The one in Moscow would surely bring more hatred and division to a country that already suffered from a surfeit of both. The one in Kent might bring an end to the family Martin, for, as far as Powerscourt knew, there were no children of the marriage. De Chassiron was scrabbling through a little booklet brought out from one of his desk drawers. Ricky Crabbe was hovering with intent by Powerscourt’s side, as if expecting a telegraph message to materialize almost instantly. ‘How terrible,’ said Natasha Bobrinsky. ‘Two more dead people. Will it never stop?’ ‘I presume you will have to go back to London, Lord Powerscourt?’ asked Mikhail. ‘Would you like me to accompany you? It can be a long and tedious journey.’ Powerscourt managed not to say that he had no need of an interpreter in his own country. ‘That’s a very generous offer,’ he said, ‘but you need to stay here and keep watch over Natasha. I know you think I’m being absurdly old and fussing, Natasha, but I am sure you could be in very great danger if your employers or some of their staff find out that you are in touch with me and the British Embassy.’ ‘Here we are!’ said de Chassiron suddenly, holding up a battered copy of a railway timetable.
What do You think about Death On The Nevskii Prospekt?
