A uniformed stewardess came down the aisle. “Would you like a drink before lunch, Brigadier?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you. Your best scotch. No ice.” The whisky she brought was very good, indeed. By the time he had drunk it the airplane had leveled off at altitude, and he was being served chicken Kiev. He wondered if that was a geographical hint. It was very good, though. The stewardess did something at a panel up forward, and the window shades rose. Roger looked outside and saw nothing but sea.

He finished his lunch, his tray was taken away, and the stewardess brought him a soft blanket and a pillow. He reclined his seat a bit and closed his eyes.

Roger was awakened some time later by a jerk as the landing gear came down. He checked his watch: they had been in the air for more than two hours. The airplane touched down, and he was able to see buildings and other aircraft, some of them wearing Russian insignia. They taxied to a halt on a ramp and were unloaded into another large car. They left the airport and drove along the sea for three-quarters of an hour, then pulled into a gated driveway, drove up to a large white house, and stopped.

Someone opened his door, and he got out. Alex led him into the house, down a central hallway to double doors that opened onto a terrace; beyond was a beach and the sea.

“Welcome to Crimea,” Alex said. “This house once belonged to an archduke.” He led Roger on a tour of the place, then took him upstairs to a large bedroom with a terrace opening onto the sea.

Jennifer had joined them. “Would you like me to stay here with you?” she asked.

“Yes, I would,” Roger replied.

“You have a nap, and I’ll unpack for you.”

Roger stretched out on the bed and was soon dozing.

—

Roger stirred. The room was darkened, though there was daylight still coming through a crack in the curtains. He felt a hand on his crotch and did not disturb it. She unzipped his trousers and unbuckled his belt, then pulled his trousers down a few inches and took him into her mouth. She didn’t stop until well after he had climaxed.

—

They had a shower together, then dressed for dinner, and went downstairs. Alex awaited them on the front terrace at a beautifully set table. A bottle of wine rested in a cradle, and a bottle of Talisker single malt scotch whisky, was next to it. Alex poured them all drinks. He raised his glass. “To new friends,” he said. They drank.