The Chronicle of the Versemaker by Craig C. Charles

Author:Craig C. Charles [Craig C. Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: North Country Publishing, LLC
Published: 2024-11-18T00:00:00+00:00

Anna Akhmatova and Franz Krüger sat ensconced in the warm glow of a corner booth, a crisp white tablecloth before them. It bore the weight of a decadent spread—from a bottle of fine French wine to the evening’s exquisite seafood cuisine.

Silverware clinked against fine china, a soft melody faintly perceptible amid the low hum of hushed conversation and muted laughter that filled Wilton’s—London’s oldest and most exclusive restaurant. A kaleidoscope of light cast from the wall sconces reflected off the mahogany-panels separating the plush, green velour booths, casting an intimate light on the patrons. Outside, the city braced itself for another potential air raid, but within these culinary sanctuary walls, life carried on with a defiance that felt quintessentially British.

“Considering the surroundings,” Anna mused, taking in the opulence, “it is almost hard to believe there is a war going on. The sacrifices the English speak of in their radio broadcasts seem to pale in comparison to the realities in St. Petersburg.”

“The British RAF has lost thousands of pilots while repelling my former countrymen, Anna,” Krüger countered, his tone serious. “Their life expectancy is less than four weeks—roughly the lifespan of a gnat. I would consider that a significant sacrifice.”

“Franz,” Anna began, her gaze firm and her voice steady, “In this world where nations divide and humanity loses its essence, art and verse are our only refuge. It is the bearer of our shared history and the only testament of a world that once was.”

Krüger nodded, recognizing the truth she spoke. He took a sip from his wine glass, the pale, straw-colored liquid shimmering in the candlelight. “And that is why, Anna, we have an immense responsibility to protect it,” he said, his tone serious, “And I do not just mean from physical damage or theft. We need to protect it from being forgotten, from being misused.”

Among the elegance and sophistication of a London high society, a poet from St. Petersburg and a half-German art dealer discussed the future of art and culture in a world that seemed determined to destroy its past. Heavy with the burden of responsibility, their words echoed in the restaurant, a clandestine vow to safeguard history and humanity’s shared legacy.

“Good God, it’s Franz!” A voice, clearly steeped in an evening of libations, bellowed across the room.

Turning at the sound, Krüger recognized Olaf Hambro, chairman of Hambros Bank and one of his most ardent collectors. “Nice to see you, Olaf,” he said, rising to his feet and grasping the meaty hand extended towards him. “May I introduce...”

“It’s her!” Olaf interrupted, his eyes widening in surprise. “The angel immortalized on canvas. It is you, is it not?”

Caught off guard, Anna looked to Krüger, seeking an explanation for the man’s cryptic outburst.

“Olaf, please,” Krüger appealed half amused. “You must be hallucinating again. If you do not lower your voice, I am afraid you will be shown the door of this venerable establishment.”

“I purchased this ‘venerable establishment’ last week, so I will behave as I damn well please,” Olaf said with a laugh.

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