Winter Palace Read Online Free PDF Page A

way from Claridge’s.”
    Alexander managed a shaky smile. “You should try the food.”
    â€œI already did.” Jeffrey returned the smile. “You’re resting well?”
    â€œMy body draws upon slumber like an elixir,” Alexander replied. His voice remained barely above a whisper. “I relish it as I never have before. I slide in and out as one draws a fine silk covering over his body. Sometimes it is so delicate that I am scarcely aware of its arrival.”
    A gentle knock announced Katya’s entry. She walked in, bringing a sense of joyous sunshine with her. She pecked at Alexander’s cheek, gave Jeffrey something more substantial, asked, “How are my two favorite men this morning?”
    â€œAlexander is feeling better,” Jeffrey said, giving up his seat and pulling over a second chair.
    â€œOf course he is.” She inspected Jeffrey’s neck brace. “Did you sleep in it as the doctor ordered?”
    He nodded as far as he could. “Turning over has become a major event.”
    â€œBetter than having to wear that contraption on your honeymoon,” she replied primly, then turned to Alexander. “After Jeffrey left to come visit you yesterday afternoon, a Mr. Vladimir Markov called you from Monte Carlo. He seemed most distressed when I said you would be indisposed for the next few days.”
    â€œMarkov. Sounds more like a spy than somebody living on the French Riviera,” Jeffrey commented.
    â€œHardly a spy,” Alexander replied in his hoarse half whisper. “Quite a distinguished gentleman, actually. I believe he may even be some long-lost relative of the Romanovs.”
    â€œRomanovs, as in the Russian kings?”
    â€œCzars,” Alexander corrected. “Exactly.”
    â€œIs he a client?” Katya asked.
    â€œI suppose you might say so,” Alexander replied. “He purchased my home in Monte Carlo. I haven’t seen him in well over a year.”
    â€œMonte Carlo,” Katya sighed. “The name alone sounds divine. What was your place like?”
    â€œQuite simple—well, no, I suppose that would be a bit of an understatement.” He paused to cough weakly. “It was built of stone, two stories high, and tucked into the hillside overlooking the sea. It had the charm of a Provencal farmhouse, but with these marvelous arched windows.”
    Slack muscles pulled up in a vestige of a smile. “When Markov walked in, he threw his hands in the air and said, I’ll take it. He was perhaps halfway through the entry hall. The real estate agent was as surprised as I. And Markov insisted on purchasing one of my antiques from Eastern Europe. Gave me a bit of a pang, but where was I to place the item otherwise?”
    â€œPerhaps return it to the shop,” Jeffrey murmured.
    A spark of the old Alexander returned. “So that you might have the pleasure of selling it to someone else? I do so admire your logic.”
    â€œSo how did this Russian become so rich?”
    â€œIt’s not that he became rich,” Alexander replied. “It is that he held on to a small share of what before was one of the world’s largest fortunes. At the turn of the century, the Russians considered it quite chic to travel to France. They positively loved the Riviera, and those who could built magnificent villas there. They learned the language and spoke it with the most atrocious Russian accent. A number of blue-domed Orthodox cathedrals still remain today, quite at odds with the local Provencal architecture.”
    â€œBut the Revolution changed all that,” Katya added.
    Alexander nodded. His voice was gradually losing strength. “When it looked as though the Bolsheviks would succeed in overthrowing the government, those of the nobility who did not have their heads in the sand became panic-stricken. Some managed to escape at the last moment, the fires that destroyed their palaces and their