With a murmur she raised her head and blinked slowly, turning to face him. Her eyes, usually so bright and curious, were dull and flat, a sad muddy brown, but her mouth curved into an affectionate smile.
‘You can stop now,’ she said softly.
He stopped but didn’t remove his hand. He left it there on her shoulder.
‘All right now?’ he asked gently.
‘Just fine.’ She gave him an unconvincing smile and he wanted to shake her.
‘What was that all about? Tell me.’
She reached up and for a brief moment rested a hand, light as a bird, on top of his, but then she gave him one of her damn shrugs and picked up her hot chocolate. ‘Just scaring you,’ she murmured and sipped her drink.
‘You succeeded.’
‘So tonight, Liev, you…’
But Popkov’s attention had moved elsewhere. His gaze was fixed on something in the broad street outside, a stupid cockeyed grin on his face. Alexei scanned the passers-by for whatever it was that was so absorbing the Cossack, but at first saw nothing out of the ordinary. People were striding quickly along the pavement, hurrying to escape the wind, fufaikas buttoned tight to the neck, and a heavy truck trundled down the road making the glass vibrate in the window. As it drove past, Alexei caught sight of a figure standing squarely on the pavement opposite, waving both hands and smiling back at Popkov. It was the big woman from the train. The one with the breasts. What the hell was she doing here? Instantly he swung round to confront the dumb Cossack but Lydia got in there first.
‘Liev,’ she hissed, ‘what are you doing?’
He blinked at her mildly. ‘Waving to-’
‘She’s following us, don’t you realise?’
‘Nyet.’
‘Da.’
‘Nyet.’
‘What does she know?’
‘Nothing. Nichevo.’
‘You told her, didn’t you?’
His scarred brow hunched into a scowl at Lydia’s sharp tone. ‘Told her what?’
‘That we’ve travelled here from China.’
‘So?’
‘Oh Liev, you stupid fool, what else have you told her? She could be an OGPU agent.’
The big man snorted. ‘She’s not a spy, nor an informer.’
Alexei decided to deal with this quickly, before the argument drew too much attention from the huddle of men at the printing bench on the other side of the room. However much he was enjoying seeing these two at each other’s throats for a change, now was not the moment. ‘Ignore the woman, Popkov. Keep well away from her. We can’t take the risk that-’
The Cossack snatched the filthy shapka off his own head and threw it on the counter, knocking over Alexei’s chai. All three ignored the brown pool of hot liquid that trickled over the edge.
‘Don’t you ever give your fucking orders to me, Alexei Serov!’ Popkov shook his head, thick shaggy black curls rising like horns, and growled, ‘I tell you she is not a spy. She thinks you are following her.’ He spat noisily on the floor, an evil black jet that skidded across the boards.
The old babushka at the back screeched a complaint but was silenced by a glare from Popkov’s single eye.
‘Liev!’ Lydia said. But inexplicably, there was suddenly a smile on her face.
Where the hell had that sprung from? There was just no telling with these two what cliff they were going to jump off next. Alexei righted the spilled glass, folded his arms across his chest to hold in his annoyance, and watched how his sister intended to deal with this. Where Popkov was concerned, he had to admit her instincts were good.
‘What’s her name, Liev?’ Lydia asked.
‘Elena Gorshkova.’
‘What is she to you?’
‘A friend.’ A red flush rose above his beard and crept up the sides of his nose.
‘Something more than a friend?’ She scrutinised his face. ‘Where did you first meet her?’
‘In Selyansk.’
‘At the hotel?’
‘Da.’
She paused and drew a long breath, then scooped up his hat off the counter and thrust it against his massive chest. ‘Go,’ she said with a laugh, ‘if that’s what you want.’
Popkov looked at her for a long beat, then shook himself vigorously. For a moment Alexei thought he was going to crush her between his huge arms but instead he lumbered towards the door. Alexei stepped into his path before he could reach it.
‘Popkov, be careful.’
A nod from the big man.
‘Why is she here? In Felanka.’
Popkov grunted something inarticulate, but Alexei couldn’t let it go at that.
‘Do you know why?’ he insisted.
Another grunt, deep in his oily throat.
‘Tell me.’
He expected another grunt but instead the Cossack rummaged a knuckle through his beard once more, narrowed his one good eye and said evenly, ‘Elena Gorshkova is in Felanka to visit her son’s grave.’
Lydia reached out and caught his shoulder. ‘Liev, spit out that bloody tobacco before you speak to her.’
Popkov thumped her hard on the back in what was obviously meant to be a gesture of affection and barged out of the shop. Together and in silence, Alexei and Lydia watched through the window as he crossed the broad boulevard in ten massive strides, after threatening to rip the bumper off a timid saloon car that didn’t want to stop for him. They saw him eject the wad of tobacco into the gutter, wipe his mouth on the shapka and jam it back on top of his shaggy mane, then greet the woman with a delicate bow that surprised them both. The unlikely couple ambled off together as if taking a leisurely stroll in a park, ignoring the bite of the wind and the bustle of the crowd around them.
Lydia sighed, elbows on the counter, chin in her hands. Alexei hated the wistful expression in her eyes. It meant that Chinese Communist of hers, Chang An Lo, was eating into her brain again. He pushed himself away from the counter.
‘Come, Lydia, let’s walk. It’ll do us good.’
8
They walked until the sky lost its bright sheen and turned a muted crimson, the colour of molten metal as it cools. Its light washed everything with a soft pink hue that belied the harshness of the landscape, but it suited Lydia’s mood. She was sick of sharp edges, sick of black and white, sick of right and wrong. She thought she knew herself, knew where she ended and others began, knew where to stop and where to start. But now… now she didn’t seem to know any more. Was she trying to do too much? Was she not as strong as she believed herself to be? As Chang An Lo believed her to be?
‘You have the heart of a lion,’ he’d whispered to her once, as he ran a lock of her coppery hair through his fingers, ‘as well as the mane of one.’
He’d lifted the curl to his lips and she’d thought he was going to kiss it, but he didn’t. Instead he closed his teeth over the end, slowly and deliberately biting through it, so that a finger’s length disappeared into his mouth. His black eyes fixed on hers as he swallowed it and a shiver of excitement had rippled through her. She watched his throat work as the hair from her own head slid into the tunnels within him.
‘Now you are a part of me,’ he’d said simply, and gave her that slow smile of his that stopped her heart. ‘Now I can listen to you roar inside me.’
She’d laughed and lain in his arms, growling at him, nipping his collarbone with her teeth, dragging her nails across the taut skin of his chest.
‘Lydia?’ It was Alexei. His head was tipped to one side so that he could peer up into her face. ‘Are you still with me?’
He said it lightly, with an easy laugh, but behind the words she could hear the concern, the uncertainty. He was doubting her too. From the moment they set foot on the pavement outside the printing shop, Alexei had hooked her arm through his own and set a good pace as he strode through the town. He’d steered her past the imposing pillars of the Lenin Library and into a quiet park that was laid out with gravel paths, edged with hoops of decorative ironwork. To Lydia they looked like open mouths begging for food. They forced images of the labour camp into her head.