are you going to accept my word or the lies of a murderer?' he asked eventually.

'Don't you think a murderer capable of the truth?'

'An interesting question to debate at length, Anton Frankzevich, but you have spent an hour trying to prove I am a terrorist, so there really isn't time.'

'Simple questions, that's all, Doctor,' Dobrshinsky said, his thin lips twitching with amus.e.m.e.nt.

'If you're not going to arrest me for having had the misfortune to accept an invitation to the wrong sort of party then you must excuse me,' Hadfield replied. 'You see, I generally charge for my time.' He paused. 'But perhaps you would like me to examine you? You don't look well.' He bent again to his medical bag. There was nothing more likely to distract and worry a man than a doctor's professional concern.

'That isn't necessary. I'm in good health,' said Dobrshinsky irritably.

'As you wish,' said Hadfield, easing himself out of the low library chair.

The special investigator rose, too, carefully smoothing the creases from his tailcoat. What a peculiar fellow, Hadfield thought, fastidious, with a lawyer's eye for detail but what else? He had a certain louche quality.

'Have you read Mr Dostoevsky's The Devils?' Dobrshinsky asked. His smile was disingenuous.

'No,' Hadfield lied again.

'You must.' Dobrshinsky walked over to the bookcase to the right of the fireplace and took out two volumes.

'But I can buy my own copy.'

'No, I insist. You can return it. I think you'll find it illuminating. In particular, the ease with which clever people can be tricked by the unscrupulous acting in the name of principle.'

In the street outside, an image began to form in the back of Hadfield's mind.

At first it was diffuse, like sunlight through a morning mist. By the time he had hailed a cab, it had sharpened into the recollection of an evening in Zurich in the company of a young man with a pallor and distance very like the collegiate councillor's. As the evening had progressed the student had become agitated and his thin body had begun to shake uncontrollably.

Hadfield's exclamation so alarmed the driver he brought his cab to a halt.

'Is something wrong, Your Honour?'

Of course, he had treated cases since; Dobrshinsky clearly exhibited some of the symptoms. If he was a betting man he would have placed money on his diagnosis the tsar's special investigator was addicted to opium.

28.