The mood seemed to have affected Raya.
‘You know what everyone’s talking about in Moscow?’ she asked. ‘It’s the local hooliganism. You can’t possibly leave without taking part in it. Come on, let’s all hold hands. That’s uncultured for a start.’
She took their hands. She made them run across the road at a place where pedestrians were not allowed to cross. She spat on the pavement – they had a spitting competition, which she won. She got Proctor-Gould to sing the ‘Internationale’. They trotted, hands still linked, through a grocery store on Gorky Street, barging against the late-night shoppers. Proctor-Gould caught Manning’s eye. He pulled his ear with his free hand and giggled.
‘It’s good for the system to behave childishly sometimes, Paul,’ he said.
She trotted them all the way down to the Nikita Gates, then pulled them up short, and pointed at a bed of tulips behind a low railing in the public gardens.
‘That would be real hooliganism,’ she said, ‘to steal a municipal tulip.’
Manning hesitated.
‘I think that might be going a bit far, honestly, Raya …’ he began dubiously.
‘What does she want?’ panted Proctor-Gould.
‘A tulip.’
Proctor-Gould pulled his ear once, then trotted across to the railing, clambered awkwardly over, and snapped one off. Manning watched him as he trotted back with the flower. He had never noticed before that Proctor-Gould’s body was long and his legs were short – when he ran his bottom seemed to be almost resting on the ground. Manning wondered if he would look impressive placed on a pedestal in Gorky Street opposite the Statue of Yuri Long-Arm, the founder of Moscow, labelled as Gordon Long-Bottom, the finder of people.
Proctor-Gould presented Raya with the flower, then suddenly seized her hand and kissed it.
‘Oh, Gordon!’ said Raya, laughing. ‘Oh, Gordon!’
She held the tulip up, and looked at it carefully. Then she put it in her mouth and ate it, crunching it up like raw cabbage.
‘In this health-giving and nutritious way, Gordon,’ she said, ‘I conceal the evidence of your crime against the state.’
14
Manning could not help being pleased that Raya had made such an impression on Proctor-Gould. Proctor-Gould invited them both out to dinner again. Throughout the meal he behaved with a sort of archaic vulgar gallantry. He proposed toasts to Raya’s bright eyes, and to the ladies, God bless them. He asked Manning to ask Raya if there were any more at home like her. He leant forward as he waited for Manning to translate, so that his head got down near the tablecloth, and he had to look up at her with his great brown eyes as if he were an adoring dog looking over the edge of the table. Manning felt that Proctor-Gould’s compliments were indirectly compliments to himself. He translated them fully, wherever possible improving upon them and making them more fantastic in the Russian. Raya watched Proctor-Gould gravely as he spoke, and continued to watch him gravely as Manning translated. Sometimes she would laugh, and Proctor-Gould would at once pull his ear and giggle. He had undoubtedly fallen for her. Manning found it amusing to watch.
It was while they were waiting, interminably, for the last course to arrive that a note of discord was struck.
‘Tell Raya,’ said Proctor-Gould, ‘that she has the most beautiful natural blonde hair I’ve ever seen.’
Manning told her, raising one eyebrow to show that he appreciated the unconscious irony of the compliment. But Raya replied:
‘Tell Gordon I have Finnish blood.’
‘What’s this about Finnish blood?’ said Manning. ‘I thought it was bleach?’
Raya frowned.
‘You think my hair’s bleached?’
‘That’s what you told me.’
‘Look at it with your own eyes! Do you seriously believe that’s not natural blonde hair?’
‘What’s the argument,’ demanded Proctor-Gould.
‘Oh, nothing,’ said Manning.
‘Tell him,’ said Raya.
‘She says her hair’s fair because she has Finnish blood. But she told me the other day that it was because she bleached it.’
‘Ask Gordon what he thinks,’ insisted Raya. She pulled a handful of hair forward for him to feel. He rubbed it between finger and thumb, smiling foolishly, and touched it against his lips.
‘Of course it’s natural,’ he said. ‘It’s the most beautiful honey blonde hair I’ve ever seen. I expect she was teasing you the other day, Paul. She’s a terrible tease, you know.’
‘What did he say?’ demanded Raya, when Manning hesitated.
‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’
‘Translate it, all the same,’ she ordered. He did so.
‘Gordon is a good judge of women,’ she said. ‘He knows how to appreciate them, and how to deal with them. Tell him so.’
‘She says you know how to suck up to people,’ Manning told Proctor-Gould sourly. He felt irritated at being teased in front of Proctor-Gould. No doubt Raya was intelligent enough to see that Proctor-Gould was one of those men who were attracted to a woman only when she was already attached to someone else. No doubt she was making use of him merely as a fulcrum against which to lever Manning. All the same … All the same, the world no longer seemed quite as simple as it had on that day in the forest, when he had lain beside the lake with Raya in the still sunshine. The thought was a sad one.
‘Tell Raya,’ said Proctor-Gould, ‘that I should like her to consider coming to England as one of my clients.’
Manning stared at him.
‘This is rather sudden, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Are you sure it’s a serious proposition?’
Proctor-Gould shook his head reproachfully.
‘Paul,’ he said, ‘you’re supposed to interpret what I say, you know, not argue about it.’
‘I’m not on duty now, Gordon.’
‘I thought you were, Paul.’
‘Surely this is a social occasion, not a business one.’
‘In my profession all occasions are business ones. In any case, I’m paying you, Paul.’
‘Don’t be silly, Gordon.’
‘I paid you for the evening we went to the opera.’
‘Will you please tell me what’s going on?’ Raya asked Manning.
‘Anyway, Gordon,’ said Manning, ‘I think you’d have to admit that this case is a little different.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, frankly, this seems to be more like a personal interest than a professional one.’
‘Paul, you don’t own Raya, you know.’
‘Translation!’ cried Raya.
‘I think,’ said Manning, ‘it’s reasonable for me to ask on her behalf exactly what you have in mind.’
‘Anyway, you put it to her.’
‘I mean, she’s very different to the other clients you’ve lined up, isn’t she?’
‘Translation!’ shouted Raya, banging her hand on the table, so that other people in the restaurant looked round and stared at them.
‘They’re all different, Paul.’
‘But she’s a young girl.’
‘You make it sound as if she were under the age of consent.’
‘Well, she’s a personal friend. I’m not sure that I like the idea of her parading herself about in front of the public.’
‘Translation!’
Reluctantly, Manning told her what Proctor-Gould was proposing. She accepted at once with a brief nod – so brief that the other two did not immediately take it in.