I thought he was going to hit me. ‘I thought that’s why we chose Switzerland, because it would be safe—’
‘It’s not that simple. Gregorski’s a powerful man.’
‘I know about powerful men—’
Rudi mimicked me. ‘“I know about powerful men.” You’re talking about the Party crony paperpusher who used to shag you? Or your geriatric cabin-boy with the gammy leg?’
‘He was a captain.’
Rudi spat a ‘huh!’ ‘What do you know about hiding money? Laundering it? I can give you your share any time you like, baby, but how long do you think it would be after you split, before the pigs in Switzerland ask exactly how you came across this truckload of roubles you’re bringing into their country? We are a team! You can’t just walk out on us any time you fancy.’
‘When can we go?’
‘In time! In time! Fuck it! It’s no fucking use trying to reason with you when you’re in this kind of mood. I’m going for a drive!’
He slammed the door behind him.
Jerome emerged. ‘He didn’t damage the Wedgwood, did he?’
‘He’s nervous,’ I explain. ‘Now we’re so close to getting away, it’s only natural he gets a little jittery...’
Jerome said something in English.
Today is my birthday.
My feet shouldn’t ache so much, not at my age.
As I climbed the stairs back up to my flat I heard my phone ringing. I fumbled for my key and skidded down the hallway. You see? I understand him, that’s why I forgive him. That’s why I’m not like the other women who take advantage of him.
‘I’m back.’ I was breathless—
‘Hello? Miss Latunsky? I hope you don’t mind me telephoning you at home. This is Tatyana Makuch, from the gallery. Have I called at a bad time?’
I fought to control my panting, and to keep the disappointment out of my voice. ‘No, no, I just got back, I’ve been running.’
‘Oh... jogging in the park?’
‘I mean I was running to catch the phone. To get the phone.’
‘Are you busy this afternoon?’
‘Yes. No. Maybe. Why?’
‘I’m lonely. I was wondering if we could meet and I could buy you a coffee, or if you’d like to come to visit my shoe-box and I could cook you authentic Warsaw Vorsch.’
Tatyana? I heard myself saying ‘yes’. When was I going to make it up with Rudi? But there again, why should he find me here pining for him when he gets back? Maybe it would do him good just to pretend that I don’t need him as much as I do. Teach him a little lesson.
‘Great. You know the coffee shop behind the Pushkin Theatre?’
‘Yes—’
‘Excellent. I’ll meet you there in an hour.’
That was that. Nemya padded in and jumped onto my lap for some adoration. I told Nemya about Rudi’s tantrum, and about what Switzerland was going to be like, and I wondered why I’d just agreed to give the rest of my day off to a supercilious rival from Poland.
The empty café smelt of dark wood and coffee. Dust motes eddied through slats of sunlight as I barged open the door. A bell jangled and a radio was playing in the back room. Tatyana hadn’t arrived yet, even though I was late.
‘Hello, Margarita.’
Tatyana shifted slightly and came into the light. Her hair shone gold. She was dressed in a smart black velvet suit and her body was lean and tucked in. I had to admit, I could see the appeal. To men like Rogorshev.
‘I didn’t see you.’
‘Here I am. Well, won’t you sit down? Thank you very much for coming. What would you like to drink? The Colombian blend is excellent.’
Was she trying to impress me? ‘Then I’ll have the Colombian blend, when the waitress wakes up.’
A man appeared from the back. ‘The Colombian?’ A strong Ukrainian accent.
‘Yes.’
He sucked in his cheeks, and disappeared again.
Tatyana smiled. ‘Were you surprised when I called you?’ A psychotherapist’s tone.
‘Mildly. Should I have been?’
She offered me a cigarette. I offered her a Benson and Hedges. She took one but didn’t admire it, like any Russian would have done. Benson and Hedges must be commonplace in Poland. I let her light mine.
‘How long have you been working at the Hermitage, Margarita?’
‘About a year, now.’
‘You must have some cosy contacts there.’ Despite myself I liked her smile. She was being nosy, but only because she wanted to be friendly.
Margarita Latunsky can take girls like Tatyana in her stride. ‘You mean the Head Curator? Oh dear, have the Gutbucket herd been gossiping again?’
‘I get the impression they’d gossip about grass growing in a ditch.’
‘My relationship with the Head Curator is an open secret. But it started after I came. I got the job through some connections my — I have, in the city hall. There’s no harm. I’m single, and his marriage is not my problem.’
‘I quite agree. We have a lot in common in our attitudes.’
‘You said you were Mrs Makuch?’
Tatyana made a whirlpool of cream in her coffee. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
‘I can keep secrets very safe indeed...’
‘I tell people like Rogorshev that just to keep them off my back. The situation’s more complicated than that...’ I waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. ‘So then, Margarita. Tell me about your life. I want to know everything.’
Eight hours later we were very drunk, at least I knew that I was, hunched over a back table at The Shamrock Pub on Dekabristov Street. A trio of Cubans were playing jazz snaky and slow, and there were man-high plants with rubbery leaves everywhere. The place was lit by candles, which is one of the scrimpiest ways to save money while pretending to be chic known to the entertainment business, and it occurred to me that whenever I was with Tatyana the light was bad. Tatyana knew a lot about jazz, and a lot about wine, which made me believe there was more money in her background than she was letting on. She was also insisting on paying for everything. I refused three times, but Tatyana insisted four times, which came as something of a relief, I admit. I hate asking Rudi for money.
She knew a lot about a lot of things. A black man stood up on stage, and played a trumpet with a mute. Tatyana glowed, and I saw how beautiful she was. I imagined a deep tragedy in her past. I know from my own life, severe beauty can be a handicap. ‘More like Miles Davis than Miles Davis,’ she murmured.
‘Wasn’t he the first man to fly across the Atlantic?’
She hadn’t heard me. ‘The brassy sun lost behind the clouds.’
We were attracting a lot of attention from the men. As well we might. Tatyana was undoubtedly a rare creature in these climes, and for my part, well, you already know the calibre of man Margarita Latunsky draws hither. Even the trumpeter was giving me the eye over his shiny horn, I swear it. I wondered what it would be like to do it with a black man. Arabs and Orientals and Americans I’ve had dalliances with, yes, but never a black.
Three young couples came in and sat down near the front. They must have still been in their teens. The boys in borrowed suits, trying to look sophisticated. The girls, trying to look at ease. All of them looking awkward.
Tatyana nodded at the six. ‘Young love.’ Her voice had a serrated edge.
‘Wouldn’t you change places with them, if you could?’
‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’
‘They look so fine, and young, and wrapped up in each other. Love is so fresh and clean at that age. Don’t you think?’