‘I believe your husband is right,’ Alexei pointed out. ‘Certain cogs are dispensable. It’s a matter of choosing the right ones.’ He leaned back in his chair, his face set hard.

‘Dmitri,’ Lydia said quickly and jumped to her feet. A nudge of coffee spoiled the whiteness of the cloth. ‘Come with me, please. I want a word.’

Dmitri Malofeyev and Lydia walked towards the large revolving front door of the hotel, but before they reached it she spotted a heavy oak door off to the left, marked CARD ROOM. She pushed it open, entered and held the door ajar to admit Dmitri after her.

‘You in the mood for a game of poker?’ he smiled.

‘I’m willing to gamble, if that’s what you mean.’

The room was unused at this hour of the morning. Small square green baize tables were dotted around, and an impressive aspidistra plant blocked most of the light from the window so that the air had a strange greenish shimmer to it. As if they were underwater. Lydia turned to face her companion. She placed her hands on her hips to keep them still and spoke seriously.

‘Dmitri, help me. We both know you can. Please.’

He didn’t smile or laugh or raise a mocking eyebrow this time. He regarded her with a solemn expression. ‘What is it you want?’

‘The same as before. Where Jens Friis is held.’

Slowly he shook his head, his red hair closer to purple in this strange light. She knew her own must look the same. ‘That’s not possible, Lydia. I’ve told you already. Now you must stop asking me.’

‘It is possible. All you have to do is tell me. No one need know.’

‘But I would know.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘Yes, I rather think it does.’

The gap between them was about three paces. Very deliberately, her mouth as dry as the green baize, she reduced it to two.

‘What would persuade you to say yes?’ she whispered.

To her astonishment his eyes grew sad and he murmured, ‘I’m not worth it, Lydia. Take your beautiful wares elsewhere before I spoil them.’

‘I’m staying right here.’

‘Ah, I see. This is where you fall into my arms and I whisper sweet prison names in your ear in return.’

‘Something like that.’

‘It’s what I should have expected.’

‘You make me feel cheap.’

‘No, lovely Lydia, you’ll never come cheap, of that I’m certain. The price will always be high.’

She swallowed, beating down a sense of being out of her depth. Of drowning in this strange watery light.

‘It’s not a high price,’ she insisted. ‘One prison name and address. Easy for you.’

He let his eyes inspect her carefully, from her scruffy shoes to her thin hips, up to her breasts, her throat and finally her face, as though judging her worth. Her cheeks started to burn.

He smiled, an odd crooked smile. ‘You are particularly desirable when you blush like that, Lydia. Do you know that?’

‘Are you in the mood to gamble, Dmitri?’

Again he surprised her. Each time she tried to take control he seemed to sidestep her. He pulled his silver cigarette case from inside his jacket, removed one cigarette and tossed the case to her. She caught it.

‘Use that, Lydia. Go and buy yourself your information. I have no intention of destroying my future career in the Kremlin just because I can’t say no to a beautiful girl. Not even one with the face of an angel and the eyes of a tiger, ready to rip my heart out of my chest if I don’t do what she asks.’

Lydia was stunned. She wanted to drop the silver case to the floor but her fingers wouldn’t let it go. She watched him light his cigarette with a steady hand.

‘So,’ he said when he had exhaled a grey plume of smoke from his nostrils, ‘what would you do if you knew the address of this prison? Write to Jens Friis? Hello, how are you? I’m having a good time in Moscow. Is that what you plan to do?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then what?’

‘That’s my business.’

They stared at each other. Suddenly hostile.

‘They aren’t allowed letters or contact of any sort,’ he said. ‘You must know that.’

‘I’m not thinking of sending a postcard.’

‘No.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I dare say you aren’t.’

This was it. Her heart banged on her ribs. She took another step forward. They were close now, so close she could smell the spicy fragrance of his hair oil, see the tiny pockmark on his jaw. He stood immobile, the cigarette dangling from his fingers, but his grey eyes watched her.

She reached out, took the cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray on the nearest table. She lifted his hand and placed it over her racing heart. His mouth softened instantly. She stretched up on her toes, encircled his neck with her arms and pulled his head down to hers till her lips were pressed hard against his. At first he didn’t respond. Unyielding and reluctant. She feared she’d got it all wrong. But as soon as she leaned her weight against him, letting the heat of her body sweep over his, he changed abruptly. His tongue darted into her mouth, his hands started to pull at her blouse, and a sound like a drunken moan escaped his lips. He had her now. Exactly what he wanted.

Lydia kept her eyes open. Forced herself to look at him as his hand slid under the waistband of her skirt.

‘Well, what a pretty party this is. Can anyone join in or is it private?’

Lydia froze. Dmitri unwound himself. He breathed out heavily.

‘Hello, Antonina,’ he said with an untroubled smile. ‘ Lydia was just teaching me the skills of gambling.’

‘Bidding high, were you?’

‘Extremely.’

Antonina’s fingernails began to trace a path up and down her long white gloves. ‘ Lydia, your brother wishes to speak with you.’

Lydia felt a tremor moving like a snake in her gut. Without a word and without a glance at the Russian husband and wife, she walked out of the room. The snake shifted its coils inside her, sliding up from her stomach to her throat till she thought she would be sick.

‘Lydia Ivanova, you’re under arrest.’

Lydia spun round to face the speaker, heart racing, legs tensed to run. A scruffy mop of milk-white hair and a boy’s wide grin greeted her. Even the dog in its sack on his chest had its pink tongue lolling out, laughing.

‘You bastard,’ she moaned and tried to clip Edik on the ear, but he ducked away with ease and pranced up on his toes beside her.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘I needed some air. So I’ve come to take a look at the Kremlin.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to see where all the decisions are made. Where it is that someone can just scribble his name on a piece of paper and decide my future.’ She shrugged in the bitter wind that rose off the water. ‘Whether I live or die.’

They were walking along a rough path on the edge of the River Moskva, the massive red walls of the Kremlin towering over them, its shadow heavy and cumbersome, its crenellations like teeth eager to bite. Lydia tipped her head back and studied it thoughtfully. ‘Do you know what I think, Edik? I think this fortress is a poisonous spider hunched at the centre of the web that is Moscow, and I feel as though I’m caught inside its sticky mesh. If I move, I know the spider will come for me.’

The boy stared at her for a second, then burst out laughing and swept a hand through the air with a rapid slicing movement. ‘That’s what I do to spiders’ webs. Tear them apart. It’s easy.’

Lydia laughed. ‘I envy you, Edik.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you see life in black and white. No greys.’

‘Is that wrong?’

‘No. I remember when not long ago I saw it like that too.’

‘So?’

She ruffled his hair and he danced out from under her hand, skipping ahead but backwards, so that he was facing her. She noticed for the first time that the grey tinge of his skin was gone and that his cheekbones had lost their sharp edges. The sausage and the ham and the warm coat were getting to work on him.