Reverend Thomas Maughan stands a touch under six feet. He’s fair-haired, trim and muscular and blessed with a youthful, unlined face that I imagine makes him good-looking to many members of his congregation. He wears circular tortoiseshell glasses that he nudges up his nose when he wants to buy himself time.
‘This way, Mr . . . ?’
‘Is this the vicarage?’
‘Yes.’
‘Impressive.’ I mean it. The property lies about fifty yards from the church. A large Victorian house with broad sash windows and English ivy that covers most of the brickwork. It has a thatched roof and two huge chimneys. ‘How long have you lived here?’
‘A few years now.’
‘I guess it’s easier to believe in God’s benevolence if working for Him lands you a pad like this.’
Maughan doesn’t seem offended. He pushes open the wooden gate that bars his home’s enormous gravel driveway. ‘I take it you’re not a believer.’
‘Parts of your sermon resonated,’ I admit. ‘The notion that we all have a purpose. That implies the chaos isn’t absolute, which would be . . . something of a relief.’
We begin to crunch across the gravel and the gate swings shut.
Maughan inquires, ‘How do you know Ekaterina?’
‘Professionally.’
He stiffens slightly at this. ‘And what profession are you in?’
‘I’m a detective.’
‘How exciting!’
‘It’s pretty much like your line of work, padre. People come to me with problems. I try to solve them. Half the time, my flock have lost their faith. It’s up to me to restore it. Or shatter it completely. Ekaterina is fine, by the way.’
‘What’s she up to, these days? And I must admit I’m mystified. Why has she sent you to me?’
‘She seems to think that you can help with a matter that concerns you both.’
‘Really?’ We’ve reached the front door. ‘How bizarre! I haven’t seen her in years!’ He shakes his head to convey profound disappointment. And, pointedly, he makes no move to open the door. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you.’
‘She thinks you might be able to assist in a quest she’s embarked on.’
‘A quest? What’s she looking for?’
‘The lost treasure of the Romanovs.’
I’m curious to see his reaction, but his response isn’t what I’d expected. He begins to laugh, and as he looks at me, his focus changes, as though I’m no longer to be taken seriously. ‘Lost treasure! That is so Katty! Lost treasure . . .’
I’m not falling for his dismissive mirth and he turns to unlock the door, which indicates I’m right. He might be trying to laugh off Ekaterina’s search, but he’s once again willing to talk to me. We enter the vicarage and he leads the way up a wide, central staircase.
‘How do you know Ekaterina?’
Maughan says, ‘We met a million years ago. At university.’
‘Were you lovers?’
He stops and turns to me. ‘What? Are you trying to shock me?’
‘No. I’m trying to understand you. Let’s face it, you had no intention of talking to me until I mentioned Ekaterina. Now you’re trying to pretend you barely know her. Come on, padre. Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord.’
‘Point taken. Look, you never told me your name.’
‘Marc Novak.’ I decide to take a punt. ‘What scares you about Ekaterina?’
‘My life now is ordered. It runs along fixed lines. Some would say boring, but that’s the way I like it. Ekaterina represents the very opposite of all that. She’s . . . She’s dangerous.’
I believe he’s telling me the truth, or, at least, part of it.
‘Why does she think you can help in the search for the Romanovs’ jewels? Actually, let me rephrase that. Can you help?’
Maughan hesitates. ‘Follow me.’