Marina asked, inverting her cup. “Well, come and see.”
What they showed were two naked, sexually explicit silhouettes, male and female.
“To the bedroom,” said Marina.
A night of vigorous love-making ensued, and after breakfast, a day of the same, with time together in a vast triangular bath by wayof intermission.
At supper, as if remembering something of importance, she got to her feet, went over to the bureau, and took out a wad of $100 bills, most of which she sealed into an envelope.
“The chauffeur will take you to a certain young lady, one Kseniya. Tell her Stanislav left this envelope for her. Otherwise the truth – that he’s dead, and so on – though not about us. Don’t hang about. The chauffeur will be waiting. So shall I.”
31
Despite the late hour there was no dearth of traffic.
“Much further?” Viktor asked.
“Ten minutes – it’s off the Ring.”
They stopped at last outside a tower block.
“15th floor, flat 137,” announced the chauffeur.
Viktor got out, grateful now for his warm windproof. No keypad, no concièrge here, just a lift with dim, grill-protected bulb, stench of tobacco and walls stripped bare and scrawled with the usual obscenities. Eventually he reached the 15th floor.
As he rang, he looked at his watch. 1.30 a.m.
“Who is it? I’ll call the militia,” came a frightened voice.
“I’m from Stanislav.”
The door opened, revealing a sleepy-faced young woman in a dressing gown over night attire, standing barefoot on brown linoleum, a piggy-eyed pit bull terrier at her side.
“Come in.”
Closing the door behind him, he slipped his shoes off and went with her to the kitchen. The pit bull terrier withdrew into the darkness.
It was a small kitchen with a tap leaking onto a stack of unwashed crockery and three pots of aloes on the windowsill.
“He asked me to give you this.”
“Has something happened to him?”
“I’m afraid it has. He’s dead.”
“Is it money?” she asked, through tears.
He nodded.
“He wouldn’t have sent money. I’ve never needed his money … Would you like some tea?”
Without waiting for an answer, she cleared and wiped the table, and put the kettle on.
Hearing steps in the passage, Viktor swung round in surprise. Kseniya hurried out.
“It’s all right, Mummy, just someone to see me. You go back to bed, Mummy,” he heard her say.
“I’ve had to take her in,” she said, coming back. “She can’t cope – sclerosis, her joints are agony … Are you from Moscow?”
He explained who he was, and said that he’d known Stanislav only slightly.
“Pity. He was a good man. Just naïve. Thought money would solve everything. Bought me a flat on the Arbat, and when I wouldn’t move, said he’d take me to a psychiatrist,” she said, looking at a photograph of Bronikovsky on horseback.
“Promised to teach me to ride, give me an Arab racer – always the grand lord. When he left, I was pregnant, but nothing came of it.”
The dog could be heard worrying at something in the corridor.
“Why do you have a big dog like that?”
“Bosik? I took him in as a stray. He’s a dear. Have you any children?”
Why did she and Marina ask the same thing?
“An adopted daughter.”
“And where is she?”
“With her nanny.”
“I think I’ll adopt too. A son. Though with no Stanislav, it’ll be tough … I always thought he’d leave her … It was
she
who sent the money?”
Viktor said nothing – he didn’t have to. She went over to the window, looked out at the night, then turned off the gas under the kettle.
He was about to offer some word of reassurance, but judged it right not to. She was grieving, as no woman would grieve for him.
Hoping to divert her, he told her about Misha. Did she, he wondered, know of a banker known as Sphinx who had a private zoo? She didn’t, never having moved in such, or indeed any, circles, and she found it odd that bankers should have funny names, like gangsters and
What they showed were two naked, sexually explicit silhouettes, male and female.
“To the bedroom,” said Marina.
A night of vigorous love-making ensued, and after breakfast, a day of the same, with time together in a vast triangular bath by wayof intermission.
At supper, as if remembering something of importance, she got to her feet, went over to the bureau, and took out a wad of $100 bills, most of which she sealed into an envelope.
“The chauffeur will take you to a certain young lady, one Kseniya. Tell her Stanislav left this envelope for her. Otherwise the truth – that he’s dead, and so on – though not about us. Don’t hang about. The chauffeur will be waiting. So shall I.”
31
Despite the late hour there was no dearth of traffic.
“Much further?” Viktor asked.
“Ten minutes – it’s off the Ring.”
They stopped at last outside a tower block.
“15th floor, flat 137,” announced the chauffeur.
Viktor got out, grateful now for his warm windproof. No keypad, no concièrge here, just a lift with dim, grill-protected bulb, stench of tobacco and walls stripped bare and scrawled with the usual obscenities. Eventually he reached the 15th floor.
As he rang, he looked at his watch. 1.30 a.m.
“Who is it? I’ll call the militia,” came a frightened voice.
“I’m from Stanislav.”
The door opened, revealing a sleepy-faced young woman in a dressing gown over night attire, standing barefoot on brown linoleum, a piggy-eyed pit bull terrier at her side.
“Come in.”
Closing the door behind him, he slipped his shoes off and went with her to the kitchen. The pit bull terrier withdrew into the darkness.
It was a small kitchen with a tap leaking onto a stack of unwashed crockery and three pots of aloes on the windowsill.
“He asked me to give you this.”
“Has something happened to him?”
“I’m afraid it has. He’s dead.”
“Is it money?” she asked, through tears.
He nodded.
“He wouldn’t have sent money. I’ve never needed his money … Would you like some tea?”
Without waiting for an answer, she cleared and wiped the table, and put the kettle on.
Hearing steps in the passage, Viktor swung round in surprise. Kseniya hurried out.
“It’s all right, Mummy, just someone to see me. You go back to bed, Mummy,” he heard her say.
“I’ve had to take her in,” she said, coming back. “She can’t cope – sclerosis, her joints are agony … Are you from Moscow?”
He explained who he was, and said that he’d known Stanislav only slightly.
“Pity. He was a good man. Just naïve. Thought money would solve everything. Bought me a flat on the Arbat, and when I wouldn’t move, said he’d take me to a psychiatrist,” she said, looking at a photograph of Bronikovsky on horseback.
“Promised to teach me to ride, give me an Arab racer – always the grand lord. When he left, I was pregnant, but nothing came of it.”
The dog could be heard worrying at something in the corridor.
“Why do you have a big dog like that?”
“Bosik? I took him in as a stray. He’s a dear. Have you any children?”
Why did she and Marina ask the same thing?
“An adopted daughter.”
“And where is she?”
“With her nanny.”
“I think I’ll adopt too. A son. Though with no Stanislav, it’ll be tough … I always thought he’d leave her … It was
she
who sent the money?”
Viktor said nothing – he didn’t have to. She went over to the window, looked out at the night, then turned off the gas under the kettle.
He was about to offer some word of reassurance, but judged it right not to. She was grieving, as no woman would grieve for him.
Hoping to divert her, he told her about Misha. Did she, he wondered, know of a banker known as Sphinx who had a private zoo? She didn’t, never having moved in such, or indeed any, circles, and she found it odd that bankers should have funny names, like gangsters and
Similar Books
