as a barefoot boy.” Richard pointed to Sofia’s knapsack. “Is that all you brought with you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Are you hungry?” asked Mrs. Vanderwhile.
Before Sofia could respond, Richard chimed in: “Of course she’s hungry. I’m hungry and I’ve just returned from a dinner. I’ll tell you what, my dear: Why don’t you see if you can scare up some clothes for Sofia, while she and I have a chat. Then we can all rendezvous in the kitchen.”
While Mrs. Vanderwhile went in search of clothes, Richard led Sofia into his study and sat on the edge of his desk.
“I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you in house, Sofia. And I do so hate putting business before pleasure. But once we sit down to eat, I suspect we’ll be swept away with stories of your adventures. So, before we go to the kitchen, your father mentioned that you might have something for me. . . .”
Sofia looked shy and hesitant.
“My father said that you might have something for me first. . . .”
Richard laughed and slapped his hands together.
“Right you are! I’d forgotten all about it.”
Richard crossed the room to one of the bookcases. Standing on his tiptoes, he reached to the uppermost shelf and removed what looked like a large book—but which turned out to be a package wrapped in brown paper. Richard set it down on his desk with a thud.
In turn, Sofia began to reach into her knapsack.
“Before giving anything to me,” Richard cautioned, “you should probably make sure that this is what it’s supposed to be. . . .”
“Oh, yes. I see.”
“Besides,” he added, “I’ve been dying of curiosity.”
Joining Richard at his desk, Sofia untied the strings and pulled back the folds of paper. Inside was an old edition of Montaigne’s Essays.
“Well,” said Richard a little bemused, “you’ve got to give that old Frenchman credit. He’s substantially heavier than Adam Smith or Plato. I really had no idea.”
But then Sofia opened the book, revealing a rectangular cavity cut into the pages, in which there were eight small stacks of gold coins.
“Naturally,” said Richard.
Sofia closed the book and retied the strings. Then taking off her knapsack, she emptied its contents onto a chair and handed the empty bag to Richard.
“Father said you should cut the seam at the top of the straps.”
There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Vanderwhile poked in her head.
“I’ve got some clothes to show you, Sofia. Are you ready?”
“Perfect timing,” said Richard while giving a nod to Sofia. “I’ll follow you in a minute.”
Left alone, Richard took a penknife from his pocket. He switched out the blade and carefully cut the seam that had been expertly sewn along the top of the shoulder straps. In the narrow gap that ran behind the length of one of the straps had been slipped a tightly rolled piece of paper.
Easing the roll from its hiding place, Richard sat down and spread it across his desk. On the top side there was a diagram entitled “Combined Dinner of Council of Ministers and Presidium, June 11, 1954.” The diagram itself depicted a long U with forty-six names inscribed around its periphery. Under the name of each person was their title and a summation of their personality in three words. On the verso was a detailed description of the evening in question.
Certainly, the Count described the announcement concerning the Obninsk nuclear power plant and the theatric display of its connection to the Moscow grid. But what he emphasized in the course of his report were the evening’s social nuances.
First, the Count observed that when the guests appeared at the dinner, virtually all were surprised by the venue. They had obviously arrived at the hotel expecting they would be dining in one of the Boyarsky’s formal rooms, only to be directed instead to suite 417. The one exception was Khrushchev—who entered the room with the cool satisfaction of one who not only knew where the dinner would be held, but was pleased to see that everything was perfectly in order. The General Secretary erased any doubt as to his personal involvement in the planning of the evening when, having been unusually quiet, he stood at ten minutes to eleven to make a toast that referenced the history of the suite two floors below.
But for the Count, the genius of the evening was in Khrushchev’s casual display of his alignment with Malyshev. In recent months, Malenkov had made no secret of his disagreement with Khrushchev regarding nuclear armament.