“My father, actually,” said Seb. “Which reminds me, when my sister needed canvases, paints, drawing paper, brushes, or even pencils, my father always made sure they were of the highest quality. He used to say it mustn’t be our fault if she didn’t succeed. I want the same for my daughter. So if five thousand isn’t enough, Dr. Wolfe, don’t hesitate to give her anything she needs and I’ll cover the extra costs. But I repeat, neither mother nor daughter must ever find out who made this possible.”

“It won’t be the first secret of yours I’ve kept, Mr. Clifton.”

“I apologize,” said Seb, “and also for my next question. When do you retire, Dr. Wolfe?”

“Not long after your daughter will have won the Hunter Prize Scholarship to the American College of Art, which will be a first for Jefferson Elementary.”

Chapter 34

34

HARRY WAS CHECKING his traveler’s checks when the stewardess began her final round, making sure the first-class passengers had fastened their seat belts as the plane began its descent into Leningrad.

“Excuse me,” said Harry. “Do you know when your next flight back to London is?”

“This aircraft has a four-hour turnaround, and is scheduled to return to London at nine ten this evening.”

“That’s a bit rough on you, isn’t it?”

“No,” she said, suppressing a smile. “We always have a stopover in Leningrad. So if you were to return on this evening’s flight, you’d be served by a completely different crew.”

“Thank you,” said Harry. “That’s most helpful.” He looked out of the cabin window to watch Tolstoy’s favorite city looming larger by the second, although he suspected the great author would have been appalled by its change of name. As he heard the hydraulics lowering the wheels into place he wondered if there would be enough time for him to carry out his shopping spree and be back on board before the cabin door was locked.

When the wheels touched the ground, Harry felt a surge of adrenalin he’d only previously experienced when he’d been behind enemy lines during the war. He sometimes forgot that was nearly thirty years ago, when he was a stone lighter and a whole lot nimbler. Well, at least this time he wouldn’t be expected to face a regiment of Germans advancing toward him.

After leaving Mrs. Babakov, he had committed everything she had said to memory. He hadn’t written anything down for fear of someone discovering what he had planned. He had told no one other than Emma the real reason he was visiting Leningrad, although Giles had worked out that he must be going there to collect the book—although “collect” was the wrong verb.