The Summer Gardens, St Petersburg
Sophie didn’t wait long before putting her plan into action. She didn’t want to risk a real agent of the Fraternitas appearing on the scene. She’d become increasingly certain that this plan was the best – perhaps the only – way she could get her hands on the notebook. And yet, as she walked through the leafy Summer Gardens the next afternoon, she found that her heart was bumping nervously. Although she might have talked confidently to Nakamura about her plan, the truth was she’d never done anything quite like this before.
More than ever, she found herself wishing that Lil was here, walking by her side beneath the trees, down the long avenue of glittering fountains. Lil always made her feel capable of anything. What was more, she’d have known exactly how to trick the Count into believing that they really were Fraternitas agents. With her gift for acting, Lil would have put on a wonderful performance: but Sophie knew she did not have the same skills of charming and convincing. If she got this wrong, all the weeks she’d spent working at Rivière’s to befriend the Count would have been for nothing – and the notebook would be even further out of reach than before.
She’d had to fall back on her own way of doing things, thinking her plan through methodically. She’d prepared carefully, taking a sizeable sum of money from the attaché case hidden under her bed, and putting it into an envelope – wondering even as she did so if it was the right sort of amount that a real Fraternitas agent would give, in return for something as important as the notebook.
She wished she knew a little more about the organisation. When she’d been facing the Baron, she’d understood what mattered to him, and the way his mind worked. But now the Baron was dead and there was only the Fraternitas – shadowy and faceless. All she really had to go on was the meeting of its London branch she’d once spied on, which had taken place in the room above a gentleman’s club: a gathering of wealthy men, sitting around a long, polished table, talking over the crimes they were carrying out as though they were quite ordinary business matters. She didn’t know who its leaders were: all she knew was that they planned to start a war in Europe and that they would use the secret weapon to help them. That was why she had to do whatever she could to get hold of the notebook and prevent the weapon falling into their hands, she reminded herself, walking a little faster, her feet scrunching over the gravel, as she came towards the Count’s favourite café.
By now she knew the Count’s movements so well that it was easy to guess when he would be likely to visit. She’d made sure she arrived before him, and now she settled herself down at a table large enough for two. The menu offered all kinds of delectable treats – honey cake served with blackberries, cherry dumplings with sour cream, raspberry and almond cake, and even a chocolate and meringue confection which had the intriguing name of Ruins of a Count’s Castle – strangely appropriate, Sophie thought. But she ordered only tea, plus two of the pastries described on the menu as Specialities of Arnovia. The waitress looked rather astonished by the size of her appetite but brought them over just the same – two large pastries, filled with cream, chocolate and nuts, and dusted with icing sugar. While she waited for the Count, she began to nibble one of them, savouring the sweet, rich flavours. It was warm and delicious, and the perfume of chocolate reminded her suddenly of faraway Sinclair’s.
The jangle of the bell above the door made her glance upwards. She saw that the Count had entered the café and was already shuffling towards his usual table in the darkest corner.
‘Hello!’ she called out, waving to him cheerfully, in spite of her heart pounding in her chest.
The Count blinked at her in anxious astonishment for a moment – but then recognition dawned. ‘Good afternoon, mademoiselle,’ he said, rather awkwardly.
‘After you told me about the wonderful cakes here, I couldn’t resist coming to try them for myself,’ said Sophie, in her best conversational manner. ‘And you were quite right – they’re absolutely delicious!’
‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ said the Count, with a little bow. She sensed he was about to move away, but before he could do so she gestured quickly to the seat opposite her. ‘Won’t you sit with me and help me to finish them? I’m afraid I’ve ordered far too much, and it would be a terrible shame to let them go to waste.’
The Count looked at the tempting pastries, and then at her innocent, smiling face. ‘Well . . . er . . . yes, I suppose it would,’ he acknowledged and just as she had hoped, he sat down at her table.
The waitress brought some more tea, giving them a curious glance as she did so, no doubt thinking that the smart young shopgirl and the hunched, shabby old man made a peculiar pair. But the Count didn’t seem to notice her puzzled glance: he was too busy tucking into one of the pastries, which Sophie had pushed at once in his direction.
She began to talk, making a few general remarks, before cautiously turning the conversation towards Arnovia, and telling him how much she missed her own home. It was easy enough – after all, it was true that she felt horribly far away from London and her friends, and here in the café, she felt it more strongly than ever. Perhaps it was because this place made her think of tea and buns at Lyons Corner House with Lil. How Lil would have enjoyed tasting honeycake with blackberries, or raspberry and almond cake!
Gradually the Count began to talk a little more, answering her questions about Arnovia. He didn’t give much away about himself, but it was obvious to Sophie that he was lonely. He told her that he missed his dog, and took out a crumpled photograph from his pocket – a picture of a dachshund in a garden, with a girl and a boy.
‘Who are they?’ asked Sophie, pointing to the children – knowing very well that they were Crown Prince Alex and Princess Anna.
‘Oh, just some young relations,’ he said, hurriedly pocketing the photograph again.
Sophie glanced curiously at the Count’s face. For a fleeting moment, he wore an expression of deep and endless sadness – and in spite of everything, she felt a stir of pity for him. How could she reconcile the sad and lonely old man sitting opposite her in the café with the sinister villain that she knew had conspired with the Fraternitas Draconum, plotting to kidnap the children in the photograph? She shook herself. She must not get thrown off course. She must remember who he was – and what he was capable of.
The Count’s plate was empty now – he was looking around, as though to catch the waitress’s eye and ask for the bill.
‘Thank you for your company, mademoiselle. It has been most pleasant talking to you,’ he said.
Sophie knew it was now or never. She felt a wild flutter of nerves, but forced herself to sit still in her chair.
‘Before you go, I must tell you that there is another reason I came here today,’ she said in a low voice. Her heart was thumping fiercely, but she kept her expression cool and calm, fixing her eyes on the Count’s face. ‘I have something I want to show you.’
‘Do you, my dear?’ asked the Count, looking a little confused, as if he couldn’t imagine what such a thing might be.
Sophie took a deep breath. Then she turned up the collar of her jacket and displayed – pinned carefully underneath it – a small gold brooch in the shape of a twisting dragon.