his usual way but instead he had got up and headed up to the sundeck and, under the stars, had opened up his laptop.
As he often did, Nikolai had looked for news of his friends from detsky dom days and he had read the latest news about Sev.
The New York City–based Internet security expert, Sevastyan Derzhavin, was spotted in London sporting a black eye and a nasty cut. With him was his personal assistant, Naomi Johnson, wearing a huge black diamond ring on her engagement finger.
The picture that had accompanied the small piece was of Sev and, presumably, Naomi, walking hand in hand along the street, and, despite the mess of his face, Sev had looked happy.
He deserved to be.
Growing up, Sev had been the closest thing to family that Nikolai had ever known.
In the orphanage, there had been four dark-haired, pale-skinned, dark-eyed boys who had challenged the carers. They had been born with no hope but all had had dreams.
At first they had dreamt that one day they would be chosen by a family.
They never had been, though, and finally they had been cruelly told why. Their pale skin, which didn’t turn pink, and their dark hair had meant they were black Russians and far harder to place than blond, blue-eyed children.
Still they’d dreamt.
The twins, Daniil and Roman, would become famous boxers, the boys were all sure. Sev, with his clever mind, would go far, and as for Nikolai, though he had no idea who his parents were, he was certain his father had been a sailor.
Certain.
Nikolai’s love of the ocean had been born into him long, long before he had even glimpsed the sea.
But in detsky dom dreams had died easily.
At twelve years of age Daniil had been chosen and placed with an English family. His identical twin, Roman, had then run wilder than ever before and had been moved to the secure wing.
At fourteen, as Sev had started to shine, he had been moved to a different class and hope had been high that he would receive a scholarship to a prestigious school. Nikolai and Sev had still got the bus to school together and they’d shared a dormitory at night, but without his friend Nikolai’s grades had slipped and he had been singled out by a teacher he’d loathed.
‘Tell me, Nikolai, why your grades have suddenly gone down?’
Nikolai had shrugged. He hadn’t liked this teacher, who had always picked on him and given him detention, which had meant he would miss the bus and have to walk.
‘Was Sevastyan helping you?’ the teacher asked.
‘Nyet.’ He shook his head. ‘Can I go now? Or I will miss the bus.’
It was cold and snowing and his coat was not a good one.
‘We need to discuss this,’ the teacher said. ‘It would not look good on your friend’s scholarship application if I had to write that Sevastyan had helped you to cheat.’
‘He didn’t.’
The teacher got out a maths exam paper Nikolai had recently taken and told him to sit and then asked him to write the answers to the questions.
‘You could do this maths two months ago, so why not now?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘This could be very bad for your friend...’
Nikolai stared at the numbers and pleaded for the answer to come to him. Of course Sev had helped him, it hadn’t felt like cheating, just a friend helping a friend.
And it could now cause trouble.
‘Did Sevastyan do your work for you?’ the teacher asked, and raised his hand. Nikolai thought he was about to be smacked upside the head but the man’s hand came down on Nikolai’s shoulder.
‘Nyet,’ Nikolai said, and tried to shrug the hand off, but it remained.
‘Come on, Nikolai,’ the teacher said, and, removing his hand, he took the chair beside Nikolai. ‘How can I help you if you don’t tell me the truth?’
‘He didn’t do my work.’
‘Then you should be able to do the maths.’
Yet he couldn’t.
He heard the horn blare from the bus and he knew it was leaving.
‘I’ll drive you home,’ the teacher said, and Nikolai frowned as he would rather walk in the snow. ‘About Sevastyan helping you...’
‘We weren’t cheating,’ Nikolai pleaded, to save his friend from losing his scholarship. ‘Sev just showed me how.’
‘It’s okay,’ the teacher said gently, and Nikolai did not understand the strange tone to the man’s voice yet the hammering of his heart warned him to fear it. ‘We can keep it between us. Nobody has to get into trouble.’
Nikolai stared at the sums and then he felt a hand high on his thigh.
‘Do they?’ the teacher checked, and Nikolai didn’t answer.
* * *
His butler duly returned and managed not to raise an eyebrow at the table Nikolai had upended in rage at the memory of what had taken place long ago. Instead, the butler laid out the clothes he had purchased and since neatly pressed.
Nikolai headed to the shower and decided against shaving. His thick dark hair fell into perfect shape.
He pulled on the crisp white shirt and gunmetal-grey tie his butler had chosen. The dark suit sat on his broad shoulders far better than he had expected it to.
He felt as if he were dressing for a funeral such was his grief for his lost friend, yet he wanted to see Sev happy so badly.
His eyes would remain behind dark glasses, Nikolai decided as he put them on. He would take them off at the last moment as he stepped into the church.
He would arrive and leave unnoticed, and so, instead of summoning his driver or making a spectacle of unloading the car, he disembarked on foot and walked along South Quay then hailed a black cab.
The driver chatted about how warm the weather was for May but Nikolai did not respond. As they pulled up at the church and the driver turned for his fare, Nikolai shook his head.
‘Two minutes,’ he said with a heavy Russian accent.
Those two minutes turned into ten but the driver did not argue given the amount of cash that had just changed hands.
Nikolai sat watching the guests milling on the steps of the church and braced himself to head inside. The press were there and police were keeping the crowd on the other side of the road.
Sev, he guessed, must already be inside because, despite scanning the crowd, he could not make out his old friend. Sev had been an introvert
