Cliveyenko Sergeyevich Dantonov alighted from the train and looked at his watch. He was a little early but he had expected crowds. If not for him, then surely to greet the great man who would lead the workers to freedom.
So, time to kill. Here we were at last - a day that would go down in history. And he was part of it. No longer would he be the butt of practical jokes - not he, Dantonov. Henceforth he would have people call him Graniteski - hard as rock.
"Oh well," he thought to himself, "There's time enough."
He bought a paper from the newsagent on the station concourse, lit a cigarette and emerged into the pale October sunlight outside Harrogate station. He had never fully understood why Harrogate, but better minds than his had been planning this day for months. He supposed the spa town represented everything to be despised as bourgeois.
"I'll wait for Vladimir and Leon under the clock."
He took a seat and poured a cup of tea from his Thermos.
Meanwhile, 1300 miles to the north east, as his train pulled into Petrograd's Finland Station, Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov looked up from his speech and laughed: "I wonder how Clivey is enjoying England, eh Leon?"