books.â
âImagine what the placeâll be like when heâs sixty,â Matt said.
She smiled. âYes,â she said. âImagine.â
âBut what are they all for?â He pointed to the nearest display table. Inside, protected beneath a glass lid, was a pile of gold coins. âI mean, where did these come from?â
âTheyâre Russian,â Robin said, as if that was obvious. âAll that remains of the five tons of gold and silver that Admiral Kolchak took from the imperial treasury to fund the Tsarâs cause in 1917.â
What happened to the rest of it? Matt wondered.
Robin opened the door and Matt could see that it led into the corridor. Opposite was the little table with the picture of the fair-haired woman standing on it.
âHe had it tipped into Lake Baikal. It must have been so sad, standing on the narrow roadway that ran along the cliffs at the side of the lake, watching all their hopes and aspirations, their only chance of victory sinking out of sight in the deepest lake in the world. Perhaps Kol-chak wept, or perhaps it was just the cold wind stinging his eyes and making them water. But they knew by then it was all over and they wanted to deny the Communists anything they could. A small victory, perhaps.â Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. âKolchak was captured soon after,â she said as she led him back to the hallway. âThey executed him, poor man.â
Matt said goodbye, and stepped out into the dark, windy evening. He stood in the protection of the porch for a few moments before setting off down the drive. âPleasant enough, but a bit weird,â he said out loud.
The lights were on downstairs in the cottage. As he approached, Matt could see through the front window into the living room. Aunt Jane was sitting in an armchair beside the fire. He watched her for a few seconds. She was facing away from him, but he could see that she was looking at a book.
It was a big book, and she turned the pages slowlyand carefully as she examined them. There were pictures and news clippings glued to the pages. A scrap-book, containing memories and keepsakes. Matt couldnât make out any details.
The front door was locked, so he pressed the bell. He could hear Aunt Jane moving about inside â a door banging, and hurried footsteps.
âHello, Matt. I hope youâve had a nice time.â She stood aside to let him come in. âGoodness, itâs got cold, hasnât it?â
He hadnât noticed. He didnât notice now. He was more concerned with Aunt Jane. âAre you all right?â
âFine, fine. Iâm fine.â She sniffed. âJust the beginnings of a cold, I think. Nothing to worry about.â
But it didnât look to Matt like the beginnings of a cold. Her eyes were moist and her cheeks stained. Her face was blotchy with embarrassment or emotion. It looked to Matt like sheâd been crying.
He closed the door behind him and went and sat in the chair opposite Aunt Jane, close to the fire. There was no sign of the scrapbook.
Chapter 5
Aunt Jane had tea keeping warm in the oven â lamb chops and vegetables with new potatoes. She asked Matt how he had spent his time in the library as they ate in the little dining room, but she seemed distracted, and Matt wondered if she was listening at all. He had to ask her twice for the salt.
There was no dishwasher, so Matt dried the plates and cutlery as Aunt Jane washed them.
âI think Iâll have a mug of cocoa,â she said as she emptied the sink and dried her hands. âDo you want one?â
âThanks.â
âThen Iâll get an early night, if you donât mind. My cold â¦â
âThatâs fine,â Matt assured her. âI could do with some sleep too. Itâs been a long day.â
âIâm sure. You must be worn out, you poor thing. If you want to ring your mother, help yourself to the
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