Boris Akunin - Turkish Gambit

It was a shame that her parting with Sobolev had not gone well; in fact Sobolev had taken offence. Bother him anyway. A hero like that would find someone to console him soon enough.

And now the day had arrived when she had to say goodbye to Erast Petrovich. Varya's nerves had been on edge since early that morning, she'd thrown a fit of hysterics because of some lost brooch and blamed Petya for it, then burst into tears.

Fandorin was staying on in San Stefano - the diplomatic hustle and bustle was by no means all over simply because the peace had been signed. He had come straight to the station from some reception, in a tailcoat, top hat and white silk tie. He gave Varya a bunch of Parma violets, sighed a little and shifted from one foot to the other, but his sparkling eloquence had deserted him today.

'The peace is f-far too good,' he replied. 'Europe will not recognise it. Anwar executed his gambit p-per-fectly, and I lost the game. They have given me a medal, but they ought to have put me on trial.'

'How unfair you are to yourself. Terribly unfair!' Varya exclaimed passionately, afraid that her tears would start to flow. 'Why are you always so hard on yourself? If not for you, I don't know what would have become of us all . . .'

'Lavrenty Arkadievich told me much the same thing’ said Fandorin with a smile. 'And he p-promised me any reward in his power.'

Varya was delighted. 'Really? Well, that is wonderful! And what did you wish for?'

'For a posting somewhere on the far side of the world, as far away as possible from all this.' He waved his hand vaguely through the air.

'What nonsense! What did Mizinov say?'

'He was furious. But a promise is a promise. When the negotiations are c-completed I shall travel from Constantinople to Port Said, and from there by steamship to Japan. I have been appointed second secretary at the embassy in Tokyo. There is nowhere further away than that.'

'To Japan . . .' The tears broke through after all, and Varya furiously wiped them away with her glove.

The bell rang and the locomotive sounded its whistle. Petya stuck his head out of the window of the carriage.

'Varya, it's time. We're leaving.'

Erast Petrovich hesitated and lowered his eyes. 'G-goodbye, Varvara Andreevna. I was very glad . . .' He did not finish the phrase.

Varya clutched hold of his hand impetuously and began blinking rapidly, shaking the teardrops off her eyelashes.

'Erast . . .' she began in sudden haste, but the words stuck in her throat and would not come out.

Fandorin jerked his chin and said nothing.

The wheels clanked and the carriage swayed.

'Varya, they'll take me away without you!' Petya shouted despairingly. 'Quick!'

She glanced round, hesitated for just one more second and leapt on to the step as it glided along the edge of the platform.

'. . . first of all a hot bath. Then Filippov's bakery and some of that apricot pastille you're so fond of. And then the bookshop for all the new publications, and then the university. Can you imagine all the questions everyone will ask, all the . . .'

Varya stood at the window, nodding in time to Petya's contented babbling. She wanted to keep the black figure left behind on the platform in sight for as long as possible, but the figure was acting strangely, blurring like that ... Or could there perhaps be something wrong with her eyes?

The Times(London) 10 March (26 February) 1878

Her Majesty's Government Says 'No'

Today Lord Derby announced that the British government, supported by the governments of the majority of European states, categorically refuses to recognise the exorbitant peace terms imposed on Turkey by the rapacious appetites of Tsar Alexander. The Treaty of San Stefano is contrary to the interests of European security and must be reviewed at a special congress in which all the great powers will take part.