Vasya rolled his eyes, as if his father’s naivete knew no bounds. ‘That’s not the name on the licence, Dad.’
By the time Sheremetev understood what his son meant, the guard inside the booth had put down the phone. The security gate opened a few seconds later.
Vasya restarted the engine and they headed up the drive.
16
WITHOUT UTTERING A WORD, the security guard in the hall ran a metal detector over them and checked the briefcases that Belkin and Rostkhenkovskaya carried. Lyosha stood beside him, watchful and silent. When the guard was finished, Lyosha gestured for them to come through.
Upstairs, Sheremetev left Vasya, Belkin and Rostkhenkovskaya in an empty room while he went to get rid of Vera. Vladimir was in his sitting room, mumbling aggressively.
‘How has he been?’ asked Sheremetev.
Vera rolled her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sheremetev. He would need Vera again the next day so that he could take Oleg the money that he was going to get from Belkin. ‘Listen, Verochka, can you come again tomorrow?’
‘Kolya, I don’t think so.’
‘Please. One more day. He’s getting used to you.’
She looked unconvinced.
‘Come on, Verochka. It’s important.’
‘What are you doing every day, anyway?’
‘I just need to get away a little. I told myself, this week, I’ll take a few afternoons off.’
She looked at him knowingly. ‘Have you met someone?’
‘No.’
‘You have!’
‘I haven’t,’ he said impatiently. Vasya and the two extortionists were sitting in a room not ten metres away, and although he had told them explicitly to stay there until he came for them, he knew that if he left it too long they might decide he was trying to pull some kind of trick – and there was no knowing what they would do then.
‘Kolya, it’s six years since your wife died. It’s time you met someone. Give yourself some credit. You’re very attractive to a woman if she likes small men.’
‘Thank you, Verochka, but now’s not the time.’
‘Now is the time!’
‘Believe me,’ said Sheremetev, ‘it isn’t.’
‘Kolya, it’s too easy to keep saying that. How much longer will you wait?’ Vera shook her head, eyes filled with emotion. ‘Kolya, if you’re not careful, you’ll be an old man before you know it and your whole life will have passed. You deserve more than that.’
‘We’ll discuss it,’ he said, trying to push her out the door.
She held firm. ‘When?’
‘Not now.’
‘Kolya, don’t pretend.’
‘Pretend what?’
Vera batted her eyelids coyly. ‘You know what.’
Sheremetev felt like tearing his hair out.
She came closer.
‘Vera,’ he said, trying again to usher her out of Vladimir’s suite, ‘let’s talk about this tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? Really?’
‘When you come to look after Vladimir Vladimirovich.’
Vera sighed. ‘Oh, I’m really not sure I can come tomorrow.’
‘Vera, please! I need you tomorrow. We can talk then.’
‘But you won’t be here.’
‘When I come back. I’ll only be gone for a few hours. I’ll put Vladimir to bed, then we’ll have plenty of time.’
‘All night?’
‘If we need it.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Wait and see,’ he said, finally shoving her out the door and into the corridor.
She stopped. ‘Kolya, you devil! You’ve been playing hard to get. The things you made me say! Shall I bring something special tomorrow for when you get back?’
‘Whatever you like,’ he replied hurriedly, pulling on her arm to get her moving again.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Lingerie?’
‘Whatever!’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes! Yes!’ He stopped at the top of the stairs.
Vera ran a finger under Sheremetev’s chin. ‘Until tomorrow, Nikolasha.’ She gazed at him, and then sashayed down the stairs.
He stayed, stifling his urge to run back, knowing that she would turn at the bottom and look at him again. She did. He smiled, seeming to remember that he had heard Vera mention lingerie and only now thinking about what he had said and wondering how he would get out of it tomorrow. She walked past Lyosha, who was still there with the other security guard, and disappeared
Sheremetev turned to go back but caught a glimpse of Stepanin crossing the lobby below him. As Sheremetev watched, the chef leaned close to Lyosha and whispered something in his ear. Lyosha nodded and they walked away together.
What was Stepanin, who hardly ever emerged from the kitchen, doing in the entrance hall? And where was Lyosha going with him?
Suddenly he remembered the three interlopers. He ran back to the room where he had deposited them. ‘Wait!’ he said breathlessly. ‘Five more minutes. Stay until I come to get you!’ Then he ran back to Vladimir’s sitting room.
Vladimir was still mumbling to himself.
‘How are you this evening, Vladimir Vladimirovich?’ asked Sheremetev, trying to slow himself down and keep his anxiety out of his voice.
Vladimir looked around at him. ‘Who are you?’
‘Sheremetev, Vladimir Vladimirovich.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m looking after you.’
Vladimir sniffed. ‘Can you smell him?’
‘No,’ said Sheremetev. ‘I think he’s gone.’
‘He’s never gone,’ growled Vladimir.
‘Vladimir Vladimirovich, I have a couple of visitors.’
‘Who is it?’ demanded Vladimir. ‘Is it Monarov? I told him to have the latest on Trikovsky on my desk this morning. Where is he? Has he got it?’
‘I don’t know, Vladimir Vladimirovich.’
‘He’s been twelve years in prison. I don’t understand why no one’s arranged an accident!’
‘It’s just three workers who need to check something in your dressing room.’
‘Who?’
‘The people who are here. They’ll only take a few minutes. Just stay here, Vladimir Vladimirovich, and they won’t disturb you.’
‘Go on, then! Why are you taking my time up with such a thing? What do I care? I’ve got more important things to attend to.’ He paused. ‘That fucking Chechen is here somewhere, I’m telling you. If you find him in the dressing room, let me know.’
‘I think he’s gone.’
‘He’s here!’
Sheremetev left. A minute later he returned with Vasya, Belkin and Rostkhenkovskaya and led them past the closed door of the sitting room into Vladimir’s bedroom.
‘Where is he?’ whispered Belkin.
‘In another room. Come through. The watches are here.’
Sheremetev took them into the dressing room. He turned on the light and gestured to the wooden cabinet.
Belkin opened the doors. He hesitated, as if heightening the moment of climax, and then slid out the top tray.
At the sight of the fifteen watches nestled in their velvet-lined clefts, he and Rostkhenkovskaya exchanged an awed glance.
‘A Vacheron Tour de l’Ile,’ whispered Belkin, pointing.
Rostkhenkovskaya nodded. ‘And another one! There. Look.’
For an instant longer, they stared as if the objects of their lust had momentarily paralysed them. Then Belkin opened his briefcase and his thick, sausage-like fingers reached for the watches. In four quick handfuls, he had cleared the tray.
He opened the second tray and grabbed another clutch of watches as Rostkhenkovskaya did the same. They emptied the third tray, and the fourth. They weren’t even looking at the pieces now, just scooping the watches up and dropping them in by the handful. Their greed oozed out of them like an oily sheen.