As promised, the Volkov blue and gold liveried jet flew into Edinburgh Airport two days before New Year’s Eve and taxied to an apron near the VIP lounge. The jet was being prepared and refuelled to take Sweetheart’s choir to St Petersburg when the excited boys arrived in a series of chauffeur-driven limousines at the terminal normally reserved for VIPs.
When it came to expense, Svetlana Volkova appeared to have a blank cheque as nothing was spared for the school choir which, over the years, had been last in the queue when it came to grants and handouts.
Dr Geraint Jones waited anxiously outside the VIP car park to supervise the unloading of the luggage and musical instruments from the Sweetheart Abbey bus. Douglas Sinclair, the school gardener, had volunteered to load and drive the mini bus and its precious cargo including the choir’s traditional tartan dress.
“It all has to clear security first but I’m told it will be just a formality,” advised Dr Jones as the gardener unloaded the bus contents onto some large security trolleys. "Well, all the instruments are in hard-backed cases so they’ll be well protected in the hold and I’ve put the Skhean Dhus in that box over there to be checked-in as they are classified as restricted.
“I’m sure everything should go smoothly to clear security,” added Sinclair.
Dr Jones looked at the gardener with mild surprise: “It seems there’s more to you than lawns and flowering perennials.”
The gardener, a handsome man in his forties, smiled: “You could say I’ve had some experience of the airline industry and maybe I’ll tell you about it one day.”
The choirmaster was curious but not enough to divert his attention from the forthcoming trip to Russia, although he was polite enough to enquire: “Did you have a good Christmas?”
The gardener responded: “Very quiet, I spent it at the cottage I have in the grounds; quite close to Mr Petrie and I think he was home alone too as I bumped into him on Boxing Day taking a walk to the village. Let me know the exact time of your return and I will be here to collect the luggage. Season’s greetings to you and the boys.”
Inside the airport, the choir members were chattering excitedly as they queued to go through security. Joining them was Duncan Dewar’s grandfather, Gordon Buie, who was looking slightly apprehensive.
“He’s never flown before and neither have I,” said Duncan. “So this is all new to us,” he told John Russell.
“And I thought it was because you were leaving Ninian Swithers behind,” retorted Russell who then looked around and asked: “Where are the Bogofs?”
Duncan smiled: "We are meeting the Volkov twins in St Petersburg along with their family.
“Apparently this Gulf Stream jet can only carry fourteen passengers and since there’s a dozen of us plus my granddad and Dr Jones, they decided they’d meet us over there. They were already in Moscow for Christmas, so it’s no big deal,” said Duncan.
Unlike the usual slightly chaotic festive scenes in the general airport area, the atmosphere in the VIP lounge that morning for those boarding private jets was much more sedate and calm. Dr Jones summoned the Sweetheart party together and bellowed: "Our luggage is going through security now, so follow me boys. Take off your coats and jackets and anything loose like scarves and put them in the plastic boxes along with any phones, tablets, computer games and laptops. Now form an orderly queue and walk through the scanner when the security officer beckons you.
“Hold on! Someone’s missing. Has anyone seen Willie Carmichael?”
The boys all giggled and shouted in one voice: “Where’s Willie?!” Just then, he emerged from behind a bookstand with an extraordinarily large gobstopper in his mouth and opened his arms in a begging expression as if to ask what all the fuss was about. Dr Jones scowled at him and muttered: “My final words on this godforsaken planet will probably be: ‘Where’s Willie?’ Now get in line, boy!”
All twelve boys stood behind Dr Jones and Gordon Buie. The old man walked through first feeling deeply uncomfortable as he’d overheard pupils claiming that security officers could see right through passengers’ clothes on their screens. Just in case they were right, he cupped his hands in front of himself like footballers do to protect themselves when trying to block a free kick.
As Duncan walked through the scanner, the machine emitted a loud bleep and he was told to remove his shoes and go back through. Again another loud bleep and so he was asked to stand to one side while a hand scanner was swept over his body.
Feeling deeply self-conscious by now, the portable scanner emitted a loud bleep as it passed over his head, prompting James Darling to shout: “I see you’ve found the zip in the back of his head, then!” Dr Jones glowered at Darling and again the scanner emitted a bleep.
Gordon Buie called over: “He was in hospital recently and an X-ray showed a metal chip from a previous car accident was lodged in the nape of his neck. You can see the area if you look closely but it’s not bigger than a freckle.”
Reassured by this news, the airport security allowed Duncan through, but by this time his face was several shades of red with embarrassment. “Granddad, did you have to tell everyone I’ve got a chunk of metal in my head? Russell will have my life for this,” he whispered.
Dr Jones rounded up the pupils and said: “Who here has heard of the buddy system?”
Most hands shot up as he replied: “Good. Pick your buddy or your partner and make sure you don’t lose sight of them.”
Some of the boys looked slightly lost so an exasperated Dr Jones said: “Do I have to do everything myself? Okay. Russell, Darling you’re a couple. The two gingers are also a pair as are you two.” He then went through the remainder of the group in the same brusque manner pairing off the boys and then added: “If you have any problems, see me or Mr Buie. We will be given an additional two Russian-English-speaking guides in St Petersburg, but the general rule is: ‘Stick with your buddy’ and you won’t get lost.”
None of the boys had been on a private flight before and gasped at the luxurious interior of the Volkov’s jet with its deep pile carpets and soft, creamy leather seating with solid walnut panel surrounds. As they took their seats, they were offered a variety of freshly squeezed fruit juices and some small nibbles including caviar and crème fraîche-topped blinis.
John Russell turned to James Darling and asked what they were. “I think it’s caviar, which is a posh word for fish eggs. Thornberry and Sparrow probably bathe in this stuff. Imagine if they could see us now, I think they’d be green with envy.”
Russell retorted: “Even if they did sing in the choir, I reckon they’d be grounded after that stunt with the policewoman. I’m sorry James but your ‘soapgate’ is starting to look like amateur night at the opera after their Oscar-winning stunt. ‘Rookiegate’ will go down as one of Sweetheart’s legends; that’s for sure.” Russell and Darling curled up laughing as they recalled the stripper ripping open her bodice in front of Lord Thornberry.
“Do you think old Petrie set them up?” asked Darling. “That was the rumour going around.”
Russell laughed out loud: “Oh, come of it! That old fossil? I’m telling you now there’s no way Mr Petrie would have got himself embroiled in a stunt with a stripper. No, I reckon the real policewoman got wind of it and set up Thornberry and Sparrow.”
Overhearing the conversation, Gordon Buie looked at his grandson and gave a knowing smile. “It’s a pity Mr Petrie’s not on this trip. I would’ve enjoyed his company,” he whispered to Duncan. The boy gave his grandfather a weak grin as his mind was on his maiden flight and he was nervous.
After a few minutes, they were over the skies of Edinburgh and marvelled at the view below. “Such a beautiful city, although I’d rather be walking down Princes Street now than flying over it,” said Gordon.
Once it was safe to remove their seatbelts and relax a little more, one of the two male stewards with a lapel badge marked ‘Sergei’ began dispensing gifts to all of the boys as well as Dr Jones and Mr Buie. Each was told: “A small token of appreciation from the Volkovs.” There were whoops of excited chatter as the parcels were ripped open followed by gasps and silent admiration before more whoops of joy followed.
Inside each box was a Vertu Mobile Handset covered in a blue lagoon calf-leather skin with titanium grade sides. All the latest technology including a built in clock face, front facing and rear camera and unique alert tones performed by the London Symphony Orchestra were contained within the phones.
As most of the boys began assembling and disassembling their new phones and add-ons, Duncan and his grandfather sat back and neatly unfolded the wrapping paper. Like two peas in a pod, they opened the box and removed the start-up guide and warranty booklets to study in detail. Dr Jones leant over to Gordon Buie and said: “You know this would cost me more than two month’s salary. I’m flabbergasted and normally I’d have to refuse such an extravagance, but I would hate to cause offence to our Russian hosts.”
Mr Buie raised his eyebrows in surprise and confided to Duncan: “I’m still not sure what it is. Is it a travel clock, a mobile phone or is it a camera or a video recorder?”
His grandson grinned and said: “It’s all that and so much more but I don’t think I’ll be taking this to school. Imagine if I lost it, or it got broken,” he added.
Sergei knelt before the two and said: “Here, let me set it up for you, young man, because I know Mrs Volkova wants the phones powered up and ready to go for when you land. There, now when we arrive, just switch that button on and this one off and you are ready to use it.”
As the air steward rose to his feet, he told the others: “You can use your phones freely during your stay in St Petersburg and the bill will be paid for by the Volkov Corporation, so there’s really no need to worry about phone usage.” As he returned to the small luxury on-board kitchen, he told his colleague: “Everyone has their phone and by the time they land, they’ll be in full use. I guarantee it. I’ve switched on the old man’s mobile and the grandson is up and ready as well. They won’t be able to travel anywhere without us knowing about it first.”
Thanks to the luxury gifts, time passed very quickly on board the jet and, after a substantial lobster and steak meal, the six-hour flight was nearing its end. Each boy took his turn visiting the flight deck for selfies before it was time for landing at Pulkovo international airport. The landing was smooth and as the passenger door swept open, a red-carpeted portable staircase leading down to the tarmac was wheeled alongside and attached to the jet.
As the boys and adults disembarked, they were hit by air so cold; it was like a slap across the face however, unlike the Scottish climate, the temperature was well below sub-zero but not damp. A fleet of blacked out limousines awaited at Pulkovo International to take the group off into St Petersburg and on to the luxury, five-star Kempinski Hotel overlooking the frozen Moika River.
The journey would normally take about fifteen minutes without traffic, but by 2 pm the roads to St Petersburg were congested. As the small party from Sweetheart was ushered into the vast, elegantly decorated lobby, an hour later the boys gasped and gawked in awe of their surrounds. Each was given a glass of non-alcoholic mulberry punch and handfuls of caramelised almonds as they were urged to sit down while Dr Jones went through the check-in procedure.
However, when Willie Carmichael spotted a great gingerbread miniature of the hotel, he instantly scrambled to his feet and ran over to inspect the edible model structure. “Dewar, return to your seat and sit still until I’m finished,” ordered Dr Jones.
“But sir, I’m over here,” protested Duncan who was sat on a sofa next to Darling, Russell and his grandfather. They all looked in Carmichael’s direction as he was about to do a taste test on the elaborate structure.
“Carmichael! Hands off and back to your seat, now!” ordered Dr Jones who muttered to himself: “I didn’t realise we had two gingers in the choir until today.”
By this time, Russians Sergei and Vlad, the stewards on the jet flight, joined Dr Jones at the reception desk informing him they had been assigned to the party to act as guides and translators.
“If there is anything you want, no matter how small, please Dr Jones, do not hesitate to ask. I am on the speed dial 1 and Vlad is on 2. Pass over your cell and I will show you how it works,” said Sergei on seeing the choirmaster’s flustered expression. “Mrs Volkova will host a dinner this evening on the ninth floor which is the Bellevue Brasserie. It would be nice if your choir dressed smartly for the occasion. I will furnish you with the full details later.”
The boys were given rooms on the eighth floor with panoramic views of the city overlooking the Hermitage Museum, a former winter palace for the czars. Most could see the spires for the Church on Spilled Blood from where they would perform their concert at the event sponsored by the Volkov Corporation on New Year’s Eve.
Three of the rooms – all adjoining – contained two sets of twin beds each, while Duncan and his grandfather had their own, larger deluxe suite and Dr Jones had a room nearby. Bowls of fruits and sweets and arrangements of fresh flowers adorned every room to make the Sweetheart choir feel welcome.
“Slacks, white shirts and school blazers tonight, boys,” instructed Dr Jones. “Our host Mrs Volkova has invited us to dinner on the ninth floor in an hour’s time. I want everyone on their best behaviour. Tomorrow we’ll hold rehearsals in a room on the ground floor of the hotel and, by late afternoon, there may even be time to enjoy the sights.”
That evening, there was a flurry of activity as the hotel manager greeted the Volkov family as they swept into the reception area along with more than half a dozen surly looking men in the security detail.
The boys were all seated in the brasserie awaiting their host when two burly looking men arrived at the restaurant entrance and two more stood by the lift. Just then the glass elevator glided into vision, stopping at the ninth floor to allow Svetlana, Viktor and their two sons to disembark.
Dr Jones rushed forward and the boys all took to their feet and began applauding the family as they walked to their table as a show of appreciation. Svetlana beamed and smiled at all of the boys, holding their gaze with her almond-shaped eyes while Viktor, less effusive, nodded curtly before taking a seat next to Duncan.
“I’m told you will be the star of the concert on New Year’s Eve,” said Viktor in a low voice as he leaned towards the boy. Duncan replied: “Oh I don’t know about that, sir. But I will do my best.” Svetlana sat next to Dr Jones while the twins took seats with the rest of the choir. “We’re also staying at the hotel tonight,” Andrei told James Darling. “By the way, did you like your phones?” he asked. James responded: “O-M-G Andrei, you have no idea! Such a sick gift, insane, just insane.” The young Russian laughed: “Alexei and I thought you’d be happy. You’re such a poser we knew you’d like it.”
Across the table Viktor was asking Duncan the same question and he replied enthusiastically: “An amazing piece of technology. I’m still reading up on the specifications and maximum potential before I activate it and familiarise myself practically with the multi functions.” Viktor looked at Duncan in despair and rattled his fingers anxiously across the table, then added: “Use it, just use it and find out how it works by trial and error. It’s no use having a phone if you’re not going to use it.”
Although the meal was informal Dr Jones still managed not to miss an opportunity to squeeze in a speech in praise of the Volkovs and thanked the Russian hosts for their sponsorship. At the end of the meal the party vacated the restaurant and chose to walk down to the next floor to their rooms.
Viktor pulled Andrei aside and said: “Make sure Duncan Dewar has his phone switched on and in his pocket by tomorrow morning.”
As everyone went to their rooms half a dozen security officers spread across the eighth floor which was reserved exclusively for the Sweetheart Choir and their hosts. “Well so much for midnight adventures and sneaking out. It’s like being in a five star prison,” moaned James Darling. “I’m going to have a word with Alexei and Andrei tomorrow to see what the chances are of escaping. I’ll go stir crazy if I’m trapped in here for the entire trip with The Drak!”