the wheelchair, and the new life that had brought him.
The George Cross had come afterwards, although it was a year and a half before he could face the Queen for her to pin it on. By then, his mother had died, and his wife, totally unable to cope, had moved on, pleaded for a quiet divorce, even with all her Catholic convictions, and finally married a much older man.
Roper was now an indispensable part of Ferguson’s security group, spending most of his time at the Holland Park safe house in front of his computer screens, frequently racked with pain which responded only to whisky and cigarettes, his comfort food, sleeping only in fits and starts and mainly in his wheelchair. Indomitable, as Dillon once said, himself alone, a force of nature.
At 10.30 on the morning following his late-night conversation with Svetlana Kelly, Roper, accompanied by Monica, was delivered to the side entrance in the mews beside Chamber Court off Belsize Avenue. Roper was off-loaded, and a CCTV camera beside an ironbound gate in the high wall scanned them.
A voice, not Svetlana’s, said through the speaker, ‘Would that be Major Roper and Lady Starling?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Doyle told her.
‘I’m Katya Sorin, Svetlana’s companion. The gate will open now. Tell them to follow the path inside, and it will bring them round to the conservatory.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ The gate buzzed and opened. Doyle said, ‘I’ll wait. I’ve got a couple of newspapers.’
Roper went through into a quiet, ordered world of rhododendron bushes, poplars and cypress trees, a weeping willow. Not much colour around, but it was, after all, February. The path was York stone, but expertly laid so that the going was smooth. They approached a fountain in granite stone, moved on to the large Victorian house, and there was the terrace of the conservatory. A glass door stood open and Katya Sorin waited.
Roper had looked her up. She was forty and unmarried, born in Brighton to a Russian immigrant who had married an English woman. A senior lecturer at the Slade, where she taught painting, she was a successful portrait painter and had even had the Queen Mother sit for her. She also had a considerable reputation in the theatre as a set designer.
She had cropped hair, a kind of Ingrid Bergman look, and wore khaki overalls. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ Her handshake was firm. ‘Just follow me.’
She led the way into a delightful conservatory which was a sort of miniature Kew, crammed with plants of every description. Internal folding doors were open, disclosing a large drawing room, fashioned in period Victorian splendour, but Svetlana Kelly sat in the centre of the conservatory in a high wicker chair, a curved wicker table before her, two wicker chairs on the other side of it, obviously waiting for them.
‘My dear Lady Starling, how nice to meet you. Katya and I looked you up on the internet. Brains and beauty, such a wonderful combination.’
Monica had been well prepared by Roper. In a way, she felt she knew them already.
‘And such good bone structure.’ Katya actually put a hand under Monica’s chin. ‘I must do a drawing at least.’
Svetlana said, ‘And Major Roper. A true hero, a noble man.’
‘Yes,’ said Katya. ‘Now, please let me apologize, I must run off to the Slade for a seminar, so if you would accompany me, Lady Starling, I will show you the kitchen, and if there’s anything you’d like – coffee, tea, something stronger – I’m sure you won’t be shy about helping yourselves. We don’t keep a maid.’
‘Of course.’ Monica wasn’t in the least put out. ‘Anything I can do.’
Katya kissed Svetlana on the forehead. ‘Later, you may tell me all about whatever it is. Now I must go.’
She and Monica went out. There was a sideboard loaded with drinks and glasses. ‘Have a drink, my dear. What is your pleasure?’ asked Svetlana.
‘Scotch whisky in large quantities, I’m afraid.’
‘Which helps with the pain? You have had so many years of it that many drugs have lost their ability to cope, I imagine.’
‘How on earth do you know that?’
‘I’m a sensitive, my dear, I know the most intimate things about people. God blessed me as a child. Two gifts. To act – my abiding joy, my passion – and to heal. Come close.’ He eased the chair round and she took his face in her hands. ‘You have the pain in your head, am I right?’
‘Always.’
‘My hands are cool.’
‘Very.’
‘Now, my fingers on each side of your temples.’ The surge of heat was profound enough to shock him, and the usual tension subsided. ‘See, I told you so. Now go and get your whisky and a vodka for me.’
He went to the sideboard, poured the drinks, and brought them back. She raised her glass. ‘To life, my dear.’
They tossed it down and Monica returned. ‘Katya’s coming back. We got as far as her Mini Cooper and her mobile rang. It was the Slade cancelling her seminar, a water pipe burst or something. Anyway, I’m glad. I must say I like her enormously.’
‘And I like you, my dear. You are happy at the moment, you are in love, I think?’
‘Well, it certainly isn’t with me,’ Roper told her.
‘She will tell me in her own time, for we shall be good friends. Back to business and my nephew. I know his story, you know it, so does the whole world. So, let us start with you, my dear, having only just seen him, as I understand, at the gala cultural affair in New York for the United Nations.’
Katya, entering at that moment, heard her, and Monica hesitated, glancing at Roper. ‘Look, do I tell her where all this is leading? I mean, the most important thing he’s looking for if everything works out is total secrecy.’
Svetlana said, ‘If you hesitate over Katya, there’s no need. She is my most faithful friend and I trust her with my life.’
‘Excellent. I hope we haven’t offended you, Katya.’
‘Of course not. Please continue.’ She went to an easel by a window, removed a cloth, revealing a painting she was obviously working on, picked up a palette and brush and started to work.
Roper leaned over and took Svetlana’s hand. ‘When Kurbsky was seventeen, you came to London to do some Chekhov, met Patrick Kelly and decided to defect, which was a hell of a decision in Communist days. Did you ever regret it?’
‘Never. I fell in love with a good man, I fell in love with London. Life blossomed incredibly, but I see the direction you’re taking here. Alexander wishes to leap over the wall, too?’
Monica said, ‘They control his every move.
