Page 55 of Royally Romanov
“Father Kozlov will be right with you.” The church secretary nodded politely, then exited through one of the cathedral’s massive gold arches, heels echoing on the marble floor.
“Merci beaucoup,” Maxim said in her wake.
The priest waved a shaky hand at the choir in what looked like a signal to proceed before walking toward Maxim and Finley with a bent, plodding gait.
Finley angled her head toward Maxim. “How old do you think he is?”
“He’s got to be close to ninety,oui?”
As it turned out, Maxim was off by more than a decade.
Father Kozlov escorted them out of the sanctuary and led them to his expansive office deep within the recesses of the massive cathedral, where a photograph of the priest celebrating his one hundredth birthday at La Coupole hung above his desk.
“That picture was taken last year,” he said when he noticed them looking at it. “I turn one hundred and one next week.”
Finley beamed at him. “Bon anniversaire.”Happy birthday.
“Merci.” He returned her smile, then turned his attention toward Maxim.
The priest’s smile faded, and his thick, white eyebrows drew close together. Maxim shifted in his chair. For a moment, he thought this meeting was going to be like talking to Detective Durand. But the clergyman had kind eyes. Far kinder than those of thedétective.
He blinked then shook his head. “Je suis désolé. I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that you look very familiar. Much like a friend of mine from many years ago. Your last name is Laurent, is it not?”
Beside Maxim, Finley cleared her throat. Gerard sat perched in her lap with his head swiveling between the two men as if he were trying to keep up with the conversation.
Everything about the meeting felt surreal.
“Oui, Father, it is. Laurent. Maxim Laurent. I apologize for missing our last meeting. I had an accident and was only recently released from the hospital.”
“An accident,” Father Kozlov echoed.
Maxim knew he should elaborate, but he’d been hoping to avoid the subject of his attack. It seemed like he might not have a choice, considering that he’d been in the priest’s office for less than five minutes and the conversation had already come to a standstill.
Finley glanced at him. Since she knew more than he did about why they were here, he was going to be forced to let her take charge at some point. It might as well be now. Maxim gave her an almost imperceptible nod, and she jumped right in.
“Maxim was the man who was attacked two weeks ago at Point Zero. His injuries have left him with some memory issues.”
Memory issues. An understatement if Maxim had ever heard one.
“I see.” Again, Father Kozlov regarded him through narrowed eyes. Then his gaze swiveled back to Finley. “And you are?”
“My name is Finley Abbot. I’m a curator at the Louvre.” It was remarkable how professional she managed to sound while she had a googly-eyed dog sitting in her lap. Maxim wondered if she would always possess the ability to surprise him. He had a feeling she would. “Assistant curator, technically. I’m responsible for the upcoming exhibit on Tsar Nicholas II and Alexandra.”
“Ah, the Romanovs.” The priest’s gaze slid toward Maxim again.
Finley pressed on. “Yes. I mention the Tsar and his family because, due to Maxim’s injuries, he doesn’t remember why he scheduled an appointment with you prior to the attempt on his life. But when he was found, he was carrying a journal with handwritten notes indicating he might...”
The priest held up a hand to stop her. “Let me guess. Mr. Laurent, you believe yourself to be the Tsar’s great-grandson.”
Maxim took a sharp inhale.
How could the priest possibly know that?
“I’m right, aren’t I?” The old man gave a slow nod. “You think Anastasia somehow survived the execution of her family, and she went on to make a new life for herself here. In Paris. She married and had a family of her own—a son, followed by a grandson. And now that grandson is sitting in front of me, hoping I can help him prove his identity. Is this what you believe, Monsieur Laurent?”
If Finley hadn’t been sitting next to him, Maxim would have been tempted to stand up and walk right back out the door.
The idea that his grandmother was Anastasia had always seemed unlikely, but never more so than it did right now, sitting inside a Russian church in front of a man who had been alive during the Bolshevik Revolution.
