Nina was delighted, though she tried hard not to show her glee. Her love was not an insensitive stone statue; there was a kind heart beating behind his armor – or, at least, there had been one twenty years ago.
“And your… I mean, the other co-owner – was he…?”
“You mean – was it Pasha who killed him?” guessed Klara. “No, someone else did.”
Nina avoided asking Klara any questions about Samsonov, but little by little, the woman herself told her a lot.
Nina had heard earlier that Pavel Mikhailovich was divorced but now she learned some details. Samsonov had lived with his wife for ten years and had divorced her some five years ago. His ex-wife lived in France, and his son was in a boarding school in Switzerland.
“Did you know his wife?” Nina asked Klara Fedorovna.
“You bet I did! She would phone in every day to check on her husband. Also, she liked to pay a surprise visit to the bank, and then Pavel Mikhailovich had to put aside all his work and listen to her babbling about some crazy new clothes she had bought with his money.”
“What kind of woman was she?” asked Nina.
“Bitch,” Klara said with fervor, in a low voice. “And a beautiful one, like our Marina… Hey, what’s wrong with me?” she checked herself. “Marina is not like that, mind you.”
“Why did you dislike that ex-wife of his so much?” asked Nina.
“What was there to like?” Klara replied in a hot whisper. “A total bitch, she was. Constantly spying on him and making him scenes while cheating on him herself all the time.”
“How did you know that?”
“Everybody knew. Pavel Mikhailovich alone was in the dark. Rumor had it that even their son was not really his.” These last words the woman whispered in Nina’s ear.
According to Klara Fedorovna, his bitch of a wife had tricked Pavel Mikhailovich somehow into re-registering all his property to her name and then had divorced him leaving him stripped bare. Now she was leading a life of leisure in Paris, and out of pure spite, she prevented Pavel Mikhailovich from seeing their son.
A hot wave of love and compassion spread in Nina’s breast. Poor, poor, dear man…
“You see, Ninochka, Pavel Mikhailovich has been bitterly deceived in his life.” remarked Klara Fedorovna. “No wonder he doesn’t trust anybody now.”
“And Marina?” The question escaped Nina who had long had a burning desire to find out about the other woman in the director’s inner circle.
“Well, with Marina it’s another matter,” replied Klara Fedorovna.
What that other matter was, Klara Fedorovna would not explain – she was clearly unwilling to gossip about her co-worker in the director’s reception. But her desire to chat finally prevailed, and little by little, Nina learned from her what she had longed to.
Like Pavel Mikhailovich, Marina had come from Krasnoyarsk, but they only met in the capital. That year, Marina had won the title of ‘Miss Krasnoyarsk Region’ and had arrived in the capital, along with dozens of other beauties, to vie for the title of ‘Miss Russia’. She was a natural beauty queen, but natural gifts weighed little in the contest. Marina was not prepared for the cut-throat struggle in the jungle of the city show business which was all about corruption, meanness, and cynicism. Things had been simpler back in Siberia.
Pavel Mikhailovich met Marina when she was in a desperate plight. Gulled by some shady characters that were hustling around in the contest backstage, she found herself owing them a lot of money. She had no money, not even a return ticket to Krasnoyarsk. Her only asset was her Miss Krasnoyarsk diadem with pieces of glass for diamonds. As a way to pay off her debt, she was made insistent offers of roles in porno films. Pavel Mikhailovich stood up for the beautiful townsgirl. The shady characters fell off, but Marina got kicked out of the contest on which she had pinned all her hopes.
Pavel Mikhailovich offered to buy her a flight to Krasnoyarsk, but Marina rejected the idea of going back home. “How could I show my face there now? I would die of shame. It was all over the local papers that I was about to become Miss Universe. And now here I am, returning like a beaten dog. Long time, no see… No, I’d rather starve here.”
Marina did not have to starve; Pavel Mikhailovich supported her, though he warned her that it was a temporary arrangement. Marina honestly tried to find a job as a model in the fashion industry, but she was not wanted there. For models, the fashion houses employed scraggy lampposts about six feet tall, while Marina had ideal height and proportions. Also, there was the advertising industry. Marina made attempts to appear in advertisements for perfume and lingerie, but it did not work either. It was always the same story: some dirty types – photographers or editors – suggested solving her problem through bed, and she would not have it. She was not a puritan, but according to her provincial notions, it was immoral to have more than one lover at a time. And one lover she had; it was Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov.
Their intimacy started on Marina’s initiative. At the time, Pavel Mikhailovich was licking his wounds after his divorce and regarded women in general with deep mistrust. The effect was that he was changing women constantly, avoiding any real connection. He did not urge Marina to go to bed with him.
“Mind you, you don’t owe me anything,” he said to her.
“I’m not doing it out of sense of obligation, Pavel Mikhailovich. A girl just needs sex,” she replied while untying his tie.
“I’m not marrying,” warned Samsonov.
“Don’t you be so sure,” she laughed while unbuttoning his shirt. “Hey, relax, I’m not asking you to marry me today. I’ll wait…”
Pavel Mikhailovich who was in mortal fear of any close relationship was uneasy about their affair.
“Still, what are you going to do?” he insisted.
“I’ll take up a job in your bank,” she declared once.
“What an idea! What kind of work are you going to do? You’ve got no skills.”
“I’m not going to work. I’ll be an adornment of your bank. You are all a bunch of ugly trolls there, aren’t you? You surely can use some beauty.”
“Ugly trolls? And how about me?” Pavel Mikhailovich cried out in feigned indignation.
“You are the biggest troll of them all!”
Pavel Mikhailovich laughed heartily but was in no hurry to take Marina on as an employee. Finally, he was brought around by Sinitsin who was privy to Marina’s story.
”Pavel Mikhailovich, why don’t you take Marina Anatolievna along to the talks? She doesn’t have to do anything, let her just sit there beside you. I assure you, it can be good for business.”
Pavel Mikhailovich had not had any such plans himself, but he had a flair for good ideas and decided to give it a try.
Gradbank was in for difficult merger negotiations. Samsonov had Marina dressed in a formal business suit and brought her to the conference room as his assistant. All the other negotiators were men, and at the sight of Marina, their jaws dropped. Paradoxically, the business suit, modest make-up and stern look that Marina was wearing only brought out her exuberant femininity.
Samsonov got Marina seated beside himself and charged her with holding on her dazzling knees some papers which supposedly could be needed for the talks (and which were never needed). As he started the negotiations, he felt at once that Sinitsin had been right. Samsonov was facing big-time sharks of business which were ready to fight tooth and nail for every piece, but in Marina’s presence, their reaction slowed down noticeably, and their aggression abated giving way to vain male flaunting and bragging. The negotiations went off well for Gradbank.
Samsonov gave Marina a job. Her daily duties consisted of managing the flow of visitors, invited to or seeking an audience with the director. But the real need for her arose at the business talks where she now also acted as a translator.