She could be at it for several minutes if she stayed true to pattern.

Zivon glanced over his shoulder, verifying that Clarke and Miss Ivy were meandering past them on the path, their pace so slow that anyone could see it wasn’t the exercise they were after, just the company. They smiled at him but didn’t interrupt their conversation otherwise.

He smiled back, let his hands fall into that comfortable position behind his back, and closed his eyes against the mist. Listened.

Birdsong. Children playing. Nurses scolding.

Russian syllables, muttering about war and support and desperation.

Zivon’s eyes flew open. He knew those voices. Both of them, which made dread slink down his spine. One was Nabokov—not surprisingly, Zivon supposed, given how close Hyde Park was to the embassy.

But the other—to whom did that belong? He’d heard it before, he knew he had. But not from the embassy.

They were coming from beyond that line of bushes, no doubt from the bench positioned there. Zivon cast a glance at Lily—she was focused now upon the ducks enjoying a puddle—and then slid one step closer to the voices.

“Perhaps we could appeal the decision.” Nabokov, he was sure of it. He spoke quietly, though not exactly in a whisper. “Ask for more.”

“And risk having what was granted taken away? Be reasonable, Konstantin. The king was quite generous in allotting us enough to keep ourselves running. It was too much to hope that he would agree to support the other embassies as well. That will have to fall to their host nations or to generous patrons. You know as well as I that some of the other ambassadors can fund themselves.”

“Assuming they can access their funds, yes.” A sigh blustered out.

Zivon closed his eyes again to better focus on the unknown voice’s cadence, rhythm, accent. Upper class, that much he could identify without thought. Educated. Which did little to narrow down the list of his acquaintances from recent years.

“I pray this aid we secured will be sufficient to support our people who are here in England, anyway. Surely the Bolsheviks will be brought under control soon. Have we heard any more from Maklakov? About whether the United States will intervene?”

“No. Though I know he continues to speak the logic of it to them. If Germany takes advantage of the chaos and moves into our territory, it will spell disaster for all the Allies.”

“I want to trust they’ll see this wisdom, Fyodor, but . . .”

Fyodor. Zivon’s eyes flew open again. Not—but yes. It had to be. Fyodor Suvorov. Of course it was Fyodor Suvorov. He and Nabokov were cousins or some such, a fact that had completely escaped Zivon’s memory until now. Oh, Lord, why?

He stepped back to Lily’s side, his fingers curled into his palm.

She stood. Glanced at him at first, then frowned. “Are you all right?”