But all of that depended on how much you thought the seller knew.
‘Five thousand dollars,’ she announced.
‘Five thousand?’ murmured Sheremetev.
‘You have a second-hand, platinum and gold Daytona with some very small baguette-cut diamonds of average quality, Nikolai Ilyich. On the market, at the very best, unless you can prove to me that, I don’t know, President Lebedev wore it when he was sworn in, that’s worth ten thousand dollars. I give you half of that, so that’s five thousand.’
Rostkhenkovskaya waited to see how Sheremetev would react. He gazed glumly at the watch.
‘What, Nikolai Ilyich?’
In his dreams, Sheremetev had fantasised that the watch might bring him many multiples of that sum, as Dr Rospov had intimated that the one he had seen on Vladimir’s wrist might have done. In his more realistic moments, he had told himself that maybe he would get ten thousand, the price of Pasha’s freedom if the prosecutor saw sense. But five thousand… What good was that going to do? Was it worth selling?
‘Look,’ said Rostkhenkovskaya, ‘I’m giving you a fair offer. If we’re lucky someone will end up buying this for ten thousand, as I said. But they might not – the price might be lower. I give you five, but I don’t keep the other five. I take it to someone else who’s going to sell it. I keep maybe a few hundred for myself.’
‘I understand.’ Sheremetev sighed. ‘My nephew’s in jail. I’m trying to get him out. If only I could have ten…’
‘Nikolai Ilyich, really, what would that leave for me?’
‘I understand.’ Sheremetev hesitated, then began to wrap the watch in the handkerchief.
‘Nikolai Ilyich, stop. Listen. I want to help, okay? Let’s see what we can do. Your nephew’s in jail. It’s a terrible thing, and everyone in Russia is corrupt.’ Rostkhenkovskaya paused and shook her head as if in disbelief at her own weakness, as she had watched her father do since she was old enough to remember. ‘Seven and a half. Would it help if I made it seven and half thousand?’
Sheremetev frowned, then gave a shrug and nodded. Rostkhenkovskaya smiled.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘You’re a hard negotiator, Nikolai Ilyich. Seven and a half thousand! I’m not going to make a ruble… but, who cares, if it helps your nephew get out of jail? Not everything’s about money, is it?’
‘It’s a start,’ said Sheremetev.
‘Good. A start. So do we have deal?’
‘I feel bad, if you’re not going to make a ruble.’
‘It’s okay, please! Do we have a deal?’
Sheremetev thought for a moment. ‘Okay.’
‘I’ll go and get the money.’
‘Now?’
Rostkhenkovskaya turned on her heel. ‘Yes. Now.’
She vanished into the back of the shop. An older woman appeared in the doorway while she was gone and stood, watching. Sheremetev smiled at her. She gazed blankly back at him.
Rostkhenkovskaya came back and the other woman disappeared.
The young woman examined the watch again to make sure, unlikely as it seemed, that this apparently guileless customer hadn’t pulled a switch under the eyes of her mother. Then she counted out seven hundred thousand rubles in five thousand ruble notes.
‘It’s actually seven thousand five hundred and forty dollars,’ she said as she handed them over. ‘I rounded up.’
‘I’ll give you change!’
‘No, Nikolai Ilyich. Let’s not quibble.’
Sheremetev thanked her again. ‘It’s quite a lot, isn’t it?’ he said anxiously, gripping the wad.
‘Put it in a couple of pockets,’ advised Rostkhenkovskaya.
As she watched, Sheremetev proceeded to do so, just like a schoolboy following the advice of his teacher, dividing the money between the two inside pockets of his jacket.
‘Do you want a receipt?’
He shook his head.
‘Listen… I’m sorry I couldn’t give you all the money you need. If you need more… Nikolai Ilyich, you said your uncle had a lot of watches. He didn’t… you know, give you any more, did he?’
Sheremetev coughed. ‘There might be a couple more.’
‘Really? I don’t suppose you know what names they might have. This one’s a Rolex. Do you know what the others are called? Are they all Rolex?’
Sheremetev tried to recall the name of the watch the doctor had seen on Vladimir’s wrist. ‘There’s Hablet or Hoblet…’
‘Hublot?’
‘That’s it.’ Sheremetev had seen other names on Vladimir’s watches over the years. ‘Patek something.’
‘Patek Philippe?’
‘That’s right. And Vach… Vach…’
‘Vacheron?’ said Rostkhenkovskaya, digging deep into her resources of self control to conceal her excitement.
‘Vacheron, that’s it. Are they worth anything, those things?’
Rostkhenkovskaya took a deep breath, recovering her composure. She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Well, it depends. Maybe it would be worth me taking a look. Shall I come to your house?’
‘No,’ said Sheremetev quickly.
‘But you know it’s quite risky carrying watches like that – I mean, not that they’re worth that much – but still, it is taking a chance. I could come and—
‘No.’
‘Okay. Look, Nikolai Ilyich, if you need more money to get your nephew out of jail, why don’t you bring me a couple more and I could see if they’re worth anything? The others, though. Not more Rolexes.’
‘Aren’t the Rolexes good?’
‘Of course. They’re fine. But let’s look at some of the others next time. A Vacheron, a Patek Philippe, a Hublot. Others as well, if you have any. Bring as many as you like. What do you think? Shall we do that?’
Sheremetev frowned. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Do you want to give me your phone number?’
He shook his head.
Rostkhenkovskaya held out a card. ‘Here’s mine.’
Sheremetev slipped the card in a pocket. ‘Goodbye, Anna Mikhailovna.’
‘Goodbye, Nikolai Ilyich. Come back with the other watches.’ She gave him a coquettish smile. ‘I’ll be waiting.’
Rostkhenkovskaya pressed a button to unlock the door and watched the unlikely little man step outside.
Sheremetev walked quickly back to the Arbatskaya metro, conscious of the bundles of notes in his pockets as if they were a pair of dead weights pulling him down.
WHEN HE GOT BACK to the dacha, Sheremetev crept guiltily into the house, feeling that the security guard in the entrance hall, the house attendant he passed on the stairs, must surely be able to sense that he was up to something. Vera, who had come to cover for him at short notice, was upstairs with Vladimir. He got rid of her as quickly as he could, then retrieved the cash from his jacket pockets and hid it under his mattress.
Sheremetev wasn’t much of a drinker, but right now he craved the fire of a vodka in his throat. Vladimir was in his sitting room. He had had his dinner and was waiting to be put to bed. He could wait a few minutes more.
Sheremetev headed downstairs. Seven or eight of the security guards were in there, slouching around with the remains of their dinner in front of them. After what Stepanin had told him about Artur, he looked at them differently now. They were probably getting ready to go out for their night’s thuggery. He went to the sideboard, poured himself a vodka and threw it down in one gulp. The security boys at the table watched him, grinning.
‘How’s the face, Nikolai Ilyich?’ one of them called out. ‘Been in any more fights?’
Sheremetev scowled, and they laughed.
When he went back upstairs, Vladimir was sniffing the air and muttering darkly about the Chechen. Sometimes Sheremetev thought that if he could understand who the Chechen was, he would understand Vladimir Vladimirovich, unlock the secret of the man. But Vladimir never said anything about him, just called whoever he thought he was seeing the Chechen and hurled abuse at him.