The Bloody Meadow Read Free Page B

light.
    As it had turned out, however, that icon business he’d been involved with the previous year, the most blatant example of his divided allegiances, had ended up working in his favour in
unexpected ways. The matter remained top secret, which was probably just as well from Korolev’s point of view, but the injuries he’d suffered in the course of the investigation pointed
to it having been a dangerous matter, on top of which Korolev now wore on his chest a mysterious Order of the Red Star that he was forbidden to discuss. According to Yasimov, most people thought
he’d uncovered a counter-revolutionary plot and had personally assisted the NKVD, or the Chekists as they were commonly known after an older acronym, in the violent suppression of the
conspiracy. It was almost true, after a fashion, but no one in Petrovka Street except for his boss knew the real story, and even Popov didn’t know all of it.
    Still, for the moment at least, the dark red enamelled star that General Popov had ordered he wear on his chest while on duty, whether in uniform or not, had created a bubble around Korolev, and
even around Yasimov. Korolev wasn’t complacent, though, far from it. After all, if some of his actions during the icon affair ever became public, they’d result in his immediate
reacquaintance with the interior of a Lubianka cell. So for the foreseeable future he wanted to keep well clear of anything connected with the Chekists until they forgot he’d ever existed.
And, until he was confident they had, he’d carry on keeping a small packed suitcase in his bedroom wardrobe just in case they came for him one night with a one-way ticket for Siberia.
    Korolev found himself at the door of the building he lived in on Bolshoi Nikolo-Vorobinsky and began to kick the snow from his boots before opening the heavy front door, light spilling out into
the lane as he did so; and as if to remind him that his concerns weren’t just groundless paranoia, he caught sight of the red seal that had been applied to Kotov’s apartment door by
State Security only the previous week and which swung gently in the resulting draught. Poor Kotov had been an administrator with a government ministry until his arrest, but he’d had the
nervous stoop and grey pallor of a condemned man for the best part of a month before it. Now he and his wife had disappeared and the only trace of their passing was that damned red seal that would
swing there till the apartment was cleared and reallocated. Korolev reminded himself that he was alive, climbing the stairs to an apartment which he shared with the beautiful Valentina Nikolaevna,
and by anyone’s standards he was a lucky man. He had to remember that. Tomorrow would look after itself.
    He could hear Natasha’s laugh as he turned the key in the lock, but by the time he entered their shared room Valentina’s daughter was sitting grave-faced at the table – her
eyes focused on the exercise book in which she was writing. She didn’t even look up at him. Valentina Nikolaevna, on the other hand, stood from the battered Chesterfield, putting aside the
book she was reading. Every time he saw her he felt his mood lift – a man could dive into those sea-blue eyes of hers and swim to the horizon.
    ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.
    They’d come to an arrangement over the last few months – she’d often cook for him, or leave something out for him if he was late and, in exchange, he shared his food parcel
with her. It was a domestic arrangement and he was sure there was fondness on her part. For a while, he’d dared to hope a closer relationship might develop, but he wasn’t the kind of
man she needed. A battered, middle-aged Ment with a job that kept him busy most of his waking hours? She could do better, that was for sure. No, a beautiful woman like her deserved a man who
could look after her properly, and who she could be proud of. She’d find someone soon enough, he suspected – and then