“I guess you must find London mild at this time of year compared to Moscow, Lieutenant General?” I asked as I offered a light for his cigarette. “The last time I was in Moscow it was very warm. Two years ago at Easter time, stiflingly hot in fact. My daughter Stefanie is the principal ballet master with The Vaganova Academy in St Petersburg. She was in Moscow with three eleven-year-old students from the academy who were undergoing some training with your own Royal Ballet company who were visiting Russia.”
“Couldn't our lot go to St. Petersburg? That would have saved your daughter the trip,” I said, not knowing why, but it elicited a curt reply that I wasn't expecting.
“No. If they could they didn't.” He exhaled some smoke in my direction. With a distinct display of annoyance I wafted it
