The Volga Ruby - Excerpt

The worst of the winter had now passed and the nights were starting to become shorter and more bearable but for the young Englishman enduring his first St. Petersburg winter it was still the bitterest of weather. The heaviest of the blizzards may have passed but the snow continued unabated. He wondered how Peter The Great had ever decided upon such an unfavourably cold location for his capital, so far north, at the very tip of the Gulf of Finland on the Neva. While the location could be questioned the grandeur of his project could only be admired. The city was only a little over two hundred years old but it was already firmly established as one of the great European capitals and its bridges and neo-classical palaces gave it the appearance of a far older city. The works of some of the finest architects of the age were gathered together in this living monument to the great Tsar.
      He braced himself against the cold, pulling the collar of his finely tailored coat up around his neck to keep out the chill wind from the Neva. His stride lengthened as he walked confidently towards the embankment. It was a little before one o'clock in the morning and the streets were all but empty, leaving him a solitary silhouette enveloped in the lightly falling snow. He could feel the reassuring weight of his pistol against his chest, rising and falling with every breath. To strike at a diplomat under the Tsar's protection would be dangerous but you never could be too careful and his pistol came with him whenever he walked, though the romantic in him far preferred the sabre that he wore with his dress uniform. He ascended the steps to the embassy door and glanced around him one last time; his eyes swept along the embankment and over the river, the city taking on a ghostly appearance with only the light of a single carriage in sight on the bridge.
      The embassy was an impressive building, he had always thought so, and the sight of the union flag on the flag pole still gave him the warm pride that had been so meticulously bred into him at Eton. He knocked on the door twice and waited patiently while the night porter unlocked the latches and the heavy oak panelled door creaked open. The warmth closed in around him as he stepped inside and stamped his feet briskly, knocking the excess snow onto the mat before progressing into the entrance hall.
      ‘Surprised to see you at this hour, Sir,’ said the night porter. ‘I'm afraid the Ambassador has long since left for the evening.’
      ‘He must be summoned then, post haste. I'm afraid this is a matter of the utmost urgency.’
      ‘But, Sir, I'm not certain that he'll appreciate being...’ There was no time for the porter to finish what he was saying before the young gentleman cut him off in a firm tone.
      ‘A matter of the utmost urgency and delicacy. See that he is summoned immediately and brought here with discretion; I do not wish the whole of St. Petersburg to be discussing our meeting in the morning.’
      The night porter bowed politely and headed upstairs to order one of the staff to get a carriage driver, leaving the young gentleman pacing the hall and turning over the events of the evening in his mind.