Val glanced at Bill and he replied, “Can’t we choose where we go? We only have a few days and are keen to see the palaces.”

The guide consulted her schedule. “Thursday is the day we go to Petrodvorets and Friday to Detskoye Selo.”

“I appreciate you have your routine,” Bill said. “But can’t we change it and go to Petrodvorets tomorrow?”

There was a long pause. “You don’t want to see the Hermitage? It has a world-class art collection.”

“Maybe later in the week,” Bill said firmly. “See you at nine.”

* * *

The next morning, the guide arrived at nine on the dot and agreed to take them to Petrodvorets, although she intimated that it had caused her a lot of trouble to change the arrangements. They caught a boat just outside the Winter Palace and motored downriver, past the docks, and out into the Gulf of Finland, where fishermen were casting their nets. They were sitting next to some Russian tourists who tried to teach Nicole a few words in their language. She gamely repeated what they said—“Pree-vee-et,” “Spa-seeba”—and didn’t mind when they laughed and corrected her pronunciation.

Val was bowled over when their boat docked at a jetty and she looked up toward a mustard, white, and gold building set along a ridge, just visible through the trees.

As they walked toward it, the guide began her talk in a droning voice. “In 1705, Peter the First chose this site for his official summer residence, because the sea is deep enough for ships to dock. Within ten years he had built the original palace and laid out the Upper and Lower Park . . .”

Val tuned out her words and drank in the atmosphere instead: the smell of flowers in the breeze, the tinkling of fountains, the murmuring voices of other visitors.

“Now you must appreciate the Grand Cascade,” the guide ordered.

Val glanced at Bill and they shared a smile at her authoritarian tone.

Even Nicole was impressed by the spectacular chain of fountains splashing around shiny gold statues, leading down from the palace. One was designed to soak anyone who tried to take a piece of artificial fruit from a tabletop; another jet of water leaped twenty feet into the air from a lion’s mouth. Their guide explained that none of the fountains used pumps; instead they had been designed to operate using the gradient of the site.

Val wondered if the Romanovs had taken these surroundings for granted. Was this simply one of their many homes, or did they appreciate how glorious it was?