‘He did what?’ said Streator.
‘Mr Jenkins broke with the convention of playing their best player against our best player. He put their weakest player up against me, clearly willing to sacrifice that game. So their strongest player played our second board, and they were at an advantage for the other seven games.’
‘The Welsh bastard,’ said Streator.
‘Don’t worry, sir. They won’t get away with those tactics next year, because I’ll make sure it’s us who are lying in wait.’
‘Good. And, Sasha, I intend to make you captain next year, so it will be your last chance for revenge. But I suspect that won’t be your biggest challenge, if you’re still planning to stand for president of the Union, and get a first.’
‘I do sometimes wonder if I can do both,’ said Sasha. ‘Charlie never says anything, but I know she’d prefer me to give up the Union and concentrate on my work.’
‘I hear she’s given up the theatre for the same reason,’ said Streator. Sasha made no comment. ‘If you do stand for the presidency, who do you think will be your biggest rival?’
‘Fiona Hunter, the current vice-president.’
‘If she’s her father’s daughter, she’ll be a formidable opponent.’
‘You know Sir Max Hunter?’
‘Knew would be more accurate. Max and I were contemporaries at Keble. I never liked him. He was always looking for a short cut. A bent man, bent on politics.’
‘He made it to the Cabinet.’
‘Not for long,’ said Streator. ‘He’d trampled on too many people on the way up, so when he finally fell from grace, none of them were there to support him on the way down. I can only repeat, if Fiona is her father’s daughter, keep your eyes wide open, because she’ll make Gareth Jenkins look like a gentleman.’
‘I can’t believe she’s quite that bad,’ said Sasha.
*
‘Milk and sugar, my dear?’
‘Thank you,’ said Elena. ‘Just milk.’
‘I wanted to see you because I had an unexpected call from my accountant last week,’ said Mrs Moretti. ‘He’s received an offer for the restaurant that he considers fair. More than fair, if I remember his exact words.’
Elena put down her cup and listened carefully.
‘So I agreed to have a meeting with the prospective buyer, who assured me he was a great admirer of yours. He assured me that he’d want to keep you on in your present position, and had no objection to you continuing to live in the upstairs flat.’
Elena couldn’t hide her relief. She hadn’t admitted even to Sasha that she was anxious about what would happen to the restaurant now that Mr Moretti was no longer around to look after his extended family.
‘May I ask the name of the new owner?’ Elena asked, hoping it might be a customer she knew, or perhaps someone she had worked with in the past.
Mrs Moretti put her glasses back on, picked up the recently signed agreement and checked the name on the bottom line. ‘A Mr Maurice Tremlett,’ she said, dropping another sugar lump into her tea. ‘He seemed such a nice young man.’
Elena’s tea went cold.
*
Maurice Tremlett marched into the kitchen and shouted above the bustle and noise, ‘Which one of you is Elena Karpenko?’
Elena put down her carving knife and came out from behind the long steel counter. Tremlett stared at her for some time before saying, ‘I want you off the premises immediately, and I mean immediately. And you have twenty-four hours to clear all your possessions out of my flat.’
‘That’s not fair,’ said Betty, taking off her rubber gloves and stepping forward to stand by her friend.
‘Is that right?’ said Tremlett. ‘Then you’re sacked as well. And if anyone else wants to join them, be my guest.’ Although one or two of the other kitchen staff shuffled around nervously, no one spoke. ‘Good, then that’s settled. But be warned, should any of you speak to either of these two again,’ he said, pointing at Elena and Betty as if they were criminals, ‘you can also start looking for another job.’ He turned and left without another word.
Elena took off her whites, left the kitchen and made her way upstairs to the flat without speaking to anyone. The first thing she did once she’d closed the front door was to look up the number of the porter’s lodge at Trinity. For only a second time, she was going to break her golden rule of never disturbing Sasha during term time. However, she decided this was, without question, an emergency. She picked up the phone, and was about to dial the number when she heard a long buzzing sound. The phone had already been cut off.
*
A firm rap on the door caused Dr Streator to pause in midsentence.
‘Either the college is on fire,’ he said, ‘or once again I’ve got the wrong day for the match against Oxford.’
The three undergraduates dutifully laughed as their supervisor rose from his place by the fire, walked slowly across the room and opened the door, to find a stern-looking man and a uniformed police officer standing in the corridor.
‘I apologize for disturbing you, Professor Streator,’ (he was flattered by the promotion) said the young man in a grey suit and a college tie that the senior tutor thought he recognized. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Warwick,’ he said, holding up his identity card. ‘Is a Mr Sasha Karpenko with you?’
‘Yes, he is. But may I ask why you want to see him?’
Warwick ignored the question, and stepped past the don and into his study, followed by the constable. He didn’t need to ask which of the three students was Karpenko, because Sasha immediately stood up.
‘I need to ask you a few questions, Mr Karpenko,’ said Warwick. ‘Given the circumstances, it might be more convenient if you were to accompany me to the station.’
‘What are the circumstances?’ demanded Streator.
‘I’m not at liberty to say, sir,’ replied Warwick, as the constable took Sasha firmly by the arm and led him out of the room.
Streator left his puzzled students and followed Sasha and the two policemen out of his study, down the staircase, across the courtyard and onto the street. Several undergraduates looked on curiously as Sasha climbed into the back of a waiting police car and was whisked away.
BOOK THREE
17
ALEX
Brooklyn
Alex was left alone in a small dark room below a naked light bulb that barely illuminated the table where he was seated. Two empty chairs that stood on the other side of the table were the only other pieces of furniture in the room. A large mirror covered the wall in front of him, and he wondered how many people were standing on the other side observing him.
His brain began to work overtime. Why had he been arrested? What were they charging him with? What law had he broken? Alex couldn’t believe the police were interested in the small pickings he made playing chess at the weekends, and although he now owned four stalls, and was making a reasonable profit, it surely wouldn’t have been enough to interest even the lowliest tax inspector. And there was no way they could know about the hundred dollars a week Ivan was paying him, because it was always in cash. It couldn’t be anything to do with the university, because they had their own security, and in any case, the dean had recently suggested that he should apply for a place at Harvard Business School. Although he was flattered by the idea, Alex rather hoped he’d end up as a case study, not a student.
His thoughts were interrupted when the door suddenly opened and two well-dressed men entered. He recognized them both immediately, but said nothing. They sat down opposite him. He had never forgotten their first meeting, and wondered which of them would be playing the good cop. At least it couldn’t be worse than the Soviet Union, where they only had a bad cop, bad cop routine. He waited for one of them to speak.
‘My name is Matt Hammond,’ the older man said, ‘and this is my colleague, Ross Travis. You might recall that we met at your home some time ago.’