He placed a sliver of fruit in his mouth, dabbed the napkin to his lips and sat back with a serious expression. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t there.’
I wasn’t there, I wasn’t there. Chyort! I wasn’t there to help him when he needed me. Guilt jammed in her throat like a pebble from the Moskva River.
‘So someone told you what happened?’
‘Yes.’ She leaned forward on the table. ‘My friend had just started work for a baker and they were making a delivery to a prison here in Moscow.’
‘A prison?’ the Russian smiled. ‘What a coincidence.’
Lydia hurried on. ‘The baker said that suddenly one of the guards came charging at Popkov and he just defended himself. One of the other guards shot him.’
‘Understandably, if he was creating trouble.’
Lydia made herself ignore the comment. ‘The baker was ordered to leave immediately and has no idea whether my friend lived or died.’
‘Ah!’ He inclined his head. ‘Distressing for you.’
There was an awkward little silence. Lydia put her hands on her lap and made them stay there. ‘The baker says the guard claimed to recognise Popkov. It seems they had a fight some time ago in Felanka.’ She watched his pupils dilate with a sudden spike of interest at the mention of Felanka, though he maintained an attitude of quiet detachment. ‘In Felanka,’ she explained, ‘Popkov beat the hell out of the guard and he wanted revenge.’
‘I’ve seen too many of them, Lydia, these people who think with their fists. The prison camps are full of them. They live by their fists and more often than not they die by them too.’
‘Popkov may not be dead,’ she insisted.
‘So,’ Malofeyev raised his coffee cup and studied her over the gilt-edged rim, ‘you want to know what state this oaf is in and where he is.’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘I want you to get him returned to me.’
‘Dead?’
‘Dead or alive.’
‘And why would I do that?’
‘Dmitri, this isn’t like my request for the name of the prison. That was secret information, this isn’t. It’s just a misunderstanding. A stupid fight that flared up for no reason.’ She lifted her hands from her lap, placed them on the polished surface of the table and let them fall apart to reveal a heavy gold watch, its casing exquisitely wrought, its face intricately engraved. It was the one she’d stolen from the cigar man’s pocket. She looked at Dmitri and exhaled carefully. ‘I’m sure it’s something you could sort out with just a couple of telephone calls.’
His eyes had fixed on the watch. ‘Well, Lydia, you do surprise me. Is this all your friendship is worth?’
Lydia wasn’t sure what he meant and it angered her. Friendship with him or friendship with the Cossack? But something in the way he looked at the watch made her blood slow and stumble in her veins. It wasn’t enough. Already she knew it wasn’t going to be enough.
‘What is it you want instead?’ she asked.
He put down his cup and leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes intent on hers. She became aware that the room was unbearably hot. ‘I told you once before, Lydia, I want you to look at me the way you looked at your Chinese that night at the Metropol.’
‘That will never happen.’
‘Never say never, my dear. It could.’
Abruptly he rose to his feet, threw his napkin on to his plate and moved round the length of the table until he was standing directly behind her. The whisper of his slippers on the polished parquet floor made her skin prickle as though she’d brushed against nettles. He touched the back of her hair. She didn’t flinch. His fingers burrowed into her dense mane as if they had a right to be there.
‘You are very lovely, Lydia, and very young.’
‘I’m old enough.’
He bent down behind her until his lips were soft on her ear. ‘Old enough to know what you want?’
She nodded.
He kissed her ear lobe. She didn’t move. Just smelled the clean scent of him and felt his hair mingle with her own.
‘And is this what you want?’ He lifted a loop of her hair aside, twining its strands around his fingers so that she was attached to him, and kissed the pale skin of her neck.
She nodded. It was the least she owed Popkov.
‘Then I think I can help you,’ he murmured, sliding a hand round to her throat. ‘So sweetly delicate.’ His fingers started to explore, to caress the fragile stem of her collarbone, to insinuate themselves deeper into the opening of her blouse until they found the soft rise of her breast and she could feel his breath coming hot and moist on her cheek.
‘Your wife, Antonina?’ she asked. ‘Is she here? In the apartment? ’
The fingers froze. ‘She’s still in bed.’
‘Even so. Not ideal, is it?’
‘I didn’t think you were an idealist, Lydia. More of a realist, it seemed to me.’ He kissed the top of her head and his other hand encircled her waist, pinning her to the chair.
‘Dmitri,’ she said in a firm voice, ‘let me go.’ She heard his exhalation. ‘But I give you my word. You can pick your time and place – as soon as Liev Popkov is safely home.’
‘Dead or alive?’
‘Dead or alive.’
With reluctance he withdrew his arm, uncoiling it slowly. She rose to her feet. She’d bought a breathing space. ‘Thank you, Dmitri.’
‘Oh damn it, Lydia, will you ever make life easy for me?’ He was still breathing hard.
‘I doubt it.’ She forced a smile of sorts.
‘But I have your word?’
‘Yes, you have my word. Just find me Liev Popkov.’ For a moment she stepped nearer, her face close to his. ‘Find him,’ she said harshly and saw him recoil in surprise.
She moved to the door and swung it open, only to discover Antonina on the other side. She was wearing an oyster-pink negligee, her sharp painted nails held out in front of her like claws. How long she’d been standing there it was impossible to tell.
‘Lydia, my friend, I had no idea you were here,’ she said brightly. ‘Dmitri, you should have told me and I’d have joined you both for coffee.’
Her smile was as brittle as the stem of a wine glass. Lydia knew it would snap if she touched it.
‘Another time, Antonina,’ she said quickly and walked out of the overheated apartment.
Chang found her. How on earth he found her she had no idea. All that mattered was that he was here and she could feel his heart beating as hard as if he’d been running. He steered her through a maze of side streets till they came to a shabby stretch of houses where two strangers would be ignored – no one wanted trouble; they already had enough of their own. Chang lifted her chin and kissed her, and she felt sick with shame. He didn’t ask her what she was doing running the pavements at this early hour of the morning and she wondered if he could smell Dmitri on her.
‘ Lydia, Kuan gave me your message.’
She leaned her face into the collar of his coat.
‘Here is a new key to a new room.’ He pressed a small metal object into her palm and a scrap of paper bearing an address. ‘Be calm,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me what it is that has disturbed you.’
She shook her head, mute. He waited until she was able to speak.
‘It’s Popkov. He’s been shot,’ she whispered. ‘Because of me he might be dead.’ Her lips felt numb. ‘I don’t know whether he’s alive or dead.’
His hand soothed the crumpled line of her spine and the memory of another man’s fingers on her skin stole her breath. She shivered fiercely and when Chang drew back to look at her face, she knew he would sense there was more.
‘I’m worried for Elena,’ she said quickly. ‘She’ll be frantic about Liev.’
He leaned forward again and kissed each of her eyelids in turn.
‘Close your eyes, Lydia. Rest them. There is nothing you can do to help your Cossack friend.’