“A book that is purposefully badly written?” said Pavel. “That’s the most ridiculous literary observation I have ever heard.”
“I’m not saying it’s badly written,” said Harper. “I’m saying it is written to make you feel uncomfortable. You are forced to spend time inside the head of man who is struggling with his own conscience. Dostoevsky wants to instill Raskolnikov’s sense of panic and guilt in the reader. The book is about the trial a man puts himself on inside his own head.”
“Or a woman,” said Anya.
“Or a woman,” said Harper. “Of course.”
“I think maybe you may have a Russian soul,” said one of the students.
“I think so too,” said Anya, looking up at Harper. Pavel’s face contorted slightly and he started to look over the heads of the students for alternative company. He spotted someone near the staircase and moved off without saying goodbye.
“I hope I didn’t offend him,” said Harper, half-heartedly.
“He is always a bit offended by something,” said Anya. “Anyway, he was talking bollocks. Is that right word? Bollocks.”
“Ha, that’s the right word Anya.”
“Oh good. Now, I’m going to find some wine. Do want some?”
“Please, any colour, whatever’s going.” Harper watched her walk off through the crowd. Her little black dress exhibited the contours of her body. She was thin, but not too thin to look boyish. And she proudly displayed a pretty brown birthmark on her left shoulder. As she disappeared towards one of the waiters, the striking figure of Nastya Katuseva flashed across his eyeline. A small entourage stood fawning over her as she showed off some jewellery. Harper grabbed a brief look at himself in a nearby mirror and walked over.
“Hey Nastya, sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to say happy birthday.”
She finished laughing at something one of her friends was saying and stuck her white-gloved hand in Harper’s direction. This time he decided to kiss it.
“Thank you darling,” she said, grabbing the tail of her red dress and sweeping it around towards him. “How do you like our little country pile?”
“I love it,” said Harper. “You’ve clearly got taste.”
“You can buy taste sweety. We are aiming for class.”
“Well, your aim is good. It reminds of a place we have in Tuscany.”
“A place in Tuscany? On a teacher’s salary?”
Harper smiled. “Our family business is diamonds.”
He saw that he now had her full attention. “Diamonds, really? Have you seen my gift?” She turned her head slightly so he could see her earrings.
Harper studied them. “You know, a woman needs a certain beauty to wear a good stone like that Anastasia. They would be wasted on anyone else here.”
She giggled a little and pushed her hair behind one of her ears. “Remind me of your name please honey?”
“Ryan. Moscow’s most sought after English teacher.”
“Well Ryan, you know I think we could have a lot in common. I’m going to ask the school to give you to me as a teacher. That is, if you don’t mind.”
“The pleasure would be all mine,” he said, kissing her hand again. “I’ll hopefully see you again soon.”
“Oh, you will,” she said, looking him up and down.
Harper walked off across the room, making sure not to glance back as he went. The crowd had swelled almost to capacity and people jockeyed for position around the edges of the room. Harper took his chance to slip back through the bodies towards the front door. A bouncer in a dinner jacket was still hovering around the stairs leading to the upper level and the only people who seemed to have access were elderly members of the Katusev family.
Harper bided his time, leaning against a wall and pretending to talk on his mobile phone. His chance came as the guard pulled out a cigarette and walked out into the fresh air. He darted over to the staircase and offered to carry the bag of one relative with a fur coat. She thanked him enthusiastically as they reach the top and he quickly disappeared into a nearby bathroom. He waited for a few moments until he heard the relative’s footsteps patter back down the hall and rejoin the party. When he was sure she was gone, he stepped back out into the hall and looked around.
Nothing moved.
There were several open doors nearby, but he could see they were all bedrooms. He needed to find the study. He peered carefully round the corner leading downstairs and saw the security guard chatting to a female partygoer. He turned down the light with a nearby dimmer switch and moved silently to the end of the hall. Another couple of doors stood opposite each other. This time they were closed. He turned the handle on the one on the right. A smell of fresh linen crept out of the opening. He opened it a little further, but there was nothing but blankets. He turned the handle on the opposite door, but it was locked. The steady beat of house music filled the building. Harper nodded his head a couple of time to the beat and shoved his shoulder onto the door in time with the sound. After a few hits, he heard a small crack and the door opened inwards into a small passageway leading to the attic. He went inside, pushed the door closed behind him and walked slowly up the stairs.
The attic study was spread across the whole floor and was bathed in a low light. Harper took a quick scan of the room. He couldn’t see any obvious signs of security cameras. The outside of the room was mostly bookcases with what looked like collectible volumes. A small conference table sat in the middle of the room with some equipment for piping people in on television screens.
“Where are you Seva Vitsin…” he whispered under his breath as he made his way towards a desk at the back of the room. He leafed through a couple of folders sat on the oak surface. They had the Svaboda insignia on the top.
Harper’s eyes shot back towards the door as he thought he heard a creaking sound coming from downstairs. His skin prickled and he listened closely for any sign of footsteps, but the dull thud thud of the music was the only thing audible. He quickened his search, opening the desk drawers and examining as many papers as he could. He felt around at the back of the last drawer and pulled out a single USB stick. He examined it before slipping it into his pocket. He held his breath as he made his way back across the room. Just before he reached the top of the study stairs, he froze. There was no question there was a creaking sound this time. Someone was coming up the stairs into the attic. Harper stepped back and looked for somewhere to hide. The only place he could go was back behind the desk. He turned quickly, but caught his heel on a thick rug, tripping and landing heavily on his hip. He went to get up, but it was too late. A man in a black tuxedo stood directly in front of him, looking down into his eyes. They looked at each other for a few seconds, both unsure of what to do next before Harper got steadily to his feet.
“Enjoying the party?” he said, brushing himself off.
“I was a bit bored of the party to be honest,” said the man, revealing his English accent as he spoke.
“Yeah, me too,” replied Harper.
Both men looked down the stairs as a shriek of laughter travelled up from the corridor. The voices got steadily quieter and finally disappeared. They looked at each other again, both gauging the other, considering what to say next.
“I was on my way out,” said Harper. “Is that an issue for you?”
“No,” said the man. “I was on my way in. Is that an issue for you?”
“Be my guest.”
Harper walked past him to the top of the stairs.
“Wait,” said the man. He took out a pen and scrawled some directions on the back of piece of card. “Meet me here tomorrow at 11am. I mean, it’s always good to meet new people at parties, right?”