Chapter 2

They drank coffee in the cozy living room, having sent Andrei upstairs to his room. Nastya observed the man she had not seen in more than ten years with curiosity. He had not changed much, except for the wheelchair. The handsome manly face was the same, and so were the gentle eyes that could look at you with such warmth and penetration. The light chestnut hair was still thick and there were very few gray hairs.

“What is the meaning of your visit?”

“A feminine whim,” she replied evasively.

“That’s something new,” Solovyov smiled tightly. “I don’t remember you being whimsical.”

“I’ve changed.”

“A lot?”

“Very much. You can’t even imagine, Volodya, how much I’ve changed.”

“But I was still happy to see you.”

“Thanks. I’m glad to hear it.”

“But why did you really come? You’ve never wished me a happy birthday since we broke up.”

“Why did I come? I don’t know. I wanted to see you, I guess, to see what you’re like after all these years. I loved you, although you may not want to remember that.”

“What I’m like now?” Solovyov asked angrily. “I’m a widower and a helpless invalid. Satisfied?”

“I’m very sorry,” she said softly, looking into his eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. It’s useless to talk about it, talking changes nothing.” “Well, then, don’t talk about it.”

His eyes grew warmer and for an instant Nastya fell under the spell of his incredible gray eyes.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said, almost cheerfully. “Same sneak. Catch me up and turn things around to your benefit. What are you doing? Raking in the bucks in some business?”

“Of course. All us lawyers are working in business now.”

“Especially with your knowledge of foreign languages. How many do you speak? Three, I seem to recall.”

“Five,” Nastya corrected him with a smile. “English, French, Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese. But actually, you’re right. The romance languages are so close you could consider them as one.”

“With your brains and languages, you’re really too good for the police. Remember how worried you were after graduation that you wouldn’t get a job with the police, that they would send you off to be a lawyer? You wanted to get into a uniform so badly then, I remember. Now you must laugh about it, right? Lawyers with experience are worth their weight in gold today, especially in domestic law and real estate. The richest people in Russia.”

Nastya had gotten used to this sort of conversation over the years. At first she would get very angry, but then she got used to the fact that a lot of people considered her love of police work unnatural somehow.

“And are you making a lot at your firm?”

“Not a lot. You know my passion for order. I wouldn’t work in a company that made a lot of money illegally. But working legally and paying taxes, you can’t make a lot of money nowadays.”

“Well, you’ve made enough to buy a car,” he noted.

“That’s my husband’s car.”

“So you’re married, too?”

He couldn’t conceal his surprise, and it took all she had to keep from laughing. Solovyov was always conceited. Did he really think that she would carry a torch for him to her dying day?

“And who’s the lucky man? Some ‘New Russian’ businessman, I’ll bet.”

“No. A Ph.D., a professor, prize winning academician, and so on. The whole thing. Plus a car.”

“A good deal,” he snorted. “Aren’t you worried about being a young widow, with such an elderly husband?”

“Not at all.”

She had followed his thinking. He was probably imagining that since her husband was so honored and so old, she, Nastya Kamenskaya, had decided to have an affair and wanted her old flame for the job. It was better than looking for a new lover. The old ones are tested, known, dependable. And so she had looked him up, having heard that he was widowed. But she hadn’t known that he was an invalid. And now he would definitely say something about it.

“You must be disappointed to find me like this.”

Right. There it was. He hadn’t changed at all in twelve years. She could still read his mind.

“I still don’t know what you’re like,” she replied softly. “We’ve only been chatting for a half hour. Shall I make some more coffee?”

“Don’t bother. Andrei will do it.”

Solovyov pushed a button on a small square box and footsteps came right away: the assistant was coming down from the second floor.

“You’ve become an aristocrat,” she joked. “You call on the help even to make coffee.”

He did not respond but stared at her. Once again she felt uncomfortable, as she had in those days, twelve years ago, when his eyes melted her. Could she really still have feelings for him? No, impossible. Couldn’t be. He had too much power over her then, when she was a twenty-three-year-old law school graduate. He could twist her into ropes then and use her as a floor mat. She put up with everything and forgave him everything because she was head over heels in love with him. Now she was different. She didn’t fall in love head over heels and she didn’t let anyone use her. Even those who were much stronger.

“Are you expecting guests?” she asked when Andrei brought coffee with fresh strudel and went back upstairs.

“A few people.” Solovyov nodded vaguely.

“At what time?”

“After five. Why do you ask?”

“If you don’t want your friends to see me here, tell me. I’ll leave early.”

“Nonsense. Why should I hide you?”

“I don’t know. Who knows what your situation is. Maybe your lady will be coming.”

“Relax, I’m expecting only men.”

“Well then, that makes me happy. That means my trip wasn’t in vain.”

She set her cup on the table, stood and came up behind him, putting her arm around his neck and pressing her cheek to his thick, wavy hair.

“Solovyov, you’re so stupid,” Nastya sighed. “Why haven’t you grown up in twelve years?”

She felt his muscles tense. Was he trying to hide the fact that her touch was unpleasant to him or was he fighting the desire to embrace her?

“Have you grown up?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. That’s why I came here today.”

“I’m missing something.”

His voice was tense, but his muscles had relaxed somewhat.

“I want to see if I’ve stopped reacting to you. You’ve bothered me all these years, Solovyov. I kept remembering how much I used to love you. And I want to know for certain that it’s over. Or not. One way or the other. It’s better to know the truth, even if I don’t like it, than to suffer through guesses and suppositions.”

“And what do you need this truth for?” He bent his head over so that his cheek rested on her hand. “How will it help?”

“It will help me understand whether I’ve grown out of that love or whether I’m still running around in training pants. I’m going to be thirty-six this year. A watershed year. I want to approach it with my life in order.”

Nastya did not know how much truth there was in what she was saying and how much was a lie. She had prepared the explanation ahead of time, because it fit her style and character and would not have surprised anyone who knew her well. But now as she spoke the words she had rehearsed in her mind, she began to believe them and she began to think that she really had come to her old lover for that. And not in order to solve the mystery of the disappearance of the olive-skinned, dark-haired boys. She liked the touch of his cheek on her hand, she liked the smell of his hair, she succumbed with pleasure to the warmth of his gaze. She liked being with this man, just as she had many years ago.

She heard quiet footsteps behind her and realized that Andrei had come downstairs. Without turning around, she leaned over Solovyov and gently kissed his lips.

“Excuse me,” Andrei said. “Should I set the table?”

Nastya slowly straightened and stretched deliciously.

“That’s a good idea, Solovyov. You have to feed guests. Even uninvited ones. Please forgive me, Andrei, but I won’t help you in the kitchen. I’m no cook. I’d better stay here with Volodya and enjoy his company, which I missed for so many years. You don’t mind, Solovyov?”

She sat back down on the couch and brought the cup of cold coffee to her lips.

“How’s your mother?” he asked.

“Flourishing. She was working in Sweden for a few years and now she’s back. Confess, Solovyov, you were secretly in love with her, weren’t you?”

He laughed, and his laughter was easy and joyful. He always enjoyed reminiscing about his graduate school days and his advisor, Nadezhda Kamenskaya, a woman as gifted in scholarship as she was beautiful and elegant.

“Right. All men from boy to geezer fell in love with her. But I adored her. And feared her terribly. By the way, Nastya, I’ve come across books where a certain Kamenskaya was listed as translator. Is that you?”

“Yes. Mother put so much effort into teaching me languages as a young child. I couldn’t let it go to waste. Fun for me, money for my wallet.”

Gradually they relaxed, the tension vanished, and during the meal they chatted as if there had been no long separation. Andrei’s face was inscrutable, as if their conversation had nothing to do with him. Nastya made a few clumsy attempts to draw him into the conversation, but the assistant politely responded briefly or not at all, going off to the stove or the refrigerator or the sink. When the door bell rang around 6.30 he seemed to sigh in relief.

Nastya regarded the new guests – the bosses of Sherkhan Books, with whom Solovyov worked so closely. They were typical “New Russians”, who had driven up in sparkling expensive foreign cars, who never put down their cellular phones, and who casually discussed loans in the millions, credit rates, and “corporate kickbacks”. She kept catching them watching her warily, even though all three tried very hard to pay no attention to her, speaking only with the birthday boy or his assistant and talking only about production and other topics that left her out. She quickly wearied of this demonstration of superiority. Under other circumstances she would have left long ago, but she was on duty. Therefore, emotions were set aside, no hurts or slights allowed, and ego hidden away. She needed this cottage estate, she needed this house. That meant she needed Solovyov, and she had to put up with however she was treated.

Trying not to make noise, she left the room and went out into the spacious and well-appointed hallway, got her jacket out of the closet, slipped it over her shoulders and went out on the porch which had steps on one side and a ramp for the wheelchair on the other. All the windows on the first floor were brightly lit, she could hear animated voices and laughter, and she suddenly felt terribly alone, unneeded, and superfluous.

Leaning on the railing, she took out her cigarettes and lit up. Who did they think they were, those publishers? What was she – a gold digger hoping to land a rich husband, taking advantage of the fact that he was handicapped and could hardly hope to find a young beauty? That must be how they saw her. That’s why they gave her dirty looks, that’s why they were demonstratively scornful. As to say, don’t count on it, girlie, this isn’t your speed. Rich Solovyov is as out of reach for you as the moon. She wondered how they would look at her if she bothered with makeup and put on the fancy clothes that her mother kept bringing her from Sweden. If she wanted to, she could look like a movie star. But the point was that she never wanted to do that. If the job called for it, well, then, of course. But on her own initiative, Nastya Kamenskaya never bothered. She simply wasn’t interested.

“Taking a break from the festivities?” a voice spoke near her.

Nastya turned and saw an amusing man pushing forty, balding, with a thick long mustache like Cossacks wore in old paintings. The man was wearing a good suit and a tie and had a small package under his arm. He had come on foot and Nastya figured him for a neighbor.

“It’s more like I’m giving the other guests a break from me,” she replied amiably. “I’m very serious and that seems to put a damper on things.”

“Are there a lot of people?” the “Cossack” asked in fear.

“No, no, only three. Come on in, please, the door is open.”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I thought no one would be here yet, I just wanted to give Mr. Solovyov a present. But if there are people there, I don’t think I’ll go in.”

“Why not?”

“Well.” He grew even more embarrassed and suddenly Nastya found him very nice. “It’s just uncomfortable. I don’t know anyone there. No, I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Nonsense,” Nastya said. “A gift and congratulations are good on the birthday. They lose their special charm by the next day. I don’t know anyone there, either. Let’s get to know each other and we’ll go together as a solid front against the strangers.”

She winked merrily and extended her hand to the owner of the luxurious mustache.

“My name is Anastasia. I am an old friend of Solovyov’s. He spent many years in graduate school studying with my mother.”

“I’m a neighbor.” He gave her a hearty handshake. “My name is Zhenya.”

Nastya tucked her hand under his arm, tossed out her cigarette, and literally dragged the poor man into the house.

“I’ve brought a new guest,” she announced in a loud voice from the doorway, enjoying the fleeting displeasure in the faces of the publishers. “This is Zhenya, he is a neighbor of Volodya’s. Welcome him, please. Zhenya, it’s your toast.”

Andrei inscrutably poured champagne into a handsome glass and brought it over to the neighbor on a small tray. The Sherkhan troika reluctantly stopped its discussion of something vital, everyone raised a glass and looked expectantly at the “Cossack.” That made him cringe and search for words.

“Volodya… Best wishes on your birthday… I don’t even know what to wish you… I wanted to say… well, I’m very happy that you have friends and family who come to visit. It’s very important to have people who need you and are interested in you and come not because they’re supposed to but because they want to. After all, the most important thing in life is to be needed. My wish for you is that your house is never lonely and forgotten.”

“Thanks, Zhenya,” Solovyov said warmly. “I am very grateful that you came. And I drink to your words with pleasure.”

“Let’s get closer to the table,” Nastya whispered to the neighbor. “They are having a production meeting, which is of no interest to us, but the table is filled with delicious stuff. Let them have their stupid business meeting.”

Zhenya obediently followed her to the couch, where Nastya practically forced him to sit. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable and wanted to leave.

“Have you lived here long?” she asked, loading his plate with hors-d’oeuvres.

“From the very beginning, as soon as they started construction. I was one of the first to move in. Almost at the same time with Solovyov.”

Strange, Nastya thought. They’ve been living near each other for so long and he’s embarrassed to make a wrong move or say the wrong thing. As if this were the first day he met Solovyov. And it wasn’t clear how such a shy and unassuming man could end up owning an expensive and prestigious cottage in the new Russia. In order to make that kind of money, you had to be a shark, aggressive and with sharp teeth. Not him. “What do you do, Zhenya? Or am I being impolite in asking?” He got even more embarrassed. “Nothing, basically. I bring up the children, run the house. My wife is in business. And I just… I stay at home.”

She remembered. The Yakimovs. Cottage Number 12. The wife was general director of a large company selling furniture, bathroom fixtures, hardware and contracting renovations of office and residential properties. The husband did not work. So this was what it translated to in real life. Reading the documents and putting them into envelopes on the wall on the map of Daydream Estates, Nastya had imagined the family quite differently. She figured a calculating middle-aged businesswoman had bought herself a handsome, sexy husband and let him be a drone. Instead, they had simply switched roles. She made the money, he was the househusband. Well, maybe that was a good idea.

“How many children do you have?”

“Three.”

“Wow! You have your work cut out for you.”

“I manage.” He smiled shyly. “My wife isn’t complaining.” She managed to get him to talk about the residents. Unlike Solovyov, who lived a reclusive life and saw almost no one, Zhenya Yakimov knew practically everyone because he was here all day. People often asked him to baby-sit if they had to go away and they always called him if something broke.