Nick squeezed my hand as I glanced over my shoulder one last time. “We could move back here if you want, Soph,” he said. “Perry would take you back in a heartbeat and I know I could find work. We could look for another place to live, maybe try Chelsea or south of the river.”
I looked at my husband. He had shaved his beard and his hair was back to its normal color. A couple of weeks of pub lunches and he had gained back all the weight he lost in Abadistan. During the entire visit we had avoided discussing the subject of returning to London, though it had been the elephant in the room.
“Do you want to live here again?” I asked.
We were walking past the gated entrance to 10 Downing Street and the large Palladian Horse Guards building, where two cavalry officers on horseback stood sentry in the steady drizzle.
“It’s up to you,” he said. “I’ve put you through hell these past few months. I’ll go wherever you want to.”
Where you lead, I will follow.
It hadn’t been so long ago that I had said practically the same thing to Jack, joking about the path of our run that had taken us to the Capitol as the sun was setting over Washington.
“I love London,” I said. “We were really happy here. But America is home, where we have roots and family. If we stay away much longer, we’ll become gypsies. I think we need to go back . . . at least for a while.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He leaned over and kissed me. “Tomorrow we go home.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I had considerable help from individuals in the United States, Russia, and Britain who shared their professional expertise while I was researching
Multiple Exposure
and there are many people to thank. My usual rule applies: it’s not their fault if it’s wrong; that’s on me. With this book I knowingly took liberties and bent rules—though that’s one of the advantages of writing fiction, since you don’t get in trouble for making something up.
I am grateful to June Stanich of June Stanich Photography; Ruthi David of R. David Original Photography; Detective Jim Smith, Crime Scene Section, Fairfax County (VA) Police Department; and Twyla Kitts, teacher program coordinator, Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Richmond, VA. Jan Neuharth, fellow author and good friend, set me straight on formal attire for a hunt ball. A number of people, including individuals in the intelligence and diplomatic communities and the energy business, spoke with me on the phone, in person, and on Skype and, for understandable reasons, preferred not to be mentioned by name. You all know who you are, so, again, my thanks.
Thanks also to everyone who read and commented on drafts of the manuscript, especially Donna Andrews, John Gilstrap, Alan Orloff, Art Taylor, Martina Norelli, and André de Nesnera. Special thanks and love to Tom Snyder for editing help and friendship.
At Scribner, my deepest thanks to my editor, Whitney Frick, and to Susan Moldow for giving me the extra time and encouragement to go back and do some serious revising to an earlier draft of this book. I’m also very much indebted to Maggie Crawford. Thanks to Gwyneth Stansfield, Tal Goretsky (for the great cover), Katie Rizzo, Cynthia Merman, and Anna deVries, as well as everyone else at Scribner who works so hard behind the scenes.
Last but not least, thanks and much love to my agent, Dominick Abel, who makes it all happen.
To learn more about Karl Fabergé and the Russian imperial eggs, I highly recommend Toby Faber’s excellent book
Fabergé’s Eggs: The Extraordinary Story of the Masterpieces That Outlived an Empire
(Random House, 2008). The Firebird egg described in
Multiple Exposure
is completely fictional, but the Blue Tsarevich Constellation egg does, in fact, exist, though it was never finished after Nicholas II abdicated. It was the last imperial egg Fabergé ever designed and was discovered in 2001 at the Fersman Mineralogical Museum in Moscow. According to museum records, one of Fabergé’s sons had sent it and other items there while making an inventory of imperial treasures for Joseph Stalin.
Also, in an effort to forestall future letters and e-mails from folks who know better and are familiar with the Posse Comitatus Act, I would like to state that a CIA agent such as Napoleon Duval would not be assigned to protect a visiting dignitary: that is the responsibility of the Diplomatic Security Service of the State Department.
Finally, the Russian republic of Abadistan, a potentially oil-rich region with a fascinating culture and history dating back to Alexander the Great, exists only in my imagination.
© JACKIE BRIGGS
ELLEN CROSBY
is the author of six books in the Virginia Wine Country Mystery series:
The Sauvignon Secret, The Viognier Vendetta, The Riesling Retribution, The Bordeaux Betrayal, The Chardonnay Charade, and The Merlot Murders.
She also wrote
Moscow Nights,
a stand-alone novel published in London. A former freelance reporter for
The Washington Post
and the Moscow correspondent for ABC News Radio, Crosby lives in the northern Virginia suburbs of Washington, D.C., with her family. Learn more about her at
www.ellencrosby.com
.
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Moscow Nights
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The Riesling Retribution
The Viognier Vendetta
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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