Cat O'Nine Tales

Don’t Drink The Water

‘If you want to murder someone,’ said Karl, ‘don’t do it in England.’

‘Why not?’ I asked innocently.

‘The odds are against you getting away with it,’ my fellow inmate warned me, as we continued to walk round the exercise yard. ‘You’ve got a much better chance in Russia.’

‘I’ll try to remember that,’ I assured him.

‘Mind you,’ added Karl, ‘I knew a countryman of yours who did get away with murder, but at some cost.’

It was Association, that welcome 45-minute break when you’re released from your cell. You can either spend your time on the ground floor, which is about the size of a basketball court, sitting around chatting, playing table tennis or watching television, or you can go out into the fresh air and stroll around the perimeter of the yard — about the size of a football pitch. Despite being surrounded by a twenty-foot-high concrete wall topped with razor wire, and with only the sky to look up at, this was, for me, the highlight of the day.

While I was incarcerated at Belmarsh, a category A high-security prison in south-east London, I was locked in my cell for twenty-three hours a day (think about it). You are let out only to go to the canteen to pick up your lunch (five minutes), which you then eat in your cell. Five hours later you collect your supper (five more minutes), when they also hand you tomorrow’s breakfast in a plastic bag so that they don’t have to let you out again before lunch the following day The only other blessed release is Association, and even that can be cancelled if the prison is short-staffed (which happens about twice a week).

I always used the 45-minute escape to power-walk, for two reasons: one, I needed the exercise because on the outside I attend a local gym five days a week, and, two, not many prisoners bothered to try and keep up with me. Karl was the exception.

Karl was a Russian by birth who hailed from that beautiful city of St Petersburg. He was a contract killer who had just begun a 22-year sentence for disposing of a fellow countryman who was proving tiresome to one of the Mafia gangs back home. He cut his victims up into small pieces, and put what was left of them into an incinerator. Incidentally, his fee — should you want someone disposed of — was five thousand pounds.

Karl was a bear of a man, six foot two and built like a weightlifter. He was covered in tattoos and never stopped talking. On balance, I didn’t consider it wise to interrupt his flow. Like so many prisoners, Karl didn’t talk about his own crime, and the golden rule — should you ever end up inside — is never ask what a prisoner is in for, unless they raise the subject. However, Karl did tell me a tale about an Englishman he’d come across in St Petersburg, which he claimed to have witnessed in the days when he’d been a driver for a government minister.

Although Karl and I were resident on different blocks, we met up regularly for Association. But it still took several perambulations of the yard before I squeezed out of him the story of Richard Barnsley.

DON’T DRINK THE WATER. Richard Barnsley stared at the little plastic card that had been placed on the washbasin in his bathroom. Not the kind of warning you expect to find when you’re staying in a five-star hotel, unless, of course, you’re in St Petersburg. By the side of the notice stood two bottles of Evian water. When Dick strolled back into his spacious bedroom, he found two more bottles had been placed on each side of the double bed, and another two on a table by the window. The management weren’t taking any chances.

Dick had flown into St Petersburg to close a deal with the Russians. His company had been selected to build a pipeline that would stretch from the Urals to the Red Sea, a project that several other, more established, companies had tendered for. Dick’s firm had been awarded the contract, against considerable odds, but those odds had shortened once he guaranteed Anatol Chenkov, the Minister for Energy and close personal friend of the President, two million dollars a year for the rest of his life — the only currencies the Russians trade in are dollars and death — especially when the money is going to be deposited in a numbered account.

Before Dick had started up his own company, Barnsley Construction, he had learnt his trade working in Nigeria for Bechtel, in Brazil for McAlpine and in Saudi Arabia for Hanover, so along the way he had picked up a trick or two about bribery. Most international companies treat the practice simply as another form of tax, and make the necessary provision for it whenever they present their tender. The secret is always to know how much to offer the minister, and how little to dispose of among his acolytes.

Anatol Chenkov, a Putin appointee, was a tough negotiator, but then under a former regime he had been a major in the KGB. However, when it came to setting up a bank account in Switzerland, the minister was clearly a novice. Dick took full advantage of this; after all, Chenkov had never travelled beyond the Russian border before he was appointed to the Politburo. Dick flew him to Geneva for the weekend, while he was on an official visit to London for trade talks. He opened a numbered account for him with Picket & Co, and deposited $100,000 — seed money — but more than Chenkov had been paid in his lifetime. This sweetener was to ensure that the umbilical cord would last for the necessary nine months until the contract was signed; a contract that would allow Dick to retire — on far more than two million a year.

Dick returned to the hotel that morning after his final meeting with the minister, having seen him every day for the past week, sometimes publicly, more often privately. It was no different when Chenkov visited London. Neither man trusted the other, but then Dick never felt at ease with anyone who was willing to take a bribe because there was always someone else happy to offer him another percentage point. However, Dick felt more confident this time, as both of them seemed to have signed up for the same retirement policy.

Dick also helped to cement the relationship with a few added extras that Chenkov quickly became accustomed to. A Rolls-Royce would always pick him up at Heathrow and drive him to the Savoy Hotel. On arrival, he would be shown to his usual riverside suite, and women appeared every evening as regularly as the morning papers. He preferred two of both, one broadsheet, one tabloid.

When Dick checked out of the St Petersburg hotel half an hour later, the minister’s BMW was parked outside the front door waiting to take him to the airport. As he climbed into the back seat, he was surprised to find Chenkov waiting for him. They had parted after their morning meeting just an hour before.

‘Is there a problem, Anatol?’ he asked anxiously.

‘On the contrary,’ said Chenkov. ‘I have just had a call from the Kremlin which I didn’t feel we should discuss over the phone, or even in my office. The President will be visiting St Petersburg on the sixteenth of May and has made it clear that he wishes to preside over the signing ceremony.’

‘But that gives us less than three weeks to complete the contract,’ said Dick.

‘You assured me at our meeting this morning,’ Chenkov reminded him, ‘that there were only a few is to dot and ts to cross — an expression I’d not come across before — before you’d be able to finalize the contract.’ The minister paused and lit his first cigar of the day before adding, ‘With that in mind, my dear friend, I look forward to seeing you back in St Petersburg in three weeks’ time.’ Chenkov’s statement sounded casual, whereas, in truth, it had taken almost three years for the two men to reach this stage, and now it would only be another three weeks before the deal was finally sealed.

Dick didn’t respond as he was already thinking about what needed to be done the moment his plane touched down at Heathrow.

‘What’s the first thing you’ll do after the deal has been signed?’ asked Chenkov, breaking into his thoughts.

‘Put in a tender for the sanitation contract in this city, because whoever gets it would surely make an even larger fortune.’

The minister looked round sharply. ‘Never raise that subject in public,’ he said gravely. ‘It’s a very sensitive issue.’

Dick remained silent.

‘And take my advice, don’t drink the water. Last year we lost countless numbers of our citizens who contracted...’ the minister hesitated, unwilling to add credence to a story that had been splashed across the front pages of every Western paper.

‘How many is countless?’ enquired Dick.

‘None,’ replied the minister. ‘Or at least that’s the official statistic released by the Ministry of Tourism,’ he added as the car came to a halt on a double red line outside the entrance of Pulkovo II airport. He leant forward. ‘Karl, take Mr Barnsley’s bags to check-in, while I wait here.’

Dick leant across and shook hands with the minister for the second time that morning. ‘Thank you, Anatol, for everything,’ he said. ‘See you in three weeks’ time.’

‘Long life and happiness, my friend,’ said Chenkov as Dick stepped out of the car.

Dick checked in at the departure desk an hour before boarding was scheduled for his flight to London.

‘This is the last call for Flight 902 to London Heathrow,’ came crackling over the tannoy.

‘Is there another flight going to London right now?’ asked Dick.

‘Yes,’ replied the man behind the check-in desk. ‘Flight 902 has been delayed, but they’re just about to close the gate.’

‘Can you get me on it?’ asked Dick, as he slid a thousand-rouble note across the counter.

Dick’s plane touched down at Heathrow three and a half hours later. Once he’d retrieved his case from the carousel, he pushed his trolley through the Nothing to Declare channel and emerged into the arrivals hall.

Stan, his driver, was already waiting among a group of chauffeurs, most of whom were holding up name cards. As soon as Stan spotted his boss, he walked quickly across and relieved him of his suitcase and overnight bag.

‘Home or the office?’ Stan asked as they walked towards the short-stay carpark.

Dick checked his watch: just after four. ‘Home,’ he said. ‘I’ll work in the back of the car.’

Once Dick’s Jaguar had emerged from the carpark to begin the journey to Virginia Water, Dick immediately called his office.

‘Richard Barnsley’s office,’ said a voice.

‘Hi, Jill, it’s me. I managed to catch an earlier flight, and I’m on my way home. Is there anything I should be worrying about?’

‘No, everything’s running smoothly this end,’ Jill replied. ‘We’re all just waiting to find out how things went in St Petersburg.’

‘Couldn’t have gone better. The minister wants me back on May sixteenth to sign the contract.’

‘But that’s less than three weeks away.’

‘Which means we’ll all have to get a move on. So set up a board meeting for early next week, and then make an appointment for me to see Sam Cohen first thing tomorrow morning. I can’t afford any slip-ups at this stage.’

‘Can I come to St Petersburg with you?’

‘Not this time, Jill, but once the contract has been signed block out ten days in the diary. Then I’ll take you somewhere a little warmer than St Petersburg.’

Dick sat silently in the back of the car, going over everything that needed to be covered before he returned to St Petersburg. By the time Stan drove through the wrought-iron gates and came to a halt outside the neo-Georgian mansion, Dick knew what had to be done. He jumped out of the car and ran into the house. He left Stan to unload the bags, and his housekeeper to unpack them. Dick was surprised not to find his wife standing on the top step, waiting to greet him, but then he remembered that he’d caught an earlier flight, and Maureen wouldn’t be expecting him back for at least another couple of hours.

Dick ran upstairs to his bedroom, and quickly stripped off his clothes, dropping them in a pile on the floor. He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, allowing the warm jets of water to slowly remove the grime of St Petersburg and Aeroflot.

After he’d put on some casual clothes, Dick checked his appearance in the mirror. At fifty-three, his hair was turning prematurely grey, and although he tried to hold his stomach in, he knew he ought to lose a few pounds, just a couple of notches on his belt — once the deal was signed and he had a little more time, he promised himself.

He left the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. He asked the cook to prepare him a salad, and then strolled into the drawing room, picked up The Times, and glanced at the headlines. A new leader of the Tory Party, a new leader of the Liberal Democrats, and now Gordon Brown had been elected leader of the Labour Party. None of the major political parties would be fighting the next election under the same leader.

Dick looked up when the phone began to ring. He walked across to his wife’s writing desk and picked up the receiver, to hear Jill’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘The board meeting is fixed for next Thursday at ten o’clock, and I’ve also arranged for you to see Sam Cohen in his office at eight tomorrow morning.’ Dick removed a pen from an inside pocket of his blazer. ‘I’ve emailed every member of the board to warn them that it’s a priority,’ she added.

‘What time did you say my meeting was with Sam?’

‘Eight o’clock at his office. He has to be in court by ten for another client.’

‘Fine.’ Dick opened his wife’s drawer and grabbed the first piece of paper available. He wrote down, Sam, office, 8, Thur board mtg, 10. ‘Well done, Jill,’ he added. ‘Better book me back into the Grand Palace Hotel, and email the minister to warn him what time I’ll be arriving.’

‘I already have,’ Jill replied, ‘and I’ve also booked you on a flight to St Petersburg on the Friday afternoon.’

‘Well done. See you around ten tomorrow.’ Dick put the phone down, and strolled through to his study, with a large smile on his face. Everything was going to plan.

When he reached his desk, Dick transferred the details of his appointments to his diary. He was just about to drop the piece of paper into a wastepaper basket when he decided just to check and see if it contained anything important. He unfolded a letter, which he began to read. His smile turned to a frown, long before he’d reached the final paragraph. He started to read the letter, marked private and personal, a second time.

Dick immediately picked up the phone on his desk, and dialled Sam Cohen’s number, hoping he hadn’t already left for the day When Sam pick up his private line, all Dick said was, ‘Have you come across a lawyer called Andrew Symonds?’

‘Only by reputation,’ said Sam, ‘but then I don’t specialize in divorce.’

‘Divorce?’ said Dick, as he heard a car coming up the gravel driveway. He glanced out of the window to see a Volkswagen swing round the circle and come to a halt outside the front door. Dick watched as his wife climbed out of her car. ‘I’ll see you at eight tomorrow, Sam, and the Russian contract won’t be the only thing on the agenda.’

Dick’s driver dropped him outside Sam Cohen’s office in Lincoln’s Inn Field a few minutes before eight the following morning. The senior partner rose to greet his client as he entered the room. He gestured to a comfortable chair on the other side of the desk.

Dick had opened his briefcase even before he’d sat down. He took out the letter and passed it across to Sam. The lawyer read it slowly, before placing it on the desk in front of him.

‘I’ve thought about the problem overnight,’ said Sam, ‘and I’ve also had a word with Anna Rentoul, our divorce partner. She’s confirmed that Symonds only handles matrimonial disputes, and with that in mind, I’m sorry to say that I’ll have to ask you some fairly personal questions.’

Dick nodded without comment.

‘Have you ever discussed divorce with Maureen?’

‘No,’ said Dick firmly. ‘We’ve had rows from time to time, but then what couples who’ve been together for over twenty years haven’t?’

‘No more than that?’

‘She once threatened to leave me, but I thought that was all in the past.’ Dick paused. ‘I’m only surprised that she hasn’t raised the subject with me, before consulting a lawyer.’

‘That’s all too common,’ said Sam. ‘Over half the husbands who are served with a divorce petition claim they never saw it coming.’

‘I certainly fall into that category,’ admitted Dick. ‘So what do I do next?’

‘Not a lot you can do before she serves the writ, and I can’t see that there’s anything to be gained by raising the subject yourself. After all, nothing may come of it. However, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t prepare ourselves. Now, what grounds could she have for divorce?’

‘None that I can think of.’

‘Are you having an affair?’

‘No. Well, yes, a fling with my secretary — but it’s not going anywhere. She thinks it’s serious, but I plan to replace her once the pipeline contract is signed.’

‘So the deal is still on course?’ said Sam.

‘Yes, that’s originally why I needed to see you so urgently,’ replied Dick. ‘I have to be back in St Petersburg for May the sixteenth, when both sides will be signing the contract.’ He paused. ‘And it’s going to be witnessed by President Putin.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Sam. ‘How much will that be worth to you?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I’m wondering if you’re not the only person who’s hoping that the deal will go through.’

‘Around sixty million—’ Dick hesitated — ‘for the company.’

‘And do you still own fifty-one per cent of the shares?’

‘Yes, but I could always hide—’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Sam. ‘You won’t be able to hide anything if Symonds is on the case. He’ll sniff out every last penny, like a pig hunting for truffles. And if the court were to discover that you attempted to deceive them, it would only make the judge more sympathetic to your wife.’ The senior partner paused, looked directly at his client, and repeated, ‘Don’t even think about it.’

‘So what should I do?’

‘Nothing that will arouse suspicion; go about your business as usual, as if you have no idea what she’s up to. Meanwhile, I’ll fix a consultation with counsel, so at least we’ll be better prepared than Mr Symonds will be anticipating. And one more thing,’ said Sam, once again looking directly at his client, ‘no more extra-marital activities until this problem has been resolved. That’s an order.’

Dick kept a close eye on his wife during the next few days, but she gave no sign of there being anything untoward. If anything, she showed an unusual interest in how the trip to St Petersburg had gone, and over dinner on Thursday evening even asked if the board had come to a decision.

‘They most certainly have,’ Dick replied emphatically. ‘Once Sam had taken the directors through each clause, gone over every detail, and answered all of their questions, they virtually rubber-stamped the contract.’ Dick poured himself a second cup of coffee. He was taken by surprise by his wife’s next question.

‘Why don’t I join you when you go to St Petersburg? We could fly out on the Friday,’ she added, ‘and spend the weekend visiting the Hermitage and the Summer Palace. We might even find enough time to see Catherine’s amber collection — something I’ve always wanted to do.’

Dick didn’t reply immediately, aware that this was not a casual suggestion as it had been years since Maureen had accompanied him on a business trip. Dick’s first reaction was to wonder what she was up to. ‘Let me think about it,’ he eventually responded, leaving his coffee to go cold.

Dick rang Sam Cohen within minutes of arriving at his office and reported the conversation to his lawyer.

‘Symonds must have advised her to witness the signing of the contract,’ suggested Cohen.

‘But why?’

‘So that Maureen will be able to claim that over the years she has played a leading role in your business success, always being there to support you at those critical moments in your career...’

‘Balls,’ said Dick, ‘she’s never taken any interest in how I make my money, only in how she can spend it.’

‘...and therefore she must be entitled to fifty per cent of your assets.’

‘But that could amount to over thirty million pounds,’ Dick protested.

‘Symonds has obviously done his homework.’

‘Then I’ll simply tell her that she can’t come on the trip. It’s not appropriate.’

‘Which will allow Mr Symonds to change tack. He’ll then portray you as a heartless man, who, the moment you became a success, cut his client out of your life, often travelling abroad, accompanied by a secretary who—’

‘OK, OK, I get the picture. So allowing her to come to St Petersburg might well prove to be the lesser of two evils.’

‘On the one hand...’ counselled Sam.

‘Bloody lawyers,’ said Dick before he could finish the sentence.

‘Funny how you only need us when you’re in trouble,’ Sam rejoined. ‘So let’s make sure that this time we anticipate her next move.’

‘And what’s that likely to be?’

‘Once she’s got you to St Petersburg, she’ll want to have sex.’

‘We haven’t had sex for years.’

‘And not because I haven’t wanted to, m’lord.’

‘Oh, hell,’ said Dick, ‘I can’t win.’

‘You can as long as you don’t follow Lady Longford’s advice — when asked if she had ever considered divorcing Lord Longford, she replied, “Divorce, never, murder, often.”’

Mr and Mrs Richard Barnsley checked into the Grand Palace Hotel in St Petersburg a fortnight later. A porter placed their bags on a trolley, and then accompanied them to the Tolstoy Suite on the ninth floor.

‘Must go to the loo before I burst,’ said Dick as he rushed into the room ahead of his wife. While her husband disappeared into the bathroom, Maureen looked out of the window and admired the golden domes of St Nicholas’s Cathedral.

Once he’d locked the door, Dick removed the DON’T DRINK THE WATER sign that was perched on the washbasin and tucked it into the back pocket of his trousers. Next he unscrewed the tops of the two Evian bottles and poured the contents down the sink. He then refilled both bottles with tap water, before screwing the tops firmly back on and returning them to their place on the corner of the basin. He unlocked the door and strolled out of the bathroom.

Dick started to unpack his suitcase, but stopped the moment Maureen disappeared into the bathroom. First, he transferred the DON’T DRINK THE WATER sign from his back pocket into the side flap of his suitcase. He zipped up the flap, before checking around the room. There was a small bottle of Evian water on each side of the bed, and two large bottles on the table by the window. He grabbed the bottle by his wife’s side of the bed and retreated into the kitchenette at the far end of the room. Dick poured the contents down the sink, and refilled the bottle with tap water. He then returned it to Maureen’s side of the bed. Next, he took the two large bottles from the table by the window and repeated the process.

By the time his wife had come out of the bathroom, Dick had almost finished unpacking. While Maureen continued to unpack her suitcase, Dick strolled across to his side of the bed and dialled a number he didn’t need to look up. As he waited for the phone to be answered, he opened the bottle of Evian water on his side of the bed, and took a gulp.

‘Hi, Anatol, it’s Dick Barnsley. I thought I’d let you know that we’ve just checked in to the Grand Palace.’

‘Welcome back to St Petersburg,’ said a friendly voice. ‘And is your wife with you on this occasion?’

‘She most certainly is,’ replied Dick, ‘and very much looking forward to meeting you.’

‘Me too,’ said the minister, ‘so make sure that you have a relaxed weekend because everything is set up for Monday morning. The President is due to fly in tomorrow night so he’ll be present when the contract is signed.’

‘Ten o’clock at the Winter Palace?’

‘Ten o’clock,’ repeated Chenkov ‘I’ll pick you up from your hotel at nine. It’s only a thirty-minute drive, but we can’t afford to be late for this one.’

‘I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby,’ said Dick. ‘See you then.’ He put the phone down and turned to his wife. ‘Why don’t we go down to dinner, my darling? We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’ He adjusted his watch by three hours and added, ‘So perhaps it would be wise to have an early night.’

Maureen placed a long silk nightdress on her side of the bed and smiled in agreement. As she turned to place her empty case in the wardrobe, Dick slipped an Evian bottle from the bedside table into his jacket pocket. He then accompanied his wife down to the dining room.

The head waiter guided them to a quiet table in the corner and, once they were seated, offered his two guests menus. Maureen disappeared behind the large leather cover while she considered the table d’hôte, which allowed Dick enough time to remove the bottle of Evian from his pocket, undo the cap and fill his wife’s glass.

Once they had both selected their meals, Maureen went over her proposed itinerary for the next two days. ‘I think we should begin with the Hermitage, first thing in the morning,’ she suggested, ‘take a break for lunch, and then spend the rest of the afternoon at the Summer Palace.’

‘What about the amber collection?’ asked Dick, as he topped up her water glass. ‘I thought that was a no-miss.’

‘I’d already scheduled in the amber collection and the Russian Museum for Sunday.’

‘Sounds as if you have everything well organized,’ said Dick, as a waiter placed a bowl of borscht in front of his wife.

Maureen spent the rest of the meal telling Dick about some of the treasures that they would see when they visited the Hermitage. By the time Dick had signed the bill, Maureen had drunk the bottle of water.

Dick slipped the empty bottle back in his pocket. Once they had returned to their room, he filled it with tap water and left it in the bathroom.

By the time Dick had undressed and climbed into bed, Maureen was still studying her guidebook.

‘I feel exhausted,’ Dick said. ‘It must be the time change.’ He turned his back on her, hoping she wouldn’t work out that it was just after eight p.m. in England.

Dick woke the following morning feeling very thirsty. He looked at the empty bottle of Evian on his side of the bed and remembered just in time. He climbed out of bed, walked across to the fridge and selected a bottle of orange juice.

‘Will you be going to the gym this morning?’ he asked a half-awake Maureen.

‘Do I have time?’

‘Sure, the Hermitage doesn’t open until ten, and one of the reasons I always stay here is because of the hotel’s gym.’

‘So what about you?’

‘I still have to make some phone calls if everything is to be set up for Monday.’

Maureen slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom, which allowed Dick enough time to top up her glass and replace the empty bottle of Evian on her side of the bed.

When Maureen emerged a few minutes later, she checked her watch before slipping on her gym kit. ‘I should be back in about forty minutes,’ she said, after tying up her trainers.

‘Don’t forget to take some water with you,’ said Dick, handing her one of the bottles from the table by the window. They may not have one in the gym.’

‘Thank you,’ she said.

Dick wondered, from the expression on her face, if he was being just a little too solicitous.

While Maureen was in the gym, Dick took a shower. When he walked back into the bedroom, he was pleased to see that the sun was shining. He put on a blazer and slacks, but only after he’d checked that none of the bottles had been replaced by the hotel staff while he’d been in the bathroom.

Dick ordered breakfast for both of them, which arrived moments after Maureen returned from the gym, clutching the half-empty Evian bottle.

‘How did your training go?’ Dick asked.

‘Not great,’ Maureen replied. ‘I felt a bit listless.’

‘Probably just jetlag,’ suggested Dick as he took his place on the far side of the table. He poured his wife a glass of water, and himself another orange juice. Dick opened a copy of the Herald Tribune, which he began to read while he waited for his wife to dress. Hillary Clinton said she wouldn’t be running for president, which only convinced Dick that she would, especially as she made the announcement standing by her husband’s side.

Maureen came out of the bathroom wearing a hotel dressing gown. She took the seat opposite her husband and sipped the water.

‘Better take a bottle of Evian with us when we visit the Hermitage,’ said Maureen. Dick looked up from behind his paper. ‘The girl in the gym warned me not, under any circumstances, to drink the local water.’

‘Oh yes, I should have warned you,’ said Dick, as Maureen took a bottle from the table by the window and put it in her bag. ‘Can’t be too careful.’

Dick and Maureen strolled through the front gates of the Hermitage a few minutes before ten, to find themselves at the back of a long queue. The crocodile of visitors progressed slowly forward along an unshaded cobbled path. Maureen took several sips of water between turning the pages of the guidebook. It was ten forty before they reached the ticket booth. Once inside, Maureen continued to study her guidebook. ‘Whatever we do, we must be sure to see Michelangelo’s Crouching Boy, Raphael’s Virgin, and Leonardo’s Madonna Benois.’

Dick smiled his agreement, but knew he wouldn’t be concerning himself with the masters.

As they climbed the wide marble staircase, they passed several magnificent statues nestled in alcoves. Dick was surprised to discover just how vast the Hermitage was. Despite visiting St Petersburg several times during the past three years, he had only ever seen the building from the outside.

‘Housed on three floors, Tsar Peter’s collection displays treasures in over two hundred rooms,’ Maureen told him, reading from the guidebook. ‘So let’s get started.’

By eleven thirty they had only covered the Dutch and Italian schools on the first floor, by which time Maureen had finished the large bottle of Evian.

Dick volunteered to go and buy another bottle. He left his wife admiring Caravaggio’s The Lute Player, while he slipped into the nearest rest room. He refilled the empty Evian bottle with tap water before rejoining his wife. If Maureen had spent a little time studying one of the many drinks counters situated on each floor, she would have discovered that the Hermitage doesn’t stock Evian, because it has an exclusive contract with Volvic.

By twelve thirty they had all but covered the sixteen rooms devoted to the Renaissance artists, and agreed it was time for lunch. They left the building and strolled back into the midday sun. The two of them walked for a while along the bank of the Moika River, stopping only to take a photograph of a bride and groom posing on the Blue Bridge in front of the Mariinsky Palace.

‘A local tradition,’ said Maureen, turning another page of her guidebook.

After walking another block, they came to a halt outside a small pizzeria. Its sensible square tables with neat red-and-white check tablecloths and smartly dressed waiters tempted them inside.

‘I must go to the loo,’ said Maureen. ‘I’m feeling a little queasy. It must be the heat.’ She added, ‘Just order me a salad and a glass of water.’

Dick smiled, removed the Evian bottle from her bag and filled up the glass on her side of the table. When the waiter appeared, Dick ordered a salad for his wife, and ravioli plus a large diet Coke for himself. He was desperate for something to drink.

Once she’d eaten her salad, Maureen perked up a little, and even began to tell Dick what they should look out for when they visited the Summer Palace.

On the long taxi ride through the north of the city, she continued to read extracts from her guidebook. ‘Peter the Great built the Summer Palace after he had visited Versailles, and on returning to Russia employed the finest landscape gardeners and most gifted craftsmen in the land to reproduce the French masterpiece. He intended the finished work to be a homage to the French, whom he greatly admired as the leaders of style throughout Europe.’

The taxi driver interrupted her flow with a snippet of information of his own. ‘We are just passing the recently constructed Winter Palace, which is where President Putin stays whenever he’s in St Petersburg.’ The driver paused. ‘And, as the national flag is flying, he must be in town.’

‘He’s flown down from Moscow especially to see me,’ said Dick.

The taxi driver dutifully laughed.

The taxi drove through the gates of the Summer Palace half an hour later and the driver dropped his passengers off in a crowded carpark, bustling with sightseers and traders, who were standing behind their makeshift stalls plying their cheap souvenirs.

‘Let’s go and see the real thing,’ suggested Maureen.

‘I wait for you here,’ said the taxi driver. ‘No extra charge. How long?’ he added.

‘I should think we’d be a couple of hours,’ said Dick. ‘No more.’

‘I wait for you here,’ he repeated.

The two of them strolled around the magnificent gardens, and Dick could see why it was described in the guidebooks as a ‘can’t afford to miss’, with five stars. Maureen continued to brief him between sips of water. ‘The grounds surrounding the palace cover over a hundred acres, with more than twenty fountains, as well as eleven other palatial residences.’ Although the sun was no longer burning down, the sky was still clear and Maureen continued to take regular gulps of water, but however many times she offered the bottle to Dick, he always replied, ‘No thanks.’

When they finally climbed the steps of the palace, they were greeted by another long queue, and Maureen admitted that she was feeling a little tired.

‘Pity to have travelled this far,’ said Dick, ‘and not take a look inside.’

His wife reluctantly agreed.

When they reached the front of the queue, Dick purchased two entrance tickets and, for a small extra charge, selected an English-speaking guide to show them around.

‘I don’t feel too good,’ said Maureen as they entered the Empress Catherine’s bedroom. She clung onto the four-poster bed.

‘You must drink lots of water on such a hot day,’ suggested the tour guide helpfully. By the time they had reached Tsar Nicholas IV’s study, Maureen warned her husband that she thought she was going to faint. Dick apologized to their guide, put an arm around his wife’s shoulder and assisted her out of the palace on an unsteady journey back to the carpark. They found their taxi driver standing by his car waiting for them.

‘We must return to the Grand Palace Hotel immediately,’ said Dick, as his wife fell into the back seat of the car like a drunk who has been thrown out of a pub on a Saturday night.

On the long drive back to St Petersburg, Maureen was violently sick in the back of the taxi, but the driver didn’t comment, just maintained a steady speed as he continued along the highway. Forty minutes later, he came to a halt outside the Grand Palace Hotel. Dick handed over a wodge of notes and apologized.

‘Hope madam better soon,’ he said.

‘Yes, let’s hope so,’ replied Dick.

Dick helped his wife out of the back of the car, and guided her up the steps into the hotel lobby and quickly towards the lifts, not wishing to draw attention to himself. He had her safely back in their suite moments later. Maureen immediately disappeared into the bathroom, and even with the door closed Dick could hear her retching. He searched around the room. In their absence, all the bottles of Evian had been replaced. He only bothered to empty the one by Maureen’s bedside, which he refilled with tap water from the kitchenette.

Maureen finally emerged from the bathroom, and collapsed onto the bed. ‘I feel awful,’ she said.

‘Perhaps you ought to take a couple of aspirin, and try to get some sleep?’

Maureen nodded weakly. ‘Could you fetch them for me? They’re in my wash bag.’

‘Of course, my darling.’ Once he’d found the pills, he filled a glass with tap water, before returning to his wife’s side. She had taken off her dress, but not her slip. Dick helped her to sit up and became aware for the first time that she was soaked in sweat. She swilled down the two aspirins with the glass of water Dick offered her. He lowered her gently down onto the pillow before drawing the curtains. He then strolled across to the bedroom door, opened it, and placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the door knob. The last thing he needed was for a solicitous maid to come barging in and find his wife in her present state. Once Dick was certain she was asleep, he went down to dinner.

‘Will madam be joining you this evening?’ enquired the head waiter, once Dick was seated.

‘No, sadly not,’ replied Dick, ‘she has a slight migraine. Too much sun I fear, but I’m sure she’ll be fine by the morning.’

‘Let’s hope so, sir. What can I interest you in tonight?’

Dick took his time perusing the menu, before he eventually said, ‘I think I’ll start with the foie gras, followed by a rump steak—’ he paused — ‘medium rare.’

‘Excellent choice, sir.’

Dick poured himself a glass of water from the bottle on the table and quickly gulped it down, before filling his glass a second time. He didn’t hurry his meal, and when he returned to his suite just after ten, he was delighted to find his wife was fast asleep. He picked up her glass, took it to the bathroom and refilled it with tap water. He then put it back on her side of the bed. Dick took his time undressing, before finally slipping under the covers to settle down next to his wife. He turned out the bedside light and slept soundly.

When Dick woke the following morning, he found that he too was covered in sweat. The sheets were also soaked, and when he turned over to look at his wife all the colour had drained from her cheeks.

Dick eased himself out of bed, slipped into the bathroom and took a long shower. Once he had dried himself, he put on one of the hotel’s towelling dressing gowns and returned to the bedroom. He crept over to his wife’s side of the bed and once again refilled her empty glass with tap water. She had clearly woken during the night, but not disturbed him.

He drew the curtains before checking that the Do Not Disturb sign was still on the door. He returned to his wife’s side of the bed, pulled up a chair and began to read the Herald Tribune. He had reached the sports pages by the time she woke. Her words were slurred. She managed, ‘I feel awful.’ A long pause followed before she added, ‘Don’t you think I ought to see a doctor?’

‘He’s already been to examine you, my dear,’ said Dick. ‘I called for him last night. Don’t you remember? He told you that you’d caught a fever, and you’ll just have to sweat it out.’

‘Did he leave any pills?’ asked Maureen plaintively.

‘No, my darling. He just said you weren’t to eat anything, but to try and drink as much water as possible.’ He held the glass up to her lips and she attempted to gulp some more down. She even managed, ‘Thank you,’ before collapsing back onto the pillow.

‘Don’t worry, my darling,’ said Dick. ‘You’re going to be just fine, and I promise you I won’t leave your side, even for a moment.’ He leant over and kissed her on the forehead. She fell asleep again.

The only time Dick left Maureen’s side that day was to assure the housekeeper that his wife did not wish to have the sheets changed, to refill the glass of water on her bedside table, and late in the afternoon to take a call from the minister.

‘The President flew in yesterday,’ were Chenkov’s opening words. ‘He’s staying at the Winter Palace, where I’ve just left him. He wanted me to let you know how much he is looking forward to meeting you and your wife.’

‘How kind of him,’ said Dick, ‘but I have a problem.’

‘A problem?’ said a man who didn’t like problems, especially when the President was in town.

‘It’s just that Maureen seems to have caught a fever. We were out in the sun all day yesterday, and I’m not sure that she will have fully recovered in time to join us for the signing ceremony, so I may be on my own.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Chenkov, ‘and how are you?’

‘Never felt better,’ said Dick.

‘That’s good,’ said Chenkov, sounding relieved. ‘So I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock, as agreed. I don’t want to keep the President waiting.’

‘Neither do I, Anatol,’ Dick assured him. ‘You’ll find me standing in the lobby long before nine.’

There was a knock on the door. Dick quickly put the phone down and rushed across to open it before anyone was given a chance to barge in. A maid was standing in the corridor next to a trolley laden with sheets, towels, bars of soap, shampoo bottles and cases of Evian water.

‘You want the bed turned down, sir?’ she asked, giving him a smile.

‘No, thank you,’ said Dick. ‘My wife is not feeling well.’ He pointed to the Do Not Disturb sign.

‘More water, perhaps?’ she suggested, holding up a large bottle of Evian.

‘No,’ he repeated firmly and closed the door.

The only other call that evening came from the hotel manager. He asked politely if madam would like to see the hotel doctor.

‘No, thank you,’ said Dick. ‘She just caught a little sun but she’s on the mend, and I feel sure she will have fully recovered by the morning.’

‘Just give me a call,’ said the manager, ‘should she change her mind. The doctor can be with you in minutes.’

‘That’s very considerate of you,’ said Dick, ‘but it won’t be necessary,’ he added before putting the phone down. He returned to his wife’s side. Her skin was now pallid and blotchy. He leant forward until he was almost touching her lips — she was still breathing. He walked across to the fridge, opened it and took out all the unopened bottles of Evian water. He placed two of them in the bathroom, and one each side of the bed. His final action, before undressing, was to take the DON’T DRINK THE WATER sign out of his suitcase and replace it on the side of the washbasin.

Chenkov’s car pulled up outside the Grand Palace Hotel a few minutes before nine the following morning. Karl jumped out to open the back door for the minister.

Chenkov walked quickly up the steps and into the hotel, expecting to find Dick waiting for him in the lobby. He looked up and down the crowded corridor, but there was no sign of his business partner. He marched across to the reception desk and asked if Mr Barnsley had left a message for him.

‘No, Minister,’ replied the concierge. ‘Would you like me to call his room?’ The minister nodded briskly. They both waited for some time, before the concierge added, ‘No one is answering the phone, Minister, so perhaps Mr Barnsley is on his way down.’

Chenkov nodded again, and began pacing up and down the lobby, continually glancing towards the elevator, before checking his watch. At ten past nine, the minister became even more anxious, as he had no desire to keep the President waiting. He returned to the reception desk.

‘Try again,’ he demanded.

The concierge immediately dialled Mr Barnsley’s room number, but could only report that there was still no reply.

‘Send for the manager,’ barked the minister. The concierge nodded, picked up the phone once again and dialled a single number. A few moments later, a tall, elegantly dressed man in a dark suit was standing by Chenkov’s side.

‘How may I assist you, Minister?’ he asked.

‘I need to go up to Mr Barnsley’s room.’

‘Of course, Minister, please follow me.’

When the three men arrived on the ninth floor, they quickly made their way to the Tolstoy Suite, where they found the Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the door knob. The minister banged loudly on the door, but there was no response.

‘Open the door,’ he demanded. The concierge obeyed without hesitation.

The minister marched into the room, followed by the manager and the concierge. Chenkov came to an abrupt halt when he saw two motionless bodies lying in bed. The concierge didn’t need to be told to call for a doctor.

Sadly, the doctor had attended three such cases in the past month, but with a difference — they had all been locals. He studied his two patients for some time before he passed a judgement.

‘The Siberian disease,’ he confirmed, almost in a whisper. He paused and, looking up at the minister, added, ‘The lady undoubtedly died during the night, whereas the gentleman has passed away within the last hour.’

The minister made no comment.

‘My initial conclusion,’ continued the doctor, ‘is that she probably caught the disease from drinking too much of the local water—’ he paused as he looked down at Dick’s lifeless body — ‘while her husband must have contracted the virus from his wife, probably during the night. Not an uncommon occurrence among married couples,’ he added. ‘Like so many of our countrymen, he clearly wasn’t aware that—’ he hesitated before uttering the word in front of the minister — ‘Siberius is one of those rare diseases that is not only infectious but highly contagious.’

‘But I called him last night,’ protested the manager, ‘and asked if he’d like to see a doctor, and he said it wasn’t necessary, as his wife was on the mend and he was confident that she would be fully recovered by the morning.’

‘How sad,’ said the doctor, before adding, ‘if only he’d said yes. It would have been too late to revive his wife, but I still might have saved him.’