Here I must digress a little. I don’t remember exactly whether this happened at the first dinner party or later, but we were sitting at the table, drinking to the health of the new head of the French government, the president of France,
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General de Gaulle. This was a special cause for celebration for the ambassador. It was, incidentally, no less a cause for celebration for Gribanov. I found out from Kunavin and Vera Ivanovna that after General de Gaulle’s rise to power, De Jean’s position became stronger and he could hope to become the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, since he had already served as the Commissioner of Foreign Affairs in de Gaulle’s wartime government-in-exile in London. The KGB considered the close personal relationship between De Jean and de Gaulle to be important. I don’t know how closely that corresponded with the truth. In any case, the ante had been raised. Gribanov’s plan grew fantastically in size, although the risk of the entire operation grew as well. However, in this case behind the KGB stood none other than Nikita Khrushchev.
I will note that according to my observations, neither De Jean nor Marie-Claire took advantage of their special relationship with the new French president. Their tact never failed them. Only once when they showed us the elegantly decorated guest rooms, located at the back of the embassy, did they say that were General de Gaulle to visit Moscow, he would stay there.
But back to the operation.
Suddenly, coincidence came into play. An exhibition of the Georgian artist Lado Gudiiashvili opened at the Kuznetskii Most. I knew the artist well, since he was a friend of my father, and used to visit us in Tbilisi. I liked his work, which was distinguished by its unique qualities: a rare blend of Western modernism with something distinctly Georgian. Lado was no follower of socialist realism; he had studied in Paris in his youth, and upon his return to the already-Soviet Georgia fell into disfavor, and was the subject of constant criticism by party officials, even though he was very popular among the larger circles of the intelligentsia. Even Mdivani liked him, despite the fact that an abyss separated their artistic principles.
The Lado Gudiiashvili exhibit was very quickly closed since, according to our ideologues, it caused an “unhealthy” interest on the part of Muscovites, its occurrence during the last stage of the “Thaw” notwithstanding.
It was Zhorzh, in fact, who gave me the idea to invite De Jean and Gerard to this exhibit. Kunavin immediately seized upon this suggestion. Gribanov liked it as well. At that time Vera Ivanovna took Marie-Claire to Leningrad, I think. The ambassador was alone. We decided that, in addition to myself and Mdivani, Lidiia Khovanskaia would accompany him as his interpreter to the exhibition of Gudiiashvili’s works.
I called Maurice. He agreed immediately and arrived at the exhibit hall at the designated hour, accompanied by Marcel Gerard. The ambassador arrived in his Chevrolet with the French flag, and Gerard drove his own Citroen.
This was truly a cause for celebration for the old and distinguished master. After all, his exhibit was visited by none other than the ambassador of France,
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Gudiiashvili’s beloved France, the country where he spent, perhaps, the best years of his youth. Lado thanked Zhorzh and me profusely for arranging this. Oh, if he only knew that it was the KGB that had arranged this, and for what purpose it had been arranged!
Maurice and Gerard spent about an hour and a half at the exhibition. Lado himself provided commentary in French. Sometimes Lidiia Khovanskaia would put in a word or two. Lado came close to tears when the French ambassador and the cultural advisor left comments of exalted praise in the guestbook.
Seeing the Frenchmen off, I stepped onto the narrow, noisy Kuznetskii Most [actually a street in Moscow’s historic district]. Lidiia came out of the exhibit hall with me, and right near Maurice’s car, she smiled very sweetly and asked De Jean to give her a ride home. And this was the entire raison d’être for the operation of visiting Gudiiashvili’s exhibit. This alone. It goes without saying that Maurice gallantly opened the door of the Chevrolet for Lida, and behind the steering wheel was “our” Boris. We said good-bye. De Jean left to take Khovanskaia home.
And what came next?
If Maurice had been the ambassador in England or Brazil, then, dear reader, what follows would hardly interest you, and this book would never have seen the light of day. If he had lived in England or Brazil, the question of his safety would never have arisen. But, alas, De Jean was the ambassador to the USSR—and this changed everything.
By Kunavin’s account, and later, Khovanskaia’s, this is what transpired: the ambassador took Lida home, to a house on Vnukovskii Road—or, more precisely, the corner house where the road began. They had to enter the noisy courtyard of a newly constructed Moscow building. Lida, of course, invited the ambassador to come up to her apartment for a cup of coffee. The apartment happened to be empty—the children were out. And why not visit the house of a common Soviet woman? That is very likely what Maurice thought. Or maybe he thought differently. In any case, Khovanskaia was not common. If only the common people lived the way she did!
All in all, Boris waited about two hours in the car. During that time, Lida became De Jean’s lover.
It was a done deal. One could suppose that Gribanov was already gleefully rubbing his hands together. The quarry was in the bag.
Lida met Maurice several more times. He would come to visit the common Soviet woman while the children were at school. Their liaison became stronger. Both played the part of lover very well, and did not give themselves away with a single look or gesture when all of us, including Marie-Claire, would wind up spending time together, eating French onion soup. Lida didn’t hide it from me, seeing me as a “superior.” She even told me that the
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ambassador was pretty good as a lover, and that being with him was pleasant and fun.
Naturally, Cherednichenko and Kronberg-Sobolevskaia receded into the background. Everything had been planned down to the last detail. Khovan-skaia had been chosen. But two or three weeks later everything suddenly changed. Why? Because the little Napoleon from the Lubianka realized that he had made a mistake. He’d planned and planned, but had missed the “elephant” right in front of him. And Khovanskaia had to be retired the same way that Valia and Rita (Zoia) had been retired previously. Removing her from the stage entirely would have been awkward, and would have been noticed by the ambassador, and might even have irritated him. Using different pretences, she simply began to meet Maurice less and less frequently as a common Soviet woman—that is, alone. And so why did Gribanov discontinue Khovanskaia? What was his oversight?
I can only say the following regarding this matter: the operation thought up by Oleg Mikhailovich was hindered by the fact that Khovanskaia’s first husband, a diplomat by profession, had worked for several years in Paris and was, of course, very well-known. Khovanskaia had left him, as I wrote earlier, but she had had children with him. Now he served in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs where he held an important position. Incidentally, several years afterwards Khovanskaia’s daughter married the son of Podtserob, the general secretary of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and a former aide to Molotov. All of this complicated the game and increased the risks. What had Gribanov been thinking of when planning this operation? Why had he included Lida if she was “defective?” Or perhaps there had been a mistake, but since it had been committed by those from the higher echelons, everyone pretended that everything was just fine. Perhaps while Gribanov was consulting with Serov, Mironov, or even Khrushchev himself, it had been decided not to use Kho-vanskaia for the ultimate set-up. It’s possible that Gribanov, considering the psychological circumstances, decided to lull De Jean into a false sense of security with a series of these love intrigues (Valia, Rita, Lida) in order to deliver the final blow unexpectedly.