Part 27 (2/2)

'We're not getting anywhere, are we?' he said after they'd ordered sandwiches and coffee. They had found dozens of pictures and references to William Gordon Huff's statues, and to the Court of Reflections in which Maisy and the man had been photographed, but they'd come across no more images of her, nor glimpses of Russian visitors.

'There's all those Kodachrome home movies to go through,' Kathy said. 'And we haven't finished the newspaper reports.'

They returned to the library, slightly refreshed, and went on with their hunt. After another hour without result, John went over to a computer station and began another search through the catalogue. Eventually he returned to Kathy, her head bent over a collection of postcards, and said that he'd found some GGIE references in the Economics stacks in Pusey, an underground extension of the library, and was going down to take a look. Slightly mesmerised by the images in front of her, Kathy nodded and turned to the next page.

There was a sign on the wall above Kathy's carrel stating that cell phone and pager use was not permitted in the library except in designated areas, so she jumped and looked around in embarra.s.sment when her mobile emitted a loud tune. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of her bag and whispered, 'Yes?'

'Kathy.' It was John. It took her a moment to remember that he'd gone some time before.

'Yes?'

'I may have found something. Come down and see.' He told her how to find him.

She took a lift down to the bas.e.m.e.nt of Widener and came to the tunnel that John had described, leading to the Pusey extension, where she descended to its lowest level. He waved her over to his desk and showed her an ancient typewritten report by the GGIE Budget Committee on visitor numbers to the fair. At the back was a series of appendices, one of which listed international delegations.

'There,' he said, and pointed to a paragraph headed Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, official visit of July 1630 1939 of Deputy People's Commissar of Culture, Varvara Nikoleavna Zhemchuzhina and 16 delegates.

'So there were Russians there,' John said. 'For what it's worth.'

Kathy was skimming the list of delegates' names, then said softly, 'Oh, I think it's worth something, John.' She pointed at one of the names: Gennady Moszynski (Leningrad). 'Mikhail's father. That's who was with Maisy in San Francisco in 1939, and again with Nancy and her parents at Chelsea Mansions in 1956.'

'Mikhail's father?' John repeated, looking at Kathy in astonishment. 'How can that be?'

'I don't know, but it's important, isn't it? Nancy had a reason not just for revisiting Chelsea Mansions, but for meeting Mikhail Moszynski. Their parents had once been close friends, even in the middle of the Cold War.'

'You think Gennady might have been based in the Russian Emba.s.sy in London in 1956?'

'It wasn't in the biography I was given, but I suppose it's possible.'

'You have his biography?'

'It was in a background briefing paper on Mikhail Moszynski that MI5 prepared for us when we were investigating his murder.'

'Do you think his father was a spy?'

'There was no suggestion of it.'

'But anyway, that was over fifty years ago. What difference would it make now? What could any of that have to do with Nancy and Mikhail's deaths?'

Kathy didn't know, but that name on an old report had given her a s.h.i.+ver of revelation, the sudden sense of discovering the truth among all the confusion. 'I've no idea what it means, John, but I think we might have earned our crust today.'

He smiled at her. 'This is exciting, isn't it? It's like how I felt when I identified a verse by Ariosto.'

She smiled at his idea of excitement, and yet it was true; she felt as if she had caught a glimpse of a ghost, the ghost that Nancy had teased Emerson with. 'Come on,' she said. 'Let's go and celebrate.'

He chose the place, the best seafood restaurant in Boston he said, down on the waterfront where she'd come on her first early morning run. From their table by the window they looked out over the harbour as dusk turned the scene from gold to turquoise, and far across the water the lights of the planes dropped like slow-motion meteors onto Logan's island.

As they talked, it occurred to Kathy how many things there were to like about John Greenslade. He was attentive, amusing and a good listener. He persuaded her to tell him about her childhood, and as he listened so sympathetically she found herself admiring little things about him, his slender hands, his thoughtful frown, and the wry, self-deprecating crease of his smile that reminded her a little of Brock. He was attracted to her, she could see that, and she liked the caution and restraint that seemed to be attuning itself to her own. He was too young, though; the ten-year gap between them might be refres.h.i.+ng but it was also a barrier. His openness and enthusiasm made her feel cynical and old.

'Your turn,' she said, wanting to return to safer ground. 'Tell me about the Greenslades.'

He looked suddenly serious, almost as if she'd said something to upset or offend him. Then he took a breath, a sip of wine and his face cleared. 'There aren't any,' he said. 'Just me and my mother.'

She looked at him, wondering what he meant, and noticed a tension that had gathered in the way he sat.

'The way she tells it, my father was in some kind of high-risk job. When she became pregnant with me she became afraid for her own and my safety, and ran away. She went to her sister in Toronto, and changed her name to Greenslade-”clean slate” was what she meant-and started a new life.'

'Oh. He was abusive to her, your father?'

'No, no, not as I understand it. The danger came from some people he was dealing with, who wanted to get at him through my mother. She reached a point where she couldn't stand it any more and just took off. He didn't even know she was pregnant until her sister got in touch with him and told him. Her sister, my aunt, acted as an intermediary for a while, pa.s.sing on messages and money he sent. But in the end my mother asked for a divorce and broke off all contact.'

'Did she ever remarry?'

'No.'

'And you've had no contact with him?'

'My mother always said that my father had died before I was born, but when I turned twenty-one she finally told me the truth, that she had no idea whether he was alive or dead. I felt it didn't matter. I mean, he'd had no more part in my life than an anonymous sperm donor. Now I'm not so sure.'

'What a sad story. It reminds me a little of my boss, Brock. He lost his wife, from what I gather, in similar circ.u.mstances . . .' The look on his face stopped her.

She stared at him. 'John?'

He couldn't meet her eyes, but gave a little nod.

'Brock is your father?' she whispered.

'Mum told me his name and that he'd been a policeman in London. She said it was up to me. I felt I didn't want it, this knowledge. For a long time I tried to ignore it. Then the conference in London came up. I tried to avoid that too, but they kept pestering me to give a paper . . .' He shrugged helplessly.

'That's why I got a room at Chelsea Mansions, after I read about Nancy's murder and how DCI Brock was in charge. I hoped I might get a look at him, get some impression of what he was like.'

'And that night at the Two Chairmen,' Kathy said, 'and going to see him in hospital.'

He nodded, looking miserable now. 'I just didn't know what to do, what I felt-how he would feel.'

Kathy reached out a hand to his. 'I don't think you have to worry about that.'

'Really?' He looked doubtful. 'And then there was something else. He didn't come to the hotel, but you did. At first I wanted to find out from you what sort of man he was, but as I got to know you I found that I wanted to know you better . . . Which made things kind of complicated.' He stopped, frowning down at the white tablecloth in front of him, and Kathy saw with some alarm that there was what looked like a tear forming in his eye.

'I'm sorry.' He sucked in a deep breath and pulled his hand away to rub across his face. 'I'm sorry. This isn't like me, I promise.'

'It must have been very emotional for you.'

'Yes. I was sort of prepared for that. What I wasn't prepared for was falling for his partner.'

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