Page 77 of End Game
TheEvening Standardcarried the Russian Minister of Sport’s statement on their front page:
‘Ms Natasha Korova, one of Russia’s most admired and respected athletes, had to leave the Olympics and return to Moscow when she learned her mother had suffered a stroke. Natasha is now at her mother’s bedside with the rest of the family. She hopes the press will respect her privacy.’
‘Will anyone believe that rubbish?’ Artemisia asked Robert over breakfast, after she’d read the article a second time.
‘It’s been written for domestic consumption,’ Robert replied, ‘and as theDaily Mailwon’t have a huge circulation in Moscow, they can keep the truth well hidden from their own citizens.’
‘They’ll live to regret it,’ said Artemisia.
‘Ah,’ said Robert, ‘so now you’re going to take on Putin?’
‘He can’t be any worse than my editor.’ Artemisia put down her mug of tea. ‘It’s just so unfair.’
‘I know,’ said Robert, placing an arm gently around her shoulder. ‘But the real world isn’t fair, ask any politician.’
‘But I feel I’ve failed them.’
‘You did everything you possibly could,’ said Robert, trying to comfort her, ‘and Natasha made it clear that her father wanted her to expose them.’
‘It hasn’t been enough.’ She sat up straight and brushed away a tear. ‘But I’m not done yet. Alain and I have agreed to stay in touch, and if there’s anything that can be done to help Natasha, we’ll do it. I’ll go on fighting on their behalf for as long as it takes. In fact,’ she declared, ‘I won’t be satisfied until we finally attend their wedding.’
‘Or they attend ours,’ said Robert.
Artemisia looked up at him in silence for a moment, which Robert took advantage of.
He fell on one knee, removed a small leather box from an inside pocket and said, ‘Artemisia, I adore you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I can only hope you’ll agree to be my wife.’
Artemisia remained silent as Robert opened the leather box to reveal a small diamond ring. He didn’t move as he waited for her reply.
‘Of course I will,’ replied Artemisia. ‘I’m only surprised it’s taken you so long.’
CHAPTER 25
Thursday, 9 August – day 14 of the Games
‘HAVE YOU HEARD THE NEWS?’ asked Christina, as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
‘No,’ said Wilbur, looking over the top of yesterday’s copy of theNew York Times. ‘What have you been up to this time?’ he asked. ‘Finally killed off your ex-husband?’
‘Good idea,’ said Christina, ‘but that may have to wait until after this evening’s board meeting. No, it’s Artemisia – and it’s double good news, in fact. Firstly, Beth tells me that she and Robert are finally engaged, and secondly, Artemisia’s landed her second front-page scoop.’ Christina handed Wilbur her copy of theDaily Mail.
Wilbur took his time reading the article, his smile broadening with each paragraph. ‘TheNew York Timeshas been reporting their suspicions about the Russians for the past year,’ he said, ‘and now Artemisia has trumped them.’
‘Of course she has,’ said Christina. ‘She’s the daughter of her mother.’
‘I think you’ll find,’ said Wilbur, ‘that William was somehow involved in her creation, but I agree Arte should be proud, because her piece is a first-class example of investigative journalism.’
‘Although she’ll be distressed by the final outcome,’ said Christina. ‘God knows where that brave young woman is while we’re enjoying coffee and croissants in Chelsea.’
‘That’s hardly Artemisia’s fault,’ said Wilbur. ‘She wasn’t the one who made the decision to expose their rotten system, and Ms Korova will have been well aware of the risk she was taking.’
Christina sighed. ‘Artemisia won’t see it that way, but I’m glad she has Robert to comfort her. I think I’ll give her a call.’
‘And don’t forget to offer my congratulations, too,’ said Wilbur, as he poured his wife a cup of coffee. ‘And dare I ask,’ he continued, turning to a different subject, ‘if you haven’t already murdered your ex-husband, have you decided whether to back him in his desire to join the board of the Fitzmolean?’
‘I can’t make up my mind,’ admitted Christina, as she cracked an egg. ‘I have to ask myself, if I were to try and prevent him from taking a place on the board, would I be responsible for jeopardizing the museum’schances of inheriting a unique private collection?’
‘My bet,’ said Wilbur, ‘is that offer is nothing more than a sprat to catch a mackerel, and you’re about to discover just how many mackerels you have on your board.’
