*
Sasha felt guilty that he hadn’t visited the countess for some time. His mother had tea with her once a week, and over the years they had become close friends. Elena regularly reminded him that it was the countess’s Fabergé egg that had changed all their fortunes. However, it was months since the old lady had attended a board meeting, despite still owning fifty per cent of the company.
When Sasha knocked on the door of her flat in Lowndes Square, the same faithful retainer answered, and for the first time, led him through to her mistress’s bedroom. Sasha was shocked to see how much the countess had aged since he’d last seen her. Her thinning white hair and deeply lined face suggested to him the harbingers of death. She gave him a weak smile.
‘Come and sit by me, Sasha,’ she said, tapping the edge of the bed. ‘There’s something I need to discuss with you. I know how busy you must be, so I’ll try not to waste too much of your time.’
‘I’m in no hurry,’ said Sasha as he sat down beside her, ‘so please take your time. I’m only sorry it’s been so long since I last saw you.’
‘That doesn’t matter. Your mother keeps me up to date on everything you’ve been up to. The company’s back making a handsome profit, and I just hope I’ll live long enough to see you become a minister of the Crown.’
‘Of course you will.’
‘Dearest Sasha, I’ve reached the age when death is my next-door neighbour, which is the reason I asked to see you. You and I have so many things in common, not least a devotion and love for the country of our birth. We owe a great deal to our British hosts for being so civilized and tolerant, but it’s still Russian blood that runs in our veins. When I die—’
‘Which let us hope will not be for some time,’ said Sasha, taking her hand.
‘My only wish,’ she said, ignoring the interruption, ‘is to be buried next to my father and grandfather in the church of St Nicholas in Saint Petersburg.’
‘Then your wish will be granted. So please don’t give it another thought.’
‘That’s so kind of you, and I will be forever grateful. Now, on a lighter note, dear boy, a little piece of history that I thought might amuse you. When I was a child, Tsar Nicholas II visited me in my nursery and just like you sat on the edge of my bed.’ Sasha smiled as he continued to hold her hand. ‘I suspect that I will be the only person in the history of our country who’s had both a Tsar and a future president of Russia sit on her bed.’
42
SASHA
Westminster, 1997
John Major held out until the last moment, finally going to the country on the last day of the fifth year of the parliament. But by then, no one was discussing whether Labour would win the general election, only how large their majority would be.
Sasha’s seat of Merrifield was no longer considered marginal, so he was deployed across the country to address gatherings in constituencies which up until then had seldom seen anyone wearing a red rosette. Even Fiona Hunter, with her 11,328 majority in the next-door constituency, was knocking on doors and holding public meetings as if she were defending a key marginal.
Sasha spent the final week of the campaign among friends and supporters in Merrifield as they waited to learn the nation’s verdict. In the early hours of the morning of Friday, 2 May, the returning officer for the Merrifield constituency declared that Mr Sasha Karpenko had won the seat with a 9,741 majority. Alf reminded him of the days when it had been in double figures, and then only after three recounts.
That morning he read the same, one-word headline on the front page of almost every national newspaper: ‘LANDSLIDE’.
When the final seat was declared in Northern Ireland, the Labour Party had won an overall majority of 179 seats. Sasha was disappointed that Ben Cohen had lost his seat, but had to admit, if only to himself, that he was pleased Fiona had survived by a couple of thousand votes. He would call Ben later that day to commiserate.
He switched on the television while Charlie boiled a couple of eggs.
‘No television until you’ve finished your prep,’ scolded Natasha, wagging her finger.
‘This is my prep, young lady,’ said her father, as they watched a black Jaguar being driven slowly along the Mall towards Buckingham Palace, carrying a passenger who had an appointment with the monarch. Everyone knew that Her Majesty would ask Mr Blair if he could form a government, and he would assure her that he could.
When the car re-emerged through the Palace gates some forty minutes later, it travelled straight to number 10 Downing Street, where the passenger would take up residence for the next five years, along with the titles of Prime Minister and First Lord of the Treasury.
‘So what happens next?’ asked Charlie.
‘Like so many of my colleagues, I’ll be sitting by the phone, hoping to receive a call from the PM.’
‘And if he doesn’t call?’ said Natasha.
‘I’ll be sitting on the back benches for the next five years.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Charlie. ‘Meanwhile, some of us have to do a day’s work. Be sure to call me the moment you hear anything. And don’t forget you’re taking Natasha to school this morning,’ she added before leaving to catch the Underground to Victoria.
Sasha topped his egg to find it had already gone hard. When Natasha left the room to collect her bag, he tried to read the morning papers. History. How he wanted to read tomorrow’s papers and discover if he’d been offered a job.
Natasha stuck her head around the door. ‘Come on, Dad, it’s time to go. I can’t afford to be late.’
Sasha abandoned his half-finished egg, grabbed the car keys from the sideboard and quickly followed his daughter out onto the street.
‘Did I tell you I’ll be playing Portia in the school play this year, Papa?’ said Natasha as she fastened her seat belt.
‘Which Portia?’ asked Sasha as he drove off.
‘Julius Caesar.’
‘You are a true and honourable wife, as dear to me as are the ruddy drops that visit my sad heart.’
Natasha paused, before she delivered the next line. ‘If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman; but withal a woman that Lord Brutus took to wife.’
‘Not bad,’ said Sasha.
‘We’re still looking for a Brutus, Papa, just in case you’ve got nothing better to do,’ Natasha said as they drew up outside the school gates.
‘Not a bad offer. I’ll let you know this evening if I get a better one.’
‘By the way,’ Natasha said as she got out of the car, ‘you made a one-word mistake.’
‘Which word?’
‘Haven’t you always told me don’t be lazy, child, look it up? Have a good day, Papa, and the best of luck!’
*
Sasha let the phone ring three times before he picked it up.
‘Sasha, it’s Ben. Just calling to wish you luck.’
‘I’m sorry you lost your seat, old friend. But I’m sure you’ll be back.’
‘I doubt it. I have a feeling your party will be sitting on the government benches for some time.’
‘Perhaps they’ll send you to the Lords?’
‘Too young. And in any case, there’s likely to be a fairly long queue in front of me.’
‘Let’s keep in touch,’ said Sasha, aware that that was no longer going to be quite as easy.
‘I’ll get off the line,’ said Ben. ‘I know you must be waiting for a call from Number Ten. Good luck.’
Sasha hadn’t even sat back down before the phone rang again. He grabbed it before it could ring a second time.
‘This is Number Ten,’ said a switchboard voice. ‘The Prime Minister wondered if you could see him at three-twenty this afternoon.’