12

I'm a pro, I kept telling myself, as I went along the corridor toward the exit of the floor, so stop whining. I'm not whining, I answered myself, I'm a bit annoyed. Move on, I insisted, it's only a working moment. I understand, it's like your wife cheats you with someone, out of curiosity or as a payment for a career advancement, there's no love. Ok, I said, in this case there can be something like love, at least physical attraction, but then what? Experience teaches that every emotional union is subject to wear and tear, and, besides, I don't have any union with Lena, only occasional meetings. Now what? Live another day and move on, my friend. There's nothing you can change, unless you give up everything and start from scratch. Are you ready for that? Is she ready for that? And what would you two do if you, in a fit of madness, gave up your job, your way of life, and began living a life of, say, a teacher or a clerk, or started your business, and all that in a country that goes to the dogs, with people around maddening from despair, or greed, or lust of power and glory? You're well over thirty, she's only twenty five, you have got time, you both, I mean, but everyone of you will have to take an individual decision...

"You must be tired, Serge," I heard Mary's voice who's standing at the door of the lift.

"Was I talking to myself?", I said. "It's my old habit, not a good one, I know, I must be a bit flustered."

Mary was wearing a black tailleur and held an overcoat on her arm.

"Are you going out?", I was wondered. "Where to, may I ask?"

"Just to take a stroll through Moscow streets. Will you come with me?"

At that moment I saw, or rather sensed Lena, who was coming toward us from the deep of the corridor.

"Have you met?" I said to Mary pointing with my eyes to Lena.

She cast a glance in her direction and nodded:

"Yes. I think you like her."

"How can you say that?"

"She's magnificent, she's got all that any woman dream to possess: rare beauty, mysteriousness, outward frailty and inward strength. I'm sure Robert has been duly stricken".

"He invited her to dinner tonight", I blurted out without any awareness of why I was doing that.

Mary grinned without annoyance:

"Oh, he loses no time. But she's worth it."

"Aren't you afraid that it can be a new love story?"

She just shrugged.

"The lift must be out of order," said Mary pressing a few times the call button.

"Everything ok?" I asked when Lena was within hearing distance.

"Yes", she said nodding to Mary.

"We're going out for a walk", I said.

"I wish I could go with you, but I have to work out the text of the interview," she said. I thought I had caught a hint of irony in her voice. She went further to the stairs.

"I think we have to go down on foot," said Mary with a sigh, pressing some more times the button.

As we were going to the stairs, she said pensively:

"You two would make a striking couple together."

Somebody has already told me so today. It was Pavel.

"Must I tell her so?"

"I think she knows that." Mary looked at me with her small piercing eyes and gave a short laugh.

"Why doesn't Mr Hewlett go out as well?"

"He has a lot of conversations to do with his staff in London. He doesn't want to take all responsibility."

Before we went out I helped Mary into her overcoat.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked when we came out in the warm quiet air permeated by street gases and noise.

"Red Square and the Kremlin, I think."

"Do you prefer to go there on foot? It would be half an hour."

"Of course. I love walking. The Kremlin must not be far from here, I suppose."

"No, a fifteen-minute walk."

"Let's do it, I'll tell you some funny stories about the buildings and sites we're going to see on our way."

"What? How...?"

"Information is my hobby, you know. If, by any chance you don't happen to know it yet, I'm four time winner of the UK national quiz, a celebrity in a way. I like to learn and know things."

I gave her a sly look and said:

"Only public things, or personal as well?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for example, would you like to know more about me, my job, my way of life, it's not the same as learning about Moscow's history."

"I would like to, but how can I do that?"

"In the most natural way, by asking, me or my friends and enemies."

"Would it be interesting?"

"It's up to you."

She walked silent for a while, then said:

"If you become interesting for me, I'll get information about you."

"On the Internet?"

"There as well."

"There's nothing there about me."

"Why should you interest me that close?"

"Because you might suddenly need to know if you can trust me."

"Trust? What's that got to do with your personal facts?"

"I'll try to explain it to you in this way. I understand you're worried about Mr Hewlett's safety in this dangerous Russia. He might be kidnapped or even assassinated. How would you know that I wasn't involved in such criminal schemes, that I wasn't bribed to help criminals carry them out? In today's Russia everything can be bought and sold, even professional honour, let alone such outdated thing as motherland. Perhaps, if you knew that even to public employees like me wages can be delayed for months, you would be more cautious in giving me some information."

She gave me a strange glance and said:

"I haven't given you anything that might be of any use to criminals."

"Oh yes, you have. You told me, for once, information about the relations in Hewlett's family. I have learned that Mr Hewlett is now in low waters, that it is his wife who is rich and, what's more important, that she cares very much about their family's reputation. Now imagine, what great blackmail possibilities it gives me should I decide to follow this scheme, uh? Another example. You told me that Mr Hewlett is a skirt-chaser. You can't even imagine to what extent this weak spot makes a man vulnerable. And so on."

Mary didn't let her emotion overwhelm her, though I could see that she was in a fluster. Then she said:

"And if I asked you a direct question about your trustworthiness and good faith, how could I be sure that your're sincere in your answer, presumably positive?"

I sighed and said:

"That's the point. Sometimes I can't say, even myself, whether I'm sincere or not."

We arrived to a large square.

"Do you know where we are?" I asked, to give Mary a break from her terrible doubts.

She raised her head, squinting her eyes at the sun's reflections that bounced off from the window panes and said:

"Let me see. It must be Mayakovsky Square, Garden Ring."

"Excellent!" I was sincerely stricken. "And what do you know about the Garden Ring? Show your ability of the quiz champion."

Mary remained silent for a moment, then said, with pauses, as if she were reading information coming up in her memory:

"The Garden Ring, also known as the "B" Ring is a circular ring road avenue around the central Moscow.

The Ring consists of seventeen individually named streets and fifteen squares. It has a circumference of sixteen kilometres. At its narrowest point the Ring has six lanes; at its widest it has eighteen lanes. The Ring emerged in the 1820s, replacing fortifications, in the form of ramparts, that were no longer of military value."

"Brilliant!", I cried in ecstasy. "Do you have a hard disc in your head?"

Mary wasn't flattered as she smiled sadly and said:

"It's simple, only mechanical storage. I wish I could do as much for a human character."

I laughed:

"Do you mean me? It's utterly impossible, even theoretically. At most you should follow your instincts. What does your intuition tell you about me?"

She shrugged:

"I don't know. Perhaps, I must learn to formulate my questions to my intuition and then I could understand the answers."

"No-no, it's never a rational procedure. You just feel it, and that's it. So, what does your gut feeling tell you about me?"

She shook her head:

"I feel that you're an honest and brave person, who won't hurt a weak woman and is incapable of doing evil."

"I'm stricken, really, Mary, thank you, but you're too good to me. I'm not that good and brave and all that, anyhow, thank you, such evaluation of my humble person is an advance payment I don't deserve, but, anyhow, it's very flattering and urges me to improve, thank you."

"You're welcome. You wanted to know my gut reaction to you, I gave it, and you're not satisfied?" She looked attentively at my slightly mocking eyes and added sternly:

"Only don't overdo your self-humiliation, or I'll change my opinion about you."

"It would be wrong. The only correct thing when you have to do with your intuition is your first gut feeling. Any rationalization of the first impression is wrong."

We crossed the square and went in the direction of the Kremlin.

"Are we far from the Kremlin?" said Mary.

"No, only a ten minute walk. Do you know where we are?"

"That's the defect of the abstract knowledge. I have a very vague idea."

We went over to the other side of the square, near the bronze Mayakovsky. Should he rise from the dead, he would mock heartily his monument, he who wrote: "I don't care a bit about the tons of bronze" or something like that.

Suddenly Mary stopped, turned to me and said:

"And what's your gut impression about me? Tell me as quick as possible, without hesitation or preterition."

I couldn't say I wasn't expecting something like this, yet it came rather out of the blue.

"Now!" said Mary sternly https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YjrYOtsscUs, and a malicious sparkle gleamed in her eyes.

"l-l," I said trying to gain time, "I find you a very nice person, though I feel you have a disturbing personality with internal conflicts which might make you explode some day."

"What kind of conflicts?" she said with a suddenly coarse voice.

"You're aware of your human and professional value, and you know that you have acquired it with your own efforts, unlike many other women which are appreciated for the qualities that they have received free from nature. You beat them intellectually, but you can see that's not enough, at least in the eyes of society. You're considering turning to plastic surgeons."

"How do you know that?" she cried. "Nobody knows it, you can't possibly know it, because I have only thought of doing it."

I was frightened:

"I don't know it, I feel it, you asked me to be frank and spontaneous, I'm telling you what comes up in my mind..."

She was boring me with her small eyes, narrowed to two sharp points lit by a disturbing flame.

"I didn't want to hurt you", I resumed. "You're a strong woman, but your weak point is that you would like to look weak as it's convenient to a woman, and you can't afford it, in order not to seem ridiculous and pathetic..."

"Stop it", she said and turned away. "That's enough for the time being."

"I don't know", I said shyly. "Now I feel inspired. In another moment my senses may be sleeping."

"No", she said. "I don't want to hear about me anymore. It's a too disturbing subject."

She resumed looking at both sides of the street with an exaggerated eagerness.

"We're in the famous Tverskaya street, as I can see," she said as if talking to herself. "Oh, this the English Club", she pointed to the red building in neoclassical style at the bottom of a court enclosed with iron gates on our right.

"Now this is the Museum of Contemporary History", I said quietly, still tempted to come back to the previous "disturbing subject". I could still tell a lot of unpleasant things about Mary's personality: her smouldering bitterness against the unfair world, or fate, or who was to blame for her ugliness, and her readiness to take revenge on others, so unjustly lucky. But I couldn't do it for obvious reasons. And, the worse of it, she knew all those things about herself, I was sure of it, and, of course, of my reasons for non saying them. And, the tricky side of the story was that she wanted those things to be told her in a blunt and brutal way, like only an innocent child, still not broken to social decency and pity, could do, pointing at her and saying pitilessly "mommy, look, what an ugly woman!". I wondered if she went to a shrink. Probably not, she was strong enough to cope with her condition on her own, but she knew that all her compensation work was like building a concrete dome and a steel fence over and around a volcano in the hope of holding up un eruption.

"But of course", she said gazing at the other side. "If I took part now at a quiz on Moscow and its history, I wouldn't win nothing".

"Did such quiz ever take place in Britain?"

"Never".

"Why then did you learn so much useless information?"

"I told you, I like to learn and know things, without any reason. It's a habit, you know, or, perhaps, as in my case, almost a biological need, like hunger or thirst. I can do nothing about it."

"Are you morbidly inquisitive?"

'What? Morbidly inquisitive? Perhaps, yes. If I know that I don't know something that I could know, it hurts me."

"It's a very womanish quality."

"Good, I've got at least one womanish quality..."

I bit my lip. Unwillingly I drove her back to her grievances. But I thought I could handle the situation.

"Mary", I said pretending indignation, "I don't like at all this your attitude toward yourself. You are very feminine, if this is of any concern to you, and your femaleness can be appreciated only by the finest connoisseurs."

She gave me a sly glance:

"Thank you, you're a very kind person, Serge. By the way, by any chance do you belong to these connoisseurs?"

I expected the question, but wasn't ready to answer. Yet I had to say something. I mumbled, pretending embarrassment:

"It would be a great honour." (Mary grimaced.). "I can see very well your femininity and it secretly thrills me." (Mary gave me a profoundly scornful glance and snorted.) "You can't believe me, I know, it's because of your deep emotional insecurity. But..."

Mary interrupted me:

"Could you kiss me in the lips? Now?"

I opened widely my eyes, with a faint smile, and said simply:

"Sure." Technically speaking, it wasn't a difficult procedure. As to the emotional component, it could be easily suppressed, that was part of my professional skills. I neared my face to Mary's, took her head in my hands and pressed my lips to hers. They were cold and slack. I stayed so for a few seconds, trying to wake them, varying the intensity of the contact, taking care, however, not to stick out my tongue. To my horror I sensed that my body reacted to that quite innocent imitation as if I were kissing a hot beauty like Lena. Mary held her breath, closed her eyes and seemed to faint. I quickly moved my hands down to her waist, to support her in case she collapsed senseless. But as I took off my lips, gazing at her face that suddenly became red, she opened her eyes and said:

"I don't believe you." She turned away and made a few steps toward the Kremlin whose towers were visible in the distance.

I didn't say anything, I was sure of the professional quality of my kiss (I had given thousands of them in far worse circumstances than the present ones, suffice it to recall the case of the seventy-five year old countess P. who could be my granny, had wizened skin and an artificial jaw. The countess believed my sincerity all right and wasn't requiring more. But the countess was dead realistic about her charms. With Mary I had to be infinitely subtle. I felt that my face was red, and before it turned to normality, I wanted to show it to Mary as a sign of my sincerity. I overtook her and said, turning my face to her:

"The Kremlin is near. Why don't you believe me?"

Mary gave me a slant glance, her eyes bore suffering and pain. She said quietly:

"Let's drop this subject as very uninteresting. I apologize for having induced you to do an unpleasant thing. I won't do it anymore." And she changed the subject by herself:

"No written or even visual information can give one the impression of extraordinary openness and extension of space you have here as when one is physically on the spot. You're probably born with this feeling of the vastness of Russian fields or forests, as the British are born with feeling of the vastness of the sea."

I accepted the turn of the talk:

"Perhaps, you're right. When one is in train, and one travels two, three, four days, and out there is always Russia, and Russian is spoken on the platform, and there are always the same landscapes or forests or infinite skies, and there seems to be no end to that, that the whole world is Russia. I have grown up with this sensation as quite natural, but it strikes foreigners tremendously".

Mary looked at me with sadness in her eyes. She wanted to go back and dwell on the previous subject, she would have liked me to persist in my enquiring about her true feeling and would have heard with great pleasure my assurances about the sincerity of my "induced" kiss.

We were now passing by the red building in the same neoclassical style as the English Club.

"Oh,", said Mary, looking at the other side of the street. "The founder of Moscow." There was an equestrian monument of a conventional old Russian knight that was to be regarded as the effigy of Jurij Dolgorukij (Long-handed).

"We don't have even a thousand year history stretch of Russia, a minimum acceptable in Europe to be proud of the ancestors," I remarked, hoping to be reasonably witty.

"I don't know what's that got to do with the historic proud," retorted Mary dryly. "One day in the contemporary history of a small village, barely fifty years old, provided it passed in a heroic defense, can make it immortal."

"You're perfectly right, Mary", I admitted my stupidity, "I just said a banality. The antiquity of a family, or of a nation, is no guarantee of the nobility or virtue of its latest offspring. There's no such thing as blood meant as some mysterious force that goes through centuries from father to son and over, and..."

Mary interrupted me with a note of indulgence in her voice:

"You can't say that, I suppose, as you had no noble ancestors in your family history, unlike me."

"Oh!" I said with a tone that was to be of admiration. "And who are you, a countess or what?" A very sensitive ear could feel a slightly mocking intonation in this last question.

Mary said with dignity:

"I have to inherit the title of countess as the only daughter, and there's nothing to laugh at."

"Who, me?" I tried to sound hurt. But something drove me to defend my own values. It's remarkable that one isn't aware of having one's set of values till one feels them under the threat of slight or attack. So I said poignantly:

"But let me say that my father was a simple peasant, yet he was a hero at war, I don't know how he could survive, having been at war for six years. He wasn't a coward, or a shirker, he didn't pass the wartime in a regimental chancery, he was a signal man, and he had to restore communication lines every time they were broken by stray bullets or shells, every time he had to do it under the enemy's dense fire, and he had many decorations for personal courage, and I'm really proud of him and wished I had his courage, while as for the so called noble ancestors, let me remark that originally all counts were no other than comrades in arms of the chieftain, that is they were bandits who plundered the simple population and had the luck of being the winners in their local wars with other similar armed bands. If you tell me that your ancestors were really virtuous people, that's got nothing to do with their belonging to noble line, that's their personal merit, as my father didn't have to be of noble origin in order to be a courageous and virtuous person, but this is elementary, Mary, Jesus Christ!"

"I won't argue with you," said softly Mary, who had listened to my passionate speech with her eyes lowered. "We're both right, personal merits can't be doubted, of course, but I'm proud of the long history of my ancestry, they have set certain standards of virtue, and though only few of them had lived up to those standards, I have in mind those best of them, and they were as courageous and virtuous as your father was, unlike you I believe in blood, it may not be biological blood as a substance, perhaps it's more some sort of spiritual blood, but I feel it in my veins." She smiled and shook her head:

"Now let's go, if you don't mind, in that direction," she pointed to the small street that went beside the monument to the founder of Moscow. "That must be a rather fashionable street, with rich shopping. It's Stoleshnikov Lane, isn't it?"

I nodded. We crossed the street by the underpass, then went past the ex Archive of Marxism-leninism, and turned left , straight to the entrance of the hotel where stayed my new gorgeous acquaintance, the former Hewlett's secretary Ann Porter.

It was hard to say whether Mary knew that fact, and if so, what she wanted to do exactly by going with me to the hotel that afternoon. She was looking keenly in the direction of the hotel. I cast a glance in the same direction and froze. Just in that moment the revolving door let out the tall slim figure of Ann Porter closely followed by elegant Hewlett who wore a grey overcoat with loose tails.

Mary stopped and stepped aside, turning away her face.

"What the hell?..." she said. She looked there again. I kept my eyes lowered, but I was well visible, and any glance in my direction from a distance of fifty metres that separated us from the entrance of the hotel could pin me down.

"Let's move to the newsstand," I whispered, "but slowly." Meanwhile I kept following the two out of the corner of my eye. Hewlett was saying something to Ann who kept her head lowered. Then I caught sight of something unexpected. Hewlett took out from behind of the right tail of the overcoat a briefcase, the same one or, at least, one very similar, the silver of the cover sparkled as if letting through the glow of its contents.

"Who is the girl?" I asked.

"It's Ann, his former secretary. What are they doing now?"

"Hewlett has a briefcase in his hand, looks the same, you know now he's offering it to her. The girl is very reluctant to take the briefcase, but Hewlett is insisting. Now she takes it and goes back in the hotel. He stays. Oh God, he's looking around. Let's move closer to each other, I'll cover you. Take a magazine. Good. I must turn away for a moment." I took a magazine too, and, covering partly my face with it, went on following Hewlett. He was waiting.

"The girl reappears. She holds a file in her hand. Now she hands it over to Hewlett. He kisses her, she tells him something, she goes back in the hotel. He goes away, there's a taxi waiting for him, he goes towards it. You can look now."

Mary put the magazine back on the stall and looked in the direction of Hewlett's figure going away. He fastened his overcoat belt and now his elegance was conspicuous more than ever, even from afar.

I didn't tell Mary that at the same moment as Hewlett went away, there was another figure, very inconspicuous one, that left its place at the shop-window on the other side of the lane and went after Hewlett. Anyhow, I couldn't say if it was just a coincidence.

"Do you still want to go shopping here?" I asked, as Mary was gazing with despair in her eyes Hewlett's figure.

She didn't answer at once:

"No. Let's go to the Kremlin."

We walked a hundred meters in silence, then I said:

"Did you know she was staying in this hotel?"

"Yes," Mary said softly.

"Did you want to see her?"

"Yes."

"Why? Did you want to warn her about something?"

"Yes."

"You were obviously surprised, to put it mildly, to see Mr Hewlett there, right?"

"How did he kiss her, on the cheek? Casually?" Mary turned to me her distressed face, and her pig-like eyes gleamed with keen and fierce curiosity.

I didn't want to spare her:

"He kissed her on the lips, and she kissed him back."