He tilted his head to one side. “I think it is possible. But we may never find out, because if any of them did escape, they would have kept a low profile. Even if they were living overseas, there would have been a risk of assassination. A few people who claimed to be Romanovs were killed back in the 1920s.”

“So you think the truth might never emerge?” That wasn’t what Val wanted to hear.

“I’m convinced it won’t. History is not a neat narrative written by Gorky or Chekhov where everything falls into place at the end.” He smiled. “But you are a historian. You must agree.”

“It’s human nature to try to look for patterns in life,” Val said, “but I suppose most things are random.”

“I think there are patterns in human behavior,” he said, “but not in fate.” He smiled. “Can I offer you a cup of tea? I am privileged to have a kettle in this office.”

While he made the tea, Val fingered the envelope of photographs in her handbag. Bill had told her not to bring them with her to the Soviet Union in case their belongings were searched, but she couldn’t resist slipping them into her bag. She felt sure this man, Stepan, was not a government spy because he was far too frank. It would be fascinating to hear what he thought of them.

“No milk, I’m afraid,” he said as he put a cup of steaming black liquid in front of her.

“Can I show you something?” she asked, making a spur-of-the-moment decision.

He looked puzzled. “OK.”

Val pulled out the prints. “My father had a camera among his possessions. An old Kodak Autographic. There was some film inside that had not been developed, so after he died I got the pictures printed.” She passed them across the desk and he began to flick through them. “The quality is not very good,” she continued, “but I think it shows the Romanovs in the Ipatiev House.”

Stepan did not respond but continued examining the images. He stopped at one and she heard an intake of breath, but she couldn’t see which had affected him. He had gone very quiet.

“Do you agree?” she asked.

Stepan looked shaken, as if he’d seen something that disturbed him, and he paused before he spoke. “I wonder if I might borrow these to show a colleague, who is more of an expert than me? If you tell me the name of your hotel, I will return them before you leave.”

“Of course you can,” she agreed. “I have another set at home, so if your colleague wants to keep them for historical research, that would be fine.”

He kept flicking through, shaking his head in astonishment.

“Do you know how your father got this camera?” he asked.

Val bit her lip. Should she trust him? What was the worst that could happen?