At the other end of the phone, Charlie told Julius to slow down while he grabbed a pen and notepad. ‘Shoot, and please don't give me the location of a cemetery.’
Julius laughed. ‘No, as far as I can tell he's alive and kicking and of relatively sound mind and body. He's a retired publisher, still writes the occasional column for various magazines, and is the branch secretary for a local bird spotting group. According to their Facebook page, he regularly walks a few miles along the Thames Valley towpath.’
‘The Thames! You mean —’
‘Yep. Right here in good old Blighty. You can put your passport away.’
‘Okay, so you’ve found the estranged brother. Now, tell me about the grandfather. In your opinion, am I on a wild goose chase?’
‘Right, so Zofia’s grandfather-in-law, if that’s the right term, was called Dimitri Guskov and he was a Russian soldier during the revolution.’ Julius paused to drink his coffee and Charlie cut in.
‘Damn, is that it? I was hoping you might have been able to find out a bit more.’
‘If you’ll let me finish. I did find more. After he left the army he married a German girl and moved west. They had two sons, and the rest you know.’
‘So, that’s it then?’
Julius grinned to himself. ‘Well, there is one other little fact I dug up. Guskov was stationed at Ipatiev House in 1918. But listen, there’s something else...’ Julius smiled as Charlie whistled down the phone.
Ipatiev House was etched in blood. Tsar Nicolas II, his wife Tsarina Alexander and their five children, ranging in age from twenty-two to thirteen, were assassinated in a cold, damp basement room. It was an act that sent shock waves across Europe. Charlie was even more determined now to go and visit Dimitri Guskov’s grandson. Could he be on the path of an uncovered Fabergé egg? The temptation to keep it was high; what a thing to own. However, it was nowhere near as tempting as netting a quick twenty million or more. God knows, as yet he had no idea which egg it was. It might not even be an imperial egg. It might not even be a Fabergé. He had to try to remain calm and focussed. The grandson might not even have the other doll casing anymore. But what if he did? What if he had never opened his grandfather’s seal? What if an egg was hidden inside after all those years?
Rebecca looked up at Julius. He was trying very hard to make-up for last week's lapse of judgement and had met her for lunch, presenting her with a lovely bunch of flowers. She wondered if he had an account somewhere, as he regularly gave her flowers to apologise for this or that. She wasn't complaining, but it might be nice if the flowers were just flowers, not apologies. He was now telling her enthusiastically about a set of auction catalogues he was currently going through, from a northern market town in the 1930s. Apparently, stuff like this was invaluable in tracking down provenance for various works of art. He had also been able to marry up some items with a banking ledger that had been catalogued a few years earlier.
‘It's like finding a missing link. It might mean the discovery of a hidden masterpiece or the validation that Granny's pretty vase is going to pay for her nursing. Stuff like this is incredible.’
She knew she wasn’t as clever as Julius, not even close, but she wished occasionally he would find her fascinating. They had met at a quiz night where her team was smashing it. At the bar, he had smiled at her and said he and his team needed her expertise. Apparently, he didn’t even watch TV. She had thought that was incredibly endearing. She didn’t normally make the first move, but had suggested that they go out for a drink; she had been delighted by his surprised smile.
Now she tried to stifle a yawn. Whatever Julius was working on was always amazing or incredible. A new type of medieval hinge, amazing; a recipe for cheese, incredible; a diary entry for the yield of a field, revelatory. It didn't matter what the subject matter was or the time period, Julius found it all fascinating. Rebecca yawned again and made a point of looking around the room.
Julius grimaced. He had been playing back yesterday’s conversation with Charlie in his head. The police report had said the death was unsuspicious, but Julius was alarmed. Charlie, however, wasn’t. Old people died all the time; that was sort of the point. Even so, the discovery sat uncomfortably with Julius, who hoped his friend was not getting involved in something dangerous. Just as he was about to replay the conversation again, he noticed Rebecca was yawning.
He knew he was rubbish with girls. They were clearly worth the effort, he just wished he were better at it. He thought Rebecca was a lovely girl who always saw the world differently, in a way that was refreshing to him, but he didn’t seem to be able to convey that. He had tried once to explain how he felt about her, and was horrified when she asked if she was some sort of experiment. He knew she was upset, but he wasn’t sure how he had hurt her and tried harder to be attentive. The problem was, he was no good at small talk; he didn't tend to notice current affairs or the weather, he rarely watched TV or the papers, and probably couldn’t pick the current Prime Minister out of a line up, let alone which party they represented. Talking about his own work seemed to constantly bore her, so he moved to a subject that he was sure would please her. ‘How's your day been?’
Rebecca’s attention swung back to him and, stabbing a broccoli stalk, she waved it at him.
