The Relic by Evelyn Anthony Read Free Book Online Page B

soon as he gets here .
    â€˜Talk of the devil,’ the man said. ‘Here he is!’
    She recognized him at once from the faded photographs. The tall, slight figure. The face with the distinctive Slavic cheekbones and broad brow. He looked ill. There were bags puffed under his eyes; his dark hair straggled over his collar. He walked with his shoulders stooped under an invisible weight.
    â€˜He’s pissed,’ the waiter whispered. ‘Same as usual. I better take his order. He still brings in the gawkers now and again.’
    Lucy sat very still. She watched him take his place at a table under an umbrella. She saw the careful movements as he shifted the chair and lowered himself into it. As if he were in pain.
    â€˜ Oh God ,’ she murmured quietly to herself. ‘What am I going to do?’ She was close enough to hear him speak. She started at the sound of the voice. It was deep and heavily accented. It reminded her of Yuri. She flinched at the memory.
    â€˜Some coffee—and a cognac. Lovely morning.’
    And the sneering waiter, writing down the order, looked briefly across at her and winked.
    She took a deep breath to calm herself. Her father’s life-long dream, the hopes of so many helpless people, the saving power of the Relic that men had died in torment to protect … all to be abandoned, sacrificed in vain because a great man was drowning himself in drink.
    She ignored the waiter. She pushed back her chair and walked up to his table. She stood in front of him and he looked up.
    â€˜Professor Volkov?’
    â€˜No,’ he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, you’re mistaken.’
    â€˜No, I’m not,’ Lucy said firmly. ‘I know who you are. Can I sit down?’
    He frowned for a moment. She thought suddenly, he isn’t drunk. That oaf was wrong. He’s been drunk, but he isn’t now.
    â€˜If you’re a journalist, you’re wasting your time. I don’t give interviews. Please go away. I don’t mean to be rude, but go away.’
    She pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. She leaned towards him. ‘I’m not a journalist,’ she said in Russian. ‘Please can I talk to you? Just for a few minutes?’
    Immediately the shutters came down. Suspicion, fear, then blankness. ‘I’ve nothing to say,’ he said. ‘If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call the management.’
    Lucy shook her head. She spoke gently. ‘Professor, you needn’t be afraid of me. I just want to talk to someone I’ve admired all my life. That’s all. Please believe me.’
    The waiter arrived, bringing the coffee and a large cognac. Lucy looked up at him. ‘Coffee for me, too,’ she said. Behind Volkov’s back he pulled a face and winked again.
    She said to Volkov, ‘Thank you for not getting him to throw me out.’
    â€˜Who are you? What do you want?’ He reached for the cognac; his hand was shaking. He said defensively, ‘I’m not frightened of you. I need this because I’ve got a hangover.’
    â€˜I know,’ she said. ‘Why not take some coffee? It’s better for you.’
    â€˜How do you know?’ he demanded. ‘You don’t know anything about me!’
    She answered quietly. ‘I know everything about you, Professor. I’ve read every word you’ve written. I know your speeches by heart. I’ve had your photograph on my wall since I was twenty. The waiter told me you were drunk when you arrived. My name is Lucy Warren. Will you at least listen to me?’
    â€˜Why should I?’ he asked. ‘I don’t know you. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t talk to anyone from home.’
    â€˜I’m English,’ she explained. ‘I’ve never been to Russia. My father was Ukrainian; he taught me to speak Russian. His name was Varienski.’
    â€˜Means nothing to me,’ Volkov said. ‘I never