The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [0]
TROIKA
DOLLS
Miranda Darling began her career as a fashion model in Paris and London, then went on to read English and Modern Languages at Oxford University. She travelled widely to countries such as Russia, Azerbaijan, Croatia, Namibia and Indonesia before returning to Australia to complete a Masters in Strategic Studies and Defence. She analysed new security threats for a think tank, where she published widely in newspapers and journals. She retains an interest in international intrigue and now writes full time.
THE
TROIKA
DOLLS
MIRANDA DARLING
The poem ‘In a Station of the Metro’ by Ezra Pound, taken from his Collected Short Poems, is reproduced courtesy of Faber and Faber Ltd, UK.
First published in 2010
Copyright © Miranda Darling 2010
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For Nicholas
Contents
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Prologue
The Walensee had frozen over and the ice was thick enough for skating. Ernesto sat on one of the benches on the edge of the lake and tied the laces on his skates. The winter had been cold, he thought, the coldest anyone could remember.
His wife Gegia sat next to him, her skates already laced. She had thought about packing a picnic for their excursion, but everywhere on the ice small stalls were springing up selling bratwurst and chestnuts and Glühwein and she was glad she had not gone to the trouble.
Her two sons were already chasing each other up and down, skating around the clumps of reeds that poked through the ice near the shore.
A raven stood on the ice and watched them, its malevolent beak sharp against the white backdrop. Lucio threw a snowball, missing the bird but sending him fluttering into the pale winter sky with a wing beat. His caw made Gegia shiver.
The four of them skated off towards the centre of the lake, the blades of their skates clacking on the tiny frozen ripples.
Rosanna and Roger joined them with their two daughters and the families planned on making a day of it. Already the ice market was filling with people rugged up in furs and scarves and great overcoats, their mouths puffing ‘grüezi mitenand’ in greeting as they passed.
The Alps formed a ring around the lake, the black granite and dark pines all snow-capped. In spring, rivers of melted snow ran down the crevasses and emptied into the lake. Some of the rivers ran so fast they flowed right through winter, deep under the ice. Even in summer, the water was freezing cold, a polished slate mirror that reflected the warmer summer sky.
Gegia and Ernesto watched the boys skate off, away from the stalls and the crowds, towards the far shore, Rosanna’s two smaller girls skating furiously to keep up with the boys.
A band set up and began to play. The cheerful trio soon had everyone