Back in her own bed later that night, with Edward lying beside her, she tried to sleep, but when she shut her eyes it wasn’t Edward she saw, nor was it Larry – it was that face looking at her with pleading eyes. That round face with its smudged freckles: sometimes a face without the head, sometimes a whole head – but never a body; the disembodied face hovered, faded, then reappeared with its look of infinite regret. Familiar, yet impossible to fathom, the image and its accompanying nausea had become part of her life; triggered by guilt or anxiety, it was a ghost she longed to be rid of if only she could discover how.
Marianne never returned to Larry’s flat, but in the anonymity of the Minsk Hotel her old appetites soon returned and in the following weeks their lovemaking became more energetic, more varied, frantic even. Meanwhile she hadn’t stopped her ferreting for Larry and she still felt the adrenalin kick in whenever she made contact with one of the targets he had given her. He was particularly interested in a scientist by the name of Aleshkovsky. She was forbidden from seeking direct contact with him – almost certainly unachievable anyway since he worked in the highly secret scientific research wing of the university; but Larry seldom missed an opportunity to ask her whether his name had cropped up in connection with possible emigration to Israel.
Exhilarating though it was, she was beginning to get nervous. A couple of times she thought she was being watched and since the beginning of March she had convinced herself that she was being followed. She remembered some of the tricks she had read about in spy novels and started to apply them in the metro – leaving a train just before the doors closed or getting on a train at the last second. I’m being stupid, she told herself. I have no training for this – and anyway, if I start behaving like a spy I’m more likely to be taken for one. Time to bring the curtain down on Larry and these games.
Edward was flying back to England for ten days over the western Easter and taking Izzy with him to spend time with his mother. Marianne had a couple of classes still to teach and was anyway behind with her research so had decided not to go with him. She told herself that this would give her one last fling with Larry and then she would end it before Edward returned.
‘So, you are going to be all alone for ten days?’ said Larry, as Marianne began to get dressed after a lunchtime assignation in their familiar hotel room.
‘That’s true.’
‘I have an idea. Have you ever been down to Georgia? I have to spend a week down there and this would be a great opportunity. It will be real spring down there. We could go together – or separately, perhaps – if we don’t want to be seen to travel together.’
Marianne knew instantly that this was a suggestion she was not going to be able to resist. ‘Georgia – well, I can’t say I’m not tempted. I have been thinking how I must see the Caucasus. I mean, they were so important to Lermontov.’
‘Lermontov, of course, I forgot your research; then you must obviously come – we’ll explore together.’
As Larry was due to spend the whole week in the capital Tbilisi and Marianne could not spare the time, it was agreed that she would fly down with Larry for the weekend and then come back on her own. Cautiously they made separate bookings on the same flight, deciding not to acknowledge each other at the airport and sitting some way apart on the plane. Marianne had obtained a window seat but was disappointed that her view of the high Caucasus was almost entirely obscured by cloud. However, as they cleared the mountains and came down towards Tbilisi she was able to glimpse the city straddling the S-bend of the Mtkvari River, set in a broad valley and protected by the high fortress of Narikala.
When Marianne had finally shaken off the obligatory Intourist guide who had shepherded her to the hotel, and Larry had arrived in her room, she threw her arms around him in a hug of childlike enthusiasm. ‘It’s so romantic – I mean, to be in Georgia. I’ve always wanted to come here.’
‘It’s good to see you so happy,’ he said, bending his head to kiss her, ‘but strangely I’ve never thought of Georgia as being especially romantic. I’ve always associated it with Stalin and Beria and that whole gang of murderous thugs.’
‘Oh, no, you shouldn’t think like that at all. It’s a place of love and poetry. Pushkin raved about Georgia, said he was literally reborn here. Let’s go out for a walk. I’ve got a map; we should go down to the old town.’
Together Marianne and Larry made their way down to the river, past the Metekhi church on its rocky promontory and across the bridge towards the old town. It was not only the warmth in the air which enchanted Marianne but the happy blend of Asia and Europe which was so refreshing after the drabness of much of Soviet Moscow. Walking up to Lermontov Street, a natural magnet for Marianne, she admired the elegant nineteenth-century houses with their exquisite fretwork balconies. Further up they came to a square where she paused and consulted her map, then turned to Larry: ‘Hey, this is the house I was telling you about. It was originally a house reserved for Russian officers and it’s where Lermontov stayed when he was in Tbilisi.’ Together they admired the massive overhanging balconies that seemed to defy gravity and allow the elegant lacy arches to float above the street.
Only one thought troubled Marianne as she and Larry retired to a café and ordered slices of cheese pie and a bottle of Saperavi, a local Georgian wine. I should be doing this with Edward. My universe with Larry was confined to Moscow and the Minsk hotel. It was a closely guarded citadel which was entirely separate from the rest of my life. But this is different. This is travel, a cultural exploration that I should be making with Edward; this is my work, my thesis, my real life. I shall enjoy this weekend but as soon as we are back in Moscow I must bring this affair to an end. Having made this firm vow to herself, Marianne felt able to relax and gobble up every delicious sensation the weekend had to offer, both the intimate parts in their hotel bedroom and their exploration of Tbilisi. In quiet moments, Larry read briefing papers on the suppression of Georgian nationalism and the survival of the Orthodox Church, while Marianne read guidebooks and accounts of Lermontov’s visits to the Caucasus whilst planning in her mind the trip she and Edward would make later in the summer.
It was with a mixture of sadness and relief that she sat back in her seat while the plane lifted off from Tbilisi en route back to Moscow. It had been fun, satisfying and necessary to her life, but now it was over. She would meet Larry at the university and explain why it had to end. As the plane rose higher into the sky and turned north towards the Caucasus she felt a sense of cleansing; the same sense she had had on the few occasions when she had made her confession as a young teenager, still half believing in the power of the priest to absolve her from sin. No priest was necessary now for Marianne to consign the past few months with Larry into the laundry basket of her experiences, where in time it would be washed, dried and ironed by her memory into a comfortable shape – a shape she could live with and remould around herself in a harmless and agreeable way. Thus cleansed, Marianne could now resume her happy and fulfilling life immersed in the world of Russian literature and, more particularly, as Edward’s wife and Izzy’s mother.
Izzy – this was the longest separation she had ever had from her daughter. Of course, it was right that she should spend time with her grandmother and it was good for Edward to spend time with his daughter, but she knew that she would be counting the days now until their return.