Dear Ivan Vsevolozhsky, we have decided to include, along with the portrait, the book Anna Karenina wrote. It will be of great interest to you because it is, in a way, another portrait of her. We don’t expect any financial compensation for it. We ask only that you keep the manuscript confidential for fifty years, at which time the heads of the tsar’s collection will decide whether or not to make it known and publish it, if they think it wise.

You will recall that, in its time, authorities judged it to be of excellent quality. We believe that the enclosed novel proves them correct.

Here Claudia pauses again. “Is this appropriate? Should I include a description of the novel?” She decides not to and continues writing.

Our sole intention is to leave it in safe custody to enrich the understanding and study of Mikhailov’s accompanying portrait. If the museum sees fit to donate it to some other institution, you have our permission, the only condition is that it’s not made public for the next fifty years. With our very highest regards …

Claudia prints Sergei’s signature at the bottom of the page, forging it, and then her own, making it look timid. Then she writes another note to the curator of the museum.

Dear Ernest, we’ve decided to make a last-minute donation. We’re including it with the painting. It’s Anna Karenina’s book. The blue box actually contains two books, two different versions. We’ve asked for a fifty-year embargo. If for some reason you can’t accept this condition, we would like to have it back immediately, no negotiations.

This note also appears to be signed by them both. And it has a postscript.

I’d be most grateful if you would not mention the subject to my husband. I’m sure you can understand how difficult it is for him to speak any words at all (they are, after all, one’s soul) about his mother.

She signs it without affectation, an honest signature with her characteristic decisiveness.

Claudia rings the service bell. With the help of the efficient maid, she’s ready in no time. She speaks with her husband’s undersecretary, Priteshko, entrusting him with the job of delivering her two letters and the blue box to the representatives of the museum.

“Madame, they’ve brought a motorcar to collect the painting, Prince Orlov’s Mercedes.”

“Mercedes?”

“It’s the name of an automobile … that kerosene thing.”

“Who’s driving it?” The first thing that crosses her mind is an image of Prince Orlov; if Vlady is there, she should go out and greet him; he’s one of the wealthiest, most powerful aristocrats, and he’s always at the wheel if the tsar’s aboard, out of concern for his safety; for him, it’s a question of honor.

“A chauffeur, madame.”

42. Anya Karenina

42. Anya Karenina