‘That is down to my grandfather. He filled it with soil and glued it shut.’ He said I wasn't to open it until my brother and I were reunited and he had the rest of the dolls with him. He said we would be rewarded. This is the soil of our motherland so we could plant a new seed and heal the family tree. That family was the most valuable gift there was.’
Philip shrugged and shook his head. ‘What can I say? My grandfather was Russian. Proud and brave, but like all Russians he had a tendency towards the dramatic or the romantic. I chose to honour my grandfather, but I would not make the first move. As for my brother, he was a coward and a traitor. We had a new future in the grasp of our hands, and all we needed to do was make a fist and grab it. Clean the country out and allow it to rise once more.’
Philip was beginning to get agitated, and Charlie needed to keep things on a friendly keel. Plus, he didn't want his revulsion to show.
‘Ah well. I'll leave you to it then and thank you for a very fine cup of tea. I've always thought that the Russians could teach the English a thing or two about tea making. It’s clearly in the blood.’
He began to tidy up his plate and saucer as Philip looked alarmed.
‘Don't you want it then?’
Charlie acted surprised. ‘I thought if you had kept it all this time, that maybe it did mean something to you after all?’
Charlie kept his face blank as Philip rapidly began to backtrack. ‘Well, you came all this way, and besides, it has been gathering dust all these years. I am prepared to sell it if the price is right?’
‘Look Mr Guscott, I have to be honest, it would be great to have it but now you tell me it's damaged. I'm going to have to take it to a specialist to unseal it. That's going to cost me. I've already paid you £150. It's all digging into a dwindling profit margin.’ He sighed and waited. This was tricky. He’d pay any price to have the doll. He didn’t even know at all if there was an egg hidden in there but now he was too caught up in the thrill of the chase. However, if Philip got a whiff of that, then he might not sell it at all.
‘£100 and it's yours.’
Charlie paused. A complete matryoshka set fully restored could possibly sell for £1000 if he took it to the right dealer. Russian folk art was beginning to be gobbled up by the oligarchs. And of course, it might be something else altogether.
‘Okay, let's shake on it.’
The drive home had nearly killed Charlie, and he closed his front door with an air of relief, the tension leaving his shoulders. His front door opened into a nicely furnished living room with a big squishy sofa and a large TV for his X-box, but he headed back into the study. It faced north and the window overlooked his own courtyard. Even so, he drew the curtain and took the doll out of his haversack.
Pulling open a drawer, he retrieved some fine tools and set to work on the seal. He was used to working on artefacts and had amassed a set of small tools and skills required for small restorations and repairs. Swollen joints, rust, dirt, even barnacles; all could be fixed with patience and a little bit of knowledge.
An hour later he felt the last bit of glue give way. He put his tools away and wiped his palms on the leg of his trousers. Very slowly he cupped the top of the doll and gently twisted it; sand began to pour out over the table. Charlie continued to carefully lift the doll. What if it really was just sand? And then, as the top of the doll was removed, Charlie watched as the sand poured away from the edges of a jewel-encrusted egg.
For a few seconds he just sat and stared at it in wonder.
Very gently, Charlie lifted the egg out and was surprised by the weight of it. It was a white enamelled egg, with the towers of St Basil inlaid in colourful enamel. At the top of the egg sat a gold orthodox cross. Around the lower circumference of the egg was a band of pearls and diamonds. This band acted as the base of the cathedral. Below the band was a filigree network of platinum threads and more diamonds and pearls. Charlie looked at it in wonder. It was exquisite, and though he had never heard of any description that matched this, he felt certain he was looking at a piece of work by Fabergé. He looked carefully at the cross. Did it pull up to reveal the surprise? Was there a hidden button?
He picked up the egg, intrigued by how solid it felt. Those pearls and diamonds looked so fragile, and yet in reality they were not going anywhere. Even so, Charlie held the egg with a level of reverence. Not only was the artistry incredible, it was likely worth over twenty million pounds. Still, could he work out how to open the egg? He smiled to himself. Could it be so simple? Holding the top and bottom of the egg, he gently twisted it and grinned as the two halves came apart. Just like the Russian doll.
Removing the top half of the egg, he revealed a second egg, this time featuring two portraits of the Tsar and Tsarina looking towards each other. Both were smiling. This was easily the most intimate image he had ever seen of the Tsarina. Her hair was down and she was gazing at the man she loved. Again, this egg was inlaid with enamel and jewels and another central band. Charlie twisted again and revealed the next egg. A portrait of
