Anna Rostkhenkovskaya had grown up on that story. ‘It was the chance of a lifetime,’ Mikhail Rostkhenkovsky would tell her in later years, reminiscing about the wild days when he would load a lorry and hawk it around Moscow. ‘It was madness, the things that were happening. Those of us who jumped in were set up for life. Those who didn’t are starving to death on their pensions. Such a chance, if it comes at all, will only come once in a lifetime, Anushka. If it does, seize it, my daughter. Seize it! Do whatever you have to – don’t think twice!’
If the father was an opportunist, the daughter was something altogether more determined. Mikhail Rostkhenkovsky had been satisfied with the shop that became dustier and less fashionable by the year, but for Anna, that would never be enough. Her pixieish looks and the smile she could put on belied the depth of her resolve. She had greater ambitions – and no illusions. In Russia, you fought your way up to the top, or you stayed with everyone else at the bottom.
Her father had had his once in a lifetime chance, and had taken it. She had often wondered in what shape hers would present itself. And now she knew – in the shape of a little man who had stepped in off the street like a Rumpelstiltskin in a fairy tale. Whatever else this man who called himself Nikolai Ilyich had – and there was more, she knew it – she was going to get it. The Patek Philippe wasn’t enough.
Anna picked up her phone. A conversation of about twenty minutes ensued, beginning on the subject of the Patek Philippe but moving quickly on to the question of the other watches hanging in the Aladdin’s cave of Rostkhenkovskaya’s imagination and how she could be sure of getting them.
Anna’s mother stared across the room, her eyes empty. Nothing suggested that she had registered a thing her daughter was saying.
‘We’ll need some muscle in case things turn nasty,’ said the man on the phone. ‘There’s someone I use whenever I need some help.’
‘I know,’ said Rostkhenkovskaya. ‘I’ve used him too.’
‘Do you want me to ring him?’
‘I’ll do it.’
Anna ended the call. She glanced at her mother, who was still gazing listlessly into space.
She rang a second number.
‘Vasya?’ she said. ‘It’s Anna Rostkhenkovskaya.’
WHEN HE GOT BACK to the dacha, Sheremetev paused outside and called Oleg to tell him the good news.
‘You’re going to get three hundred thousand dollars for one watch?’ his brother said in disbelief.
‘For one watch!’ replied Sheremetev.
‘You know, I looked online to see what some watches might be worth, but I didn’t see anything like that!’
‘I’m going back tomorrow to get the money.’
‘I’m amazed!’
‘So am I,’ said Sheremetev, laughing.
‘Kolya,’ said Oleg, his voice suddenly changing. ‘I spoke to Pasha yesterday. He said, if he gets out, he’s going to leave Russia.’
‘Leave? Why does he want to leave?’
‘He says he can’t be silent, and if he can’t be silent, he’ll never be safe here.’
Sheremetev dropped his head and heaved a sigh. Then he looked around the moonlit grounds. The dacha stood in the middle, all but one of the windows in its upper storey darkened.
‘Where will he go?’ asked Sheremetev eventually.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What will he do?’
‘Who knows?’
‘What does Nina say?’
‘What can she say? He’s not a child. If he wants to go, he’ll go. And who’s to say he’s wrong? What if they pick him up again, Kolya? Could you get him out again next time? Do you have another watch you can sell?’
Sheremetev didn’t reply.
‘Anyway, this is great news, Kolya! One watch! Who could believe it? I don’t know how I can thank you.’
‘You don’t need to thank me. If I had a hundred watches, I’d sell them all.’
‘I can’t tell you what this means.’
‘Olik… please…’
‘You know, the things Ninochka said…’
‘Forget it. I understand. When all of this is done, none of that will matter.’
Sheremetev went inside. Upstairs, he dropped his jacket, still containing the money and the watch, on the bed in his room. Then he went to tell Vera that she could go home. Vladimir had eaten his dinner indifferently, she reported, alternating between talking to her as if she was his mother and asking her who she was. Sheremetev told her that he needed her again tomorrow.
Vera looked at him doubtfully. ‘He’s not an easy man to look after, Kolya.’
‘I know.’
‘He misses you when you’re away.’
‘He doesn’t show it.’
‘He does. When he sees that you’re back, he’s different. When you’re gone, he’s never fully at ease. I can see it. He knows something’s wrong.’
Sheremetev said nothing to that.
‘I can tell, Kolya.’
‘Listen, Verochka, please, can you come again tomorrow?’
She looked at him for a moment, then smiled. ‘Kolya, how can I resist when I see that look on your face? But tell me, where are you going? All these trysts… Who is she?’
‘No one,’ said Sheremetev.
‘So there is a she!’
‘No, there isn’t. Please. It’s family business.’
‘Oh! Family business!’
‘Will you come tomorrow?’
‘Do you really need me?’
Sheremetev nodded.
‘Life and death?’
‘Just about.’
‘So you’re saying you can’t live without me, Kolya?’
They gazed at each other. Sheremetev shook his head. ‘Vera…’
She laughed, but with a hint of longing in her eyes. ‘Okay. I’ll come.’
‘Thank you, Verochka. It’s important. Thank you.’
When Vera had left, Sheremetev looked in on Vladimir. He was in front of the television in his sitting room, murmuring to himself.
‘Vladimir Vladimirovich?’ Sheremetev waited. ‘Vladimir Vladimirovich!’
The old man’s head turned.
‘Have you eaten enough? Are you hungry?’
‘Is it lunch time?’
‘No, you’ve just had dinner. Do you want something more?’
‘Do you?’
‘How about a sandwich? Or pirozhki, if the cook has any?’
Vladimir shook his head.
‘I’ll get you a sandwich,’ said Sheremetev, knowing that if Vladimir woke up hungry in the night he’d think it was time for breakfast, and there would be no getting him back to sleep.
Sheremetev called down to the kitchen and spoke to one of Stepanin’s assistants, who said he would have something brought up. In the meantime, he went back to his room. He took the money out of the jacket and hid it under his mattress, alongside the wads he had brought back two days previously. He put the Patek Philippe in the drawer of the little table that stood beside his bed, not having any safer place to hide it. After a few minutes he thought better of that and went to Vladimir’s dressing room, where he opened the cabinet and slipped the watch back into its niche. He was struck again by the astonishing, almost unimaginable wealth in that cabinet alone. How did Vladimir get the watches? he wondered. If he bought them, that showed how much money he must have stolen from the people. And if he had been given them, well, why would anyone give such things if not in return for illicit favours that he had granted?
He went back to the sitting room. Vladimir ignored him. Sheremetev gazed at the old man. In the last few days, Sheremetev had found his feelings for the ex-president veering from compassion to revulsion, often in seconds.
‘How did you get the watches, Vladimir Vladimirovich?’ he demanded suddenly.