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had no tears left. Part of herself had been buried that morning—right beside the mother she hardly remembered. He often told her how much he had loved Eileen and how beautiful she was.
    His old friend, Mischa, made a solemn speech. He called Yuri by his original name, Warienski, and spoke of his patriotism and his life-long devotion to Ukrainian freedom from the Communist yoke. He reminded them of his generosity in time and money, his involvement with the human rights activists inside the Soviet Union. His letters and articles denouncing the arrest of the bravest of the young intellectual dissidents, Professor Volkov. He had tears in his eyes and Yuri’s Russian friends cried openly. Vodka was passed and drunk in Yuri’s memory. And then Lucy called Mischa aside. He was the closest to her father and the president of their English association. She brought him in to her father’s study and closed the door.
    He said quietly, ‘Yuri wrote to me before he died. He said you would take his place.’
    â€˜I’m going to try,’ Lucy said. ‘I promised him.’
    He said, ‘He asked a lot of you, even when you were a child. Perhaps this is too much. If you change your mind, nobody would blame you, Lucy. One of us could approach Volkov.’
    She shook her head. ‘You’re known,’ she said. ‘You never made a secret of your activities. You’d be watched. Nobody will connect an English woman called Warren, on a holiday in Geneva, with anything subversive.’
    Don’t mention the Relic, her father had warned. All our organizations have been penetrated by the KGB ever since we helped to expose the Yalta Agreement. They learned we were more than a few exiles shaking puny fists at them from a safe distance … Only Volkov can be trusted. No one else must know.
    Mischa said gravely, ‘It won’t be easy. Volkov has been silent for five years. He hasn’t written a word or given an interview. There have been rumours that he was very ill. And his wife is an infamous woman. She worked in the Lenin Institute.’
    â€˜I know the risks,’ Lucy said. ‘But my father believed in Volkov. He said he was a patriot who would never spit on his own country as an exile.’
    â€˜Yuri was an idealist,’ Mischa said gently. ‘He wouldn’t believe that Volkov might have changed.’
    He came close and laid a hand on her shoulder. He had known her since she was a child. He had watched her grow in to a beautiful young woman. She should have married by now, producing grandchildren for her father. But Yuri had dedicated her on the altar of his own fanatical beliefs. And he was sending her out to fulfil his mission from the grave.
    He tried once more. ‘You know how much I loved your father,’ he said. ‘But I do urge you to consider very carefully. This could bring you in to considerable danger, Lucy. Take time to think about it.’
    She shook her head. ‘I’m booked to fly to Geneva tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. Wish me luck.’
    He bent and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘God go with you, Lucy. But promise me one thing. If Volkov is not the man you think he is, abandon it at once and come home.’
    â€˜I promise,’ she said. ‘But I know I won’t have to keep it. I feel my father’s near us. Do you feel it?’
    â€˜Yes,’ he said. ‘He’s here. Open the windows in the house. It’s what we do in the old country. It allows the spirit to leave in peace.’
    When they had all gone, Lucy walked out to the garden. She sat on the empty seat and stared out at the sea below. Sailing boats glided into view, swaying and dipping like swallows in the breeze. It was so peaceful and secure. Sailing had been her father’s hobby. As a child he had taken her out on a simple sailing boat, taught her the rudiments of handling a small craft,