Nina dialed Sinitsin.
“Gennadiy Viktorovich, this is Shuvalova. I have an urgent need to speak to Pavel Mikhailovich. It’s about the project. Help me, please, it’s very important.”
Sinitsin seemed to have been expecting her call.
“It’s good that you called, Nina Yevgenievna. Please come to the bank.”
“Can you arrange for me to see Pavel Mikhailovich?”
“Come to the bank. I’ll be here to meet you.”
And he did meet her. When Nina arrived at the bank and got up to the directorate floor, Sinitsin was waiting for her in the hall.
“Good morning, Nina Yevgenievna. Please go to your room and wait. You’ll be summoned.”
The delay was welcome; Nina needed some time on the bank computer to type her proposals which did not exist yet except in her head.
Nothing had changed in the room during her absence – only a thin film of dust had accumulated on the desk top and computer keyboard.
Nina brushed off the dust and turned on the computer. She hoped to have time to print out both plans – the bad one and the good one – so that Samsonov had a complete picture to base his decision on.
Each of the two plans was only a couple of pages of text. To avoid losing or mixing up the files, Nina saved them into a separate catalogue titled, ‘Project Variants in View of Crisis’ and attached the note, ‘Plan B – catastrophic; Plan C – optimal’.
She had barely completed both files and was about to print them out when Sinitsin called.
“Nina Yevgenievna, I’m expecting you in my office.”
“Gennadiy Viktorovich, please, can I have another five minutes? I need to print out something…”
“No, please come now.”
Sinitsin’s tone struck Nina as odd – it was nothing like its usual civil self.
Nina opened the door to the security chief’s office.
“Gennadiy Viktorovich, I need urgently to prepare some papers for Pavel Mikhailovich. It’s a moment’s work…”
“Sit down, Nina Yevgenievna.”
Sinitsin pointed at a chair that stood in front of his desk.
Puzzled, Nina obeyed.
“Nina Yevgenievna, I’m going to ask you some questions, and I expect very accurate answers from you.”
“But, Gennadiy Viktorovich …”
The man hushed her with a gesture. He was really changed – behaved in a dry, official manner, like Nina’s superior, which he actually was.
“Tell me – what was the last time you saw Klara Fedorovna Pavlenko?”
“Klara Fedorovna? …” Nina wondered. “What does she have to…”
Sinitsin waited.
“About three weeks ago, I guess.”
“How did it happen?”
“We had lunch together in the cafeteria.”
“What did you talk about?”
Nina could not bear it any longer. “Gennadiy Viktorovich, please – what’s all this about?”
Sinitsin gave her an intent look which was totally devoid of sympathy.
“Answer the question.”
Dumbfounded, Nina uttered, “Well, I don’t really remember… It was just before the board meeting, so we talked about that.”
“What exactly did Klara Fedorovna tell you?”
“I don’t remember. Honestly, I don’t.”
Still, Sinitsin made Nina remember word for word everything that the director’s assistant said on that day. Then he started questioning Nina about the other occasions when the two women had seen each other and had any talk. He dug for every detail.
The security chief asked whether Nina and Klara Fedorovna had had any contacts outside work, and whether Nina knew the woman’s family or friends.
“She only has a son, Stas, and she doesn’t seem to have any friends. Not that I know of, anyway. I’ve never seen Klara Fedorovna except here, in the bank…”
Sinitsin clearly was not about to finish his interrogation, but his phone rang. The voice in the receiver was loud – Nina recognized Samsonov. The director called Sinitsin to his office.
“Coming,” Sinitsin said into the phone and told Nina: “You go to your room and wait.”
He ushered her out of his office, locked it and hurried to the director’s.
Nina was confused. She realized that something had happened on the directorate floor, but what did it have to do with her? She only wanted to give Pavel Mikhailovich her new proposals – explain the essence of the matter to him in just a few words. Sinitsin did not seem to be going to help her with that.
The main thing though was that Samsonov was in the bank rather than travelling around somewhere. After some hesitation, Nina approached the director’s reception.
As she opened the door, she saw an unfamiliar woman in Klara Fedorovna’s place. The woman was typing on the computer. In that, she was no match for Klara Fedorovna. Marina was not there.
“Can I help you?”
Nina made up her mind.
“I need a word with Pavel Mikhailovich,” she said in a businesslike tone and strode towards the door to the director’s office from behind which Samsonov’s voice was coming.
The new secretary darted to intercept her but did not make it. Nina pulled the door open.
In the middle of the director’s office, Klara Fedorovna was sitting in a chair. Nina was struck by her appearance: elaborately neat ever before, the woman was now disheveled and rumpled, with her makeup smeared and eyes swollen.
Bending over her, with his back to Nina, was Samsonov.
“Klara, you damned idiot, how could you?” he shouted.
Despite the abusive words, there was anguish in his voice.
Nina was noticed by Sinitsin who was standing beside the director. The man waved his arm at her furiously: “Go away!” But Nina, struck by what she saw, was unable to move, as if rooted to the ground. The new secretary who had run up in order to drive Nina away stood still, too.
“Tell me, you brainless hen, why didn’t you tell me anything?” shouted Samsonov.
Klara Fedorovna mumbled something.
“What? Speak up!”
“I… I was ashamed…”
“You were ashamed, eh? And what about now? Aren’t you ashamed now?”
Klara Fedorovna issued a croaking sound and mumbled something unintelligible again.
“What? I can’t hear you!”
“C-can you open the window, please? I can’t breathe…”
Pavel Mikhailovich strode to the window and snatched it wide open.
When he turned round, Klara Fedorovna was beside him. Within a second, she had jumped up from her chair, darted to the window and climbed onto the window sill.
Samsonov did not have a good reaction, but he managed to grab the woman by the arm as she was stepping outside, into the void. He caught her other arm and pulled her in. The director and his assistant tumbled down on the floor together.
Klara Fedorovna was writhing in convulsions, issuing savage sounds. Her eyes were rolling madly, and foam showed on her mouth.
Samsonov was sitting on the floor beside her. He lifted the head of the insane woman and nestled it on his knee. With his wide palm, he stroked her hair.
“Ah, Klara, Klara… How can you be such a fool?”
Only now Samsonov noticed Nina.
“Nina, what are you doing here?”
“I… I need to discuss something with you.”
Samsonov’s face was distorted with anguish. He waved her away: “Not now! You see what’s going on here…”
Sinitsin stepped up to Nina, took her by the elbow and led her out of the office.
“Sinitsin! Ambulance, now!” Samsonov cried after him. Then, after a second, his voice came again: “Don’t call ambulance. I’ll take her to the hospital myself.”
Having dragged Nina out of the reception, Sinitsin said to her, “Nina Yevgenievna, I hope you understand —whatever you may have seen here must be buried. Not a word to anyone.”
“I understand,” Nina mumbled although she was totally dumbfounded and unable to comprehend the scene that she had witnessed. She realized only that something terrible had happened.