‘No formality here, we are comrades-in-arms,’ he growled and then, instead of shaking hands, Minsky hugged Wilde like an old friend. His bald pate only came up to the American’s chin and Wilde got a whiff of expensive cologne, mixed with stale smoke. When Minsky eventually released him, he stood back, pushing out his belly against his tight Red Army uniform and punched the air, like a victory salute. Two medals, one of them a star, were pinned to his tunic. ‘This is a wonderful day. Come on, comrade Professor, let’s go and eat and drink. Yes?’

‘I’m afraid it’s just me. My colleague Lieutenant Heck is indisposed.’

‘Don’t worry about that. More for us, eh? Come, we have a little taste of Moscow just around the corner – a little Russian restaurant in the heart of the fascist empire. And right from the start I want you to know that the people of the great Soviet Union and Comrade Stalin himself insist on paying for everything. It is an honour to have you as our guest, my friend.’

‘Well, it’s an honour to be here, Colonel General.’

‘Today, we forget military ranks. I am your comrade, Professor. Nothing more.’ Together, they strode out on the street. Minsky walked quickly for a man of about fifty with short legs, but Wilde kept up easily.

‘So tell me, Comrade Minsky, where did you learn your English? Have you spent time in the West?’

‘I was in England for a year back in 1913 to 1914. A great country, but, oh, the class divide. Your poor were so poor, your bourgeoisie so comfortable and smug. These English workers, why do they suffer serfdom still? Why do they allow themselves to be ruled by the capitalist bourgeoisie?’

Wilde couldn’t help laughing. The thought of any twentieth-century Englishman submitting to serfdom was beyond ludicrous. ‘Would you call Attlee and his new Labour government bourgeois? I thought they had some pretty radical ideas, comrade, but perhaps you know more about these things than I do.’

‘Ah, now you are making fun of me, Professor. Of course, I am but an ignorant peasant from the Steppes. How can I possibly know about the way things are in your adopted country?’

‘So what were you doing in England before the First World War?’

‘Organising labour, evading the Tsar’s secret police. What else was there to do? I needed to spend a little time abroad and England seemed the place.’

‘And I suppose you left because of the war?’

‘I had to go back to fight the Germans – and to organise a revolution.’ Minsky laughed even louder, then slapped Wilde’s arm and stopped outside a rather pleasant-looking little restaurant. ‘Enough about me. We have fine Russian food to eat, and vodka to drink. Come inside, please.’