“Korolev,” Valentina said, and it sounded as if she was checking that he was still there. She had a point, his mind had wandered.
“Valentina Nikolayevna.”
She smiled at him.
“Isn’t it time for Valentina?”
“Valentina.” He tried it out and it sounded comfortable to him. “Yes, I think you’re right.”
There was another pause in the conversation but Korolev knew he didn’t have to say anything-Valentina’s calm smile told him as much. And the truth was, he was tired-it had been a long time since he’d had sole charge of his son for an entire day. Even when he’d visited him earlier in the year, Zhenia had been around-which reminded him he must call her. She’d enjoy how Yuri’s elbow had dug into Korolev’s side during a talk at the planetarium-outraged that his father had snorted at the speaker’s suggestion that men would be walking on the moon within twenty years.
But, then again, maybe Yuri was right-maybe they would be growing wheat beside the Sea of Tranquility by the time Korolev was drawing his pension. Maybe it was possible after all.
Korolev found his glass had made its way to his mouth. He looked over and was concerned to find that Valentina was frowning.
“Is there something the matter?”
“Yuri,” she began, and she seemed to be thinking how to approach what she wanted to say. Korolev, his feeling of contentment slipping away as her frown deepened, wondered what the boy had done.
Valentina toyed with her glass, swirling the wine, before she continued.
“He was upset yesterday-it seems his mother has some troubles at the moment.”
“Troubles?” Korolev asked.
“He wasn’t clear about them, I’m not sure he knows all of it. But it seems their apartment was searched last week.”
“Searched?” Korolev said, and everything slotted into place-Yuri’s last-minute visit to Moscow, his strange behavior since he’d arrived-even the fact he hadn’t been able to get hold of Zhenia when he’d called her the night before. He found he’d stood up, his hand to his head as he tried to work out what to do. But, of course, there was nothing he could do. Not for the first time in the last few days he found that he was powerless.
“I’d no idea, Valentina. None at all.”
“I know that,” she reassured him. “I know you would have said if you’d known.”
“Perhaps it’s nothing-a boy’s imagination.” His words sounded optimistic, even to himself.
“And if it isn’t? What will you do about Yuri if something happens to her?”
“Yuri?” Korolev asked, and slowly but surely it became clear to him that Zhenia’s troubles could have ramifications.
“He can stay here, of course.” She spoke firmly, as if there was no question in the matter. “We can manage between us. The four of us.”
“I…” Korolev began to put his thoughts in some kind of order but it seemed Valentina had done enough thinking for both of them. She stood and faced him, putting a hand against his chest.
“Of course,” she said, “we’ll pray his mother will come through this safely-but you should know that Yuri can come and live here and that we’ll manage. Together.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They left for Babel’s dacha first thing, before Yuri was even properly awake. Babel was in the south for a month and had told Korolev to use it in his absence, and now Korolev intended to. He needed to spend some time with his son and he couldn’t think of a better place than his good friend’s summer house. And he also needed some time to think. He was still struggling to come to grips with Valentina’s news about Zhenia. And his worry wasn’t helped by the fact that, yet again, he hadn’t been able to get through to her the night before.
Korolev had to use his bulk to make a space on the tram for Yuri and their suitcase. Even though it was still early in the morning, the city was full of citizens making their way to work. But the boy didn’t seem to mind that they were jammed in so close-all he was interested in was the view outside and discovering which building this might be and whose statue that was. It seemed he didn’t remember Moscow at all from when he’d lived here-although, he supposed, it was three or four years ago now.
“Where are we now?”
“Dzerzhinsky Square.”
“And that building?”
Yuri pointed to the Lubyanka, the headquarters of State Security and Korolev felt his mind go blank for a moment, then he pointed at the corner the tram was just about to turn.
“And this takes us down toward Teatralnaya Square, where the Bolshoi is. And the Metropol as well-now that’s a place. Luxury like you could hardly imagine.”
Yuri looked up at him, a question in his eyes, and Korolev returned his gaze with what he hoped was a completely neutral expression-so neutral it might even work as a warning. It did.
“The Metropol?” Yuri asked. “What’s that?”
Korolev could see him looking back at the Lubyanka, his curiosity no doubt peaked. Perhaps he’d tell him about the place when they were safely out in Peredelkino where they wouldn’t be overheard by a tram full of who knew who.
“It’s the big hotel, on the left. You should see inside it-they’ve a pool with beautiful girls swimming in it, a bar with white-jacketed waiters, and a band that plays music all day long. And past it, on the other side of the square, is the Hotel Moskva. They say it’s even grander still.”
“A pool full of beautiful girls?” Yuri wrinkled his nose in amused disbelief.
“I didn’t believe it either but I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Korolev said, and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Anyway, you’re too young for that sort of thing.”
“Better than being too old,” Yuri responded and Korolev felt obliged to give his ear a gentle clip.
* * *
They carried on like that all the way to Kievsky Station-sparring. They were getting to know each other. There had been awkward moments the day before-when Yuri had treated him almost as if he were a stranger-but they’d got past them and Korolev was relieved. After all, if something happened to Zhenia, Yuri would have to come to Moscow-and if they were to live together, they’d better find a way of getting on. And that thought, mixed with his nagging concern for Zhenia, stayed with him throughout the train journey.
It took forty minutes or so to get out to Peredelkino and Korolev was surprised, as always, by how soon Moscow turned into countryside and the contrast between Peredelkino and the bustle and hustle they’d left behind. When they descended from the train, they took their time as they walked slowly along the platform toward the waiting ticket collector, looking around at the forest that surrounded them.
“Is it far,” Yuri asked, “this dacha?”
“Not too far.”
The station building was tiny, a white cube with a tiled roof, painted green. Each carriage of the departing train was reflected in its single window as it pulled away. The ticket collector, a young woman who didn’t look much older than Yuri, sat on a stool beside the arched entrance. When the last of the train disappeared, it left silence behind it.
At first Korolev thought they’d been the only passengers to descend but, as he reached for their tickets, he caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision of two men strolling behind them. He hadn’t heard any other doors opening and shutting when they’d got off the train but then he hadn’t been listening. There was something about these men though-something in the way they held themselves-that drew Korolev’s attention now. He made a show of emptying his pockets for the train tickets and used the opportunity to allow his gaze to wander back toward the strollers.
The two men were young-late twenties would be his guess. The taller of the two had tousled brown hair, a dark complexion, and a fighter’s fist-flattened face-he looked like he could handle himself. The other was softer looking, with a round chin and a physique to match, but when he saw Korolev looking he didn’t avoid his gaze. Instead he seemed amused by it.