13

We went on another hundred metres in silence, then Mary said:

"I don't understand what it means. Ann handed over to Robert some documents and accepted the briefcase with the money. Doesn't it look like a blackmail payoff?"

"What kind of documents are those?"

"I don't know exactly. Robert has been involved in some financial scandals, but he got away with it for lack of evidence. Maybe, those documents could be decisive proofs of his guilt. He could risk life imprisonment."

"But they have been lovers..."

Mary grinned sadly:

"What of it? Where have you seen perfect relations between lovers except in romantic movies? Fear of disclosure is the best ingredient for a perfect love story."

"I couldn't see it all clearly, I admit it, but they seemed to me more like accomplices than the parts of a blackmail."

We were now in full view of the Kremlin. Mary couldn't restrain herself from exclaiming, putting aside for a moment all her grievance about the recent discoveries:

"Extraordinary! How exciting! This is the real cathedral of power. One can come here to worship the God of State Might. It gives one awe very close to a religious feeling. You don't have that sensation just looking at a picture."

To get closer to the walls we had to cross the square through the underpass. The underpass was a long corridor with a continuous row of small shops.

"You're very hungry of shopping," said Mary glancing at the shops as we advanced to the exit.

"We as a people you mean?" I asked.

"Precisely. Human nature can't be rebuilt. You – meant as a people, of course, - wanted to be a nation of saints, and only through proper education. What a failure! All these shops are a proof of it. So this is the new national ideal? How miserable! I imagine how life in Europe is represented here, as a sort of paradise, and all old Soviet stereotypes of the Western way of life are now considered mere propaganda. And those who moved to Europe or USA and got into trouble there, now don't want to admit how wrong they were."

"No, no," I said, "there's also a lot of criticism, but it's discarded as propaganda, you're right here. And then, a lot of people found themselves very well in Europe."

"This underpass seems endless," said Mary, peering ahead. "Is it possible we're going nowhere, or are just circling?"

"Another sign of our immense space", I grinned.

"The trouble is, you're not developing it."

"You have just said that we had wasted time in developing our interior spiritual world."

"You're a nation that has failed."

"Mary, you're unfair. We have a lot of achievements in all fields. You must be simply tired and frustrated", I added vindictively.

"Why should I be frustrated?" replied Mary, as we finally got to the end of the corridor and were going upstairs.

I ignored her question, and she herself forgot it, as they went out towards the red brick walls of the Historic Museum and went past it towards the Red Square.

She didn't say anything more, just looked steadily ahead.

"Fabulous", she whispered when they finally exited on the open space with the Kremlin on the right, the GUM department store on the left and Saint Basil Cathedral ahead, at the other side of the square.

Mary wasn't shamed of being enthusiastic about new things she had never seen in her life before, with all her immense knowledge of human culture.

"Just simply knowing something is entirely different from experiencing it directly", she said.

I looked back – by a long professional habit - and caught a glimpse of a man who was avoiding to stare at us and turned his face too hurriedly for me not to remember seeing him somewhere earlier that day – in the hotel or nearby? We were followed too? By whom? It could not be the government agency – I represented it, or wasn't I trusted anymore? Some private agent, but why? I had a prickling feeling of being chased. But, perhaps, they followed Mary, and me to boot. Should I bother about it? Anyhow, it was another signal of a world falling apart.

We were going round the square, nearing the Kremlin walls.

Mary said in a low voice:

"Do you happen to notice a man behind us? It seems to me he has been following us from the hotel."

"I think you're right, Mary. You have got excellent qualities to be a spy: keen sight, prodigious memory. Do you happen to be a secret agent?"

"No, thank God, never thought to be."

"Why not? It's a profession that at least gives you the secret pleasure of being something like a small devil."

"I never wanted to be a small devil, I wanted to be a great goddess."

"But, anyhow, if I remember well what you told me, you were hired by Hewlett's wife with a secret mission. Are you going to report your today's discovery to her? It would be only correct towards her."

She bit her lip and said:

"If I'm going to do so, I'm not obliged to share my intention with you."

"Oh, no, of course not. Sorry, if I hurt you. It was only a sort of wicked joking, but of a completely innocent nature. By the way, I would like to ask you to share something with me. You must have the contact details of Hewlett's wife. Would you give me her cell-phone number at least? There can arise situations when such a contact would be of vital importance."

"I will think about it."

"Mary,"I exclaimed, pretending a small fit of indignation "now you show distrust towards me. Do I deserve it? It was you who asked me to give special protection to Hewlett, whom you felt in danger. How am I supposed to ensure it without being duly informed?"

Mary gave me a quick look and said:

"I must give some thought to the present situation. We shall see this evening, ok?" And, casting an indifferent glance at the rest of the Red Square, she added:

"I think, our walk ends here. Now, if you excuse me, I'd prefer to go back alone. I know the way. I need to think."

"Yes, thinking is harder than just learning", I wanted to say, but restrained myself. She suddenly became extremely touchy.

She turned away and went back. I looked at her plump figure and drooping shoulders and felt a sudden fit of pity for her. The shocking discovery she had made some minutes before dealt her fragile emotional structure a crippling blow, though she wouldn't confess of having received it. In fact, she had tried hard to conceal the fact from herself behind her admiration at the Kremlin and Red Square. But now she was on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

I was now firmly convinced of my first supposition that Hewlett had managed – in order to neutralize her as a spy - to charm (and perhaps to seduce?) her, an art in which he was a consummate master, she was sure that he cared for her, perhaps he made her a hint of love-making. She was completely inexperienced in such things, all her previous life had been an utter disappointment in love matters, while all her feminine being was stubbornly intent on fulfilling her biological role. She had developed a pretty strong defense against love temptations, but Hewlett's cunning tactics broke it at the first assault, after a good deal of preparation. I knew it for sure, since I myself used similar tactics. We both had good teachers, but the most subtle tactics wouldn't have been successful if the fortress, at whose conquering it was aimed, hadn't been ready to surrender since the beginning. The most brilliant tactics would have been useless against a lesbian, provided, of course, the lesbianism wasn't only a disguise for a frustrated longing for true love for a person of another sex, which was not the case of Mary.

She had suddenly and ruthlessly lost her trust in men, and I had to restore it in her, resorting to my shrewdest skills, perhaps at the cost of falling in love with her, a huge task bordering on a heroic deed.

First thing I now had to convince her of my false impression of the kiss between Hewlett and Ann. Secondly, I had to justify Hewlett's doing so. After all, Hewlett had to save his life which in his case was equivalent of his reputation. He had to pretend, he loved Ann no more, especially after he had seen how mean and venal she was. A woman who loves really would never blackmail her man, and, more, she would never accept money for her blackmail. Love is entirely different. At least that was the Russian idea of love as a self-sacrifice for the beloved, even to the extreme consequences. There can be no grades to love, like a digital signal. When there is love, there is all of it, without compromises, derogations or justifications. When it diminishes it dies. All other explanations are only mean tricks, to deceive themselves and others. Ann was, anyhow, a product of her milieu and education, she was not after Hewlett, she was after good life for her and for her future family. Now she was out of a job, her reputation was ruined, her present actions could be understood and forgiven. That was how I saw the present situation, and I had to convey my view to Mary as soon as possible.

I caught up with Mary at the other side of the underpass. For some minutes I strode beside her without trying to speak. I cast a couple of sideways glances at her face and noticed that her eyes were wet. She didn't tell me to go away, for a moment I thought she didn't notice me. Then I started to talk.

"Mary", I began softly, "look, I think I have been wrong."

"About what?" she said quietly without expression and without turning her head to me which meant she was always aware of my presence beside her.

I repeated what I had thought up five minutes before. She was listening with indifference, then said:

"I thank you for trying to relieve my distressful feelings and thoughts. You are a very kind person."

The she turned her sad face to me and grinned:

"Don't bother about me, I'm fine."

In that moment her cell-phone rang. She gave a look at the screen, waited a bit, then answered:

"Yes, Robert."

Then she listened and answered in a calm tone:

"No, I've taken a walk, up to the Kremlin. No, with Serge. He's very sweet. I think I'm falling in love with him. No, he can't hear me. Yes, I'm thinking of it, I hope he won't decline. Yes, see you, bye-bye."

'Are you trying to make him jealous?" I asked rather bewildered at her words about falling in love with me.

"Yes, why? You mind?"

"No, you can use me as you like, I'm at your complete disposal."

I knew that sometimes a complete surrender to a woman was the only way of achieving victory.

She gave a contented laugh:

"If so, let me use you tonight as well."

I opened my mouth and held it so for several seconds as if seeking for an adequate reaction, but Mary – who now seemed totally different from the one only twenty seconds before, a resolute, cold-thinking, efficient woman, a rationally risky, aggressive and wise feline with noiseless paws and ruthless claws – gave an outburst of laugh and cried:

"Don't get the wrong idea. By the way, what are you doing tonight? Are you going to dinner somewhere? I'm inviting you to dine with me at our restaurant."

"But," I objected mildly, "Hewlett was going to dine there with the journalist."

"And what of it?", said Mary gaily. "We could be seated at the near table and be autonomous, can't we? Let's play a game with them! They will be serious, and we will be playful, without letting see, you could touch me tenderly and give me sweet kisses every now and then, why not, it could be fun, think of it!"

I gave her an attentive look. She was agitated, her eyes sparkled, her hands made many useless movements. I feared a nervous breakdown or a hysteric fit, which is usually preceded by exaggerated hilarity.

She suddenly became aware of her unhealthy agitation and tried to pull herself together:

"I'm not joking, we could dine together, not necessarily in our hotel, in any other place. What do you say?"

"Sure," I said. "I'd come with pleasure".

We spent the rest of the way on small talking. We discussed Russian fatalism, the Russian idea of freedom, capital punishment, euthanasia, the principle of "fiat iustitia et pereat mundus". Mary was brilliantly elusive. We were talking about the importance of climate for national psychology when we suddenly found ourselves in front of our hotel.

We parted in the hall, agreeing that I'd ring her up at eight o'clock after I'd reserved a table in our English restaurant.