The Red Gods by Nicole Christopher

Author:Nicole, Christopher [Nicole, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2015-02-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8 - But Even Gods Die

Jennie was waiting on the snow-covered platform of Moscow Central when the train pulled in, Baby Tatiana in her arms. Both were wrapped up warmly against the bitter January wind, as was everyone else awaiting the incoming train from Warsaw, via Brest-Litovsk and Smolensk. And like them, she wore a black band on the left sleeve of her coat. It steamed to a halt, and a moment later Andrei had his arms round them both. “Has it been very bad?”

“Bad? Oh, no. Sombre. And confusing. No one seems to know what is going to happen. There is even talk that Krupskaya may take over the government.”

Andrei hefted his small suitcase and escorted his wife and daughter towards the exit.

“I am so glad to have you back,” Jennie confided. “I know you don’t celebrate Christmas in Russia, but it has been so lonely without you, especially with everyone so preoccupied. Was your trip a success? Did you meet with the man you went to see in Prague?”

Andrei presented his ticket and then led them on to the street; the apartment was not very far from the station. “Yes, I met with the man.”

“Was it a successful meeting?”

“I think so.”

“But now Comrade Lenin is dead...”

“I shall report to the Party Secretary,” Andrei explained. “Did you go to the funeral?”

“Well, no, I didn’t want to go alone, and I had nobody to leave Baby with.” She gave him an anxious glance. “I didn’t do wrong?”

He squeezed her hand. “They all love you, anyway.”

Guards presented arms beneath huge black flags drooping in the cold, still air, and then they were hurrying up the steps to their apartment. Immediately Tatiana began to cry. “She’s hungry,” Jennie said.

“Then feed her,” Andrei said. “And then come to bed. Business always make me randy.”

*

Joseph put the newspaper on the table in front of Priscilla. She read:

Self-styled “Prince” Colin Bolugayevski, well-known Russian emigre, was yesterday shot dead in the doorway of his Paris apartment. The French police have no clues as to the identity of his assassin, or to any motive, hut they are anxious to interview a young woman who may have been in Prince Bolugayevski’ s apartment at the time of the crime. This woman was seen by neighbours on several occasions during the past month, and it is even supposed she may have been living with the Prince. But she has disappeared. Prince Bolugayevski was the head of one of Russia’s oldest princely families, and one which has strong English and American connections. An officer in the White Army of General Denikin, he fled Russia when the Whites were finally defeated, and has been earning a living as a taxi-driver in Paris. His death leaves the princely title to his half-brother, Alexei Bolugayevski, but the whereabouts of this new prince are presently unknown…

Priscilla raised her head. “My God! Who, do you suppose?”

“One thinks immediately of the Reds. Although with the kind of demi-monde life Colin was living it’s impossible to be certain.

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