The Smart Girl [Александр Капьяр] (fb2) читать онлайн

Part I

Chapter 1

Sitting behind her computer, Nina was rummaging through endless stock market spreadsheets. Gazprom had been growing steadily for two months running, hauling the whole market along like a locomotive. Another week or so of such growth, and corrections would have to be made to the short-term and medium-term predictions which underlay many of Gradbank’s projects. Still, Nina was certain that the growth of Gazprom was not going to last and corrections were not warranted. She could not put her finger on any logical reason for that certitude of hers – it was purely intuitive – but her intuition had never failed her before. The problem was that she could not put it just like that in her report – some rationalization was due. That was what Nina had been toiling at for more than a week now. The monitor of her computer was flooded with columns of figures and serrated graphs. Little by little, all of them were coming to life, telling her their separate stories, agreeing or arguing with each other. Finally, to her satisfaction, Nina did identify a few factors, seemingly insignificant in themselves but capable, when acting in a certain combination, of stopping Gazprom. It was time to write her report.

It was about eleven. Usually by that hour, Chief of the analytical department Ariadna Petrovna, a very fat and very shrewd woman, was coming back from the director’s morning briefing. As she passed Nina’s table, the woman would brush against it with her uncontrollable body, say, “Sorry, Shuvalova,” and walk on to her office. This time it was different: as she came abreast of Nina, Ariadna Petrovna stopped.

“Shuvalova, grab your stuff and move up.”

“Where?”

“Twelfth floor. Director’s office.”

Nina’s heart sank. That was it, her five-month long intrigue was over. She had been exposed.

“Shall I… Shall I clear my table?” she stammered.

“Sure.”

Ariadna Petrovna waddled on along the passage.

Nina started collecting her things. The analytical department was immersed in silence. Besides Nina, the department counted nine employees – four men and five women – all of whom were now absorbed in whatever they saw on their monitors.

All her belongings fitted into one copy paper box. Nina picked up the box and took a few steps toward the exit but then, after some hesitation, she made an about-turn and headed for the chief’s office.

Ariadna Petrovna was standing in a little built-in kitchen, busy filling a coffee-maker with water. Nina took a resolute step in and closed the door after her.

“Excuse me, Ariadna Petrovna… Tell me – am I being fired?”

The woman had trouble turning her head on her fat neck.

“That’s a real dumb question you’re asking, Shuvalova. I thought you were smarter than that. There’s no need to bother the director just to fire you – I would do it perfectly well myself… Cheer up, Shuvalova, you’re getting a promotion! You owe me a cake and a bottle of cognac.”

“But, Ariadna Petrovna…”

“Genuine French brand, mind you. Go now, don’t keep the big people waiting!”

Dumbfounded, Nina stumbled out of the department. Her nine colleagues were smiling at her, their heads raised from their work. Although the walls in Ariadna Petrovna’s office were supposed to be soundproof, important news somehow spread about immediately.

It seemed to take her an eternity to ascend from the fifth floor, where the analytical department was quartered, to the twelfth – the directorate floor. A large mirror on the wall of the elevator cabin reflected a face that seemed unfamiliar. Nina was not conventionally pretty, but her few friends had always argued that there was ‘something special’ about her. Trying to be fair to herself, Nina agreed with such a judgment. Her late mother used to say, “Ninusya, sweetheart, you’re no film star, but you are intelligent and honest. You will meet a man who appreciates that.” If only her mama could see Nina now! There was no trace of intellect on her face – it looked confused and stupid. And as for honesty… What claim for honesty could she have when for half a year already she had led a life of deception and was now going to see a man who did not suspect that she hated him and was set firmly on causing him as much damage as possible?

During her employment in Gradbank, she had only seen him a couple of times. One of the encounters took place in that same elevator. On the ground floor, as the doors were closing, the director got in accompanied by some other men. Nina found herself squeezed into a corner behind his broad back. Immediately she was attacked by his smells: of ironed shirt, healthy male body, tobacco. And – gutalin. Where, for heavens’ sake, had he unearthed it? She remembered the stink from her childhood – men had used that horrible-smelling substance on their boots when she had been a little girl – but she believed that gutalin had long gone out of sale. Nina, who had always had a keen sense of smell, was close to fainting.

Suddenly she saw his face where the back of his head had just been. With his neck twisted painfully, he spoke to her, “Hey! Why aren’t you getting out? It’s the fifth already. You are in Analytics, aren’t you? … Yeah, right. I never mix up people’s faces – I’ve got an excellent memory!”

He was smiling complacently. Nina murmured, “Thank you,” and pushed her way to the door. To do so, she had to rub her breast against his granite elbow clad in expensive suit cloth. Her ears were burning. Boor! Brute! Excellent memory, huh? Wait till I show you!

Yet she was not able to show him anything, not for a long time. And now the elevator was taking her up, to the twelfth floor, right to her enemy’s lair.

She had never before been here, at the top. Those admitted to that floor were the bank’s high caste. They shared information that was available to them only, spoke their own language, and exchanged jokes that were incomprehensible to the laymen.

In the hall, by a table with a lamp on it, sat a young man of a powerful build wearing a suit and a tie. It was a guard for the directorate floor which had its own security. Nina fumbled in her pocket for her pass but was stopped by the guard.

He motioned towards an oak door, “That way.”

Suddenly the door opened, and a man whom she knew came out. It was Sinitsin, the head of the bank’s security. She had had an interview with him as she had been screened for a job with the bank. The interview was quite formal – Sinitsin asked some trivial questions and made some pointless comments – but there was something about the man that made Nina uneasy.

Now Sinitsin beamed a smile at her as an old acquaintance. “Nina Yevgenievna? Good to see you. Looking for Pavel Mikhailovich? This way, please. Come over to have a chat with me afterwards, will you? You know where my office is, don’t you?”

He courteously held the door open for her.

Nina found herself in the reception room – a large, fine one, with a thick carpet on the floor and some good paintings on the walls. There were two tables in the room. One was occupied by a woman dressed in a formal suit. Sitting behind a computer, she was pressing the keys at an incredible pace. At the other table was a beauty.

It is a mystery why Nature creates such beautiful women. The truth is, people can do without beauty in their life – they can work, get married, and raise children. Men find enough charm in their imperfect companions and love them. Still, about one woman in a thousand is given everything – bottomless eyes, luxurious hair, ideal skin, sensuous lips, high breast… Why? Possibly, Nature’s purpose is just this – to rob men’s minds of their complacent peace and fill women’s minds with an explosive mixture of admiration and hatred. And the director’s reception room in a major bank is as good a place for such a beauty as any.

Nina said, “Hello”. The typing woman said “hello” in response without turning her head or stopping her work. The beauty gave Nina a sliding glance and rose languidly from her table. She took two steps on her breathtaking legs, opened an inner door and asked, “Pavel Mikhailovich, shall I…?” Then she invited Nina in with a nod.

Feeling an ugly duckling, Nina went in.

It was a conference room. A long table with a dozen chairs at the sides ran along the middle. At one end, the director’s table stood across, completing a capital “T”. The walls were covered with wood paneling and, as those in the reception, hung with paintings. The carpet on the floor was even thicker here. It was the bank’s headquarters, where business talks were held and important decisions were made. When Nina came in, the chairs were empty, and it seemed to her for a moment that there was no one in the room. Then she saw him. By an open window, Gradbank’s General Director Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov was standing on one leg, in a very weird pose. He was tall and big, now with his suit jacket off. A May wind from the window was playing with his tie and tousling his thinning hair. At the sight of Nina, the director smiled and stood on both legs.

“T'ai chi, an ancient Chinese practice,” he explained. “You need to strike a balance between Yin and Yang.”

“Have you struck it?” she heard her own impertinent question, hardly believing her ears.

The man burst into laughter, “No, I haven’t. Not yet. But I’ll do it.”

She forced a smile.

Putting on his jacket, he said, “You’re Shuvalova, aren’t you? Good, come along.”

From the conference room, they moved on to the next one – his personal office. After the grandeur of the other rooms, Nina expected to see something in the manner of a sultan’s chamber, but the office looked rather modest. However, the armchair that the director offered her was bottomless, lulling, of expensive leather.

“Why don’t you put that box down?” he asked. “What do you have in it, anyway? I hope it’s not a bomb.” He laughed again, but not as merrily as before. “All right, let’s get acquainted.”

The director sat at his table. The armchair Nina was sitting in was quite close, placed at an angle.

“You are Nina…”

“Yevgenievna,” she prompted. “Just ‘Nina’ is all right.”

“Good. And I am Pavel Mikhailovich. Do you mind if I smoke?”

He moved an ash-tray closer to himself, took out a cigarette and used his lighter. Nina did not smoke but even she realized that the cigarette was good and the lighter was very expensive.

It was the first time Nina could see his face properly. Everything was large about him: a high forehead with a receding hairline, a prominent nose, a large mouth with sharp creases at the sides.

“Sorry, I didn’t offer you a cigarette,” he said. “You don’t smoke? That’s wise of you. I mean to give up, too, but I haven’t been able to so far. Do you want some coffee? No? … Coca-cola? Mineral water?”

“A little water, please,” she asked, feeling suddenly that her throat was actually parched.

He picked up the phone handset and said into it, “Marina, some coffee and mineral water, please.”

It seemed to be no more than a minute before a door opened and the beautiful Marina came in carrying a small tray. She put the tray with a cup of coffee on it on the director’s table and shoved a glass of water into Nina’s hand. Nina murmured, “Thank you.”

“So,” the director said when the door was closed after Marina. “I need to discuss something with you.”

Samsonov opened a drawer and took out a plastic file. Before even he put it on the table, Nina recognized her report on Sirius. It had been her first independent assignment in the analytical department of Gradbank. Sirius was the project of building a large sports center in an outskirt residential area. About two dozen companies were involved. The general contractor had applied to Gradbank for a large loan and the terms proposed were quite attractive to the bank.

The loan was considered a decided matter, with only some routine procedures yet to be completed before its closure. Nina was tasked with polishing some financial figures in the business plan. She tackled her job zealously, eager to show her worth. Having gathered all the available information, she ploughed through it again and again, staying at work after hours. And not in vain. She discovered some inconsistencies in the project: some risks were underestimated, the inflation was not fully allowed for, and the expected profit was bloated through certain accounting tricks.

Nina consulted Ariadna Petrovna. The woman said, “Don’t you cram your little head with this. Every project is full of this kind of shit. Make a note of it in the report, though.”

Nina went on digging and gradually she became convinced that there was something very wrong with the project. As she looked for the hundredth time through the papers bearing the pretty logo of the future sports center, she was pervaded by an almost physical sensation of danger. Where that sensation came from, she never could tell.

The time came to submit her report. Nina presented neatly what was expected of her and then, as a supplement, listed the inconsistencies she had unearthed. After some hesitation, she typed the addition, “On the whole, Project Sirius raises some serious doubts which, for the lack of time, could not be either confirmed or dispelled. Under the circumstances, I cannot recommend the Project to the Bank. N. Shuvalova, Analyst.”

At the sight of that, Ariadna Petrovna gasped, “Of all the cheeky rookies! Who are you to recommend anything? … Not bad work, though. You have grip, girl. All right, leave it to me, I’ll take care of it.”

Afterwards, Nina heard that Project Sirius had been declined by the Bank. No comments were issued.

Now she saw her report lying on the director’s table.

“I want to know what reasons you had for your opinion,” Samsonov said covering the file with his broad palm.

That was an awkward question. Trying to dodge it, she mumbled away hastily, “It was too bold of me to write that, I understand. I had no business sticking my neck out with any recommendations. I am sorry for having presumed so – it was inappropriate…”

“On the contrary,” the director interrupted her. “It was most appropriate. Apart from you, there was only one person in this entire bank who was against Sirius. It was me. But I knew certain things that could not be known to you. That’s why I am asking what reasons you had for your doubts. I’ve read what you wrote here. You make some good points, but they don’t amount to much. So?”

Seeing that there was no dodging it, she confessed, “Mostly it was intuition. I wasn’t able to prove anything.”

“H-m,” he grunted. “Is it often that way with you?”

“About fifty per cent of the time.”

“And the other fifty per cent?”

“In about half the cases, I manage to find firm facts and work it all out.”

He pondered.

“Well, I guess it’s a fair proportion. It seems that you’re really a good analyst. As for me, I hardly ever can work it all out, and my intuition can fail me, too. But I know more facts.” He grinned.

“How long have you been in financial analysis?” he asked.

“Six years.”

“Graduated from the financial university, right? And where did you work after graduation? I can see that you specialized in construction.”

“Yes, I did construction loans in…” Nina named an obscure bank which could not stand comparison with the smallest of Gradbank’s branches.

“Ah, yes, Sinitsin told me.”

Nina was not at all eager to dwell on her old job. Trying to change the subject, she blurted out, “May I ask why Sirius was declined?”

The man raised his eyebrows. Gradbank’s general director, who was routinely settling business issues with big bosses, seemed to be at a loss to handle a bold young employee.

“I insisted,” he said after a pause. “You see, I just knew the man behind that project – the one who had really devised that whole Sirius racket. In the old days, we were in the university together. He got me expelled from the Young Communist League. A rare bastard. I was sure that he wasn’t to be dealt with. But that’s just sentimental talk – I needed some more solid arguments for the board. Of course, I would have my way anyway, but I admit that your report came in handy. So, thank you.”

To Nina’s surprise, she was pleased to receive acknowledgment from the man.

“By the way, if you are interested – Sirius got itself a loan elsewhere afterwards.” Samsonov named a well-known credit bank. “It all ended in a big scandal.” He smiled wryly. “The friend of my youth managed to transfer all the cash to an offshore bank and absconded. He’s still wanted. That’s the way it goes…”

The director was scrutinizing Nina openly. To make it easy for him, she rose her glass to her mouth and, with her eyes dropped, plunged her lips in the mineral water for a long while.

“All right, enough of Sirius,” said Samsonov. “I’ve got something else to discuss with you.”

The director walked to a safe in the wall, clicked his key repeatedly in the slot, opened the massive door and extracted a folder – a huge, hard, tightly fastened monster.

“That’s what’s really important,” he said, banging the folder down on the table. “What do you know about the project, Zaryadje–XXI?”

“Almost nothing,” Nina admitted honestly.

She had heard on the TV and read in the papers that plans were afoot to build a huge business center – not somewhere on the outskirts, but right in the historical heart of the city. Protectors of architectural heritage voiced their protests, but those voices were few and sounded muffled – a sure sign that the city authorities were in support of the project and kept the situation under a tight control.

“So that you understand – we’ve never before been involved in such a big project. If we make it, Gradbank will be rated among the top five investment banks in the country. And if we mess it up… Then, with luck, we’ll be selling hot dogs in the street.”

“I wasn’t even aware that Gradbank had anything to do with it,” said Nina.

“A request for tenders is going to be announced tomorrow, and we’re officially among the tenderers, so it’s no longer a secret. But, mind you, everything else about it is a secret. Top secret, and I mean it.”

“I understand,” Nina assured him. “But I don’t know anything.”

“You are going to. I want you to study the materials on Zaryadje – absolutely everything, every goddamn detail. You study it all and write your conclusion.”

Nina caught her breath. She had suspected that she was in for some kind of assignment, but that was beyond her wildest expectations. If she had been after a career in Gradbank, she would have been triumphant. What a chance! But Nina had not come to this bank to make a career, and instead of triumph, she felt cold anger – the same kind of anger that always filled her on the tennis court.

“Do you want me to find arguments in favor of the project? Or the other way?”

“Neither. I’m not going to suggest answers to you. As for me, I’m stuck in this business too deep now to see the big picture. So, your job will be to take an outsider’s look and tell me what you think. There are two questions, basically. One, whether we’ve done everything possible to win the contract. And the other, whether it’s a good idea for us to win it.”

He looked at her intently. Despite the easy, almost friendly tone that he took with her, it was obvious that he was talking of a matter that was very important to him.

“So? Are you in?”

“I am. That is, I’ll try. Thank you for giving me such credit. Only… What if I fail?”

He made a gesture of resignation.

“If you fail, I’ll send you back to Ariadna Petrovna, that’s all. She didn’t want to let you go, by the way.”

He patted on the folder. “Start with this, here’s the main stuff. Klara Fedorovna will help you with the rest. Have you made her acquaintance yet? It’s my assistant – she’s sitting here, in the reception. Now listen: you’ll be working alone, in a room close by, on this same floor. Klara will show you. You must not discuss anything with anyone besides me. You must not take any papers out. Klara and Sinitsin will fill you in on everything that concerns the computer – passwords, data bases and the like. Is that clear?”

Nina nodded.

“All right then, go ahead. Get to work,” the director said with a satisfied look on his face.

Nina tucked the heavy folder under her arm, picked up her box and moved towards the door, but after a few steps, she dropped both the folder and the box on the floor.

“Hey, no, that won’t do.” Samsonov came out from behind his table and bent down his massive torso to pick up the folder. “Let me walk you there.”

Ignoring her protests, he grabbed her box along with the folder and strode out of the office. Nina could barely keep pace with him.

In the reception, at the sight of them, the older woman jumped to her feet, came running up to Nina and held out a key. “This is to your room. I am Klara Fedorovna. Welcome.”

Marina did not say a word but, as Nina was going out the door, she felt Marina’s glare on her back. If a look had been able to kill, Nina would have been writhing in mortal agony. As it was, she was just amused. “I really feel for you, my dear,” she addressed the beautiful secretary in her mind. “Life’s not fair, is it? See? I’ve just arrived here, and the boss is carrying boxes for me already! … All right, relax, I’m not going to plot against you. I’m not planning on sticking here for much longer, anyway.”

They walked down to the end of the hallway where there was only one door. Samsonov nodded, “Open it.”

She opened the door, and they went in. The room was quite small, containing a table, a couple of chairs, a file cabinet, and a safe in the corner. On the table was a computer with a web of cables running from it into the wall. Everything was empty and tidy, but Nina noticed a thin film of dust on the table – apparently, the room had been out of use for some time.

“Here, make yourself at home,” said the director, dumping his burden onto the table. “Whatever’s up, be sure to call me – Marina will be putting you through. I’ll be coming round myself, anyway.”

He held out his hand and her narrow palm got lost in his paw – a huge, hard one, with perceptible corns of the kind that come from weight-lifting. Apparently, t'ai chi was not the only practice Samsonov was into.

“Gradbank’s fate is in your hands now.” He smiled broadly, looking her straight in the eye. “And my fate is, too.”

Again, despite his facetious tone, Nina felt that he was not really in a joking mood.

The director left. Nina sat at her new desk and buried her face in her hands. It had happened. Her vengeful plot – the one for which she had come to that hateful bank – was working itself out in the most incredible way. She had occupied a super-advantageous strategic position and was now only one step from her objective.

Chapter 2

That night Nina had a celebration, all by herself in her one-room apartment. For the celebration, she had two causes. First, she had every reason to congratulate herself on a major breakthrough in her subversive plans against Gradbank. The other cause was not a worthy one in her eyes – the day happened to be her twenty-seventh birthday.

She was sitting, with her legs tucked under her, in her favorite armchair. A standard lamp was casting around a soft, cozy light. On a small table by the armchair was a one-third empty bottle of Merlot and a plate with some cheese and cookies. What else does a single businesswoman need to celebrate her special occasions? In addition, there was the twinkling of the TV set in the corner – from an old habit Nina kept it turned on, but with sound off. The flashing of silent pictures helped her relax by keeping her eyes thoughtlessly occupied.

Her father had called to wish her a happy birthday. His voice on the phone struck her as tense and coarse. Could it be that he was drinking again? Her heart ached at the thought.

Also, her two girl friends had called – the only two she had left from her university years. Both were steadily married, with children. They updated Nina on their family life and chided her for living like an oyster. “It’s a crime we’re not seeing each other more often. Let’s get together!” Nina agreed but no real gathering was ever arranged. In recent years, her girl friends had been trying hard to fix her up – so that Nina had even reduced her visits to them in the fear of having to maintain an agonizing conversation with yet another ‘colleague of my husband’ or ‘friend of ours who chanced to drop by’. Quite possibly, those eligible bachelors were not all that bad, but the problem was that Nina was horrified by the mere thought of having any relationship with them.

On the screen, the president of the country was delivering a mute speech, gesticulating vigorously. “That’s who I’d like to meet,” Nina said aloud to the TV set. “I’m sure he’s not anything like those characters I’ve known. That’s me – give me the president, I’m not going for less.” She refilled her glass and clinked it against the bottle. “All right, first lady, happy birthday to you once again!”

The wine took effect – the TV picture became fuzzy, and her mind wandered. As always in such cases, she remembered her mother and her school days.

Nina was born into a good, city family. Her father, Yevgeniy Borisovich, was a builder, chief engineer in a construction syndicate, her mother a French teacher in a college. They lived in a spacious three-room apartment which was considered enviable at the time.

An able girl, Nina was breezing through her school studies. Mathematics was her favorite. “That’s my genes working,” her father would say complacently. He taught Nina how to play chess and for some time, the two of them had a game every evening. However, her father soon ceased to enjoy their chess sessions as Nina began winning, and he had a hard time even making a draw. Her father planned to sign her up for serious chess lessons but her mother vetoed the idea. “What kind of occupation is that for a girl? I won’t let Nina become a bluestocking!” Instead, Nina was offered to choose between figure skating and tennis. Nina picked out tennis.

The choice was a fortunate one – the game came easily to Nina, and she was running to her tennis classes eagerly. Very thin, with a figure like a grasshopper’s, she was darting around the court almost always getting in the right place at the right moment. The coach took notice of her, and she was entered into the regional junior tournament. It soon became apparent what made her different from the others – she played a calculated game, figuring it out two strokes ahead and often baffling those obviously stronger than her.

Nina’s tennis career came to an end abruptly. Accidentally, she overheard a conversation between two girls one of whom she had just smashed up on the court. They were talking about her, Nina. “That’s what I call crazy, breaking her neck so!” said the defeated one. “Who wants that stupid cup, anyway? … Me, I didn’t come to tennis for any cups.” They giggled. Nina guessed vaguely why the other girls played tennis. On the court, there were always boys around, and tennis provided lots of opportunities for ‘gluing’, as boys called it, and some girls did, too. The one whom Nina had overheard was pretty, her neat legs under a short white skirt acted like a magnet, and she was a constant object of ‘gluing’ – not only by boys of her age but older guys, too. Yet nobody had tried to ‘glue’ Nina. Ever. “Well, what do you expect of a freak like that?” heard Nina. “Winning cups, that’s all she has. Who will ever look at her? Did you see her knees? Horrible!”

They left, and Nina was still sitting, dumbfounded, trying to take in what she had just heard. That was true, she was a freak. She went up to a mirror and inspected her knees. On her disproportionately long, skin-and-bone legs, her knees looked huge, alien. Horrible, indeed. On her way home, she hurled her tennis racket into the nearest garbage can. At home, she told her parents, without giving any reasons, that she was not going to play tennis ever again.

And she did not, not for over ten years. Then, after her graduation from the university, she once found herself near a stadium and heard familiar noises – the thumping of tennis balls and players’ voices – coming to her through the green hedge. On impulse, she went in, hired a racket and practiced some strokes at the wall. Since then, she came regularly to the court where she played with accidental partners. Surprisingly, her hand and body had not forgotten the tennis lessons she had received in her school years. Her figure had improved since her early teens – it was no longer scraggy or angular, and nobody would think of laughing at her knees. From time to time, men approached her trying to strike up an acquaintance but, faced with blunt indifference on her part, they retreated. However, she had no problems getting taken into a game as she played well – in a committed, concentrated, and powerful way. Rather like a man.

When Nina finished school, the country was being swept by the reforms. Her father said, “Honestly, Ninok, I don’t know what advice to give you. In the former times, I would say, ‘Go into science, you’re totally cut out for that,’ but who wants science now?” Nina applied to the financial university which boasted a huge competition for entry and got admitted without pulling any strings or bribing.

Her university studies were a child’s play to her. Her concerns lay in a totally different area. The problem was, she had never had anyone. No specimen of the male race had ever asked her out for a walk, let alone anything bigger. Meanwhile, girls of her age were dating like crazy and actually getting married. The most advanced ones had even got divorced already. Her mother, who was aware of Nina’s problem, was reassuring her, “Don’t you worry, Ninusya, you’re not missing anything, believe me. Just wait, your time will come.” Nina waited, but her time did not show any signs of coming.

She was no longer the plain little thing that she had been at school, but deep inside, she was still a grasshopper with ugly knees. The boys felt it and kept clear of her. Besides, she was smart – much smarter than all those immature males – and whoever fancied that in a girl?

Everything changed in her life when she was in her fourth year. Her mother died. It was cancer – long neglected, inoperable. It all ended in a few months. Trying to protect her, Nina’s parents were hiding the truth from her, and her mother would not let Nina visit her in the hospital until the time came for a final parting. When she approached the hospital bed and saw an emaciated woman with a grey, wasted face, Nina did not recognize her at first. Only the eyes were not changed – they were her mama’s.

Her mother took Nina’s hand in her own, waxen, transparent one, and smiled. Her smile was not changed either. “Well, how are you, sweetheart?”

Nina cried.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” her mother said. “Be a clever girl, don’t cry.” But her own cheek was wet with silent tears running onto the pillow.

“You see how stupid your mother is, leaving you when you’re still so young. There will be no one to help you or give you advice, you’ll have nobody but yourself to rely on. Forgive me, sweetheart.”

Nina burst out sobbing, clinging to her mother’s breast.

“Don’t cry.” With her weak hands, her mother detached Nina from herself. “Stop it, please… Listen to me. Sweetheart, you must promise me two things. Promise you won’t leave papa. He needs you. Promise?” Nina nodded through her tears. “And one more thing…” Mother stroked Nina’s cheek. “Ninusya, please, bear me a granddaughter. A grandson is great, too, but I’d rather have a granddaughter. You will try, right?”

Her mother had never complained of poor health and after she was gone, it took Nina a long time to accept the fact. As she came home from her classes, she would involuntarily prick her ears for mama’s voice, expecting any instant to hear her croon some lines from her beloved Joe Dassin while checking her students’ papers. Et si tu n'existais pas, Dis-moi pourquoi j'existerais… What Nina heard instead was her father coughing in the kitchen where he was sitting for days on end smoking and drinking alone. He was jobless at that time. He and Nina did not talk about mama – what was there to say? – but each felt the other’s pain and suffered for both.

About half a year passed that way. Then she got married to Dima. Dima was the least impressive of the five boys in her group – rather short, pimpled, quiet. The only good thing about him was his surname, Shuvalov. When she first heard it, Nina, who was into Russian history at the time, thought, “I wish I had a count’s surname like that!” Her own surname, far from being count-like, sounded right ridiculous: Kisel. Nina was embarrassed by it. When she asked her father where their surname had come from he said that his great-great-grandfather had been a German immigrant of the name of Kessel, but the clerk that had issued the papers had altered that to his liking. Whether that was true or not, Nina could never understand. Her father appreciated a joke and could have invented it all.

For the first three years, she paid no attention to Dima. Then he started taking a neighboring desk in the library. At the time, they were doing their end-of-course projects and had to spend long hours rummaging in the literature. Finally, Nina took notice of his reddish head, and her memory hinted that he had sat next to her on the last five occasions at least. “My God, can he be…?” she thought. The idea that Dima might be taking interest in her was so stunning to her that she stared at him without blinking. Dima remained motionless, buried in his books, but a deep blush spread all over his cheeks and ears, even neck. Nina was still in shock mentally, but the woman inside her woke up and took the situation under control.

“Dima,” the woman said amiably. “What’s your topic?”

Dima started and came to life. He blurted out the title of his project and asked, “What’s yours?”

Their topics turned out to be very close. She learned afterwards that the coincidence had been arranged by Dima himself who had swopped topics with another student at the cost of an almost new player.

When the proximity of their topics had been established, Dima’s red face expressed a happy amazement after which he fell silent again. The woman in Nina was a little upset by his timidity but she was not about to give up. “Tell me what you’ve done so far,” she suggested.

Provided with such a safe life buoy, Dima clutched at it and never let go. He began recounting eagerly, in every detail, his plan for the project. As she was listening to him with half an ear, Nina scrutinized him feeling a rising excitement in her breast. She had a boyfriend!

Since then, they spent a lot of time together every day sitting in the library and then going home by the underground – luckily, they lived in the same part of the city. After a month, Dima asked her out to the movies. In the theater, when the lights were out, he took her hand in his. Nina did not remove her hand, and that way, hand in hand, they sat through the show. Afterwards, Nina could not remember what the movie had been about.

The next day Dima had the courage to invite her to his place under the pretext of a final discussion of their projects which supposedly was impossible to have in the library. “Mother will be out all night, so we won’t be disturbed.” Nina realized what was going to happen and did not resist the idea although Dima did not at all resemble a man to whom she would lose her virginity in her girlie dreams.

Dima and his mother lived in a small, two-room apartment in a drab, municipal housing unit. Poverty and ideal order reigned there, nothing like the somewhat disorderly home life once created by Nina’s warm-hearted, easy mama, let alone the state of neglect into which Nina and her father’s household had slid after her death.

Dima offered her tea. “Or, maybe, you want some wine? I have a bottle of…” – he ventured but bit his tongue, scared of his own boldness. Nina agreed to tea. Dima seated her on a cheap, threadbare sofa and, after some fussing around, brought a tray with a teapot, two cups and a small bowl of chocolates. Apparently, he had made his preparations for the date.

However, he clearly did not know how to get down to business. When the tea was finished, he started discussing hotly some mutual acquaintances, then told a long, stale joke and laughed at it nervously himself. Then there was a long, painful silence. At last, unable to bear it any longer, Dima reached into his backpack. With a dejected look on his face, he fished out his project paper and embarked on reading some chapter of it to Nina.

Nina was sitting silently, with her eyes cast down. She was all like a taut string.

“Dima, come here.” Nina touched the sofa with her fingers inviting him to move closer. Dima sat by her side without letting go of his project paper. His hands were trembling noticeably. Nina took his paper away from him and put it aside. “Embrace me,” she said softly. Dima put his hands awkwardly round her and kissed her – on the cheek. Nina turned her head and held up her lips to him. It was the first kiss in her life.

It turned out that she was Dima’s first woman, too. He fumbled with her clothes, not knowing the right way to unfasten them and take them off. At last, with some help from her, he got her undressed. Hectically, he laid some bedclothes on the sofa and undressed himself. At the last moment, he darted aside and turned on some music. Apparently, music was an important item on his plan. “Light,” Nina asked. Dima turned off the light. They were immersed in a shadow dissipated only by a bulb in the hall that was left on…

It hardly lasted more than a minute. Nina felt pain and issued a cry. Almost immediately after that, Dima leaned back and, breathing heavily, sank onto the sofa beside her.

Nina was lying on her back, staring at the dark ceiling in bewilderment. “Is that all?” she wondered.

As if in response to her mute question, Dima came to life and resumed his activity – with a little more confidence and less fever this time.

The tape recorder was blaring. God knows how all that would end if it were not for that fatal music. It was because of it that they failed to hear the entrance door open and stirred only when the light went on. In the room, just a couple of steps from the sofa, stood a coated woman with a bag in her hand. Dima’s mother.

With her mouth wide open, the woman was staring at their naked bodies on the sofa. Nina pulled a sheet over herself and uttered, “Good evening.”

The woman gulped and responded, “Good evening.”

Then Dima blurted out, “Mother, this is my fiancée. Her name is Nina. Nina, please meet my mother, Tatyana Yurievna.”

The woman regained her senses. Without a word, she walked to the anteroom to take off her coat, then shifted to the kitchen and from there, she cried to them, “Come down here, let’s have tea!”

They slipped into their clothes and spent half an hour with Tatyana Yurievna in the kitchen. Half dead with shame, Nina kept silent, sitting with her eyes fixed on her cup. Tatyana Yurievna, quite unperturbed outwardly, questioned her son about his university affairs as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Nina traveled back alone, having rejected flatly Dima’s offer to see her home. Luckily, the underground car was almost empty at that late hour and nobody paid attention to a strange girl who laughed and frowned alternately for no apparent reason. In fact, she had a reason – she had become a woman. Moreover, she had become a fiancée.

They got married two months later. It so happened that nobody had really asked Nina whether she wanted to marry Dima. Actually, she was not sure herself. It was not that she had some doubts or was weighing rationally pros and cons – she just yielded numbly to the flow of events. The woman inside her which previously had taken a big step towards Dima’s timid advances was keeping silent now.

When he met Dima, her father was clearly disappointed, but he forced himself to be amiable – told jokes, patted Dima on the back, and poured him vodka. Dima was not at all his idea of a guy for Nina, but there was nothing to be done, it was her decision. Uneasily, her father asked whether they were expecting a baby. Nina answered truthfully that they were not but she could see in his face that he was still doubtful. In his view, it was the only reason that could make his brilliant daughter tie herself down to such a colorless little fellow.

In the meantime, the colorless little fellow was bustling about in great excitement, making arrangements for the registration and wedding. He was happy – as happy as his timid soul could be. The wedding took place in a students’ café where their whole year managed to cram in. Everything was very loud and incoherent.

Nina’s married life began. It was Tatyana Yurievna’s will that the couple live with her. They were afforded the larger of the two rooms – the one with the sofa. Dima and Nina were inseparable round the clock now – traveling to the university in the morning, sitting through the lectures, going back home, having dinner, doing homework.

Tatyana Yurievna was even and civil with her daughter-in-law, but Nina felt an arctic cold emanating constantly from the woman. Obviously, Nina was not the kind of bride Tatyana Yurievna had wished for her only son. Tatyana Yurievna never mentioned that dreadful episode when she had caught them in flagranti but apparently she considered Nina some kind of adventuress and profligate who had lured the innocent Dimochka into her net. As she pondered over that, Nina admitted to herself that such a view was not completely groundless. Also, Tatyana Yurievna’s attitude showed some doubt – as if she did not believe in that marriage and expected every day that Nina would disappear into thin air. As it turned out later, she had been right about that, too.

Nina got used to Dima as people get used to their coat or handbag. He did not rouse any feelings in her – he just always was around. Willy-nilly, they had everything in common – friends, university-related cares, even textbooks and notebooks. Nina helped the not-very-capable Dima to prepare for the exams, and then write his graduation thesis. They were already making plans for their life after university.

Tatyana Yurievna worked in the planning department of some manufacturing company where she was only employed half-time because of the recession. She spent the rest of her day looking after her small household. She did not force her daughter-in-law to do house chores but she did not push Nina away either. At last it was settled between them that for an hour and a half every day, Nina was busy tidying, dusting, washing and scrubbing. Nina’s own loving and over-lenient mother had not prepared her for that, and Nina had some hard time at first, but eventually she got used to doing housework and even got to liking it.

Possibly, her marriage to Dima could cement and take root with time, so that they became a family like any other, but there was a disaster zone in Nina’s married life. It was the conjugal bed – or rather, sofa. Dima performed his duties of a husband with enthusiasm, but for Nina, it was a nightly ordeal. The moment Dima turned off the light and touched her, Nina’s mind conjured up Tatyana Yurievna – with a coat on and a bag in her hand. In addition, the corporeal, not ghostly, Tatyana Yurievna was close by, separated by a thin wall. The sound insulation was almost non-existent in the building, and Nina could hear her mother-in-law tossing and turning in her bed, then getting up, fumbling for her slippers, and walking past their door to the kitchen to take her gastric pills. That happened almost every time Nina and Dima had their intimacy, causing Nina to clench up inwardly.

Once or twice, Nina had heard some girls whisper about the “delightful sex” they had had with their boyfriends. For Nina, there was no delight in sex. There were some unpleasant, even hurtful sensations, a growing bewilderment and disappointment.

One of Dima’s few good qualities was his cleanliness fostered in him by his mother. He took a shower and changed his underwear every day, and his thin, almost transparent skin always smelled of strawberry soap – Tatyana Yurievna’s favorite, which she used on all occasions. Nina grew to hate that smell.

At last, it became unbearable. Nina wanted more than once to have it out with Dima but she never had the heart to. Meanwhile, Dima looked perfectly happy. He clearly thought highly of himself as a husband – undertones of male complacency could be heard in his voice.

Once, as she was buying a pen in a kiosk, Nina saw a brochure on sex techniques. “I’ll take that, too” burning with shame, she pointed at the eloquent cover. In snatches, locking herself up in the toilet, she read the brochure. About one half of it remained enigma to her, but she was staggered by the other half. A whole new world opened to her.

She did not dare to show the brochure to Dima until one day he stayed at home with a cold. As she was leaving for university, Nina tucked the brochure under the pillow in the hope that Dima would find it and read it himself. But it was Tatyana Yurievna who found the colorful booklet. When Nina came back, her mother-in-law met her in the doorway. “I was changing the bedclothes and found this. Apparently, it’s yours.” The woman held out the brochure carefully wrapped up in a newspaper.

It was the end, but Nina made another attempt to save the situation. She asked her father if it was all right if she and Dima came to live with him. Her father was all enthusiastic about the idea and offered to move their stuff the same day. However, when she broached the subject to Dima, she knew at once from the lost look on his face that it was no good. Still, Dima promised to raise the question with Tatyana Yurievna. The two of them had a talk in which Nina was not included. The outcome was that, hiding his eyes, Dima declared to Nina that he could not leave his mother. That night, for the first time since their wedding, they did not have sex.

There was no point in staying with Dima any longer, but through inertia, Nina lived with him for another month – until they defended their graduation theses. The defense went off perfectly for both of them. When she received her red-cover degree certificate, Nina felt liberated – a whole page in her life had been turned, and a new one began. Without even saying goodbye to Dima, she went off to her father’s with a firm intention never to set eyes again on the room with the fateful shabby sofa.

Dima brought down her stuff which fitted in a single bag. He was crushed. The castle in the air that he had built and lived happily in was collapsed now. Made eloquent by his despair, Dima entreated Nina not to leave him. However, he did not even mention the possibility of his moving in with Nina at her father’s. His mother’s control over him was absolute – he could not challenge her will even if his happiness was at stake. “But why? Why?” Dima kept asking. Nina only shook her head silently. She was not going to discuss her sexual problems with Dima – she realized by then that she would have left him anyway. “Sorry, Dima, it’s not going to work,” she said softly but resolutely. How could she explain it all to him? How could she explain why she had married him in the first place? “Sorry, Dima. Don’t take it to heart too much. Everything will be all right with you,” she said as she was turning him out of doors.

They got divorced. As a souvenir from Dima, she now bore his noble surname which she had never changed back. As a souvenir from Tatyana Yurievna, she now had a taste for tidiness and order which she tried to maintain wherever she found herself ever since.

Chapter 3

Nina lived with her father again, and it was not a joyful life. Her father had changed noticeably over the time of her absence. Not at all old – not yet forty five – he could not find a permanent employment and was getting by doing odd jobs. Worst of all, he had really taken to drink. He sank into self-neglect, was forgetting even to shave, and looked unhealthy, spent. When she saw those changes close up, Nina was appalled. In former times, her father had invariably been a genial person, the soul of every company. Her mother had told Nina once that he had first won her by his amateur ‘hiking’ songs – both of them had practiced some serious hiking in their younger days. Nina was sure that her mother would not have let him sag. With her around, he would have remained the same man – a hard worker, optimist and epicurean philosopher.

This responsibility – to give her father moral support – was Nina’s now, and she felt keenly her ineptitude. She pleaded with her father to stop drinking, had rows with him over it, tried to get him to see some doctors, but all in vain.

Once, in a sober spell, he said to her, “Ninok, stop it, don’t try to save me. Do you think I don’t realize that I am killing myself by drink? I’m doing it consciously. Tell me – what else do I have? I don’t have anything to live for.” “What about me?” Nina cried out, hurt by his words. She knew that she was the apple of her father’s eye, but apparently his love for her was not enough to fill his existence.

Nina got a job in a large, reputable investment firm and soon was absorbed in her work completely. She dreamed of making a rapid career and then… She had a very vague idea of what was to happen then, but she knew one thing for certain – she would find a way to help her father. Above all, he must not remain idle. Nina dreamed that she would study the ways of business from A to Z, accumulate the necessary contacts and then help her father open his own construction company. He was such a fine specialist, a bright mind! He was totally up to it, he only needed a start. Sometimes in her dreams, her father and she started a business together and made a huge success of it. Nina realized how naïve it all was and would be surprised to hear that quite soon her father was actually going to run a business of his own, and she was going to give him a hand in his affairs and then rescue his company.

The encounter that changed her father’s life occurred by accident, in the street. Luckily, he was not drunk. He was just on his way to the nearby wine store when a car pulled over beside him. The horn honked, and as he turned round, he saw somebody wave at him from the window of a posh foreign-made automobile. Yevgeniy Borisovich approached and recognized Simonyan, his former assistant in the construction syndicate. At one time, the two men had worked closely together, had got mutually adjusted, and now they were glad to see each other. Simonyan said that he was as busy as a bee at the moment but promised to find time for a proper get-together shortly. Promises like that are almost never kept, but after a few days Simonyan actually called and invited Nina’s father to his place to crack a bottle and have a chat about old times.

Simonyan lived in a new building of elite design. In his huge apartment, expensive decoration works had been started but not completed, and there was almost no furniture. “Got no time for that. And what’s the point, anyway?” Simonyan chuckled. One of these days I’ll bring home a new missus, and you can trust a woman to change everything to her liking.” He had just been through a divorce. According to him, his ex-wife was amply provided for, and his children were studying abroad.

His entire manner and every word he spoke oozed the satisfaction of a man who had achieved success. In the old times already, the two men had been on a first-name basis, and now Simonyan, who had sized up at once the deplorable state Nina’s father was in, sounded condescending. Still, he was really friendly and plunged willingly into reminiscences together with Yevgeniy Borisovich.

The main thing was said when they had recalled one by one all their mutual acquaintances and, having finished a bottle of superb Armenian cognac, started another one. Simonyan offered Yevgeniy Borisovich a job. Unlike Nina’s father, the man had not got lost after the collapse of their syndicate. In line with the new realities, Simonyan ventured several enterprises, one after another. To start with, he transformed one of the fragments of the syndicate into a small company aimed at doing engineering projects under contract with the city administration. He hustled about in the municipal lobbies day and night, courted the right people and finally managed to get his company written into the city investment program, thus giving his business a good start. His company took off and began to make profit. From that springboard, Simonyan rose and expanded his operations. Now he was edging his way into business of a totally different scale – export of precious metals and other stuff of the kind, all very shady and fabulously profitable. Simonyan needed a reliable man to dump his first company on, and most opportunely, Yevgeniy Borisovich turned up.

Nina’s father was to become a hired employee of his former assistant, but Simonyan assured him that virtually they were going to be partners, and besides, he was planning to go out of that business in the future so that Nina’s father could buy it out and be his own boss. That incredible promise was finally kept, too – apparently, it was not Simonyan’s destiny to deceive Yevgeniy Borisovich.

Long starved for something real to do, Nina’s father plunged headlong into his new job. Simonyan’s company was about ten times smaller than his former syndicate, and feeling confined in it, Yevgeniy Borisovich was digging into every detail with passion. There were many things that could be improved, optimized, both in terms of engineering and in terms of management. Simonyan really gave Nina’s father a free hand. Soaring in his new spheres, he only visited his company on rare occasions. When that happened, he listened with half an ear to the numerous suggestions that Nina’s father had to make and said ‘yes’ to all of them, knowing full well that Yevgeniy Borisovich stood much higher than himself as a specialist. It was only in financial matters that Simonyan had his way.

His new work transformed Yevgeniy Borisovich – he looked younger, straightened out now. Besides, Simonyan was not mean – he paid his manager a decent salary. For the first time in his life, Nina’s father became the owner of a foreign-made car, an assortment of good suits and various trinkets such as a Swiss watch and a golden lighter. He was a man again – even a classy man, one that women would give a lingering look. Nina felt jealous on her mother’s behalf, vexed that the new rise of Yevgeniy Borisovich was not hers to reap. Soon, a real reason for that jealousy cropped up.

The reason was named Lydia Grigorievna. Not a young woman, she was well-groomed and stylish. She worked in some municipal organization, where Nina’s father made her acquaintance as he was getting approval for one of his projects. Nina had not suspected that her father was seeing a woman until the very day when he introduced them to each other in some café. “Listen, Ninok, you see… The thing is, Lydia Grigorievna and I are planning to move in together. What do you think? …”

Nina was seething with rage. She was about to splash the champagne poured out by her father into the well-groomed face of that bitch. How dared she! To take mama’s place! … However, it was not for nothing that Nina’s parents took pride in her precise mind. Her mind reasoned that her father could not live alone. If not that woman, there would be another, so what’s the difference? Lydia Grigorievna was smiling at her ingratiatingly. The woman realized already that Nina meant the world to Yevgeniy Borisovich and could easily wreck her plans. “All I want is for you to be happy,” said Nina to her father raising her glass of champagne. He squeezed Nina’s hand gratefully and kissed her on the cheek.

Lydia Grigorievna settled down in their apartment. A childless widow, alone after her husband’s death, she could devote herself entirely to her new marriage. She had the sense not to make any radical changes to the apartment immediately, but she occupied every free minute in the life of Nina’s father. Yevgeniy Borisovich, who had always been skeptical about theater, turned into a theatergoer: every weekend he and his wife went to see some première. They made some new acquaintances and exchanged visits with them. Lydia Grigorievna was fond of cooking and almost daily, Nina’s father had to taste and praise a new dish of her making.

On the whole, she was not a bad woman and Nina had to admit that she was a good match for her father, but for Nina, it was right impossible to live under the same roof with her. Everything annoyed Nina – the woman’s voice, the odors of her creams in the countless jars with which she crammed the bathroom shelves, her culinary masterpieces… The fact alone that a stranger slept in mama’s bedroom and managed mama’s kitchen infuriated Nina. She made no attempt to break the ice in spite of the eagerness on the part of her father’s new wife. It soon became clear that they had to move apart. By common consent, they sold their apartment and bought two others instead. Nina wound up in a one-roomer in a new, remote built-up area.

It was hard for Nina to say goodbye to the familiar walls that had witnessed almost all her life. She had the feeling that in their old apartment, in spite of the arrival of a new woman, her mother was still present somehow, but now that they had robbed her of her home she had really left them, remaining only in their memories and photos.

They still had their dacha – another important locale in their lives. The dacha was a small plank cottage sitting on a few hundred square meters of sandy land some fifty kilometers from the city. The plot had been allotted to Nina’s father when he had been no boss yet, and everything there had been made by his and mama’s hands. Nina was taken there by her parents every summer all through her school years.

Lydia Grigorievna had no taste for dacha life, so she stayed behind when, one September day, Nina and her father went to visit their plank cottage ostensibly to do some small repair jobs and sort out some old stuff which was kept there, but actually, to have some together time. On the neighboring plots, bonfires of old leaves were being burnt spreading bitter-sweet smoke, and everything was like old times – except that mama was not there. On their way back, Nina’s father suggested uneasily that it made sense to sell the dacha. Nina gave no response to that, and he dropped the matter.

For a couple of years, things got more or less settled down. Nina’s father worked a lot, and the company expanded. When Nina visited him at his place, he would have a couple of drinks and talk enthusiastically about his plans. He looked young and happy. Lydia Grigorievna did not stop them from seeing each other but she was always present at their meetings and took every opportunity to show – by some word or gesture – that it was her home and her man. Nina detested her as before, but deep inside, she accepted the woman and reconciled herself to the fact that her only family – her dear papa – had to be shared with someone else.

At work, she was doing fine. Within a short period of time, she distinguished herself from a group of young business school graduates who had been recruited as the company had expanded. At first, they all were attached as trainees to experienced analysts and loaded with routine, technical operations. Nina’s mates complained about the work load, resentful at not getting a chance to show their true worth. They all were ambitious and fancied themselves financial geniuses. Nina was ambitious, too, but she never complained. Instead, she kept grinding through heaps of standard computations, polishing her skills to perfection and mastering computer software. In the evenings, she ploughed through specialized financial literature focusing on the construction industry finances. Soon Nina was marked out by her superiors who started charging her with independent tasks.

For a long time after her divorce from Dima, Nina did not have anyone. She did not feel any need for sex – Dima had not wakened her to that. The idea of going to bed with a man was neither repugnant nor exciting to her. In her narrow world, there was no room for anything but work. She did not consider herself deprived in any way, neither was she interested in the opinion of her friends whom she was seeing two or three times a year at somebody’s birthday. And yet… One evening, as she was walking through a park to her house, she saw a kissing couple. It was an incident of no importance, of course, but a hot wave spread suddenly in her breast. Nina quickened her pace, went up to her apartment, took a shower, had some supper and got down to her financial surveys. However, her mind refused to take in the numbers and graphs; instead, it kept picturing two intertwined bodies in the evening dusk. It was at least half an hour before she could get to the meaning of what she was reading. Ever since, she would turn away painstakingly from any couple that she saw in the street or in the underground, be it a couple which were quite innocently holding hands.

One night, somebody called her by mistake. It was a late hour, and Nina was in bed preparing for sleep – relaxing her body and brain by a special technique that she had picked up from some book. The idea was to talk to each of her organs in turn – to thank them for the day’s work and bid them good night. It was her heart that she was talking to when the phone rang. Bewildered, Nina answered. A deep male baritone said, “Ninochka, baby, is that you? … At last! How are you, pet?” Somehow, Nina was slow to realize that it was a mistake, and then it took her some time to make the man realize it. He kept saying, “Hey, baby, stop kidding me. You’re mad at me, eh? … Don’t be mad, sweetie. I love my pet.” On hanging up, Nina snorted. ’Baby’, ‘pet’… How vulgar! What kind of woman allowed a man to call her that? Nina resumed her going-to-sleep routine but it did not work as it should – she lay awake for a long time afterwards although she had talked to each of her organs for three times. When it was well after midnight, she admitted to herself that she did not mind being called ‘pet’ – even by someone who did not possess such a velvety baritone.

Then Igor happened in her life. About ten years older than she, he was a section manager in the same company. Nina had never dealt with him work-wise and hardly knew him. The two of them hooked up all of a sudden at a celebration of the company’s tenth anniversary. Nina found herself next to Igor at the table. He was attentive to her, entertained her with incessant jokes, and drank a lot. Nina also drank – too much by her measure. They danced, took part in some contests and games. Then they drank again. Eventually, Igor wound up in Nina’s apartment. Both of them were very drunk, hardly able to move, so sex was out of the question. Nina bedded Igor down on a cot she had put up in the kitchen and collapsed right away onto her bed without even changing into her nightie.

The next morning, she was woken up by a rattling sound coming from the kitchen – somebody was using the kettle there. Nina’s head was splitting. She remembered that she had a man in her home – that she had brought the man herself – but she had absolutely no idea as to why she had done that. Suffering from a terrible headache and suspecting herself of insanity, Nina dragged herself to the kitchen. Igor was in a wretched state, too – he had drunk about three times as much as she had and was having a severe hangover. The two of them made some super-strong coffee and drank it while chewing aspirin pills.

Nina asked Igor if he wanted to make a call home to tell them not to worry about him but the man waved the suggestion aside. He was married and had a son, but for a few months already he had been separated from his family. “What the hell does she want from me? Stupid skirt,” Igor said meaning his wife. “And there’s her dear mother, too… You see, they’ve totally driven me to the edge with their nagging.” Igor was staying in the apartment of some friend who had gone abroad. “So nobody’s going to miss me,” he summed up with a wry grin.

Nina took a close look at him. He was rather well-built, though with a noticeable belly. Not very good-looking at his best, he looked a real fright now that he was having a bad hangover. However, Nina realized why she had brought him to her place – as at the party the night before, she felt at ease and relaxed with that man as if they had known each other for a long time.

When they had finished their coffee, Nina saw him out. They did not as much as kiss goodbye, but on Saturday that same week he came to her place again and they became lovers.

Nina asked herself afterwards whether her relationship with Igor could be called love. In fact, she had nothing to compare it with – her marriage to Dima did not count, and she did not believe in love as depicted in movies and novels. Every weekend, Igor came over and stayed overnight. Nina got used to his visits and anticipated them. While normally managing with ready meals from the microwave, she did real cooking for Igor. She would serve him and then watch him eat with her head rested on her knuckles. Having made some tea the way he liked it, she filled a large cup which she had bought specially for him. As he was drinking his tea, she listened to his stories. Igor was great at telling stories – he remembered lots of funny episodes, and showed admirably their colleagues, the company’s bosses, and the clients. Often there was more to his stories than just empty fun – Nina learned from them the backstage ways of business, something that one did not read about in books or articles.

In the company, they were hiding their relationship – Igor wanted it to be that way, and she did, too. As a rule, things like that get out soon, but it is usually because the woman who is having an affair with a colleague babbles it out to some friend herself. Nina did not share her personal life with anyone – neither had she any friends in the company – so her intimacy with Igor remained secret.

Igor was an experienced man – there was no need to slip him brochures on sex. In bed, he employed a wide range of techniques, and Nina allowed him to do anything, although what she really liked was the prelude – their first hugs and caresses, as they were dressed yet and he was her good friend Igor rather than an expert male. Also, she liked going to sleep by his side when, having accomplished all his feats, he became human again. “Sleep well, kid,” he would say, kissing her. “Well, I guess, ‘kid’ is better than ‘pet’,” she smiled to herself, breathing in his agreeable and already so familiar smell.

Nina and her father once arranged to have a meeting after work – Yevgeniy Borisovich started to take his daughter seriously as a specialist and meant to ask her advice on some bank loan matter. Having arrived at the office building where she worked, he waited for her in the street. When Nina came out to meet him, Igor happened to be around, too. Embarrassed, Nina introduced the two men to each other, and as they were shaking hands, was struck by their semblance – close in height and hair color, they had the same voice quality, the same type of starting baldness and the same manner of smiling.

An educated girl, Nina had read about Freud’s teaching. She shuddered at the thought: could it be that, being unconsciously attracted to her father, she had found a substitute for him in Igor? She rejected the thought with indignation but was never able to put it out of her head. One evening, after a hard working day, they were sitting at table in her kitchen, drinking tea. The TV set in the corner was on, in mute mode. It showed a beatnik-looking guy who was singing to his own guitar accompaniment. “Turn the sound on, please. I want to listen,” Igor asked. “You know, in my younger days I did some singing in an amateur way, even wrote songs of my own. If you like, I’ll bring a guitar next time and sing a couple for you.” “No!” Nina cried out frightened by the discovery that Igor was like her father in that, too. Igor was surprised and clearly hurt.

Those freudist fears made it more difficult for her to make love to Igor. The inward clenching that had possessed her in her marriage to Dima was back again – as she got in bed with Igor, she involuntarily thought of her father, and her trying to drive those thoughts away only made it worse. Apparently feeling something, Igor reduced his male program – gave up his attempts to inflame her with his skill. They would sit in the kitchen chatting until late at night and then, after a brief sex, go to sleep. Nina liked it that way.

Chapter 4

A year passed. They never discussed their relationship or made any plans for the future, but gradually, Nina came to believe that Igor had always been there and always would be – how could it be otherwise? Besides weekends, Igor started coming over on weekdays. He was clearly in need of a home, and she liked having him about – washing and ironing his shirts, giving him massage for his beginning osteochondrosis, treating his colds. Gradually, his stuff accumulated in her apartment: toothbrush, razor, slippers, bathrobe, books. Then Igor brought a pair of trainers and a tracksuit – trying to lose weight, he was running every morning and would not break his routine when he stayed overnight at her place.

Imagining her future life with Igor, Nina tried to listen to the woman inside her. The woman kept silent, but rather in an approving way – she did not seem to mind.

It all ended on the very day of their anniversary. Preparing to celebrate, Nina made a special dinner and laid the table nicely for the occasion. She had a plan for that night – she was going to make Igor a proposal. Her idea was to sell her apartment so that then they could buy jointly a new one that was larger and located closer to work – a place for them to settle down together. She was sure that Igor would agree – she did not imagine what objections he could have against such a sensible scheme. Nina did not insist on getting married. According to Igor, he was not seeing his wife – the woman would not let him cross her threshold, not even in order to see his son, – but they were not formally divorced, and Nina did not mean to rush things. She was sure that everything was going to sort out with time.

On hearing her out, Igor remained silent for a while, and then spoke in a thick voice, with his head down. “Well, it’s just as well… It’s for the better, I guess. You see, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, too.”

Nina listened to him unable to grasp the meaning of what he was saying. It took her some time to realize that Igor with whom she had grown so close was going to leave her and was telling her so. “But why?” she cried out. From his confused explanations, it appeared that actually he had been seeing his wife all that time. According to Igor, it was all for the sake of his son. The boy was to go to school that year, and Igor wanted to be there for him – wanted his son to have a father.

Nina kept silent. Logically, she admitted that everything was fair – that she had no claim on Igor, and so she should accept his leaving with good grace – but she was paralyzed. Nobody had dumped her like that before, and she had not known how hurtful it was. When Igor had collected his things and was already standing in the doorway, he said something else. “Excuse me, but I don’t think it’s so very important to you. You don’t feel anything in bed, do you? … I can see it, I’m not an idiot. I’m not saying you’re frigid – maybe, you just need another man, I don’t know.” Nina thrust the door open furiously: “Go away!” And he did.

That night, Nina did not have a wink of sleep, agonizing over Igor’s treason and her own humiliation. For some time, her logical mind tried to reason with her, arguing that Igor had not made any promises to her and thus, had not betrayed her – that there was nothing especially humiliating to her in that whole story – but soon her logical mind had to shut up overridden by the wounded, indignant woman. Together with billions of other women on this planet, Nina delivered the verdict that all men were swine – and cursed the stupid skirt whom she had never met and who had managed to get her husband back in spite of all her flaws. To be sure, that skirt was not frigid, oh no. She was probably doing all sorts of dirty tricks in bed – everything that males, those lewd apes, were so crazy about. Nina, who had never uttered a bad word in her life, cursed the woman in the meanest possible expressions.

The next day Nina phoned in sick and then even wangled a two weeks’ leave. She could not imagine running into Igor at work.

It was her first proper leave since she had come to work in the company. For a young employee, she was drawing a good salary while spending very little, so she had some savings. Now she decided to treat herself to a grand vacation. Since she had never been abroad before, she went to the country that was visited by all those of her compatriots who managed to earn some spare cash – Turkey.

On her first day in Turkey, she got a terrible sunburn.

The trouble of making reservations and buying tickets had done her good – she had got distracted from her agonies of a rejected woman and by the time she arrived at the seaside, she was open to new impressions. She stayed in a large hotel – allegedly, a four-star one. One half of the guests were holiday-makers from Russia while the other half were Europeans, mostly Germans. Having dumped her bag in the hotel room, Nina ran off to the beach at once. The beach was occupied by the Russians, while the Germans disdained Nature and spent their time in a civilized way, by the swimming-pool. Nina was not impressed by the water – it struck her as too salty and not as clear as that in the Black Sea.Nevertheless, she enjoyed a good swim and then stretched herself on a chaise-longue. She felt free and independent.

All around her, there was the bustle of beach life going on – naked bodies, joyous screams and laughter, the tumbling of volley-ball players, and the romping of children. Nina made acquaintance with a married couple from Novokuznetsk. The husband had a business of his own – a small shop manufacturing cast-iron fences for private residencies. It was the couple’s second visit to Turkey, and they were planning to do Italy the next year. Apparently, the fences were in demand. Seeing Nina roast in the sun, her new acquaintances offered her sunblock lotion but she waved it away laughingly. “Not to worry! It’s nothing, I’ll be all right.” The sunshine did not seem very strong, the sky being overcast with a light haze and a cool breeze blowing from the sea.

Nina went to swim another couple of times, lolled about on her chaise-longue, and when she came back to her room, she was surprised to discover that she had spent a good four hours on the beach. Then nightmare began. Her skin turned tomato-red from head to toe, blisters sprang up, and it all hurt unbearably. She recalled that cologne was supposed to help, and that she had a bottle of it in her bag. She got the bottle out and poured the contents onto herself. It did not help any, but now she was stinking of a cheap hair-dresser’s. Sensitive to smells, Nina was suffering doubly.

She thought of another folk remedy – urine. It took her some time to pluck up her courage, but finally she dragged herself to the bathroom. The folk remedy did not help much but now the stench of cologne was mixing with that of piss. That was too much for her. Nina jumped into the shower and washed it all away. Then, without wiping, she wrapped up in a bed-sheet and lowered herself onto the bed with a groan.

She was shivering with fever. Late at night she managed to doze off for a while, but then she woke up again. It was dark outside. Nina heard some noise coming from the bar on the same floor as the last customers were dispersing for their rooms. Everyone was going to sleep while she was in for a sleepless night. “Idiot,” she scolded herself. “Serves you right. Such idiots wind up in hell where the devil casts them into fire. Ah-a-a… Damn, how it hurts.” She recalled a summer when she had been taken to the Black Sea by her parents. A little girl, unaccustomed to the southern sun, she had got a little sunburned at first. What was it that her mother had used to treat her? Her memory gave her a prompt – it was sour cream, the Russian smetana. The idea of cool, dense smetana which she could spread all over herself, was beautiful. But where was she to find smetana in the middle of the night, in a Turkish hotel? Desperate and hopeless, Nina went out of her room to search of it.

In her bathrobe and slippers, she dragged herself to the bar. The door was closed, and it was dark inside. Nina knocked and waited, then knocked again. At last a fat Turkish barman appeared. He pointed at his watch – the bar was closed. Nina pleaded, “Pozhaluista, please. Just a second.” With a displeased look on his face, the barman opened the door. But how was Nina to explain to him that she needed smetana? The Turk did not speak Russian, and Nina did not know the English for smetana – it could be that the English people did not eat smetana and accordingly, did not have a word for it in their language. Using to the limit her scanty stock of English words, she made up the sentence, “Please give white put in salad.” The barman frowned in bewilderment, then smiled and nodded. He went to the kitchen and came back with a jar of some light substance. Heartened, Nina slipped him five dollars and hurried back.

The jar was icy, right from the fridge, and Nina wanted to use all of it as soon as possible. Once in her room, she threw off her bathrobe, scooped up a handful from the jar and spread the substance generously over her shoulders and the back of her neck. For a few seconds, she really had a sensation of pleasant cool, but then it started to burn twice as bad, ten times as bad! It was as if a red-hot iron was being applied to her shoulders. Nina smelled the substance, then tasted it. It was mayonnaise – a very hot, mustard-based kind. Nina started to cry. She was the most miserable person in the world.

Throughout the next several days, she was staying confined within the four walls of her room, recovering slowly. She ordered food from room service, but she had no appetite, and the contents of the tray remained almost untouched. The paperback detective story which she had taken along on her journey had long been finished, the local TV was impossible to watch, and she had got tired of the view from her window. For days on end she was lying in bed with headphones on, listening again and again to a course of conversational English. She never learned how to say smetana in English but it occurred to her that she should have simply asked the barman for some yoghurt.

She bought a large box of it from the same barman and, standing before the mirror, spread the yoghurt all over herself. It was a terrifying sight. “A new dish – roasted idiot under yoghurt,” she said aloud and stuck out her tongue at her own reflection. Still, the yoghurt helped.

Gradually, the pain subsided. Her burned hide started to peel off, revealing a new skin – thin, glistening, and already touched by suntan. On the sixth day, Nina went out of her room. The burns still hurt in various spots, but she could live with that. Beach was out of the question. Instead, Nina went on a touring spree. Before that, she had not realized that what was now called ‘Turkey’ had once been part of the antique world with Greek cities, theatres, baths, and arenas for athletic contests. The ancient world whose vestiges emerged from beneath the ground here and there was much more exciting than anything that was on that land now. An old fan of history, Nina bought up all the guide-books that were available and within the next few days visited every historical site within reach.

On the advice of her Novokuznetsk acquaintances, she also went to a folk restaurant located in desert highland, a half hour’s drive from her hotel. The restaurant was decorated in the oriental style and served dishes of local cuisine, but its main hit was a show of folk performers who sang and danced, involving the guests, Russians and Germans, in their dances. The fiery rhythms and throaty foreign voices had their effect on Nina. “In the final account, my holiday has worked out well,” she thought, clapping her hands. “It surely is something to remember.” A young mustachioed Turk wearing super-wide trousers with a super-wide belt drew her out to the center of the circle where she imitated – awkwardly, but gaily – a local dance. Then she drank strongest coffee, tasted oriental sweets, and inhaled the fumes from hookahs. Everything was perfect.

The show ended after midnight. Nina went out into the velvety southern night. There was a small crowd by the restaurant – the Germans were pushing for seats on the last cheap route bus. Nina avoided the crowd and went on to the taxi stand. A young man sprang up beside her. He smiled at Nina, “You danced splendidly.” Then he suggested, “Why don’t we share a taxi? What hotel are you staying in?” It turned out that they were staying in neighboring hotels, so they rode back together.

The guy’s name was Oleg. In the dark, Nina did not get a good view of him but he seemed rather handsome, of a tall, slender, light-haired type. He chattered on about something, and Nina responded irrelevantly, watching the trees and sparse buildings glide by in the beams of light from the car. A cocktail of local smells was flowing in through the open window. Beyond the trees, a grey strip of the beach could be seen embraced by the impenetrable mass of the sea with sparkles of waves under a huge yellow moon.

It was late, but Nina could not even think of sleep. The rhythms of Turkish dances were still reverberating in her head and her whole body. Breathing in the aromas of the night, she felt almost happy.

“How about a swim?” asked Oleg. Nina had not even noticed that they had reached their destination. They paid the fare and got off the taxi. The car disappeared leaving them on a narrow road under dark plane-trees. Her hotel was a five minute walk in one direction, and his about as much in the other. Close by, a gravel path branched off and wound down to the beach. Oleg took hold of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders. “What a night! Do you feel this warmth? It’s coming from the sea. The water is like fresh milk now. Come on, let’s take a dip,” he said looking her in the eye with a smile. In fact, Nina did not feel like returning to her hateful room – she felt like fooling around and being naughty. “I didn’t bring along my bathing-suit,” she replied with laughter hardly believing that she was saying that – that it all was happening to her. “I didn’t bring along my trunks either,” Oleg said with the same kind of laughter.

They actually took a dip – for just a minute. Then, for a long time, they made love on a chaise-longue that somebody had left behind on the beach. Above them was a coal-black, star-spangled southern sky. The planks of the chaise-longue were digging into Nina’s barely healed back, the waves were splashing onto the beach and receding, with loud hissing, just a few meters away, and in rhythm with the wash, a man was entering her – a man whom she had only known for half an hour. “It’s insane, it’s totally immoral,” urged the voice of conscience, but that voice soon faded away. What did conscience have to counter the southern night, the sea, and the wild, shameless love-making on a chaise-longue?

Nina felt good. At first, it was just good, all of it: the starry sky, the warm breeze, and the tight embrace with a man whose skin was salty from sea water. Her head was empty, and she abandoned herself to the rhythm that her partner created on a par with the surf. Then it was not simply good – a new sensation arose in the lower part of her belly, and in her thighs and buttocks. Weak at first, the sensation was growing rapidly. Her whole body tightened in anticipation of something extraordinary that was going to happen the next moment… However, the next moment Oleg made his last abrupt thrust with a groan and sunk onto the narrow chaise-longue by her side. Nina wanted more – the new sensation that had surged in her would not go away. She waited for a continuation, but the man kissed her casually, lit a cigarette and said, “Well, it’s time to go bye-bye, eh?”

Oleg walked her to her hotel. He suggested that they see each other the next day and go somewhere to dance. “And after that – to the beach,” thought the insane, totally immoral Nina with a smile. Oleg kissed her once more and vanished into the darkness. Nina watched the burning tip of his cigarette fade away, and then went up to her room. “I only hope I’ll recognize him tomorrow,” she thought giggling as she was taking a shower.

The next morning she woke up in high spirits. Her whole body was springy – she felt like moving, dancing. After breakfast, she went to the beach and took a swim. When she saw her Novokuznetsk acquaintances, she greeted them merrily and told them that she had had a very good time in the highland restaurant. “You look great. What happened to you?” asked the manufacturer of cast-iron fences simple-mindedly. “Nothing. I just relaxed,” Nina answered with laughter and said goodbye to the couple. As she was walking away from them, she saw the spouse of the cast-iron businessman explain something to the man with a grin, nodding towards Nina.

In order to kill time until the evening, she went down to a neighboring city that was famous for its bazaar. While she was at it, she meant to pick some souvenirs for her father and… and for his Lydia Grigorievna, damn her. The bazaar was really impressive – it was rather a whole town, with countless booths, or tiny shops, and a crazy labyrinth of aisles between them. The air was filled with a cacophony of sounds and an incredible mixture of smells – of coffee, exotic fruits, sweets and spices, leather, dyed fabric and burning ovens on which food was cooked or metal was heated by craftsmen who worked embossing designs on the spot. Russian tourists, known for their propensity to spend money easily, were popular here – recognized at once and solicited insistently. Within the first five minutes, yielding to the pressure from some swarthy tradesmen, Nina bought a shawl of impossible colors and a coin necklace that any Gypsy woman would be proud to have. Then she realized that none of those things was of any use to her – they would be impossible to wear at home – and tucked away her purse. After that, she was only browsing with the firm intention to go all over the bazaar. Finally, she bought a nice embroidered fez for her father and a perfectly tasteless brooch for Lydia Grigorievna as well as some trifles for her university friends.

Back in her hotel, she had lunch and lay down to have some rest – to store up energy for her night of dissipation. For dinner, she only had a cup of coffee. She could hardly wait for the appointed hour, and when it finally arrived, she walked out to the meeting place by the hotel – with a spring in her step, a shawl over her shoulders and a jingling coin necklace around her neck. After half an hour, her elated, mischievous mood was replaced by bewilderment, then vexation – her lover did not show up. It occurred to her that it could be a misunderstanding – that Oleg could be waiting for her on the road – and she ran down to the spot where they had previously got off the taxi. Oleg was not there. Another couple were kissing under a plate-tree. At the sight of Nina they laughed and, holding hands, glided down the gravel path to the sea. Nina waited for another quarter of an hour, and then dragged herself back to the hotel.

All her recent grievances assailed her again. “What’s wrong with me? Why am I being dumped? What am I – the worst woman ever?” she thought with tears in her eyes, ripping to pieces the innocent shawl.

She fell asleep towards morning and got up all jaded the next day. She did not feel like doing anything. It was the last day of her vacation – she was flying home the next afternoon. That gave her an occupation – she had to pack up, which could keep her busy all day, if necessary.

After dinner, she said to herself: “Like hell, I still have a night.” She put on her shortest skirt, a blouse that ended above the navel, and her posh coin necklace. Armored in that way, she went out on the prowl.

At the hotel, those who were seeking company for a night had a choice between hitting one of the hotel’s six bars and doing the promenade. Nina did not like the idea of sitting alone in a dingy, smoky bar room amid noisy, drunken compatriots, so she took the other option.

The promenade was a paved walking strip used in the daytime by married couples with children, and in the evening, by loners, men and women, in search of a bit of private good luck.

That was disgusting and humiliating – to pace to and fro pretending to be a lover of walks and waiting to be approached by some representative of the male species. Other women who loved walks just as much were cruising around casting unfriendly glances at each other. It was unbearable for Nina to be one of them, and it was only her angry determination that made her walk the whole promenade back and forth three times.

She was about to give up when a guy spoke to her. Shortish, dark-complexioned and fussy, he did not impress her at all, but she did not have any other choice. The guy called himself Zhora. Judging by his accent, he was from somewhere in the South – possibly, Rostov or Ukraine.

They did some chit-chatting, without much enthusiasm. Zhora livened up when Nina mentioned that she was leaving the next day. “That calls for a celebration, I swear!” he insisted joyously. He said that he could not invite her to his room as he was sharing it with another man, so it appeared that Nina had to invite him to hers. She did not like the idea – she no longer was in a mood for anything – but, being Nina, she had to carry through what she had begun.

On the way, Zhora picked up a bottle of the cheapest wine from the bar. In her room, they poured the wine into thick hotel glasses and drank it. There was nothing to talk about, and Nina wanted to be through with it as soon as possible. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be right back. You lie down,” she said without any ceremony, not wondering at herself any more.

When, wrapped up in a towel, she came out of the shower, the representative of the male species by the name of Zhora was already in her bed. Her instinct spoke loudly telling her that she should not lie with that Zhora, but from some evil obstinacy, she did.

Her instinct was right, it was no good. Zhora gave her no joy whatever. It was nothing like her recent love-making with Oleg – no stars, no sea-wash, and no gripping sensations in her body. Nothing. Besides, she soon felt sleepy and flaked out without even making it to the end of Zhora’s fidgety performance.

Her awakening was a nasty one. She had a headache, but worse still, she had a feeling that she had made some serious error for which she was going to pay. She received evidence of that at once – her bag was wide open, her things scattered about and her purse turned inside out. She had been robbed. The shortish Zhora from the South was a hotel thief who was in the business of robbing lonely dames that looked for adventure. He had drugged her wine and cleaned her out while she was knocked out. He took into account that she was leaving and so had no time to search for him and make a row. Nina buried her face in her hands and groaned from humiliation and shame. However, she had only about an hour left before the departure time, so the groaning had to be cut short. Thank heaven, Zhora had not taken either her passport or air ticket – he obviously wanted her to leave. He had even left her twenty dollars – enough to pay the bus fare to the airport.

On the plane, Nina was still stunned, unable to come to herself. All that had happened was so not like her, not her life. “Some vacation, to be sure. A real distraction,” she thought and suddenly remembered the stupid coin necklace. The greedy Zhora had snatched it, too. Somehow, the thought of it seemed so absurd to her that she burst out laughing hysterically causing the passengers to cast surprised looks at her and giving serious concern to the air hostess.

On arrival, she went out to work at once, trying to obliterate Turkey from her memory. She never saw Igor who had transferred to another branch of the company by that time. Apparently, his breaking up with Nina had not been easy for him, either, and he did not want to bump into her every day. Besides, Nina found that she did not care about all that as much as before – her feelings had blunted, and she had almost left the whole break up story behind her. She could live on.

However, she had to pay once more for her Turkish escapades. At first she did not pay attention to certain unpleasant symptoms, but after a week she had to see the doctor. The tests confirmed that the wretched Zhora (or was it the romantic Oleg?) had endowed her with a shameful disease. Nina felt as if the sky had collapsed on her. The doctor reassured her, “Don’t you rack yourself so, my dear. You look like a ghost. We’ve all been there, believe me. It’s nothing, it’s totally curable. You’ll be as good as new in a couple of weeks.” Nina had no way of explaining to the cynical, jovial doctor how horrified and disgusted with herself she was.

She took a course of treatment, then turned to another, more expensive clinic and insisted on being given another course although the tests indicated that she had been completely cured. Nina was certain now that she was not going to have anything to do with any men ever again – lovemaking was crossed out of her life with a thick, red line. “It’s simply not my thing,” she said to herself. “How much more proof do you need? Some people are born for this sex nonsense, others for profession. I live to be a professional, to make a career.”

Besides, she was soon seized by totally different events which involved her father, so that she had to put her intimate frustrations out of her mind for a long time.

Chapter 5

Nina’s father had worked for Simonyan for over two years when everything in the company began changing, and not for the better. Simonyan who, previously, had been paying only occasional visits to the company started showing up almost daily. He rummaged through the accounts and questioned Nina’s father at length about the company’s assets and operations. Then, one day, he broke to Yevgeniy Borisovich, “Sorry, old boy, we’ll have to tighten our belts. It’s hard times, you see,” – and ordered that most of the assets be sold out and half of the employees be dismissed, with only a bare minimum kept, which meant giving up some of the company’s projects.

Yevgeniy Borisovich was dumbfounded. He was convinced that the company was on the rise, and the market was in for growth, too, so it was time to expand rather than economize. Simonyan cut short his questions, “I said, it’s hard times!” – but then, seeing how upset his manager was, he softened, patted Nina’s father on the shoulder, and said reassuringly, “Take it easy, man. Things will sort themselves out.” Still, Yevgeniy Borisovich was in extreme distress and confusion.

Shortly after, Simonyan took out a large bank loan in the name of the company and immediately transferred the money to another account of his. He did not explain anything to Nina’s father – he only promised to return the money as soon as he could. Then he took out another loan and yet another one. The company’s total debt exceeded a critical level: with the reduced business that the company had left now, it was not capable of paying off the loans, and bankruptcy was looming. That did not go unnoticed by the bank, and when Simonyan applied for a new loan, he was refused it and forced to sign a protocol on the accelerated repayment of the accumulated debt.

When Simonyan came back from the bank, he was not himself – his stateliness and gloss was all gone; now it was an intimidated, harassed man. He and Nina’s father had a decisive talk. Simonyan admitted that he was in a desperate plight and needed money badly – any money, down to the last ruble.

Yevgeniy Borisovich realized finally that Simonyan was ready to sacrifice the business. In his former life, Nina’s father had put almost twenty years into a construction syndicate only to see it finally go up in smoke. That was understandable, though – the whole country was falling to pieces at that time, not only some syndicate. Now that he had worked in Simonyan’s company for two and a half years he was attached to it as he once had been to his syndicate. He worked hard, constantly throwing in evenings and Saturdays. All the workers of the company had been selected and trained by him personally, and he could rely on every one of them. All the projects and technical solutions were his projects and solutions. However, the company had an owner, and the owner chose to drown it because of some problems he was having.

Yevgeniy Borisovich told Simonyan what the other man was perfectly aware of himself – that there were no more assets to sell as their obsolete equipment could only be disposed of as scrap. The company’ main worth was in its cadre, their skill and experience, but that had no salvage value. It was true, some money could be made if the remaining projects were sold off to other companies. The leases on the office and warehouse were also worth something – both had been paid for a year in advance and could be ceded to someone else. “But that means that there will be nothing to give back to the bank. It’s called liquidation of pledged assets, a criminal offence,” Nina’s father remarked gloomily. Ignoring his remark, Simonyan asked how long it would take to negotiate and close the deals on the projects and leases, and gave an answer himself, “At least a month. It doesn’t work for me.”

For a long while, Simonyan sat in silence, drumming his fingers on the table. Then he looked pensively at Nina’s father and said suddenly, “Listen, Yevgeniy, why don’t you buy the company from me? I’ll sell it cheap.” Yevgeniy Borisovich was taken aback. “But…” he muttered. “How do you mean? … Where would I get the cash, anyway? I’ve got no money to speak of, you know that.” Simonyan looked intently at him. “I said, I’ll sell it cheap,” he repeated. Then he named his price.

The figure was not large by Simonyan’s measure, but for Nina’s father, it was huge, impossible. At least, that was what he thought at first. But apparently, Simonyan knew more about such matters. “How much salary have I paid you, all in all?” he asked and gave an accurate total himself. “So, you must have put by about…” That other figure suggested by Simonyan made Nina’s father start – it was exactly the current balance in his savings account. Simonyan went on reasoning aloud, “You can mortgage your apartment and sell your car… Does your wife have anything? Fur coat, stones? You don’t like the sound of it, I understand, but check it out – it’s your once in a lifetime chance.” It appeared that, if Yevgeniy Borisovich sold and pledged everything that could be sold or pledged, the necessary sum just worked out. In exchange for that he could acquire an over-indebted, drained out company that was in for bankruptcy. “Only I want it quick,” added Simonyan.

Yevgeniy Borisovich said that he would think about it. He said so out of politeness only – he was sure that there was nothing to think about. The company was doomed, and however strongly he was stuck to it, it was no reason to put his head in the noose. He was not that insane – no, sir. However, deep inside him, a temptation stirred and whispered contrary to all common sense, “It’s your big chance. Don’t miss it.” For the first time in his life, Yevgeniy Borisovich – an honest, hard-working man who had a lot of talent but not much business grip – was faced with such a choice.

He asked Nina to come over to his place and together with Lydia Grigorievna, they held a family council. Nina was against the buyout adventure. She was aware of what had been going on between Simonyan and her father recently, and she was sure that the company was hopeless. She spoke harshly, without sparing her father’s feelings – she believed that it was the right thing to do in the situation. Simonyan simply wanted to shift his debts onto Yevgeniy Borisovich, and it could very well end up in Nina’s father and Lydia Grigorievna being stranded with no money and not even a roof over their heads.

That was when Lydia Grigorievna surprised Nina for the first time. She put her hand on the hand of Nina’s father and said, “Do what you think is right. I am with you.”

Yevgeniy Borisovich collected the necessary money and bought out the company.

Everything was completed in a rush, in a matter of two weeks. When the money had been handed over to Simonyan and all the papers had been signed in the company office, the two men opened a bottle of Armenian cognac of the same brand as the one that had started their business relationship. Simonyan was wistful and talked little. As he was leaving, he hugged Yevgeniy Borisovich suddenly and said, “Hey, man, we’ve done some nice kicking around, right? I don’t regret anything.”

The next day, it was announced on the local news that on the highway leading to Sheremetyevo Airport, a car accident had occurred killing Artur Simonyan, a businessman known in certain circles.

A hard, nervous time set in. Nina submerged herself in her father’s affairs; every day after work and on weekends, she came to his company to pore over the papers until late at night. Soon she knew the company’s accounts like the back of her hand. Even without being an expert in engineering matters, she could see that it was a good, sound business. The projects were reasonably devised – they promised financial gains and paved way to further prospects. The staff remaining after the reduction was like a clenched fist, all its members being experienced, reliable, and committed. Many of them had known Yevgeniy Borisovich from the times of the syndicate, they trusted him and were ready to tighten their belts in order to make it through the bad streak. In another couple of years of steady work most of the projects would have been completed. Then the gains would be enough to pay off a major part of the debt and launch new projects whose contours could already be discerned. The company would take on additional staff, expand operations, and in just a few years, unfold like a spring into a strong, profitable business. However, there was a snag that blocked all those prospects – the paying off on the loans was due much earlier than the projects could be completed, and the money was nowhere to be found.

Nina started a struggle for economy – scrutinized every single item of assets and expenses, including the smallest ones, and handed her father a list of what she thought could be cut. Although the list did credit to her thoroughness and professional skills, the total economy was insignificant. Everything of value had been withdrawn by Simonyan who had squeezed the company out like a lemon.

Nina was seeing her father almost every day now, but they did not talk much. Yevgeniy Borisovich was not himself after the recent events, especially Simonyan’s death of which he did not even know what to think. His only answer to all his concerns was work. He dug even deeper into the engineering problems – spent his whole days out in the field, at the company’s objects, meddling in his men’s responsibilities. The problem of paying off the loans did not exist for him – he just refused to discuss it, hiding his head in the sand like an ostrich. “Don’t you worry so much, Ninok,” he would say to his daughter with feigned optimism. “It all will sort itself out one way or another. When the time comes, I’ll go to the bank and explain everything. I’m sure they’ll give me an extension on the debt. After all, they’re not monsters, are they?”

After having worked in an investment company for a few years, Nina knew more about banks than her father and had no illusions about their mercifulness or even common sense. However hard she racked her brains though, she was unable to come up with any other idea – it appeared that they could only pin their hopes on an extension that the bank might mercifully grant them. Only, of course, they should not come to the bank bare-handed – they had to present a detailed business plan providing absolute proof that the bank was better off saving this business rather than drowning it.

Nina got down to drawing such a business plan, for a five-year period. For that, she could use some advice from Igor who was an expert in precisely that field – estimating financial efficiency of investment projects – but she had not seen Igor since the door had slammed after him. Calling him now and asking for a meeting was out of the question – Igor would think that she was trying to get him back which she had no intention of doing. She was not going to let any more men into her life – ever.

Nina could handle the business-plan job on her own – she had brains enough for that. She was worried about something else. She had made some inquiries about the bank that was her father’s creditor to find out that it was one of the many small, shady financial establishments that had sprung up out of nowhere during the last decade of the past century and had made money out of thin air. In recent years, some of those establishments had been trying to cleanse themselves and join legal business, but the problem was they were filled with people of the old cast, whose mentality stemmed from the turbulent nineties. Those who were going to read the business plan which Nina was laboring at in her evenings were probably incapable of understanding what it was about, and if they did understand it, it was likely that the five-year prospect meant nothing to them. As a hungry dog does not believe in anything but meat, so those people did not believe in anything but cash, and not any time but today.

Nina had a backup scheme: if their business plan was turned down by the company’s bank, they could take the plan to some other bank in the hope of finding more professional and reasonable creditors there. Once they estimated the prospects of the business, the reasonable creditors in the other bank would hopefully give the company a long-term loan so that it could pay off its short-term debt, but then the reasonable creditors would certainly try to take over the company or at least enter it as co-owners. Nina thought that her father should agree to this last alternative – on the condition, of course, that he retained the control of the company.

However, life showed again that it always had surprises in store capable of upsetting the plans and calculations of ordinary people.

One Saturday, as usual, Nina and her father were alone in the company – Yevgeniy Borisovich sitting in his office, and Nina, over her papers, in the reception room. Suddenly, the door opened, and three men came in. One was of medium height, lean, dressed in a good overcoat, while the other two were musclemen, each of the shape and size of a wardrobe, wearing leather jackets. The lean one cast a sliding glance at Nina, said something to the musclemen and walked on into the office of Yevgeniy Borisovich leaving his companions behind in the reception. Nina knew that her father was not expecting anyone. She sprung up from her table meaning to find out what the matter was, but one of the musclemen raised a shovel-like hand: “Sit.” Nina was thinking frantically – what was that, a robbery? Those two were clearly criminal characters. But her father did not keep any money in the office – what was there to steal?

Nina calmed down a little when she heard voices coming from her father’s office – it sounded like a normal conversation, not an assault. “All right, maybe they are some odd clients,” she thought. “I wish they placed an order that could make us some quick money. If they do, then let them be demons from hell.” She returned to her papers but could not concentrate on them – she kept pricking up her ears for the voices coming from behind the door, trying to make out what was going on. One of the two gorillas lowered onto a chair beside Nina, making it squeak pitifully. The man grinned at Nina and uttered, “Ghy-y-y…” Nina had clearly caught his eye. Dragging the massive chair with him, he moved up closer to her intending to start active flirtation. However, the other one – apparently, he was the senior of the two – dropped curtly, “Cut it out, you.” The romantically disposed thug dulled at once, moved aside, fished out a comic magazine from his pocket and got absorbed in it.

Afterwards, Nina made her father recount in every detail the conversation that he had had with his unexpected visitor.

It was rather a young man dressed in expensive, though ill-assorted clothes. There were no scars on his face, his hands were not covered in tattoos, and he smelled of French cologne rather than prison close-stool, but anyone who happened to be near him thought momentarily of something horrible and criminal, and had a chill running down their spine.

The gangster took a chair beside the desk of Nina’s father and then kept silent for a while. Looking around the office, he pulled a cigarette case from his pocket, extracted an unusual brown cigarette with a twisted tip, and lit it. A strange-smelling smoke floated about the room.

At last the gangster looked at Nina’s father. The man had foul eyes – sick and insane, they were jumping all the time, unable to focus on anything. However, he saw and noticed everything he meant to.

Unable to bear it any longer, Nina’s father rose from his chair.

“Be so kind as to tell me what…”

The other man waved the hand that held the cigarette.

“Sit. Don’t fuss.”

Nina’s father obeyed, as anyone would in his place. When actors play gangsters in movies, they shout or speak in unnaturally hoarse voices, use obscene language and make scary faces trying to be convincing. However, in real life, those who actually kill people as if it is ordinary work do not need shouting or cursing to make impression. The visitor of Yevgeniy Borisovich did not shout.

“Come on, sing,” he said quietly. A few words like ‘sing’ were the only slang he used – otherwise, he spoke an almost correct language.

“Wh-what do you mean?” uttered Nina’s father with difficulty.

“It’s you who was under Simonyan here, right?” asked the visitor.

Yevgeniy Borisovich assumed a dignified air. “I am the director of the company.”

“Yeah, that,” nodded the other.

The visitor drew on his cigarette and asked, “Do you know who I am?”

Nina’s father shook his head emphatically.

“You’ve been lucky,” said the gangster. “But your luck is over.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Nina’s father asked again.

“Your buddy Simonyan owed money to some serious people. And he ditched it, rat.”

“But… He got killed,” mumbled Yevgeniy Borisovich.

“Yeah, that’s what I say – he ditched it. Some sly son of a bitch, he was. Come on, tell me about this racket of yours. Think how you’re going to pay.”

Nina’s father was paralyzed by fear. Afterwards, he asked himself why he had been so scared, and whether he could have behaved in a different way – and admitted to himself that if that conversation had happened again, he would have been just as crushed. Yevgeniy Borisovich Kisel faced a real, big predator in his office, himself being a sheep in comparison, and there was no changing that.

Nina’s father was about to say that he owned the company now, but bit his tongue. To the gangster, he was a Simonyan’s man, period. After some meaningless mumbling, Yevgeniy Borisovich outlined the situation. Simonyan had drained the company dry, there was no money left in it – worse still, they were up to their ears in debt to the bank and actually in for bankruptcy.

“You’re not lying to me, eh?” asked the gangster and looked into the eyes of Nina’s father which made the older man’s heart miss a few beats. “You’re not, I can see it. Damn Simonyan…”

The gangster crushed his cigarette discontentedly on the ash-tray.

“What bank is that?” he asked.

Yevgeniy Borisovich named the bank.

“Yeah, I know the joint,” said the man. “I’ll go have some face time with them so they get off your back. And you work, dude. Get stuck in, earn the cash. You’ll have to cough it up anyways, you dig?”

“I’ll send along an accountant,” he added. “But that’s just for looks. You’re not going to jump me like Simonyan, eh? … Simonyan told me you’re kind of a family man, right? It’s not for you to go jumping…”

The visitor rose and headed out, but paused in the doorway.

“The one in the reception – your daughter, eh? Looks like you.”

Nina’s father gulped, his fists clenched.

“All right, relax. Nobody’s going to touch her. You’re under me now, and I don’t believe in hurting my people,” the gangster said almost tenderly and walked out.

The next day an accountant sent down by the gangsters arrived. His name was Samuil Yakovlevich. As soon as he made Nina and her father’s acquaintance, he announced, “I can see that you are good people, so I’m telling you like you were my own family – don’t trust me. The gangs… – I mean, those kind gentlemen have me on the hook, so I’ll be reporting everything to them, may you forgive me for that. Let me ask you – who can be trusted, anyway? I’ve lived sixty years in this world, and I’m telling you – you cannot trust anyone, not even yourself.”

He was a talkative type, and for any occasion he had a saying, a story, or an anecdote, but whenever Nina’s father asked him about his criminal patrons, the accountant clammed up and shrank. He had clearly been frightened out of his wits, once and for all. Only much later, in a moment of candor, he said to Nina’s father: “You want to know what can make an old Jew slave to bandits? Children, what else? Arkasha, my only boy. The young ones are all impatient – they want everything, and they want it now. Arkadiy got mixed up with the wrong people, ran into debt, and here I am…” He sighed despondently. “We really should leave – we have relations in… no, I’m not telling you in what country. But who’s going to let us out? Here, Simonyan wanted to leave, too.”

With all that, he was an excellent accountant, and when he was not telling anecdotes or drinking tea with marshmallow sticks which he was very fond of, he would give Nina and her father very useful advice. His mission though was to keep an eye on the company’s affairs and report everything to the chief gangster whose name turned out to be Mikhail Antonovich, or, among his own crowd, Misha Permyak. Apparently, Samuil Yakovlevich had reported the state of things truthfully, since Misha Permyak paid no more visits to the company and visited the bank instead. That became apparent when Nina’s father had a call from the bank and was summoned to a conference, which had never happened before. Yevgeniy Borisovich was received by the head of the industrial credit department. Averting his eyes, the banker said that it had been decided to restructure two of the company’s short-term loans which were nearly due by replacing them with long term debt, and handed Nina’s father papers for signing.

That was a princely gift. The company received the necessary breathing space, and with it came a hope for survival. However, instead of joy, the company was plunged in depression. Nina’s father had never been able to recover from the fear that he had experienced during Misha Permyak’s visit, and the position he was in would not let him forget anything. After he had been for a short while the boss of his own, although nearly bankrupt, company, he was now a gangsters’ puppet who was allowed to work only for the purpose of bringing money to the thugs.

Nina’s father was constantly irritable and depressed. Even his universal remedy for all sorrows, work, did not help. He alternated between fits of frantic activity when he would snatch at any job, and depression when he locked himself up in his office for whole days refusing to see anyone. When that happened, Nina used any truth or lie as an excuse to take a day off at her own job to spend it in the company office from morning till night taking on herself more and more management duties. That caused fierce arguments between her and her father. On the day following the gangsters’ visit Yevgeniy Borisovich declared that she must not come anywhere near the company ever again. “You don’t understand what those bastards are capable of,” he told her. “I’ll never forgive myself if you get mixed up in this.” Nina protested that it was all the same now – it was pointless for her to hide as the gangsters had already seen her, knew who she was, and were capable of finding her anywhere if they meant to. Although her father never agreed with her on that, Nina kept coming to the office almost daily to delve into the company’s affairs.

The worst of it was that Nina’s father seemed to have taken to drink again. Nina had not seen him actually drunk – she had only traced alcohol on his breath a couple of times – but she observed the same vacant, lackluster expression on his face as he had a few years before when, workless, he was sitting in his kitchen getting drunk for whole days. Nina was no longer a young, helpless student girl, and supposedly could be helpful to her father in many ways, but the outcome was the same.

Half a year passed that way. With all the problems that the company was having, the project works were going on according to plan, but there was still no money in the till.

One day, the door opened again and Misha Permyak with two bodyguards came in. The bodyguards were not the same but very much like those that had accompanied the chief gangster the first time. In the same disciplined manner, they stayed behind in the reception room while Misha walked into the office of Nina’s father. This time Misha told Yevgeniy Borisovich to call in Samuil Yakovlevich and Nina. Yevgeniy Borisovich opened his mouth to protest that Nina had nothing to do with it, and there was no point in getting her involved, but when he met with Misha’s gaze, he shut up and obeyed.

Misha took the same chair, lit the same kind of cigarette and glanced around those present. This time though, he did not say “Sing”, but simply nodded at Samuil Yakovlevich. The accountant started speaking hurriedly – pouring out figures, dates and accounting terms – eager to provide the gangster with a full picture of the current situation. Misha listened silently for a few minutes, and then motioned to the old man to stop.

Suddenly, Misha glanced at Nina – looked her straight in the eye. His own eyes were totally insane; there was nothing human left in them.

“You,” he said.

Seized with fear, Nina could not utter a word.

“You speak. It seems, you’re the smart one here.”

“Wh-what should I say?” mumbled Nina.

“Don’t give me this accounting crap. Say simply when your father’s going to have the dough.”

Nina took a deep breath and said resolutely, “Because the loans have been extended, the company is operating in a regular way, but no real money is going to come in before the end of the year.”

Misha said, “Shit.” Then, after a pause, he asked, “How about moving the whole caboodle?”

“You mean – sell the company?” Samuil Yakovlevich joined in enthusiastically. “It can be done! With the present state of the market, considering the seasonal growth of the rates…” He started pouring data on them again.

Once more, Misha stopped him and ordered Nina to speak.

Nina gave him an estimate of the time it would take to close the sale of the company and the sum of money that could realistically be made on the deal. She did not have to rack her brain to come up with the figures – she had more than once weighed up that option herself.

“It won’t do,” said Misha. “I need more. And sooner.”

Silence fell. Misha was staring blankly at the wall, oblivious of the others. The cigarette in his fingers went out. Misha came to, dropped the cigarette onto the ash-tray and lit another.

After drawing on his cigarette, the gangster said, “Use your brains, hustlers. It’s time to show cash.”

Nina’s father could not bear it any longer. “There is no money in the company, and there is nowhere to expect it from,” he said. “What happens if I cannot pay?”

“Let’s not talk about that. Not yet,” responded Misha without any expression.

He killed his cigarette and left.

That day Nina’s father got drunk right in his office. Nina ran out to a supermarket and brought back some food for him so that he did not drink on an empty stomach, and then waited for him to appease his aching self so that it was finally possible to take him home. As many drunken men, Nina’s father was seized alternately by ambition and self-deprecation, or self-pity. “How dare they?” he cried to Nina, red in the face. “What do they take me for, an errand boy? I used to manage a whole syndicate – they have no idea of the things we pulled off!” Then, without any transition, he moaned, “Look what I’ve become… Your father’s a milksop, Nina. You’d better leave me and keep away from me. Leave me, all of you, and let me die!”

Apart from the fear that she had experienced and anguish for her father, Nina had a sensation of something absurd going on – what was more, a familiar kind of absurd.

A few days later they heard on the news that in an out-of-town restaurant, a get-together of criminal bosses had taken place. The party ended in a shooting as a result of which some of the thugs got killed and some others got arrested. Among those killed was the well-known criminal figure Mikhail Avdeev, aka Misha Permyak.

Samuil Yakovlevich never showed up again, but he called the office. Nina took the call. The accountant’s voice was barely heard above the noise – he was clearly calling from a pay phone in some crowded place, probably an airport. “I am leaving, Ninochka,” Samuil Yakovlevich cried excitedly. “Arkasha and I are leaving. Wish us good luck! You should leave, too. Listen to old Samuil’s advice – run before it’s too late! It’s a doomed country, it can never be cured. My regards to your papa and good bye. It’s time to move on!”

Chapter 6

They had to live on somehow, but they were in a complete mess, not knowing what to make of their situation or what to do about it. Was the company going to be left alone now or was it in for visits by some new hoods who would claim the debts of Misha Permyak?

Nina’s father was summoned to the police department where he was questioned about both Permyak and Simonyan. Yevgeniy Borisovich honestly could not tell the investigator anything about their affairs, and there seemed to be nothing he could be incriminated with himself. Nevertheless, he was made to sign an undertaking not to leave town.

Nina saw that her father was in a terrible state. Oddly, even the past half year, when he had been under the gangsters’ heel and in real danger, had not been as hard on him as this interminable uncertainty and suspense. The old fears and new fears, humiliation and the awareness of his total helplessness – all that was eating him up.

One day, Nina had a phone call from Lydia Grigorievna, the first one since they had been introduced to each other. The woman asked for them to have a talk in private, and they met in a café in town. Lydia Grigorievna looked tired and faded. “Ninochka, what shall we do? Please, help. This has to be stopped,” she said. “This company – it’s simply killing your father. We have to get rid of it. Nina, you’re a smart girl – talk to him. He won’t listen to me.”

She confirmed Nina’s fears – her father was on the bottle again, getting drunk almost every evening.

Lydia Grigorievna’s words clicked with Nina’s own thoughts – she was convinced that it was the right time to sell the business. Things were not all that bad now, and they could net some money on the sale. That would not make Nina’s father a rich man, but at least he would be able to pay off his personal debts and not risk ending up in the street. The company should be sold before it was too late – before some new misfortunes arrived.

For Nina, the most convincing argument in favor of selling the company was one that she could not even begin to discuss with Yevgeniy Borisovich. After having worked with him shoulder to shoulder for some time, she knew now that her father was not cut out to run his own business. He was an excellent engineer, a solid manager, but not a boss. He lacked something of what the late Simonyan had had in plenty and what was vital for success in the ruthless, unfair and unlawful world of domestic business.

She felt uncomfortable at the thought that she was evaluating her father as a grown-up person would evaluate a peer, and even looking down on him a bit. Her dear papa, who had always been the biggest and best man in the world for her, turned out to have his flaws and weaknesses. However, seeing him in this new way – and understanding that there was no one but her to give him support – made her love him even more.

Nina had hesitated to start this talk fearing that it might be difficult but she had not expected it to be such a disaster. At her very first words, her father flared up. He yelled hysterically and flung impossible accusations at Nina – called her a traitress who was stabbing him in the back. He shouted that the company was the reason of his life and he would not let anyone undermine it; that he was responsible for the people who trusted him, and that if Nina did not believe in him – fine, he could live with that, and he did not want to see her in the company ever again.

Nina was dumbfounded. She had never imagined that she would live to hear such things from her father. The next day he called her and they had a meeting. Yevgeniy Borisovich apologized for the breakdown he had had the day before, but he was still keeping aloof and said firmly that he really did not want to see Nina in the company. “Maybe I’ll never make it – maybe I’m no good as a businessman – but this is my life and this is what I do,” he said. “I’ll carry on but I’m not going to drag you into it any more. You must live your own life. It’s time for you to get married and start a family, anyway.”

To that last argument, Nina did not even know what to say.

Nina hoped that it was just nerves – that all that was going to melt away – but her father stood by what he had said and still would not allow her into the company weeks and even months later. Lydia Grigorievna called again and sobbed on the phone. Nina’s father went on drinking, literally killing himself. Nina was in despair. Her only hope which she shared with Lydia Grigorievna was that Yevgeniy Borisovich was having a psychological crisis, a belated reaction to that whole gangster story, which was bound to pass sooner or later. He was going to recover his balance – they only needed to have patience.

In part, she was right – but only in part.

At the same time, Nina faced the necessity to change jobs. In her investment company, she had long outgrown her entry position, but any promotion was blocked for her by her group manager. A woman of middle age and medium talent, the manager was extremely concerned with her own status in the organization. During her first years in the company, Nina was the manager’s favorite and was even held up as an example of a good young performer who never complained and worked on improving her skills. The woman’s attitude changed when she started to see a competitor in Nina. Not a great analyst herself, she did not tolerate gifted people around her. She started hounding Nina – loading the girl with the hardest and most boring work, finding faults with her, and mentioning her among problem employees at the staff meetings. In the past year, Nina had given food for criticism herself – submerged with her father’s problems, she had taken too many days off, refused to work extra hours, and failed to meet the report deadlines. The manager was now constantly bandying about her name, preparing the ground for her dismissal. It was clear to Nina that she had to leave the company herself.

Changing jobs is always an important event in the life of a professional – Nina had to search around for opportunities and weigh them up carefully in order to make a forced resignation into a step ahead in her career. However, she could not concentrate on her own affairs as her mind was full of her father and his severe crisis. Nina wanted with all her heart to help him, but he kept detached and would not allow her anywhere near him. Nina spent many evenings in gloomy reflection, sitting in her armchair in front of the mutely shimmering TV set. For a long time, she could not think of any way out.

However, her unfailing, bright mind finally came up with an answer. The idea that occurred to her seemed absurd but already the next day, Nina set to putting it into practice. She decided to quit the investment company and take up a job in the bank that credited her father – in order to at least be informed of his financial affairs and, given a chance, be of help to him. She could do that without disclosing their relationship – especially as she bore a different surname now.

Getting a job in the bank was easy. The bank’s management was in the process of change, new bosses recruiting new employees, and Nina who already had some experience was taken on readily. Her wish to work in the area of industrial credit was respected, too. Thus, without telling anything to her father, Nina landed in the very bank and the very department that credited him.

The bank had a weird atmosphere to it – everything reminded of its semi-criminal past. Back in the nineties, the bank had been started by some Komsomol functionaries and cooperative profiteers in crimson jackets. Where the starting capital had come from was a mystery – not only to the tax authorities, but it seemed, to the present owners of the bank as well, since the founders who had kept that secret had long been dead.

The first shady dealers had been replaced by others, then yet others. However, the times were changing, and the bank was touched by new drifts. The management was joined by new people who aimed at legal business and professionalism. Nina came to the bank at the time of transition when the bank resembled a frog which had almost turned into a prince but was still bearing spots of its frog past. In the managers’ offices, respectable Western businessmen could be met as well as local criminal bosses, and lofty financial talk was mixing with prison jargon.

In the industrial credit department, the table next to Nina’s was occupied by a character that looked like a professional boxer and did not even know how to turn on the computer. He came to work every day, never spoke to anyone, and killed time studying automobile magazines. Nina did not know why someone who had nothing to do with finance should be kept in that position, neither did she want to find out. Another table was always vacant although the staff list said that it was occupied by a specialist on long-term loans. Apart from her own work, Nina did everything for those two, and she did not mind the arrangement.

Also, the department had on its staff a number of mature women who had received accounting education some thirty years before. All of them had children and grandchildren. They were as interested in their work as in life on Mars, but they needed their jobs for the sake of the same children and grandchildren. For that reason, they were ready to perform great volumes of routine operations, but any attempts by the department manager to charge them with anything that went beyond their thirty-year-old skills were doomed.

The department manager, named Kirill, was a very corpulent young man with rosy cheeks who looked like a big baby. He had graduated from the same financial university as Nina, but he was five years her senior. He was very glad to have Nina in his department – he recognized at once a kindred mind in her, and soon the two of them formed a kind of alliance. Hardly a day went by without Kirill summoning Nina to discuss some business matters or, not infrequently, just have a chat and complain about his life.

Kirill’s life in the bank was not an easy one. He lived in cycles. From time to time, he was possessed by the zest for action. Then he called in Nina and Ignatiy Savelievich, the department’s leading specialist. Kirill unfolded grandiose plans before them – in his imagination, they were going to expand the operations many times over, and transform the modest credit department into a branch leading an independent investment policy. Ignatiy Savelievich, who had heard such speeches many times before, agreed with everything. Nina, for whom those plans were new, tried to grasp them and was surprised to find that, with all their Napoleonic audacity, Kirill’s ideas were not idle fantasies – they could very well be feasible. Inflamed with his projects, Kirill would cry out, “Let’s get to it, people! Time waits for no one.” With these words, he hustled his subordinates out of his office, and then tackled specific issues himself stirring up everyone around.

A period of Kirill’s great activity would end by his being called up to the bank’s bosses. From the top floor, Kirill came back crushed. The castles in the air that he built collapsed as they came in contact with the crude reality. The bosses who could not tell debit from credit or do without obscene slang in their speech imparted Kirill to their view of the business. The instructions that Kirill received were not too various – typically, he was ordered to write off, for unknown reasons, the debt of some client company, launder large sums of cash, or take on another criminal mug as a financial consultant for his department.

After his visits to the top, Kirill lapsed into apathy, let things take their course and signed without looking the papers that were brought to him. Nina became a shoulder to cry on for him. She was worried about that at first, fearing that Kirill might have his eye on her as a woman. That kind of interest on his part could thwart all her plans. Luckily, it soon became clear that there was no reason for her concern – Kirill was married and adored his wife. He kept a framed picture of her on the table in his office. His wife was thin and angular, with a face like a horse – in Nina’s view, not an attractive woman, but, thank heaven, Kirill was of a different opinion.

Apart from Kirill and Nina, the department’s only real specialist in finance was Ignatiy Savelievich, a man of retirement age. In former times, he had been himself a department head in one of the major state-owned banks. He knew everything and everyone – both in the profession and beyond it. Once, as they were having tea, he told Nina that one of the current vice-premiers in the federal government had served under him at one time. “Nina, do you know what dyslexia is? It’s pathological inability to make up words out of letters. A dyslexic person simply cannot read. Now, that guy has a severe case of dyslexia. You want to ask me how someone who was unable to read could work in a bank? You tell me – how can he work as vice-premier today?” Ignatiy Savelievich chuckled, “Who cares about dyslexia? It’s nothing! I know some more exciting things – what industries were privatized by whom in the government, and what foreign accounts billions were transferred to. I don’t know all of it, but I know a lot. If I wanted to die in style, I could let out one per cent of it to the media. But I mean to live on a bit longer, so I’m not letting out anything.”

Nina asked him, “Ignatiy Savelievich, why haven’t you privatized anything? Why do those people have billions while you, already on pension, have to work?” “That’s because I am a fool,” answered Ignatiy Savelievich. “No,” protested Nina. “You are not a fool, but a good, honest man.” “It’s one and the same thing,” laughed the old finance hand.

Before Nina’s time, Ignatiy Savelievich had been the department’s main force in everything that required application of knowledge or intellect. When Nina arrived, he sized up her potential at once and started shifting work on her without ceremony. The benefit was mutual, though – in compensation for the exploitation, he taught her many niceties and tricks of their profession.

It was from Ignatiy Savelievich that Nina received the file of her father’s company. Now she was the one who supervised that debtor on behalf of the bank and received quarterly reports on his operations. According to the reports, the company’s business was going on in a satisfactory way.

After she had worked in the department for half a year, Nina was already its unofficial leader. Whenever complex questions arose, everyone turned to her now. Ignatiy Savelievich was not jealous of her growth, and Kirill was happy to have such an employee on his staff. Strangely enough, Nina’s life in that ‘joint’ as it had been referred to by the late Misha Permyak was quite tolerable – the work suited her and so did the weird, disorderly state of things in the department which gave her a great deal of latitude.

About once in a month Nina visited her father at his place. Lydia Grigorievna was willing to receive her and made a special dinner for such occasions. Those evenings à trois ran peacefully, everyone trying to be polite and avoid sore subjects. Nina’s father would not talk about his work, and when asked, would only say, “Everything’s all right, there’s nothing to tell.” Nina, who had never told him about her getting a job in the bank, could not dwell on her work either and got away with the same dummy formula, “Everything’s all right.” As a result, they mostly discussed Lydia Grigorievna’s culinary novelties and theater shows which Nina’s father and his wife were frequenting again.

It was from Lydia Grigorievna that Nina learned how things actually were with her father. The woman would snatch a moment to give Nina a brief account – everything seemed to be quiet in the company, no new gangsters had turned up. Yevgeniy Borisovich was off drink, working a lot.

Nina was thinking of joining them for their theater outings, which had been more than once suggested by Lydia Grigorievna. However, Nina really had no time for that – she was busier than ever before, loaded down with work for almost all her evenings.

What depressed her was that she was deceiving her father. What had started by holding back some minor things from him at the time when he had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown and had to be spared had grown into a big lie which she did not know how to stop. Confessing to her deception now would mean hurting him badly and probably, estranging from herself for good the only person on earth with whom she had a real bond, while not confessing meant leading the situation further and further into an impasse.

Nina was stalling, unable to make up her mind and put an end to the lie. That was not at all like her. Rather, it was like her mother who had not had a single conflict with anyone in her life, preferring to smooth over the differences and let time sort everything out. “Mama, mama, where are you?” sighed Nina. “If you are there somewhere, forgive me for not remembering you more often. I love you.” It seemed to Nina that an eternity had passed since her mother’s death and sometimes she caught herself at not being able to recall the dear face.

Nina had not come to the bank in vain – a time arrived when she actually played the guardian angel to her father’s company. The due date was approaching on the last short-term loan, the largest of them all. The company clearly did not have enough money to pay it off. Nina believed that, if she had been by her father’s side, she would have found a way to obtain the necessary means from another bank, but she doubted that her father could manage it on his own. Or rather, she was sure that he could not.

She was pondering what arguments she could offer Kirill to convince him to grant the company an extension on the loan. But then the worst possible thing happened – the bank was swept by a wave of cash mobilization. The owners, who were suddenly in urgent need of huge sums of money, gave an order to collect debt ruthlessly from all the borrowers, and squeeze out cash by all means. The first thought that occurred to Nina when she heard of that was, “Good heavens, the same story all over again. First Simonyan, then Misha Permyak, now these fellows…”

Kirill convened his brain trust consisting of Nina and Ignatiy Savelievich, and announced the immediate goals. Then, separately, he complained to Nina, “I can’t take it any more. What are they doing, for heaven’s sake? I’ll quit. I mean it, I’ll quit.”

Nina panicked, not knowing what to do. Asking Kirill for an extension on the loan would be futile now. However much he might favor her, he was not going to cover such a violation of the rules with his plump white body. Should she rush to her father, confess to her lie and offer help? At the thought of that Nina recalled the terrible incident when she tried to reason with him and was called a traitress in return. What her father would call her now was hard to imagine.

Nina and Ignatiy Savelievich had formed a habit of having tea twice a day, and each time, the old finance wizard would tell her something of interest. Seized by her new anxiety though, Nina was not disposed to listen to his life recollections and observations. At one of their tea sessions, on a sudden impulse, she interrupted the man with the question, “Ignatiy Savelievich, please tell me – how can an extension on a loan be arranged for a company?”

The old fox figured out everything at once. Looking at her ironically, he munched on a dry biscuit, took a sip of tea and said, “Oh-ho-ho, young lady. You, of all people! I’ve been holding you to be a model of integrity, and now this…”

Nina blushed. “Ignatiy Savelievich, I’m begging you. It’s really important. And it’s urgent.”

However, the old man was in no hurry – he was clearly enjoying the situation.

“Who is it you have in that company – a sweetheart?”

“Well… Yes, kind of,” said Nina, with her eyes dropped.

“All right,” said Ignatiy Savelievich, taking pity on her at last. “Your problem can be helped. Here’s one solution for you.”

He described a scheme of four successive operations. The first of them consisted in taking out, contrary to all common sense, another large short-term loan in the name of the company. At the second stage, the borrowed money was used to buy shares of that very bank, which made the company its stockholder, and accordingly, gave it some essential privileges. As a result of all the four operations, the company was freed from all short-term loans and left with long-term debt given out to her on very favorable terms.

Nina gasped at the simplicity and ingenuity of the scheme.

“And, mind you, each separate operation is quite legal and justified from the standpoint of the bank,” added Ignatiy Savelievich. “But there’s a catch.”

He gave her an earnest look, not joking any more.

“According to the rules, there are certain minimum time intervals that must pass between those operations, so fixing the whole affair should take at least…” he pondered a second. “…about three weeks.”

“But that’s impossible!” Nina cried out in despair.

Ignatiy Savelievich took another sip of tea and then asked quietly, “When is it due?”

After some hesitation, Nina named the loan due date which was only ten days off.

“Not good,” said Ignatiy Savelievich. “Then, my dear colleague, you’ll have to take the road of forgery. But don’t you say afterwards that I spurred you on to that.”

“What are you talking about?” Nina asked, genuinely confused.

“Do you remember how exactly the loan documentation is kept in this bank?” Ignatiy Savelievich spoke in a very low voice now.

“Of course. The hard copies are kept here, in the department. The digital files are also kept here, on our computers, with duplicates of them stored on the bank’s server.”

“And what’s the schedule for transferring the duplicates to the server?” asked Ignatiy Savelievich.

“They are transferred once a month.” Nina was still at a loss.

“Yes, and the last time it was done was just about a month ago.”

“You mean to say that I can…” Nina got it finally.

“Precisely. Remember Gogol’s ‘Dead Souls’? What happens between one census and the next is not quite final yet – it can be turned one way or another. Before the next transfer of the data to the server you can record those operations as having taken place within the past month. And as for the hard copies… I presume, the dossier of that company is in your file cabinet?”

“Yes,” admitted Nina. “But… Is it really possible?” She was dumbfounded.

“Yes, dear. And all seasoned accountants know that. Now you do, too.”

“But… What if I get exposed?”

“Who is there to expose you?” Ignatiy Savelievich grinned. “Our Kiryusha has a lot of other things on his plate, and I…” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “This skull keeps so many secrets that another tiny secret won’t burden it any.”

Nina, who had never in her life so much as crossed the street on a red light, faced the prospect of committing a real crime. In complete mental turmoil, she came home, made a large pot of strong coffee, perched on her chair and got to thinking. There was not much to think about, though. The alternative was clear – either she dared to do that or she did not. If she did, then, with luck, she could help her father in a big way – really be there for him for once in her life. And if she got caught… Well, they would hardly kill her. Probably, not even put to jail. They would simply throw her out of the bank with a bang, so that she would never find a job in her profession again. “All right, I can always make a living cleaning public toilets or something,” decided Nina.

Everything was clear but still she stayed awake till dawn. She knew already that she was going to do it, but she was still groping for the right words to wrap her decision in. Finally, the words occurred to her. “You have to carry it through,” she said to herself. “This is what you came to this bank for, so why back out now? You have always to finish what you’ve started.”

After a couple of hours of sleep, she got up, poured into herself another cup of coffee, and went to the bank. Full of the decision that she had made, she felt jittery and elated at the same time.

Once in the department, she carried out the scheme that Ignatiy Savelievich had taught her – she did everything in an unruffled, efficient, all-in-a-day’s-work way as if she had been some kind of hardened criminal or spy rather than a young financial analyst named Nina Shuvalova.

When he saw Nina, Ignatiy Savelievich certainly noticed the pallor of her face and understood what had caused it, but he said nothing. That survivor of the past knew how to hold his tongue.

At the end of that week, Nina’s father invited her to his place. He was solemn, full of great, wonderful news. Lydia Grigorievna, also radiant, was looking at him lovingly.

Pouring out champagne, Evgeniy Borisovich said, “You may congratulate me, Nina. The bank has notified me of a debt restructuring. There are no more financial risks, and the company is back on its feet. We did it! I knew all along that it would work out this way.”

“And you didn’t believe in me,” Nina seemed to hear. As best she could, she made a show of happy surprise, kissed her father and clinked glasses with Lydia Grigorievna. It was clear to her now that she would never be able to open her secret to her father.

Evgeniy Borisovich was blithe and full of fun. He put on the fez that Nina had given him and showed a Turk, owner of a harem. Then he dug out his guitar from the far corner of the closet and sang a few songs which Nina had not heard for ages.

As Nina was leaving, Lydia Grigorievna dragged her into her room and asked in a whisper, “Ninochka, do you have something to do with it?”

“What are you talking about, LydiaGrigorievna?” Nina replied, shrugging, in the same kind of whisper.

Lydia Grigorievna squeezed her hand silently and kissed her on the cheek.

Chapter 7

Her life came to a kind of standstill, or hung like a computer program. Nina was possessed by a strange apathy, almost paralysis, unable to collect her thoughts, let alone decide anything.

And yet, it was time for her to make decisions. She was twenty six. Five years had passed since her graduation from the university. After a good start, her career made a weird pirouette and landed her in a disreputable bank which she had every reason to leave as soon as possible. She had carried out her mission – saved her father’s company – and was now free to make any plans. The problem was, she did not feel like making any.

Meanwhile, changes were brewing in the bank’s industrial credit department where Nina was still working, so this page of her biography was about to turn anyway. Ignatiy Savelievich was admitted to hospital, and although he returned to work afterwards, it was clear that his working days were counted. Kirill was about to leave the department, too, but for a different reason: he was expected to become a vice-director. Once again, the young manager was full of plans which embraced the entire bank now. “We’ll change everything here, everything! Just give me time, you’ll not recognize the bank!” he would exclaim sharing his enthusiasm with Nina.

“Who’s going to be department head?” Nina asked him once without much interest and received the answer, “I hope, you are.” Kirill wanted her to take over his place. He admitted that he did not yet have the authority to decide the matter on his own. “But I’ll convince them, trust me!” he assured her. “Listen, you and I together, we’ll be moving mountains!” He could not imagine that Nina might refuse.

Formally, that would be a big step forward in her career, a great opportunity. However, Nina was not after any career in that bank. She did not believe that Kirill and a few other enthusiasts were able to cure the inherent flaws of that establishment which had begun as a ‘laundry’ for the money from plundering public budgets and God knows what other shady affairs. “A leopard can’t change its spots,” recalled Nina the English proverb. (She had made a little progress in English through reading a few pages from some English detective story every night before sleep.) In her native language, a similar proverb sounded even more expressive, if somewhat cruder, ‘A black dog can’t be washed white.” Nina could not forget the terror that she had experienced facing the thugs in her father’s company, and she had no intention of devoting her life to washing black dogs. She had to leave, that much was clear. Still, she procrastinated.

By that time, she knew thoroughly all the operations performed in the department and was doing her work almost automatically, without giving it a thought. She had some free time again and could resume her old pastimes – reading, tennis.

A couple of times, Nina went to the theater in the company of her father and Lydia Grigorievna. Either for want of habit, or because the shows were not good, theater struck her as a primitive and affected kind of art. To her rational mind, the dramatic turns of the plays seemed labored, and she never got emotionally involved in the action, unable to take her mind off the actors’ crude make-up, their unnatural postures and voices, and their stomping on the planks of the scene.

Meanwhile, Lydia Grigorievna was in raptures. Nina learned from her that those shows were the biggest hits of the season. “The city is talking of nothing else!” exclaimed the woman. Not wishing to be impolite, Nina praised what she saw and cast sidelong glances at her father trying to understand what he found in all that.

Yevgeniy Borisovich was in high spirits – his life was getting back on track and the two women who were dear to him seemed to be getting on finally. Nina did not question him about his company’s affairs, and he hardly ever mentioned them of his own accord, but when he did, it was in the tone of newly acquired confidence and pride in the business that he had built. Only Nina, who knew all his intonations, was not deceived by that facade of confidence – behind it, she detected his deeply embedded fear and emotional fatigue.

Her father’s optimism was not matched by his appearance, either – he looked unhealthy and older than his age, having grown overweight and short-winded over the past few years. “You must take care of yourself,” Nina pleaded with him. “Go to the swimming-pool. You used to like swimming, didn’t you?” Her father promised absently. Lydia Grigorievna, who was not into sports, believed in herbs – she had a whole program of decoction treatment worked out for Yevgeniy Borisovich. “But, Ninochka, this stuff should be taken at least five times a day, dead on time. Who’s going to see to it when he’s at work?” complained the woman.

Nina and her father scheduled a day for visiting their dacha. However, in the morning of the scheduled day, Nina received an alarmed phone call from Lydia Grigorievna. “Papa has high blood pressure. Ninochka, please, put off your trip.” Nina spoke to her father. At first, Yevgeniy Borisovich refused to change plans. “What kind of invalid are you making of me? I’m as strong as a bull!” he protested. Then he suddenly slackened off, gave in to persuasion and stayed at home.

Nina went to the countryside alone, by suburban train. She had no business at all at the dacha. “It’s just a good way to unbend your mind a bit,” she said to herself following her habit to rationalize everything.

She had not been to the dacha for a few years, and at first, she had difficulty recognizing the dear plank cottage, now almost hidden from view by a thicket of two-meter tall weeds.

“Nina, is that you?” a neighbor hailed her from over the fence. “I’ve been wondering whether it’s you or not. Why, it’s been ages! And where’s your father?” The neighbor had known her since she had been a little girl, and they had been friends at one time, but he had grown old since and looked a stranger now.

Nina opened the cottage and walked about the dark rooms which smelled of a junk shed rather than a human dwelling. She came out into the yard. Everything here was overgrown with giant burdocks. They hid completely the vegetable garden which her mother had once cultivated. Mama was a creative soul and while everyone around grew potatoes, she would try planting something fancy like melons or grapes. Nina’s father built her a hot-house following all the rules of the building science, but in the hot-house either, mama was never able to grow anything. Mama laughed at herself and ventured something else the next year.

At the far end of the plot the black trunks of three apple-trees could be seen. Two of them had long been killed by frost, but to Nina’s surprise, the third one had a few small apples on its branches. She plucked a couple and tasted them. The apples were sour-sweet and astringent – Nina liked them that way.

Among the apple-trees stood a swing. The poles had gone lopsided, the iron bar was rusty, but the seat fastened to a pair of rods was there. Nina cleared the seat of a layer of dead leaves, sat on it and tried to swing. There was an awful screech, but the swing got into motion.

How many times the little girl Nina had swung here – so that her thin legs shot up to the sky! … Now it was a young woman, not a little girl, on the swing. Far from shooting up, she barely moved to and fro, drawing burrows in the carpet of fallen leaves with the tips of her shoes. However, as if by some magic, the swing carried her back to her childhood which had been full of bruises, colds, and little sorrows – but which, as Nina understood now, had been a happy time. The main thing, her mama had been alive then, and she and papa had both been young…

“Mama, mama, where are you?” Nina called in her mind. As she stirred her childhood memories now, she realized that the life of her family had not always been serene. When she first went to school, her father got into some trouble in his syndicate and was suspended from his job. Nina did not understand anything at that time, of course – she only remembered long, worried talks her parents were having and those words, “Papa’s been suspended.” He was reinstated afterwards, and he never discussed any of it with Nina, but mama would sometimes mention that episode as she tried to convince Nina’s father to be more flexible rather than pushing his way through. “Do you want to get suspended again?” she would say.

Things had not always been serene between the two of them, either. There was a time when her father left his wife for another women, and Nina lived with her mama and grandmother who had specially come from Tashkent to help them out. Nina knew her very little as they had hardly ever seen each other before. Then Nina’s father returned to his family, and Nina’s grandmother went back to Tashkent where she had other granddaughters and grandsons. Afterwards, Nina’s parents never referred to that time in Nina’s presence. As a remembrance of Nina’s grandmother, a small carpet of Uzbek craftsmanship was left behind in their home.

It was a life, with all the complications of a life, but Nina’s mama managed almost invariably to turn that life into a feast. Only the feast did not last – mama seemed to have given away to other people all her store of life and joy so that she was unable to live on herself.

A gold medalist of her school and a brilliant student of the financial university, Nina looked slightly down on her mother who had never had any deep mind or logic. Only much later, when she had gone through her first disappointments and dramas, Nina started to realize that her not-very-deep mother had possessed her own knowledge and understanding of things – which she, Nina, did not have and probably would never acquire.

Nina had not forgotten the promises that she had given to her mother in the hospital ward. She kept at least one of them. She had not left her father – she had supported him as best she could – and she was not going to leave him in the future, especially now that she knew how vulnerable he was.

Feeling chilled, she got down from the swing and walked off, but after she had made a few steps, she heard a terrible crack and crash behind her. The swing collapsed – all of it, together with the rotten poles.

Nina was not superstitious or easily scared but that incident left her with a sad feeling, as if yet another thread – be it an illusory one – that had connected her to her past had broken, exposing her solitude and confusion in the face of life. “Mama, mama, where are you?”

One day Nina went to a university friend’s party. The friend and her husband had just moved to a new apartment and a large bunch from their former student group gathered for a house-warming. It was the first time Nina found herself at such a get-together. She was looking into the faces around her with a strange feeling – they were both startlingly familiar and already noticeably different, changed.

Nina was not especially close with anyone in that set, but she enjoyed plunging in the atmosphere of common jokes, recollections and rumors. They gossiped about those of their mates who had got married or divorced, gone abroad or come back. Life was raising or sinking people, spinning them and tossing them about – as a rule, giving them something very different from what they had hoped for in their student years.

Nina was respected here as the most able student in the group and one who had landed the best job among them all after graduation. When she told them that she had left her prestigious investment company for a doubtful bank, they were surprised at first but then nodded and clicked their tongues appreciatively, showing that they understood what kind of dealings she was engaged in now. Trying to dissuade them, Nina told the exact truth – that she was stuck with boring accounting and had committed forgery only once. That caused a burst of laughter.

They went out onto the balcony to have a smoke. The non-smoking Nina went out with the crowd and found herself side by side with Aliska, a famous femme fatale of their year who had managed to get married twice while they were still in university. Aliska had a bit too much of everything – legs too long, breasts too large, clothes too fashionable, make-up too thick. However, all that put together looked quite bewitching. “And what about you? Why do you have to be such a scare-crow?” Aliska asked Nina, enveloping her in clouds of cigarette smoke. “Nobody has worn such skirts for five years at least. And where did you unearth that blouse? At a flea-market?”

Nina was embarrassed. She took little interest in clothes, which she herself considered as proof of her lack of femininity.

“You’ve become quite a cutie, though, Shuvalova,” Aliska acknowledged suddenly. “If you only got dressed up a bit…”

The methodical Nina fished out a notebook and asked Aliska to enlighten her about fashions. By the time Aliska finished her second cigarette, Nina had made up a whole list – designs, trade-marks, shops.

After the party, they all walked to the underground station as a noisy, intoxicated crowd. For one night, they had been carried back five years, to the time when they had an illusion of community, almost kinship. But the party was over and they had to return to the real world. Looking at the excited, laughing faces of her mates, Nina thought, “I wish I knew what they really have on their mind. Do they know how to live? Me, I don’t know…” But questions like that were not discussed at parties – everyone had to decide them on their own.

Aliska’s instructions were not lost – Nina spent the whole of the next week fitting herself out according to her list. By Saturday, a fair sum of money had moved from Nina’s card to the accounts of fashionable shops, but Nina was almost totally equipped.

She only lacked a hat. Nina had never in her life worn hats, always doing with berets or knitted caps, but the Italian coat of a famous brand that she had bought required a hat. “Don’t buy it just anywhere, or you’ll spoil everything,” Aliska warned her. “Hats can only be bought in…” – and she named a couple of boutiques.

In the shop, Nina spent a long time browsing, unable to pick anything suitable. There were lots of hats, but all of them too pompous or flashy – simply not her. The shop assistant got exhausted trying to figure out what Nina wanted. “You see, none of this is my style,” Nina tried to explain. “I’m a serious-minded kind of person – actually, an accountant.” The assistant took it for a joke and smiled wanly.

Then Nina saw her hat. Placed apart from the others on the shelf, it was quite small, and at first glance, quite plain. However, when given a closer look, the hat attracted and excited – there was something about it that made one think of Paris, French Riviera, posh automobiles, elegant men, and beautiful, dangerous women. “Ah, that one, I forgot about it,” said the assistant. “It’s the latest lot, a trial model. Trend of next season.”

Nina put on the hat and stood before the mirror. In it, she saw a young lady, impeccable from head to toe, who seemed to have just stepped down from a magazine cover. Involuntarily, she straightened up her back and raised her chin.

The shop assistant who was serving her gazed at her open-mouthed. The other assistants went out from behind their counters, surrounded Nina, and stared silently. That silence spoke louder than any words.

Without taking off her new acquisition, Nina paid up and went out into the street. It was a fair autumn day. For once in a long while, Nina had absolutely nothing to do, and she decided to take a walk. Actually, she had a motive for doing so: she wanted to check what effect her new image had on people around her.

And it did have effect. Nina was walking along a boulevard, stepping languidly on yellow leaves with high boots from the best firm, keeping an absent look on her face but feeling almost physically the glances of passers-by on her – intrigued glances of men and envious, spiteful glances of women.

She sat on a bench and crossed her legs. In fact, she never did that – she just did not have the habit – but her new clothes dictated a new behavior. Hardly a minute had passed when she was approached by some clot of a man. At first, the man did not dare to speak, then he sighed and remarked, “Yeah-ah, it’s autumn already.”

Having made that deep remark, he grew bolder and started babbling something about him being on a business trip – only one night in the city and not knowing how to best spend it – while in fact he worked in the gas industry and was a somebody in his company, too, so he could afford it.

“Good heavens, what does he take me for?” Nina thought, outraged. She jumped up from the bench, put on a pair of dark glasses from a famous fashion house, and walked hastily off. “Serves you right,” she said to herself when she had calmed down a bit. “Next time you’ll know better than to sit on boulevard benches luring males.”

She believed that she had never been to that part of the city, but then she recognized the place – it was here that she and Dima, her husband-to-be, went to the movies for the first time. She turned a corner and saw that very movie theater – now it advertised itself as having dolby sound, 3-D, and other improvements. “By the way, why wasn’t Dima at the party?” Nina wondered for the first time. “I’d like to know how he is doing. Poor Dima. I hope everything’s all right with him.”

She paused for a moment before the theater, recalling that show and her hand in Dima’s palm. It seemed to have been ages ago. Good God, how young they had been!

A voice behind her said, “Nina?”

She turned around. It was Dima. He had not changed a bit and looked the same nondescript student guy. His face, hair and figure – everything was the same. Nina even recognized the anorak – the one that he had been wearing as they had been running to the lectures together. The anorak was a bit short, and the bottom flaps of his suit jacket showed from under it. That show of poverty had not been depressing when they had both been penniless students, but now… Nina’s heart was stung by the sight.

Dima was staring at her fixedly, clearly staggered.

“You…” he mumbled at last. “Wow, you’ve become so…”

“So – what?” smiled Nina.

“So chic,” whispered Dima.

“Come off it!” Nina waved it away. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I was just going to the movies.”

Nina felt sorry. She had not expected Dima to become a successful, worldly man, but to see him that way – in a pathetic short anorak, going to the movies by himself…

And then it came home to her. Dima was not going to just any movies – he was going to that movie theater. Their theater. He was still in love with her and lived on memories of her… Dear Dima. A warm wave spread in her breast.

“How are you? How is Tatyana Yurievna?” she asked hurriedly. “Let’s find somewhere to sit down, and you’ll tell me everything.”

“Mother has retired on a pension. She’s out of town now, visiting with her sister in Pushkino,” Dima reported.

“So you are alone?” asked Nina.

“I am,” confirmed Dima.

Nina was gazing at his face with traces of removed pimples, his bluish eyes and locks of colorless hair coming out from under a skiing cap. She saw his despair and anguish. Once he had failed to keep his great luck – he had lost the princess who had come into his hands – and now he saw the queen she had turned into. The queen recognized him mercifully, but the next moment she was going to vanish into her royal spheres, and he was going to remain with his miserable destiny – sitting alone in a dark theater, recalling their holding hands for the first time…

“Let’s go to your place,” said Nina.

Nothing had changed in Dima’s home. Not only Nina recognized the wallpaper, cupboards and small threadbare carpets – even the old copies of magazines stacked neatly on the table seemed the same. And of course, the shabby sofa in their former room was there. Nina sat on the sofa and stroked the surface with her hand. That was where she became a woman.

As on their first, historic date, Dima fussed about preparing tea. This time though, he did not even have any chocolates – only some fossil waffles.

“Dima, drop it,” said Nina. She took him by the hand and forced him to sit by her side.

Dima sat, with his hands on his knees and his head drawn back into his shoulders. Nina realized that he would never dare to make a move.

“Dima, kiss me,” she said, drawing him to herself.

That was good. There was no uneasiness – there was a feeling of comfort and closeness. Also, there was a feeling of something right which there had been in her life at one time and which she had lost since. After all, she had been a wife here, not just anybody. She had had a husband and a mother-in-law – same as all normal wives. She had had problems in her marriage – also, same as everyone. And now she was a chic, but totally lonely woman with vague prospects for the future…

After a somewhat awkward beginning, Dima took her with passion. He had actually grown stronger and seemed bigger. There was no resistance to his ardor in Nina’s body – it accepted him. Even the smell of strawberry soap did not vex her – it seemed appropriate and comfortable. Dima hastened his movements. Nina had, or at least, she thought she had, a pleasant sensation in the bottom of her belly – as she had had once, on a Turkish beach, with a totally strange man. Dima’s love agony was rapidly approaching its climax, but Nina knew that there would be a continuation and was anticipating it…

And then there was a loud sob, or a groan. Nina raised her head. It was impossible, it was a total nightmare, and still it was real – in the door of the room, looking at them open-mouthed, stood Tatyana Yurievna.

Nina went into hysterics. She was roaring with laughter, her whole body shaking, unable to stop. At last, Dima made her drink a few sips of tepid tea. Totally baffled and shriveled, he kept murmuring, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’m sorry…”

Unconsciously, Nina got dressed and went out into the hall. She did not even look back at Dima who stayed behind in the room. But as she touched the familiar latch on the outer door, she heard, “Nina, wait, please.”

Tatyana Yurievna was calling her from the kitchen.

“Good heavens, is she going to offer me tea again?” Nina thought, appalled.

As Dima, Tatyana Yurievna had changed little, but now she was not herself with extreme agitation.

“Nina, listen,” she spoke, fiddling nervously with a kitchen towel. “I feel awfully guilty towards you. Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have interfered with you and Dmitry – I shouldn’t have kept him by my side. I am an old egoist. But everything’s changed now. I have no more claims. You can live wherever you want – I’ll just step aside. I can even give up this whole apartment for you to settle here. I’ll move in with my sister in Pushkino – she has long invited me.”

Nina’s head was reeling, the hysterical shiver in her body refusing to subside.

“Thank you, Tatyana Yurievna, but please, don’t. It’s not going to work, sorry,” – she said and darted out of that little apartment and of the life of those two people – her former family – never again to return to that page of her past.

That nightmarish incident was what she needed to shake her out of the stupor that had possessed her during the recent months. “That’s it, enough of recollections, enough of drama,” she told herself. “I must live on, build my life.”

Indeed, she was free and full of energy – she felt that she could attain any goal. Her father seemed to be doing all right now, and he was not alone – a good, loving woman was by his side. It was time for Nina to take care of herself.

She drew up a program of two obvious points. First, she had to find a good, promising job which she could devote herself to with enthusiasm. Second, get married and… yes, bear a child. Preferably, a girl, as her mama had wished.

The first point was not much of a problem – she only had to study the vacancy market and make the right choice. Nina knew her own value and was certain that she could find a good job whatever the competition.

It was not as easy with the second point. Here, she had no certitude at all. There were some men looming on the horizon – in the tennis club, and among relatives and acquaintances of her few friends. Some opportunities were probably going to turn up at her new job, too. Nina knew that she no longer was the ugly duckling that she had been in her school years – she had no reason to be shy or retiring now. She only needed to take care of herself in terms of clothes and the like. Also, she had to buy a car and learn how to drive.

Of course, all decent men were married, and those who were divorced were in no hurry to tie themselves up again – they would rather get what they wanted from a woman without giving her anything in return. But those were ordinary difficulties which single women had faced since the beginning of time – Nina was not afraid of them. Her methodical mind suggested that the main thing was to seize every opportunity to associate with worthy men. Unworthy men should be driven away with a stick, but for worthy ones, she should be an interesting, non-burdensome, and useful companion – someone they could talk to about work and about life, or go to bed with if it was mutually agreeable. She should behave like a woman, but without petty coquetry. Rather than posing as a touch-me-not, she should respect herself while respecting and valuing men, too. Then one of those worthy men would finally realize that he wanted to have her around always.

That was the theory, and Nina was prepared to put it into practice with the same persistency as she had used in mastering her profession. The problem was that, even realizing all that, she did not believe in any of it. Picturing her future in which she would be the wife of a worthy man that she was going to win through her strategy, she did not get any response from her inner self. The woman inside her maintained an indifferent silence. That woman had been silent for a long time already, as if waiting for something, and there was no knowing what it was.

Nina set about implementing her program. She had interviews in three firms and actually received one job offer which did not quite suit her, though.

Nina sized up her tennis partners and marked off two of them for showing some symptoms of being divorced. She assumed a friendlier attitude towards them and struck up an acquaintance.

All was going according to plan, everything was possible, but then her own biography went out of her control again. He father’s life, which meant her life, too, was run over by a steamroller named Gradbank.

Chapter 8

Nina first heard of Gradbank from Ignatiy Savelievich. One day, as they were having tea interchanging sad remarks about the bank’s management and their shady ways, Nina asked, “Tell me, Ignatiy Savelievich, are all banks like that today?”

The man replied, “Not at all,” and outlined the situation to Nina.

The banking sphere was undergoing a swift change which was not obvious to an outsider’s eye. Concentration of the banking capital was under way, and new leaders emerged which were supported by both the largest industrial groups and federal government. Small obscure banks were driven out of business by the dozen through absorption, suspension of license or sheer bankruptcy. The leader banks which headed that process were not spotless either, but still, they were of a different sort – for them, illegal operations were inevitable evil, while they were mainly aimed at legal business which in the final account proved more profitable than any shady dealings.

“Our nice little bank is doomed, too. It’s hardly going to be wiped out, though. It has some decent stuffing to it, so it’ll probably be swallowed and digested,” concluded Ignatiy Savelievich.

“What about the leader banks? What banks are those?” Nina asked, with thoughts of her own career at the back of her mind.

“Thinking of changing jobs?” responded the old man who was seeing through her. “And about time, too, dear. There’s no point in your rotting away here.”

He named a few promising banks to her and commented specially on Gradbank. “That bank has a very strong director. I don’t know him personally, but I’ve heard a lot about him.”

Shortly after, Nina heard the word ‘Gradbank’ again – this time, not as a meaningless sound, but as the name of a hostile and, as she was soon to find out, irresistible force.

Nina’s father received a phone call from Gradstroiinvest, a subsidiary of Gradbank. The caller told Yevgeniy Borisovich that they were interested in one of his projects and asked for a meeting. The project in question was not a success – it did not work out as expected and was a burden to the company – so Yevgeniy Borisovich would not mind sharing it with someone else.

A meeting was arranged at a regional industry fair where Gradstroiinvest had a booth. Nina was going to visit the fair herself, for her own reasons. When her father heard of that, he suddenly told her about the meeting and asked her to take part in it. “Since you’re going to be there anyway…” For once, after a long shut-off period, he was admitting her to his affairs; that made Nina happy even if his request did not mean anything and was just something that had slipped his tongue.

They were received by two men in their mid-thirties. One of them introduced himself as a vice-director of Gradstroiinvest while the other was presented as the company’s chief accountant. Yevgeniy Borisovich and Nina where invited into a cubicle of an office. Here, they were seated at a table, on chairs of metal tubes and plastic, and offered coffee. The table was shaky, the cups were of disposable kind, but the coffee was surprisingly good.

“I make it myself,” said the young vice-director who noticed Nina’s reaction. “I have a recipe of my own.”

Through the thin walls, the racket of the multi-voiced fair was coming, so they had to bend forward, head to head, like conspirators in order to hear each other.

They went on with the introductions. The vice-director’ name was Konstantin Ilyich.

“I’m still not comfortable with this patronymic thing,” he smiled pleasantly. “I’d rather be called Konstantin, or even just Kostya, but alas, I’ve got my status to think about…”

Nina’s father was looking intently at him.

“Excuse me, have we possibly met before?”

The young man laughed, “I was wondering whether you’d remember me or not. I used to work under you, Yevgeniy Borisovich. I came to your trust right after college. I only worked for one year, though…”

Nina’s father was excited and pleased. “Yes, that’s it, I remember! Who could have thought? Isn’t it a small world?”

Konstantin smiled politely but avoided plunging into recollections. Obviously, he was not going to waste his own or other people’s time.

Konstantin set about discussing the project and started with a very precise and essential question which showed that he had done his homework and possessed the necessary information. If the purpose of the question was to get Nina’s father talking, then it struck home. Yevgeniy Borisovich started answering it, then got carried away and went into expounding his views on the technology and management of such projects in general.

Konstantin and his accountant listened carefully. The accountant was keeping in the background, not uttering a word, while Konstantin was encouraging Yevgeniy Borisovich with brief, appropriate questions.

The young leaders of Gradstroiinvest made a good impression on Nina. She especially liked Konstantin – he was clearly smart and intelligent. He knew how to be polite without fawning and how to maintain his dignity without being rude.

Following her recently acquired habit, Nina rated him up as a man, and the rating was surprisingly high. But the same female view let her notice something strange – namely, that the vice-director was not taking any interest in her, Nina. There was none of that elementary, unconscious response which was bound to arise in a man confined in a narrow cubicle with a young woman.

“Can they be gay?” Nina thought, glancing at Konstantin and his colleague, and answered herself, “No, it’s not that.”

Nina did not consider herself a psychologist. She possessed a keen intuition, but it worked mainly in the area of finance rather than in human relations. Still, this time, the whole situation was suddenly crystal-clear to her. While he was listening politely to her father’s wordy discourse, pouring him coffee and throwing in appropriate questions, Konstantin was in fact completely focused and alert as a chess-player at the board or a boxer on the ring. He was probing his opponent, preparing to deal a blow.

Totally unaware of that, Nina’s father went on airing his views. Watching this disparity, Nina had a vague sensation of danger, though she had no idea where the danger could come from.

Nina’s father checked himself finally. “Look at me, chattering away so! You have some business to discuss with me, don’t you? Now, what’s that business about? I’m all attention. You don’t wish, by any chance, to participate in this project?” he let out his ulterior thought.

Konstantin and his accountant exchanged glances.

“We do,” Konstantin said after a brief pause. “We wish to participate in this project and all the rest of your projects.”

Nina’s father choked over a gulp of coffee. “Wh-what did you say? … How do you mean?”

Konstantin started to speak, still watching Nina’s father closely.

“Yevgeniy Borisovich, please forgive us for this little mystification. We just wanted to get to know you personally. An understandable desire considering that we are going to work together. You see, we intend to purchase your company, with all its projects.”

He spoke calmly, as if it were some routine, uncomplicated matter which was quite transparent to both sides. Nina’s father who had nearly spilled all his coffee over himself finally regained control of the cup, put it aside, and wiping himself with a handkerchief, tried to say something but Konstantin would not let him do that.

“You know that your industry is undergoing concentration,” Konstantin said and cited some examples of mergers and acquisitions that had taken place over the past year.

“Yes, but…” Nina’s father tried to object, but Konstantin would not be put off.

“The time of small, independent companies is passing,” he went on. “There are obvious advantages to concentration – access to financial resources, stronger bidding positions, wholesale supply of materials at attractive prices… You know all that perfectly well yourself. By joining our organization your company will flourish; it will reveal its strong sides while retaining a great deal of independence.”

As he spoke, Konstantin never took his eyes off the face of Nina’s father, clearly reading what was going on in the mind of the older man.

“You’re probably going to be concerned with the staff issue. We are ready to keep most of the company’s current employees – on your recommendation, Yevgeniy Borisovich. And, if you wish, you can remain director of the company. Of course, you will no longer have absolute power, but we’ll be only happy to rely on your expertise in technical matters. We value you highly as a specialist, believe me.”

He made a pause, but when Nina’s father opened his mouth to say something, Konstantin spoke again: “I nearly forgot. ‘Last but not least,’ as the British say. We’re not robbers, and we have intention to pocket your company for free. This is how much we are prepared to pay today.”

With these words, Konstantin took out a note-book and opened it at a page on which a sum had been written in advance. He showed the page to Nina’s father without letting the note-book out of his hand – not that Yevgeniy Borisovich was trying to get hold of it. Then Konstantin turned to Nina and showed the figure to her. Nina realized suddenly that the young manager was not at all ignoring her presence. What he was telling her father was meant for her ears as well. Apparently, Konstantin did not rely on the ability of the dumbfounded Yevgeniy Borisovich to take in his arguments and it suited him that there was somebody on the side of his former chief who was able to hear and memorize everything correctly.

Indignant and red in the face, Nina’s father finally got a chance to speak.

“All that is very nice,” he said, rising from the table. “But what does it have to do with me? Did I offer you to buy my business? I made no such offer – either to you or to anyone else. My company is not for sale. Do I make myself clear? And be so kind as not to bother me with this nonsense again!”

Those last words were completely unnecessary and came out badly – hysterically rather than wrathfully.

He moved out, and Nina followed. The young managers of Gradstroiinvest rose politely from their seats. Konstantin kept silent, not trying to argue with Yevgeniy Borisovich or keep him from leaving. He had a calm, content look of a man who had fulfilled his plan.

As her father, Nina was dumbfounded. But while he was shocked by the impertinent offer, she was amazed by something else. The sum. It was about one and a half times larger than the company was worth by her estimate.

Yevgeniy Borisovich drove her back from the fair in his car. It was already dark, a short winter day was over. Sparse snow-flakes were hitting against the wind-screen.

Nina’s father was furious. “How dare they! Impudent pups! And that fellow Konstantin – how could he? He’d worked with me, he should have known better. He should have known that I’m not that kind of man!”

“What kind of man? What are you raging about?” Nina replied in her mind as she was watching the street lights float by behind the gauze of snow. “If you want my opinion, I think Konstantin behaved in a correct, even noble way. He offered excellent terms, and certainly not because he is a dupe. It’s you, my dear papa, who behaved like a greenhorn,” she concluded and was frightened by her own thoughts – she had never, not even in her mind, talked to her father like that. For the first time in her life, her love for her father was mingled with irritation at his impracticality and absurd ambitions.

“Why don’t you say anything?” her father asked. “I hope you don’t think that I should sell the company just like that, off the cuff?”

“Yes, I think you should sell, it’s a great chance,” Nina wanted to say. “But not off the cuff. You should start negotiations and bargain with them. Since they offered such terms right away, they certainly can make some other concessions such as giving additional guarantees of your independence as director.”

Aloud, she uttered, “No, I was thinking of something else. Sorry.”

Her father said, “Wait till we’ve delivered our main project. Mind you, it’ll set us back on our feet. We shall see then!”

Yevgeniy Borisovich was referring to the project of reconstructing the heating main in a large built-up area. It was his favorite baby. As usual, once that project was mentioned, he went into explaining its technical details which Nina had heard more than once before.

“In just a couple of months we’ll get it officially accepted. Do you know what it means? It means – bingo! – we snatch the pot. Then we’ll see who buys whom!” Nina’s father thundered boastfully.

Nina could not listen to that any longer.

“Pull over,” she asked her father and told him some lie about having to drop in on a girl friend who lived close by.

“Give my best to Lydia Grigorievna,” she said, slamming the door.

During the next few weeks, she did not speak to her father or have any news from him, but she could not put the meeting at the fair out of her mind. Going over the details of the conversation with the managers of Gradstroiinvest, she concluded that the story had not ended at that – it was going to have a continuation.

A continuation soon followed in the form of a call from Lydia Grigorievna. The woman was calling Nina only very rarely – both of them were happy with the scarce contacts they had when Nina came to her father’s home to dinner or joined him and his wife for a night out in the theater. A call meant that something had happened.

Having barely said ‘hello’, Lydia Grigorievna cried out, “Nina, tell me, do you know anything?”

“About what?” inquired Nina.

“About your father. Did something happen to him again? He’s not himself – jumpy like hell all the time, working it off on me, explaining nothing. I’m at my wit’s end. I’m begging you: tell me – is he being threatened by some bandits again?”

Nina answered that she had not heard of any bandits – probably, there was nothing to it. Without mentioning the meeting at the fair, she promised Lydia Grigorievna to find out something, although she had no idea how she was going to do that.

She was aided by an accident, or rather, the calendar. A quarterly report arrived from her father’s company to the bank. Nina checked it carefully against the preceding one and found, to her surprise, that the company had given up a supplier with which it had done profitable business for a number of years. Also, the list of subcontractors no longer contained the name of a designer firm which Yevgeniy Borisovich had spoken highly of and relied on. That was odd, since, as Nina remembered clearly, her father had mentioned both the supplier and the designer firm quite recently.

Nina pondered over it and concluded that there was only one possible explanation. The ‘pups’ from Gradstroiinvest were not going to back off – they started putting pressure on her father by cutting him off from his partners. Nothing terrible had happened yet, neither was her father in any danger personally – after all, the managers of Gradstroiinvest were no gangsters – but somehow Nina felt sick at heart and depressed even worse than in the time of Misha Permyak.

Something had to be done, but what could she do? She had no one to talk it over with – not even Ignatiy Savelievich, her sole advisor, who was in hospital again.

Nina approached Kirill and suggested visiting the old specialist. It was all the more appropriate because the man was a widower. “Yes, right, you go visit him,” Kirill agreed eagerly. “I would go, too, but how can I? You can see for yourself what’s going on here.” There was nothing out of the ordinary going on in the bank – just the usual kind of absurdity and chaos.

In the hospital, Nina found her colleague bent over a chess-board – in his dressing-gown, sitting by a window that looked out on a park, Ignatiy Savelievich was doing a chess problem. It was a ward for two, but he was alone in it.

He was genuinely glad to see Nina. “My dear, what a pleasant surprise! Come here, let me give you a kiss.”

Ignatiy Savelievich pecked her on the cheek. He smelled of old age and drugs.

He waved away her inquiries about his health. “Everything’s all right with me. Everything is as it should be. Not a hair will fall from a man’s head without the will of the Almighty… Are you a believer, Ninochka?”

“No, I am not,” answered Nina honestly. She was not opposed to religion, but she had never experienced any need for it.

“I used to be an infidel, too,” said Ignatiy Savelievich. “But with years, one comes to understand certain things… You have no use for that kind of stuff, though – you’re so young yet. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me – how are things in our nest of financial depravity?”

Nina told him what news there was. Then they had some tea made by means of an illegal immersion heater, and even played a game of chess. As she sat down to play, Nina was thinking of a polite way to give away the game, but that was not necessary as Ignatiy Savelievich smashed her to pieces.

It was time to say goodbye. Nina had never brought up her problems – it seemed out of place in the atmosphere of the hospital. But as she was rising, Ignatiy Savelievich took her by the hand and made her sit down again.

“Nina, I’m an old man, of course, and there are lots of things that I don’t understand, but still, don’t you hold me for an idiot. You came to talk about something with me, didn’t you? Then go ahead, spit it out.”

Nina blushed. “No, I just…”

“Come on, dear, don’t tarry,” urged the old man. “I am due for treatment in twenty minutes.”

Nina braced herself and told Ignatiy Savelievich about her father and his situation – in brief, leaving out the details.

“So that’s whose company you saved from bankruptcy?” guessed Ignatiy Savelievich. “Now, isn’t your father a lucky man to have such a daughter…”

Nina knew that Ignatiy Savelievich had a son, but the old man had mentioned once that they had not been on speaking terms and had hardly been seeing each other.

“Ignatiy Savelievich, please, can you advise me on a way to get rid of that Gradstroiinvest pest?”

Ignatiy Savelievich shook his head, “Most likely, there is no way.” Seeing a dejected look on Nina’s face, he patted her hand but did not say anything to reassure her. “As far as I know Gradbank’s manner of doing business, they always get what they go after.”

He promised to make some inquiries and to think of some useful tips for Nina.

“I’m no longer in business, of course, but I do have a phone, and some of my connections are still there, so… I’ll see what I can do. And you, dear, are an angel for visiting an invalid. Come on, give me your pretty cheek.”

And he gave her another peck.

A week later Ignatiy Savelievich called Nina and asked her to visit him again – this time, at his home address rather than in the hospital from which he had been discharged. “Only, dear, excuse me, I won’t be inviting you in. My humble abode is in such neglect that I really can’t receive anybody. Let’s have a walk outside, if you don’t mind.”

They agreed to meet in the yard by his house. When Nina arrived, she found her colleague waiting for her on a bench, in a sheepskin and thick felt boots. The house was a solid brick affair, yellow-pinkish in color, located in a quiet side street in the city center. A quarter of a century ago, when Ignatiy Savelievich had been at the height of his career, apartments in such buildings had been given to the members of the top bureaucracy.

The weather was calm, with a temperature a little below zero, fuzzy flakes of snow falling quietly.

“Ah, here you are!” Ignatiy Savelievich cried out. “I’m glad you made it. A sly old man as I am, I’m going to exploit you. Give me your hand to lean on, dear, and we’ll have a walk. I’m not going out alone these days, you know, for fear of falling. You have no idea how many old people take a fall in the street in winter, and with nasty consequences, too. There are two such cases in my section of the house alone. That’s city for you – asphalt, icy walkways… Now, I remember that back in my home village – I’m a village boy, dear, – there were snow drifts as high as the roof in winter. You could fall all you liked…”

They crossed a street and went out to a frozen pond around which occasional mothers with prams were walking.

Nina could not wait to hear the news, but Ignatiy Savelievich asked her first to tell him about her problem again. It had not been Nina’s intention to go into details but little by little she told him everything – about Simonyan, Misha Permyak, and the debts of her father’s company.

Ignatiy Savelievich listened carefully.

“I see… You’ve really gone through a lot, dear,” he commented when she had spilled it all out. “To think of the things that girls have to deal with nowadays. One hell of a time, this is… And you did well, Nina, really, you did.” The old man looked at her with respect. “Well, now you listen to me.”

And he told her what he had found out.

Nina learned a lot about Gradstroiinvest. As it turned out, the business was actually run by Konstantin, while the director was a nominal figure representing the board of Gradbank. Over the past year, Gradstroiinvest had swallowed up three companies similar to that of Nina’s father. In each case, the terms were generous and, eventually, fulfilled to the letter, which was rather exceptional of deals like that. Thus, there was no reason to doubt the solvency or integrity of the Gradstroiinvest management.

“The Gradstroiinvest boys are not the main problem though,” said Ignatiy Savelievich. “It could be possible to keep them at bay, but they are backed by Gradbank and its director Samsonov.”

“What’s so terrible about that Samsonov? What is he – a bogeyman?” asked Nina vexedly.

“For those who stand in his way, he is,” Ignatiy Savelievich replied earnestly. “He has bulldozed much larger companies without turning a hair.”

“But why my father? What did he do?” Nina cried out.

“You’re culpable already for my being hungry,” Ignatiy Savelievich cited a line from a fable by Krylov. “The only fault of your father, Nina, is that he has reared a fine civil engineering company which the big guys have noticed and decided to lay their hands on.”

According to the information obtained by Ignatiy Savelievich, the management of Gradbank had set the goal of acquiring, through its subsidiaries, twenty five percent of all the municipal services and civil engineering business in the city. Nobody knew exactly what the purpose of that was.

“Maybe that consolidated piece of the pie will then be sold at a profit or exchanged for something really big,” suggested Ignatiy Savelievich.

The plan was being put to practice rapidly, but Samsonov, still dissatisfied, was spurring on his men.

“A month ago Samsonov held a conference on that with the directors of the subsidiaries. From what I hear, he yelled at those directors so that the windowpanes jingled. By the way, your father’s company could have been mentioned there, too. Is his name Shuvalov?”

“No… His name is Kisel,” Nina said after some hesitation.

“Yes, right!” exclaimed Ignatiy Savelievich. “Forgive me, Nina, you’re not going to like it, but you need to hear that.”

From an account by one of his informers, he told Nina about an incident that occurred at the meeting. In the middle of his roaring at his subordinates, Samsonov’s eye was caught by the file of the company owned by Nina’s father.

“Kisel… What kisel?” asked Samsonov.

They told him that it was the name of the owner.

“Great! I like it,” said Samsonov. “Very symbolic. All these petty businesses are kisel that we need to eat up. And quick.” He banged his hand on a pile of like files. “If we don’t get a move on, we’ll become kisel for other eaters. Is that clear?”

The directors kept silent. It was clear to them that if they failed to speed up the acquisitions, it was them who Samsonov would turn into kisel.

“So, Nina, you see that there is no way out for your father – he’s not going to be left alone. He has to sell, and the sooner, the better,” concluded Ignatiy Savelievich.

“He’ll never do that,” Nina muttered dejectedly.

“Tough luck… You’re in a tight spot, really,” said Ignatiy Savelievich sympathetically. “Maybe, you want me to talk to him? If you arrange for us to have a meeting, I’ll try to persuade him.”

Nina waved the suggestion away, “Thank you, Ignatiy Savelievich, but it’s no use. There’s no persuading him – he’ll only freak out and say rude things to you, that’s all.”

“Tough luck,” repeated Ignatiy Savelievich. “Well, I can only wish that everything sort itself out for you somehow. If I can be of any help, don’t you hesitate to call me. Keep me in the picture, anyway. And now, dear, please walk me to my house for I’m a bit chilled.”

Nina accompanied him to the door and started saying her farewells.

“Not at all,” Ignatiy Savelievich cut short her thanks, and after a pause, he said suddenly, “When I look at you, Ninochka, I see my late wife. We got married as we were both finishing university. The next thing, we had our job placement and there I was, placed in some hole in Kazakhstan. I can’t tell you how my young wife assailed the administration to get them to review the decision so I could stay in the city – and she had her way finally! A stubborn one she was, just like you… I remember everything as if it happened yesterday – can you believe it? A whole life has run by without my knowing it…”

He waved his hand and disappeared into the doorway.

It was not until later that it occurred to Nina that the old man might have had some needs such as going to the supermarket to stock up on food or paying rent for his apartment. Immersed in her own concerns, Nina did not offer him help.

She never saw Ignatiy Savelievich again and had no more contacts with him except for one brief phone talk. Ignatiy Savelievich never returned to work and after a few months he died. Nina had changed jobs by that time, and nobody let her know of her former colleague’s death, so she missed his funeral.

She got a chance to talk to her father on New Year’s Eve which they celebrated at his place. The table was crammed with special dishes made by the skillful hands of Lydia Grigorievna, but Nina and her father feasted half-heartedly. The conversation was also mainly maintained by Lydia Grigorievna – fortunately, the woman could go on endlessly about the news of the world of theater.

After the celebration, Nina’s father walked her to the underground station. The New Year was already in. In the yards, fireworks were being set off in plenty, and the night sky was ablaze with lights. Deafened by the din that they were making, Nina was slow to understand what her father was talking about.

He was talking about his business partners breaking away from his company one after another. Three clients already – luckily, not very large ones – had cancelled their orders. The reasons given for the cancellations were unsubstantial and clearly made up. Yevgeniy Borisovich had argued and quarreled with them, even threatened them with lawsuit. The defectors had said something meaningless in response and then had stopped responding altogether – evaded seeing him and blocked his phone calls. He had actually tried to take the matter to court claiming compensation on the lost contracts only to find out that, being in the wrong essentially, his opponents were in the right formally. In each case, there was a legal loophole for them to bail out. From the way those loopholes were worded, it was clear that the clients had been counseled by some good lawyers, or, most likely, by one and the same good lawyer.

They halted by the entrance to the underground. There were no cars in the streets. Occasional groups of intoxicated citizens were wandering about, belting out songs and throwing snow-balls.

“What is it? Tell me, what’s going on? Why is everything falling apart? Am I really such a bad businessman?” Nina’s father cried out.

Ignoring the last question, Nina replied to the rest of them, “It is Gradstroiinvest, or rather, Gradbank. You know that yourself, papa.”

Her father gave her an angry look. Of course, he knew, but was unwilling to admit that.

“I have found out something,” Nina added. ‘Gradbank is buying up dozens of companies such as yours now. Gradbank’s director, somebody named Samsonov, is pushing his way through, sticking at nothing.

“I could kill him,” muttered Nina’s father.

“Me too,” Nina concurred, recalling what she had heard from Ignatiy Savelievich about Gradbank’s director making fun of their name. “But what are we to him?”

For a while, her father stood motionless with his head hung.

“Nina, how are you doing, anyway? How’s work? Are you very busy these days?”

Nina was not at all busy. She lacked many things, but time was not one of them.

“How about you come over to my office some day?” her father asked in a tone of feigned casualness. “You could look through the papers and maybe give me some advice.”

“Sure,” replied Nina.

“I… I can’t lose the company, you know that,” – uttered her father. He had probably meant it to sound firm but it came out plaintive.

Nina kissed him on the cheek and left in a hurry. She was torn between conflicting feelings. Her great concern about her father mixed with her irritation with him for hiding his head in the sand – refusing to admit the obvious and do what was suggested by common sense.

Nina started spending her evenings and Saturdays in her father’s firm again. As she dug into the affairs of the business, she discovered that on the whole, it was doing quite well. Or rather, it had been doing well before the customers had started to desert. Two more canceled their orders already while Nina was about. Nina’s father who had admitted finally that it was organized persecution did not even try to get the deserters back. The cancellations burdened the company with serious, though not yet fatal losses.

Nina’s father was throwing all his energy into completing his big project which was in for official review and acceptance in a few weeks, and which was to decide everything. It was a complex project of reconstructing the heating mains in an entire city area where residential neighborhoods were interspersed with industrial objects and additional ‘pinpoint’ housing units were to be inserted. The works had been contracted by the city. Technologically, it was a real puzzle. Nina’s father was proud of the project which embodied all his mature engineering talent and experience as manager. Completing the project meant a new life for the whole area and a new life for the company: profit, solid status, new prestigious orders – in a word, success.

Father asked Nina to comb through the documents pertaining to the project review and acceptance procedure. Essentially, everything had long been prepared, but he wanted her to take a fresh look at all the papers and iron out any inaccuracies and inconsistencies.

Nina set about the task, but she could not take her mind off those smaller projects that had been given up by the customers. Her practical nature and professional habits of an accountant revolted at the thought that considerable sums of money had to be written off just like that, without rhyme or reason.

With her father’s permission, she contacted the defectors and found out for herself that no compromise was possible – they simply refused to talk to her. Then Nina asked her father if there was someone else who could be interested in those projects. The work on each of them had not yet gone beyond an initial stage, and Nina reasoned that some other companies could adjust those projects to their needs. Although he did not believe in that idea, her father gave her the names of a few organizations of a suitable profile and location.

Nina contacted precipitously each of them and arranged meetings with the management. In two cases, it nearly worked out – her proposal for them to buy out the projects caused surprise, but then she was told that it was possible. In fact, one of the two directors was interested in herself rather than the project – he stared openly at her legs and then suggested discussing the matter over dinner. Nina was not so much angered as amused. For all that, she did not reject the invitation as she hoped to squeeze something useful out of that contact, too. Of course, she was going to pay for her own dinner and had no intention of sleeping with that erotomaniac specimen. However, she counted more on the other director – an elderly man who knew Yevgeniy Borisovich from some old business association and spoke highly of him.

But it all collapsed as quickly. Two days later the elderly director called her and refused apologetically – he said that he had weighed it all up again and found that the game was not worth the candle. He was one of those decent people who are very bad at lying. Every word he said gave away how awkward he felt. Obviously, it was only his sense of decency that had forced him to call Nina and expose himself to that shame.

Nina called the connoisseur of women’s legs herself. Her call took the man unawares. He started babbling something about feeling unwell and then said suddenly that he was going away on business. Probably, it was the first time in his life that he refused to go out to dinner with a young woman.

Nina’s first reaction to those absurd dialogues was that of indignation, but then real fear crept into her heart. It was clear that those two directors had been advised against dealing with her father’s company, or possibly, they had decided themselves not to stick out their necks when they had learned that Gradbank was behind that business. Nina was depressed. What was that force from which there was no escape? She pictured Gradbank and its henchmen as some kind of giant octopus that had gripped her father and herself in its arms and would not let go.

Another thought suggested itself, one that she hated to let into her mind. After all, they could not be so mean and ruthless! But the thought knocked at her temple again and again. Her father’s main project. Were they capable of such villainy? Could the Gradbank people go as far as to aim a blow at her father’s most important and cherished work? Nina tried to convince herself that it was impossible but her reason spoke to the contrary. Her father had not yielded to the pressure that had been exerted on him, so harsher measures were in order. It was nothing personal, it was just business.

When Nina had looked through the project papers, she was appalled. Not even being a lawyer, she found a lot of oversights, ambiguous formulations, and minor inconsistencies. Those papers were written by good, naïve people for other good people, while to bad people, the whole project would appear like Swiss cheese for the number of holes that could be used to attack it. And there was absolutely no way to fix anything.

There was nothing to do but hope that the iron boys from Gradstroiinvest would not dare to attack such a large project, or else, would not be able to reach it. After all, they were not all-powerful. Or were they?

Trying not to show her apprehension, Nina started asking her father about the review and acceptance procedure – what it was like in practice, and what kind of people were on the committee.

“Just the normal kind,” her father answered. “I know them all. They are all right. Well, except for one…”

It turned out that he had an antagonist on the committee in the person of the head of the local technical inspection. There had been incidents in the past when the inspector had pestered Yevgeniy Borisovich with some groundless cavils. What was worse, Nina’s father was convinced that the man was a bribe-taker. “Things would be different if I greased his palm… But I don’t do such things, you know that.”

Now the head of the technical inspection could be used by Gradstroiinvest to damage the project, Nina thought and realized that her father had it on his mind, too.

“Don’t you worry!” her father said with feigned optimism. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

For the hundredth time, he started explaining at length what a wonderful project his company had carried through.

“And mind you, I’m kind of pals with the chairman of the committee, too,” he added and told Nina that in the past, he had sorted out some business matters with the man and the two of them had even drunk vodka on one occasion.

“He’s a decent guy,” Nina’s father assured her. “By the way, he called me the other day. If there’d been any problems, he would’ve let me know…”

That conversation took place at the end of a long day, as Nina and her father were having tea in the empty office. As she listened to his loud assurances, Nina noticed that he avoided looking her in the eye and that the cup was trembling in his hand. She scolded herself for being stupid. It was only now that she realized how scared her father was. He was perfectly aware that his company was being raided in a big way, and he was in mortal fear for his main project. That was why he had swallowed his pride and asked her to help him. Only she could not do anything to help.

He was not at all as blind and conceited as Nina had started to view him in her irritation. But no matter how powerful Gradbank was or what profitable offer they made him, he could not give in. His whole personality, his whole life was behind it, and considerations of profit or common sense were irrelevant.

They never resumed that conversation – there was nothing to discuss. Also, her father hardly ever showed up in the office during those last weeks before the project delivery date as he was spending all his days and nights on the site.

At last, the big day arrived. Nina’s father did not take her along to the actual session of the review and acceptance committee, and Nina did not insist, for which she scolded herself bitterly afterwards. Her bank was experiencing a slump in activity, so she was able to take a day off and in the morning already, she went over to her father’s place in order to wait for the news together with Lydia Grigorievna.

As soon as she got there, the phone rang. Lydia Grigorievna rushed to it. It was Nina’s father. His voice could barely be discerned – he was calling from some crowded spot – but he managed to put through a few words. The news was good: the head of the technical inspection, the only real opponent of Yevgeniy Borisovich on the committee, had fallen ill and sent in an assistant to act for him. The assistant, an obscure young employee, had no authority with the committee and would hardly be listened to even if he came out with some objections.

Nina was sitting in the kitchen with Lydia Grigorievna. The woman treated her to some coffee and cake of her own making. For the evening, a celebration of the project acceptance was planned to which the key employees of Yevgeniy Borisovich were invited. On such occasions, it was normal to throw a banquet in a restaurant, but Yevgeniy Borisovich wanted to celebrate at home first in order to show his true men that he considered them as friends, and, incidentally, boast of the culinary talent of Lydia Grigorievna. From superstition, Lydia Grigorievna would not start cooking for the grand dinner, but Nina knew that her fridge was bursting with supplies.

It was the first time that Nina saw her father’s wife alone, in domestic surroundings. Lydia Grigorievna looked differently and behaved differently from her usual image. In the light of day, with no make-up, her face betrayed her age – Nina saw a woman whose best years were long past. With Nina, she did not go into her habitual enthusiastic accounts of theater premiers. Instead, little by little, she told Nina her life story.

She had been born and had grown up in a small town somewhere on the Volga. Her mother, a schoolteacher, raised her without a husband. As soon as she finished school, the girl Lyda set off to conquer the capital. Like thousands of other naïve, provincial girls, she dreamed of entering one of the top drama academies; instead, she wound up as a yard-cleaner for a municipal maintenance unit. It was there that she was picked up by her future man. He was a local official of some kind. As he was visiting the neighborhood with an inspection, he noticed a young yard-cleaner girl and asked who she was. As a result, Lyda became a secretary in his office. And – his mistress.

He was her first man – and the only one for many years to come. He was not a bad man, and he loved her, but he made a mess of her life all right. There was a huge difference in years between them, and of course, he was married. When more liberal times set in, he got divorced and married Lyda, but he would not let her have a baby. Lyda who was used to obeying him complied with that, too. When she finally decided to have her own way, it was too late – she was unable to become a mother.

She was no longer a secretary; having received a college degree through attending some night classes, she had made a small-time career in municipal organizations. When a major political overturn occurred, her husband was pensioned off while she kept her position and even got a promotion which she had never sought. She took no interest in work – she had long realized that she only wanted to be a wife. In her yard-cleaner’s youth, all she had was a cot in a workers’ hostel. That was followed by many years in a rented one-room apartment where she led the miserable life of a kept woman. All she wanted now was to have a real home and be really married. She was married – to an old, sick pensioner who could not give her anything as a husband but demanded more and more attention to himself, and tormented her with his bad temper and jealousy. Lydia’s feelings towards him were a mixture of pity and hatred.

That existence dragged on for another ten years, but finally the man died. Lydia promised herself to start a new life – look after herself, go to the theater, make new acquaintances. One of those new acquaintances was Nina’s father who came to her office to get some paper signed. After she got married to him, Lydia Grigorievna resigned at once from her position of authority and took on the easy job of a part-time consultant for the municipal administration – in order only not to sit at home all the time, but to communicate with people and keep up-to-date with things without burdening herself with hard work or responsibility.

As she was listening to the woman, Nina realized for the first time that for Lydia Grigorievna, her father was a dream come true. After spending her whole life with a man who was nearly twenty five years her older, she was now married to a young – almost her age – and handsome man. She was happy.

It was midday, then one o’clock, then two o’clock. Lydia Grigorievna threw together a little meal for the two of them. In the meantime, she started casting concerned glances at the clock – it was time for her to get down to serious cooking for the dinner party.

Nina ate with pleasure. She felt comfortable in the neat, nice kitchen where she was being taken care of – something that had not happened to her for a very long time. Her hostility towards Lydia Grigorievna was a thing of the past – she had accepted the woman and even the memory of her mother no longer stood between them. In fact, Nina did not remember her mother often – only when she was particularly lonely and sad.

This time her mother came to Nina herself. As Nina was chatting with Lydia Grigorievna – telling her some professional, ‘accountant’ joke – her mama’s voice sounded suddenly in her head. Nina had no doubt that it was her mama’s voice and no one else’s – she would recognize it among thousands of others. The voice said, “Ninusya…” Then, after a second, “Poor papa…”

“Is something wrong, Nina?” asked Lydia Grigorievna who saw Nina turn pale.

“N-no, it’s nothing,” Nina muttered. “It just seems a bit stuffy in here.”

“Yes, sorry, it’s the oven. I need to do some ventilating here.” Lydia Grigorievna started bustling about and suggested, “You go out onto the balcony and get some fresh air. It’s all fitted out there, and there are some chairs to sit in.”

Nina went out onto a closed, wood-paneled balcony, pulled a transom window slightly ajar and sat into a wicker chair. It was a sunny day outside, and although the air was frosty, a turn for spring could be felt in it. But the beauties of Nature were lost upon Nina. Her head swooned, and her heart pounded furiously. Gripping the arms of the chair, she was coming to herself slowly, unable to understand what was going on with her.

Finally, having breathed in a lot of frosty air and getting quite chilled, she decided to go back. As she was closing the transom, she heard Lydia Grigorievna call out to her from the kitchen.

“What is it, Lydia Grigorievna? I didn’t get what you said,” she said as she entered the kitchen, and stopped short.

Lydia Grigorievna was sitting with a phone receiver clasped in her hand. Her cheeks were ash grey.

“Zhenya…” she muttered.

Nina took some time to realize that the woman referred to her father.

“Ninochka, papa is not well,” Lydia Grigorievna managed to say finally.

She had had a call from the committee. Yevgeniy Borisovich had had a stroke and had been taken to hospital.

For Nina, that day and the day after passed as if in a fog – her memory only captured separate episodes and pictures. She remembered how she and Lydia Grigorievna caught a taxi and sped off to the hospital whose address they had jotted down on a slip of paper. Once arrived, they rushed into the reception ward, where they had an agitated explanation with a dumb, indifferent and rude receptionist, then took the stairs (the elevator being out of order) to the fourth floor where the critical care unit was located.

To get to the unit, they had to walk all through the cardiology department. Everything here shocked Nina who was not familiar with the realities of public general hospitals. The crudely painted walls were dark and peeling with time and neglect, the ragged linoleum bore some horrible-looking spots. The wards, designed for six, were packed, and out in the corridor stood more beds with sick people, some of them on a drip. From one of the wards, a strong smell of urine was coming in combination with some other nasty stench; in another ward, someone was groaning loudly. At the nurses’ desk, two young nurses were chatting gaily, apparently not in the least concerned about the patients and their problems. Nina was appalled by the thought that her papa was lying, helpless and possibly dying, in such surroundings.

In the critical care unit, a fat middle-aged nurse blocked their way. When they explained who they were, she said irritably that there was no one to tell them anything about their patient yet and snapped, “Wait.” They settled down on hard corridor benches to wait.

Lydia Grigorievna said, “Did you notice…? I think I saw an ATM on the ground floor.”

“What? What ATM?”

“We’re going to needmoney,” explained Lydia Grigorievna.

“But I didn’t take my card along!” Nina exclaimed worriedly.

“I did.”

Lydia Grigorievna set off to search for an ATM and after some time came back carrying a sum of money. For another hour though, there was no one to hand it to.

Finally, the doctor came out. He was rather young, but unkempt and bald, with the face of a drinker.

The women rushed to him.

“It’s a stroke,” he said. “Rather a bad one.”

“But… He is going to live, isn’t he? Tell us he is,” Lydia Grigorievna uttered in an altered voice.

Without looking at them, the doctor shook his head.

“There’s no telling yet. There is hope, though.”

Nina plucked up her spirit and said, “Look, the conditions are awful here! Can we transfer him to another hospital?”

The doctor glanced at her in surprise. “You can if you mean to kill him.”

Lydia Grigorievna pushed Nina aside.

“We’re begging you, doctor, – please, do everything possible,” she said lowering her voice. “We will be very grateful. For now, please, accept this.”

She stepped right up to the doctor and slipped some banknotes wrapped up in paper into the pocket of his surgical coat.

“Well, with my salary, I have to accept whatever I am offered,” the man said without much enthusiasm. “But to be honest, it’s not me but your patient’s system that calls the tune now.”

He left, and they settled down to wait.

The nurse was displeased. “What’s the use of your sitting it out here? Go home and come back in the morning.” But going home was out of the question for them.

A clock on the wall counted time silently – five o’clock, six o’clock, seven o’clock in the evening. Nina and Lydia Grigorievna were fidgeting uneasily on the uncomfortable benches. Immersed each in their own thoughts, they hardly talked. Nina was trying to take in what was happening. Papa has had a stroke? He can die? But it’s impossible! As once her mind had been unable to accept her mother’s death, it was now unable to accept the danger that her father faced. Blocking the unthinkable, her brain brought up all sorts of rubbish – that the quarterly reports were soon due in her bank, and without Ignatiy Savelievich around, she was in for a rough spell; that she was hardly going to attend the driving classes which she had subscribed to; and that she needed different shoes for that dress.

When midnight was close, the nurse asked them again, “You are what – going to stick out here the whole night?” They assured her that they were. The nurse shook her head and sighed, “All right, then, come along.” She led them to the nurses’ room where she offered them some tea and biscuits. Then she pointed at two empty cots, “You can lie down here,” and gave them some pillows and blankets. “The roster says three nurses in each shift, see?” she said with vexation. “But one is off sick while another is having a baby. And I’m here, sweating my guts out for the whole bunch!”

Nina thought that she would not be able to have a wink of sleep, but the moment she laid her head down on the pillow she flaked out.

She was woken up by Lydia Grigorievna, “Ninochka, the doctor is coming any minute now.”

Nina jumped up. It was six in the morning. She had barely freshened up at a sink when the doctor came in. At the end of his shift, he looked even less attractive.

“Everything’s all right,” he said without any emotion. “The worst part is over. He is going to live, and there is hope that the main functions will be restored. It’s going to take time, of course.”

Nina and Lydia Grigorievna listened to that, clasping each other’s hands. Nina felt weak in the knees. Only now she realized how strong her fear for her father had been.

Afterwards, when Yevgeniy Borisovich was taken to expensive clinics and shown to luminaries of medicine, it became clear that the shabby doctor from the public hospital had done his job well, and it was due to him that Nina’s father retained speech and control of his body.

It was not until several days later that Nina and Lydia Grigorievna learned what had happened at the ill-fated session of the project acceptance committee. On the day after the stroke Yevgeniy Borisovich came around, and they were allowed short visits, but the doctor ordered that they avoid any topics that might agitate the patient. Finally, Nina’s father told them everything himself.

The review procedure started auspiciously. It had been the fear of Nina’s father that the head of the technical inspection would not let him present his project in full brilliance by finding faults and interfering with his presentation. But the chief technical inspector was absent, and his proxy was as silent as a fish. The other members of the committee seemed to be in a benevolent mood.

Yevgeniy Borisovich got carried away and gave them a whole lecture. He was especially glad that he was able to draw the committee’s attention to some ingenious technical solutions which were his brainchildren. Thanks to those solutions, the object was built to higher standards of safety and at the same time, some economy was obtained.

After the presentation, a field review of the object was scheduled. On the site, though, the members of the committee behaved in an indolent and disinterested way – viewed everything quite formally, without prying, clearly impatient to wind up and go to lunch.

The meal took place in a modest café in the municipal administrative building. In former times, it had been a canteen where the staff of the district Soviet administration had had their lunches, and the establishment had not changed much since. Grey-haired female cooks served the same cabbage salads, borsch and meat rissoles as twenty five years before. Nina’s father was glad to see the members of the committee eat with appetite. He could not eat anything himself, the food sticking in his throat. He was watching the others closely trying to figure out whether everything was going well or whether somebody was bearing some kind of grudge against the project or himself personally.

In that same café, he had once drunk vodka with the chairman of the committee – they had ‘washed down’ a closed contract. Now, emboldened, Nina’s father mentioned that episode to the man, “Do you remember you and me landing here for a…” He checked himself and bit his tongue realizing suddenly that it was indiscrete of him to bring up memories like that, and the chairman might not like it. However, the chairman did not seem to mind – he smiled and said, “Yeah, that was a nice little session we had here.”

A bomb went off after the lunch. The committee gathered in the conference room.

“Well, my dear colleagues, go ahead, have your say,” said the chairman.

The technical inspection man took the floor and asked some questions. The questions were not of a dangerous kind – Yevgeniy Borisovich had anticipated them, and answered each with confidence.

A pause followed.

The chairman prompted, “So? … No more questions?”

Everyone kept silent. Then the chairman took the floor himself.

“Well… Isn’t it sad, my dear colleagues? It’s really sad. None of you seems to see that the project is almost completely failed.”

Nina’s father who had already prepared to hear a favorable conclusion which was the chairman’s business to make took some time to grasp what the man was saying. And the chairman was saying that the company of Yevgeniy Borisovich had messed up all the works and failed to deliver on the contract it had made with the city.

The members of the committee were motionless and speechless. The chairman took out a note-book and opened a file containing the documents on the project. While leafing through one and the other, he started pouring down charges. It appeared that the company had violated certain regulations that were in force in the construction industry, and failed to observe the environmental law. The technological solutions which Nina’s father was so proud of had not gone through proper certification, and thus, implementing them could be classified as arbitrary practice in breach of the law. And so on, and so forth – over two dozen points.

All that was total rubbish. The regulations, adopted forty years ago, had nothing to do with the modern realities. They were universally violated, as it was impossible to build anything otherwise. In contrast, the environmental law was brand new, but it was also universally violated because of its being totally unrealistic. In fact, the object built by Nina’s father was more environment-friendly than most objects of the same category. It was true that his inventions had not been formally certified, but their merits were obvious to any specialist, and the necessary certificates could be tagged on post factum, as was common practice.

The chairman of the committee, himself an engineer, knew all that perfectly well. And yet, as if playing some evil game, he went on slashing the project, distorting shamelessly the true facts.

Summarizing, he said, turning to Nina’s father, “You let us down, Yevgeniy Borisovich – you did, in a big way. I didn’t expect that of you. Now I really don’t know how all this mess can be sorted out. Honestly, if it were someone else but you, I would just kick them out and throw the book at them. But out of my good feelings for you…” His face and tone expressed his righteous indignation, and at the same time, his wise humaneness. He turned to the members of the committee, “I believe, we should grant our contractor a deferral so he can fix the said faults. Two months must be sufficient. In any case, we cannot afford a longer delay. So, I move a two-month deferral. Will the members of the committee vote, please.”

The ‘faults’ that the chairman had listed could not be fixed in two years, let alone two months. That was sheer mockery. Trying to protest, Nina’s father opened his mouth, but no words issued from it.

In total silence, the members of the committee raised their hands one by one. That was the end of the project and the end of the company of Yevgeniy Borisovich Kisel.

Even if there had been some speaking going on around, Nina’s father would not have heard it because of a furious, deafening pulse that was pounding in his ears. Then a voice in his head said loudly, “Gradbank.”

That word struck him like a sledge hammer. He saw the chairman and all the members of the committee slide most weirdly backwards and upwards. The briefcase which he had been clasping dropped out of his hand, and the papers got scattered about. Then Yevgeniy Borisovich saw a table leg just before his nose and realized that he was lying on the floor. Then everything went dark.

Chapter 9

Yevgeniy Borisovich was recovering slowly. First, the danger to his life was over, then he regained his memory, and gradually, his speech. He was in control of his body, although his left arm and left leg did not obey him very well.

He was transferred from the critical care unit to a regular ward. The money had its effect, and he was placed in a small, two-bed room rather than a common, six-bed one. For a neighbor, Nina’s father had a man who had had a bypass surgery. The man was recovering, too, so the atmosphere in the room was not bad.

Nina and Lydia Grigorievna visited their patient every day – by turns, or sometimes, together. The doctor hardly talked to them – he had a lot of new concerns on his mind. “It’s all right,” he would reply to their questions. “Everything should be all right now. You know, you should consider yourself lucky – things could’ve been much worse. You’re doing the right thing by visiting him. He needs to be talked to. But of course, he must not be agitated.”

Lydia Grigorievna established her own order in the room – she cleaned it herself, replaced the grey, threadbare hospital sheets with some good ones which she brought from home, put some flowers in a vase and then changed them every day. “All that is important. Small things like that are very important,” she kept telling Nina. And, of course, she was feeding Yevgeniy Borisovich herself – having agreed the menu with the doctor, she was cooking everything at home and bringing the food to the hospital in small pots.

Following the doctor’s recommendation, Lydia Grigorievna did a lot of talking to her husband; in fact, she would have done that without any recommendations. Sitting by his bed and holding his hand, she talked for hours – about the weather, her cooking plans for the next day, and so forth – just about anything that came to her head.

Yevgeniy Borisovich hardly ever made any response – it was hard for him to speak, and maybe, he was not inclined to, either. Without taking away his hand, he kept gazing at the ceiling – either listening to his wife, or being immersed in some thoughts of his own. After he told Lydia Grigorievna and Nina what had happened at the committee session, he never talked about that again – in fact, he never referred to the project, his company or anything that was outside the hospital walls. Whenever he opened his mouth, he spoke about something very specific and momentary such as another pillow he wanted to be put under his head, the meal brought by his wife or a sparrow chirping outside the window. Lydia Grigorievna kept watching his face anxiously trying to detect signs of mental anguish or depression. However, the man’s face did not reflect anything at all – it looked aloof and serene.

Nina did not possess Lydia Grigorievna’s talent for idle talk. Also, she had had little contact with her father in recent years and was at a loss not knowing what to talk to him about. She tried reading to him instead – she read stuff from papers and magazines or just anything that fell into her hands. Her father did not seem to mind her reading but he hardly listened to her and barely responded when she said goodbye to go home.

When the first fear for the life of Yevgeniy Borisovich had passed, the question arose which nobody wanted to let into their mind let alone discuss openly. The company. What was going to become of it? What were they supposed to do? Nina’s father would not breathe a word about it – as if he had clean forgotten that he owned a business in which he had invested years of his life and all his means.

Nina phoned Nikolai Nikolayevich, her father’s assistant in the company. That was an engineer of the same age and the same background as Yevgeniy Borisovich – formerly, the two had worked in the syndicate together. Nikolai Nikolayevich was a pure technician – he did not know the first thing about business. When Yevgeniy Borisovich was in the office, the man was always on some site or other, so Nina barely knew him. With Nina’s father in hospital, Nikolai Nikolayevich took over the company’s current affairs.

When she learned that the company was not left unattended, Nina calmed down a little. In contrast, Nikolai Nikolayevich spoke very anxiously. He asked Nina for an immediate meeting.

The moment Nina stepped into the office, the engineer rushed to her. “What a misfortune, Nina Yevgenievna! We here are out of our mind with worry for Yevgeniy Borisovich! Believe me, not only we respect your father – we love him, too…”

“Yes, sure, thank you, Nikolai Nikolayevich,” Nina replied absent-mindedly. She had a lot on her mind and was not in the mood for exchanging sympathies. “Tell me, how are things with the company? How are the works going on?”

“The works…” The engineer sighed heavily. “Why don’t we sit down, Nina Yevgenievna?”

He sank into a chair. Nina sat beside him.

Nikolai Nikolayevich put Nina in the picture. According to him, he had managed to maintain the works on all the projects except for the main one – the one that had been killed by the committee. Nothing was being done on the big project, and nobody knew what should or could be done.

“You know, Nina Yevgenievna, I’ve visited Yevgeniy Borisovich in the hospital. You didn’t know? I have, they let me in for five minutes. I expected him to give me some instructions.”

“Did he?” asked Nina.

“At first, I thought he did not recognize me,” the engineer recounted dejectedly. “But then I saw that he did – he even called me by my name. But he didn’t say a word about work. Do you know what he said to me? He said that I should take care of my health – relax, take long walks… As if I had time for walks now!”

The man kept silent for a while, then plucked up his courage and asked, “Tell me, Nina Yevgenievna, what’s going to happen now? The company is in for shutdown? The men are going to lose their jobs?”

Nina had expected those questions, but she did not have any answers to them.

“I don’t know, Nikolai Nikolayevich. Honestly, I don’t know. I hope, things will sort themselves out soon. For the time being, please carry on doing what you can.”

Nikolai Nikolayevich nodded sadly.

“Of course, of course. But here’s the thing…”

He explained the problem to Nina. Her father had not left anyone a power of attorney necessary to manage the company. Without one, Nikolai Nikolayevich could not withdraw any money from the company’s bank account in order even to pay the employees the wages they had earned.

“Nina Yevgenievna, you’re visiting him often. Could you possibly settle that?”

Nina promised to see about that.

When she was about to leave, she said on an impulse, “Nikolai Nikolayevich, strictly between you and me – the company will possibly be sold. Can you make up a list of employees who you think must be kept?”

“So that’s it,” muttered Nikolai Nikolayevich. “That’s how things are. All right… I get it.”

Stunned by what he had heard, he dragged himself to a desk, took a leaf of paper and put down a dozen names.

“Thank you,” Nina said, taking the leaf from him.

She took a pen and put in the name of Nikolai Nikolayevich at the top of the list.

“Listen to me, Nikolai Nikolayevich,” said Nina. “The terms of the sale, including those concerning the employees, will depend on what state the company is in. That’s why it’s important that the business should not fall apart. Forget about the main project but do whatever it takes to keep the rest of them going. Do you understand me?”

The engineer nodded despondently.

Some decision had to be made – there was no point in putting it off. The only solution was to sell the company to Gradstroiinvest. That was as clear as day to Nina, but it was also clear that her father would never agree to that. He was still the only decision-maker of his company, but could he, in his condition, assess the situation correctly? “Of course, not,” Nina answered herself with bitterness. “Even before the stroke, he could hardly assess anything correctly. Oh, papa, papa…”

Her father hardly ever spoke about business matters – apparently, they did not concern him in the least, as if his disease had freed him from all earthly worries. Meanwhile, urgent measures were necessary to rescue what little capital he had left in the form of his company. Nikolai Nikolayevich was only capable of keeping up the current operations – he had neither the ability nor the authority to make strategic changes. But even if Yevgeniy Borisovich himself returned to work, what could he do? Acting through its bloodhound Gradstroiinvest, Gradbank had won a clear-cut victory over him so that no resistance was possible. Clearly, Gradbank was able to strip his company of all its projects, and if that had not been done yet, it was because Gradbank was preserving the business for itself. Still, Gradbank would not wait for much longer.

Nina realized that she had to act, but how? Her father was hiding in his decease, refusing to face the reality, and the doctor strictly forbade agitating him. Knowing her father, Nina could not imagine herself bringing up the question of selling the company – it would be the worst possible stress for him. It appeared that she only had two choices – she either withdrew, thus letting her father’s company dwindle to nothing in no time, or tried to get him to agree to selling the company at the risk of… yes, at the risk of killing him.

Nina was gripped in that impossible choice as in a vice. The worst of it was that she seemed to be doomed to become a traitress. If she made her father sell the company, he would never forgive her. And if she let the company go bust, she would never forgive herself.

She phoned in sick and spent a whole day at home. In fact, she was sick. Her continual mental anguish gave her a bad headache which aspirin would not relieve. An idle day filled with headache was followed by a sleepless night. About three in the morning, tired of tossing and turning in her bed, she shifted to the chair and sat there until dawn, her hands gripping the arms of the chair while her eyes were fixed on the mutely flickering TV set. Never in her life had she felt so lonely. Who was there for her to turn to? She would like to ask advice of Ignatiy Savelievich but what could her colleague do to help her? He had already done a lot. And what right did she have to burden an old, sick man with her concerns? Her friends, whom Nina was seeing occasionally, were useless in such matters. Nina thought of Igor, but Igor had long vanished from her life. Had he ever been part of her life, anyway? Nina was in need of somebody strong and wise to lean on and cry out all her woes to. Somebody who would soothe her and sort out everything for her. Yet there was no such person. She did not have anyone – she was alone in the entire world – and loneliness pierced her like a steel needle.

Nina came to the hospital and found Lydia Grigorievna there. Her father was sleeping, and his wife was busy embroidering his initials on the breast-pocket of his new silk pajamas.

“Nina, are you all right? You look awful,” the woman asked worriedly at the sight of Nina’s pallid face.

“It’s nothing, Lydia Grigorievna. I just didn’t sleep well. I need to talk to you,” Nina said in a whisper trying not to wake her father.

Lydia Grigorievna nodded understandingly, put aside the pajamas, and whispered, “Let’s go downstairs. I was just going to have a coffee.”

They went down to the cafeteria, took a cup of bad coffee each, and sat at a table covered by a none-too-clean table cloth.

Lydia Grigorievna was stirring her coffee with a spoon waiting for Nina to speak.

“Lydia Grigorievna, we need to do something,” said Nina. “I mean the company.”

“Company! Let it burn!” Lydia Grigorievna cried out jerking up her head. Clearly, Nina touched what was a sore point for the woman. “This damned company brings nothing but misfortunes. How happy we could be without it!”

Lydia Grigorievna tossed down her spoon in a fit of temper. It was the first time Nina saw the woman in such agitation.

“Nina, you don’t think I married your father for money, do you? I don’t want any money. I used to live on kopecks, I’m not afraid of poverty.”

“Lydia Grigorievna, please, calm down,” Nina said and, on an impulse, stroked the woman’s hand.

When her father’s wife had calmed down a little, Nina said the important thing. “Lydia Grigorievna, I think that it’s necessary to sell the company, but I don’t know how to persuade papa to do it.”

“Sell – to whom?” asked Lydia Grigorievna. It turned out that she knew nothing of the proposal by Gradstroiinvest.

Nina explained the matter to her in a few words.

“So that’s it?” cried out Lydia Grigorievna. “All this horror is about that? Ah, Zhenya, Zhenya! Keeping me in the dark – how nice is that? …”

She was shaking her head, holding it in her hands.

“If only he had told me, I would’ve managed to talk him into it.”

Nina rather doubted that, but she was pleased to see that another soul was worried about her father as much as she was.

“But there’s no way we can take it up with him now,” said Lydia Grigorievna with conviction. “Do you agree, Nina?”

“I do,” Nina uttered mechanically. She was still having a headache, and every word took her a lot of effort to say.

“We wait. Things will get fixed somehow in time. The main thing now is to give him every care and attention. Right?”

“Yes, that’s right – except for the small matter of him losing the company and not getting a penny out of it,” Nina thought.

Aloud, she said, “Lydia Grigorievna, it is necessary that papa make out a power of attorney so that Nikolai Nikolayevich can conduct the current operations.”

“A power of attorney?” Lydia Grigorievna reflected. “Can Nikolai Nikolayevich use it to sell the company?”

“No. That would take a general power of attorney which papa will not give to anyone, I’m sure. What I am talking about is a limited power of attorney good for running the daily business of the company. Papa can give it to Nikolai Nikolayevich or to you, it does not matter. Somebody has to sign the payroll.”

“I’ll talk to him about that,” promised Lydia Grigorievna. “If you ask me, though, this damned company should better burn.”

During the next few days, Nina was not able to go to the hospital as she was up to her eyes in work preparing her quarterly report in the bank. She would very much like it to be her last report on that job, although she had not yet found herself a new one.

On the fourth day, she had a call from Lydia Grigorievna – the woman asked Nina to come to the hospital.

Nina got frightened. “Is something up?”

“Nothing’s up, God forbid,” reassured Lydia Grigorievna. “It’s just your presence is needed here. Can you make eleven o’clock tomorrow?”

When Nina arrived, Lydia Grigorievna caught her in the lobby.

“Don’t you be surprised, Nina. And please, say ‘yes’.”

“Say ‘yes’ to what?”

“You’ll know right away. Sorry for this secrecy, but papa wanted to tell you everything himself, and speaking on the phone is a bit hard for him yet.”

They entered the room. Besides Yevgeniy Borisovich and his bypassed neighbor, there was another man in there – dressed in a suit, with a briefcase in his hands, he was sitting in a corner, obviously waiting for them.

“Here, Nina, please meet our notary.” Lydia Grigorievna introduced the two of them to each other.

The notary suggested that they all get seated and then announced in an official tone, “Dear Nina Yevgenievna, I am entrusted by Yevgeniy Borisovich Kisel, who is present here, to execute a power of attorney authorizing you to exercise the management of the company.”

“Me? Why me? I thought it was going to be Nikolai Nikolayevich…”

Suddenly she heard her father’s voice which she had hardly ever heard in the past weeks.

“That’s decided, Nina. Of course, you should have the power of attorney, who else? You know the company’s affairs better than anyone. My Nikolai is just a technician; he doesn’t know anything outside his pipes and pumps. Same as me, though…”

Somehow it had never occurred to Nina that her father might entrust her with the management of the company. But now that she knew it, she had to admit that it was the right decision.

Lydia Grigorievna was nodding and smiling to her, signaling in every way that she approved of the idea.

Nina said that she did not mind.

The notary started reading out the document which gave Nina a power of attorney. It took a few minutes.

On finishing the reading, the notary said, “Well, if everything’s correct, may you please sign here.”

He handed the paper to Yevgeniy Borisovich. However, Nina’s father was lingering. Leaning back on the pillows, he was gazing at the ceiling in silence.

The pause hung heavily. Worried, Lydia Grigorievna touched his hand and looked into his face.

“Zhenya…”

Yevgeniy Borisovich stirred.

“No,” he said. “Not correct. It has to be a general power of attorney. I wish to give a general power of attorney to my daughter, Nina Yevgenievna Shuvalova.”

Lydia Grigorievna opened her mouth in surprise. Nina’s heart missed a beat. Only the notary who was accustomed to any whims of his clients, remained unperturbed. After some rummaging in his briefcase, he produced a standard form for a general power of attorney. It took him no more than a minute to write in the title of the company and the names of the parties.

Nina was peering at her father’s face. Without a word, Yevgeniy Borisovich started signing the document in silence. One could hear the soft scratching of the pen on the paper.

On signing everything, Nina’s father gave the paper back to the notary. The notary put his stamp on it and handed the document to Nina.

Her father moved his lips, but Nina could not catch anything.

“Did you say something?”

Without looking at her, Yevgeniy Borisovich uttered tonelessly, “You may sell, if you think it right.”

Then, leaning his head towards Lydia Grigorievna, he said, “Lyda, I’m feeling kind of tired.”

Lydia Grigorievna jumped up and, pouring excuses, shooed everyone out of the room.

Right from the hospital hall, Nina made a call to Gradstroiinvest. She was put through to Konstantin, and as soon as she identified herself, he invited her, without asking any questions, to have a meeting with him in his office.

Nina paid a visit to Gradstroiinvest the next day. She did not know what she expected to find there. It was her enemies’ headquarters – the very place where they had devised plots against her father which had nearly killed him. Did she expect to find some kind of pirates’ lair with competitors’ skulls hung on the walls? However, what she found was a nice, well-organized business outfit where everything, including the furniture, equipment, and employees impressed her as sound and efficient.

Konstantin came out to meet her and led her to his office. The office was good, too – light, spacious, decorated in high-tech style. On the wall hung an enlarged photo of two guys in a kayak going through rapids on a mountain stream. A medley of arms and paddles, a wall of water spray with a rainbow, cheerful young faces… In one of the kayakers, Konstantin could easily be recognized.

Konstantin asked Nina to sit down, offered her drinks, and then said, “Dear Nina Yevgenievna, we have heard of the disease of Yevgeniy Borisovich. Please accept our deepest sympathy. I hope Yevgeniy Borisovich will be better soon.”

Nina was unable to sort out her own feelings. In the recent months, Gradstroiinvest had been constantly on her mind – as a vicious, hostile force that had put inexorable pressure on her father and his company. Many times she sent curses at the address of Konstantin and those behind him. As she was going to his office, she was afraid that she would not be able to contain herself – that she would yell at the man, or worse still, scratch up his face. However, when she found herself face to face with Konstantin, she somehow could not focus her anger on him. The man she saw before her was not some kind of movie villain but quite the reverse, a decent person – intelligent, well-mannered man of business. He was a man of business – that was the main thing. He nourished no hostility towards Nina’s father, and the pressure campaign that he had organized was simply his current work. He might be genuinely upset by the misfortune that had befallen a man under whom he had once started his career. He sympathized with Yevgeniy Borisovich and Nina, but he was not going to give up his plans.

Without responding to Konstantin’s sympathies, Nina took out and laid before him the document giving her a general power of attorney.

Konstantin read it carefully and said, “I see.”

Nina decided not to beat about the bush. “You have my agreement to sell the company,” she said firmly.

Konstantin did not display any emotions. He only said again, “I see.” One might think that he had long expected Nina to arrive and say exactly that. He apologized, picked up the phone handset and said into it, “Get Revich to come down here. Let him bring the contract.”

Revich was the chief accountant whom Nina remembered from their meeting at the fair. Once in Konstantin’s office, the accountant put a thin file on the table before his boss and sat silently aside.

Konstantin handed the file to Nina, “This is a draft contract. Please acquaint yourself with it.”

Nina took the file. Her hands were shaking slightly.

Konstantin said, “Of course, we do not expect you to sign at once. You need to study everything carefully and consult a lawyer.”

“Yes, of course,” replied Nina. “But if you don’t mind, I’d rather have a first look at it now in order to get a general idea. Maybe I’ll have some questions to ask right away…”

“Very good,” said Konstantin and moved a table lamp closer to her.

Nina started leafing through the contract. She knew what she wanted to find, but she was not finding it. On turning the last page, she said trying not to betray her emotions, “On the whole, it seems all right. There is one obvious omission, though – I don’t see any mention here that Yevgeniy Borisovich is to remain the company’s director.”

Unlike her, Konstantin did not have to suppress quaver in his voice – he was absolutely calm as it was.

“It’s just as well that you’ve noticed that,” he said. “I don’t mean to hold anything back. We are not going to offer the position of director to Yevgeniy Borisovich. We can take him on as a consultant – if he is interested. Small issues like that are not usually included in the body of a contract, but if you insist…”

“But you promised! I remember what you said at the fair.”

“I remember it, too. I did not promise – I made Yevgeniy Borisovich a proposal. The proposal was not accepted. Things have changed since. I’m not making that kind of proposal today.”

“Things have changed how?” persisted Nina.

Konstantin hesitated.

“Nina Yevgenievna, I don’t mean to be rude. As a daughter, you may find it offensive…”

“Speak!” demanded Nina.

“All right,” yielded Konstantin. “For one thing, Yevnegiy Borisovich is ill and it’s not clear when he could get back to work…”

“He is recovering rapidly…” Nina argued, but Konstantin cut her short with a gesture.

“That’s not it. You see… We know that the company has had certain problems recently. It was a kind of test for Yevgeniy Borisovich. Unfortunately, he did not stand it – he did not solve his problems in an optimal way. We expect more efficient management of our director.”

It took Nina a lot of effort not to show her mental turmoil. She had taken it for granted that her father was going to remain director, and Konstantin’s words cut the ground from under her feet.

Conflicting thoughts were flashing across her mind. What could she say to counter Konstantin? Of course, she could start a row accusing him of all mortal sins, arguing that it was all his doing. But it was clear that Konstantin was not going to change his decision. And there was something else. Deep down, despite her burning indignation, Nina had to agree with him – her dear papa was not cut out to run his own business.

“To dot all the i’s, the price has changed, too,” added Konstantin. “It has come to our knowledge that the company has failed to get accepted its largest project and lost a few others. That makes the business far less attractive to the buyer. This is how much we are prepared to pay today.”

He took a leaf of paper, wrote a figure and showed it to Nina. Her heart was wrung with what she saw – the sum was three times less than what had been offered for the company initially.

Nina was unable to carry on that conversation. Barely containing herself, she grabbed the draft contract and said, rising, “Yevgeniy Borisovich and I will have to think it over.”

Konstantin and his accountant got up at once. Konstantin held out his hand.

“It was a pleasure seeing you, Nina Yevgenievna. I hope we will come to an agreement.”

He was a decent man, but he had to do his work.

Nina shook his hand and walked out, unsteady on her feet.

Nina could not – and would not – discuss the matter with either her father or Lydia Grigorievna. Instead, she called Ignatiy Savelievich and asked him to recommend a good lawyer. The old man gave her the name of one whom he knew from old times.

“Ninochka, I want to tell you something before saying goodbye,” added Ignatiy Savelievich. “Business, money – all this is nonsense, in the final account. The only thing that matters is love. Take care of those who you love and those who love you…”

Nina was alarmed by his tone.

“I don’t like your mood, Ignatiy Savelievich. If you don’t mind, I’ll come over one of these days – we’ll do some walking and chatting.”

“Yes, sure, I’ll be happy to see you,” replied Ignatiy Savelievich.

Nina intended honestly to do something for the old man – to show that she cared about him – but that intention remained unfulfilled as do most good, honest intentions.

By coincidence, she had delivered her quarterly report by that time and was able to take a few days off work. She needed that breathing space desperately.

The lawyer was of great help. His services, which Nina paid for from her own savings, were quite expensive, but it was worth it. The man had a lot of experience – he saw through all the legal consequences of each word, and even punctuation mark, in the contract. He and Nina revised the wording of many paragraphs and worked out a list of amendments that guaranteed the preservation of the company’s line of business and its cadre, as well as improving the terms of the deal.

“But if you mean to get a much larger sum, you’ll need financial and engineering substantiation,” explained the lawyer.

Nina realized that herself. As an acting boss of the company, she ordered that Nikolai Nikolayevich dump all the operations on his staff, and spent a whole week with him in the office, arriving there every morning and sitting all day through. The two of them examined, one by one, all the asset and revenue items of the company, trying to prove in each case that those should be given a higher evaluation. After the engineer left for home, Nina went on poring over the papers until midnight. Hard work was not something new to her, but during that week, she really pushed herself to the limit. She was aware that she had no time to waste as the company’s position was deteriorating every day.

For the execution of the sale of the company, detailed financial statements and a substantiation of the price were prepared. Nina’s price was much higher than that suggested by Konstantin at their latest meeting, although it was still lower than the initial one.

After ten days, Nina crossed the threshold of Gradstroiinvest again. Konstantin and his accountant were expecting her. Nina was strung-up for battle, her cheeks burning in anticipation. She was ready to fight for every word in the contract and every ruble in the price.

Konstantin asked Nina to sit down and set to reading her version of the contract. After finishing each page, he passed it to Revich who was sitting by his side. That was going on in complete silence, only occasionally Konstantin would use a pencil to point out something to the accountant, and the other man would nod. Once the accountant pointed out something to his chief, and Konstantin nodded.

Finally, the reading was over. Konstantin kept silent for a while, looking at Nina with a new expression.

“You have done some impressive work, Nina Yevgenievna,” he uttered.

Nina gave no reply to that, but against her will, she felt pleased by Konstantin’s praise.

“Would you like some coffee or tea?” suggested Konstantin. He obviously hesitated, deciding something for himself.

“No, thank you,” refused Nina. She was all mobilized for a fierce argument and did not wish to lose her fighting spirit.

“Well, let us decide then,” said Konstantin. “Let me tell you again that you have done some impressive work. Your position is clear. Let me state our position now. We are ready to accept almost all your amendments. In particular, I don’t see any problem in signing contracts with all the employees that you listed – that could be executed as a supplement to the contract. But regarding the price…”

Nina held her breath.

“We can agree to the price that you put forth on one condition.”

He paused.

“On what condition?”

“On the condition that you, Nina Yevgenievna, become the new director of the company.”

Nina felt as if somebody had struck her on the head with a large pillow.

“Are you joking?”

“I can’t afford joking,” said Konstantin gravely. “A change of ownership is a serious shock for any company. This particular business is not very stable as it is, either, as it has accumulated some serious problems under Yevgeniy Borisovich. We need somebody to support the company and put it on the right track. At the moment, we do not have any other suitable candidate.”

“But I don’t know the first thing about construction!” exclaimed Nina.

“That’s not a problem; you can get the necessary assistance from…” He consulted the list of employees and said the name of Nikolai Nikolayevich. “The main thing now is competency in financial matters, and that’s what you have.” He nodded towards the papers that Nina had prepared. “So, the bottom line is this – the company is worth the money that you ask, if you take it over. But not otherwise.”

That was logical – as a good businessman, Konstantin identified precisely the right solution. There was only one ‘but’ – for Nina, becoming director of the company that had been snatched from her father was out of the question.

“That’s impossible,” said Nina.

Konstantin gazed at her silently for some time and then asked, “Is that your final word?”

“Yes,” Nina replied without hesitation.

Konstantin said, “I see.”

He lowered his eyes and started leafing through Nina’s papers again, stopping at particular fragments. On one of the pages, he pointed out something else to the accountant.      Then Konstantin got up.

“If you’ll excuse us, we need to deliberate.”

Nina rose readily. “I can wait in the reception…”

“Absolutely not!” Konstantin checked her with a gesture as he and Revich were leaving the office. “Please stay here. We’ll be back soon.”

However, that was far from soon. Nina had to sit in the office of Gradstroiinvest’s leader for a good hour and a half trying to anticipate what arguments Konstantin was going to use to put pressure on her. Konstantin’s secretary looked in to ask if Nina wanted something to drink. To give herself an occupation, Nina asked for a coffee, but when the coffee was brought, she was unable to drink it – so great was her tension.

At last, the door opened and the men were back.

“You win,” said Konstantin. “We accept your terms without any reservations.”

Nina left the office walking on air. Victory! She accomplished what had seemed impossible – netted a sum on the sale of the company which hardly any buyer would have paid even before all those recent troubles. Her father was rescued from poverty. In fact, he had never had a fraction of the money that was going to be credited to his account now. Nina imagined him recovering completely from his illness and becoming a free man: he and Lydia Grigorievna could travel, pursue any hobbies – do whatever they liked. If he wished, her father could find an application for his professional skills, too, – such an experienced engineer would easily get employment on any project. Only he should not try starting his own business again…

She was flattered by the thought that she had fulfilled her duty. Once she had promised her mother not to leave her father but help him through the hard times. She lived up to her promise.

Nina called Lydia Grigorievna to break the big news and let the woman know that she was coming to the hospital the next day to tell everything to Yevgeniy Borisovich. Nina even started giving some details to Lydia Grigorievna on the phone but stopped short. Her father’s wife did not appear to share Nina’s joy – the woman did not display any great interest in the news at all, but said simply, “It’s just as well. I’ve always thought that we’d be better off without that company.”

On her way to the hospital, Nina was no longer in such high spirits. How was her father going to take the deal? It was not in Nina’s character to boast, neither was she going to put herself on a pedestal now, but after all, he had to understand that she had worked a miracle…

As on some previous occasions, Nina was intercepted in the hall by Lydia Grigorievna. This time the woman actually blocked Nina’s way.

“Sorry, Ninochka, you can’t see papa now.”

“What’s up?” asked Nina worriedly.

“Nothing, it’s simply… He’s just a bit tired and is having a rest now.”

Nina did not understand. “But, Lydia Grigorievna, I’m just going to drop in for a minute. I’ll give him the very gist of it – after all, he needs to know what…”

Still, her father’s wife did not budge.

“No, Ninochka, sorry. Some other time,” she said, averting her eyes.

It came home to Nina at last that her father did not wish to see her.

She was dumbfounded. After all that she had done for him he would not let her, his daughter, into his hospital room!

Nina had almost never cried – not even in her childhood – but this time two tears slid uncontrollably down her cheeks.

“There, there, Ninochka, don’t take it to heart so,” Lydia Grigorievna said hastily, trying to quiet her down. “You know what temper he has, and his condition doesn’t help either… Just give it time, and everything will sort out. I’ll call you.”

Lydia Grigorievna was not a bad woman and she meant well, but Nina had no use for her soothing talk.

“Here, give it to him.”

Nina shoved the documents into the woman’s hands, turned round and left.

Lydia Grigorievna did not call – either the next day, or the day after, or even after a month. Clearly, Nina’s father would not let her do that. So, after all the heroic deeds that Nina had worked he bore her a grudge – believed that she had done him wrong. What was her fault exactly? Saving him?

Nina was badly wounded by the injustice. But there was something else. Deep down she had another disturbing feeling which she could never quite figure out – being in the right by any reasonable judgment, she still felt a traitress. What exactly her treason was she could not define, but the feeling filled her with emptiness and cold.

Over the twenty-six years of her life, Nina had not had a blacker streak. Everything that had been her life before was over now. She had lost her only family. She was probably going to restore some contact with her father eventually, but their relationship would never be the same again – that much was clear.

Nina was taking a sad inventory of her life. She had no family of her own. She had no boyfriend, and all her experience with the other sex did not provide any reason for optimism. She had some achievements in her profession, but she did not have a decent job. She had a one-room apartment, a good computer with high-speed Internet, a case of work-related books, and a pile of English detective stories on the bedside table. There were some good clothes in her wardrobe. On the upper shelf of the closet were her tennis things and a pair of male trainers left behind by a former lover.

Also, she had hatred. She was full of hatred – not any longer towards Konstantin, who had finally proved to be a decent person, but towards the unattainable Gradbank and its director Samsonov who, while not being aware of the existence of her father or herself, had destroyed their life by one of his decisions. She hated the mean, heartless world of business which crushed people like ants.

Nina remained in a kind of permanent stupor, unable to do anything or plan anything. She hardly noticed the passing of days and quite often could not say how she had spent the previous day – whether she had gone to work or stayed at home.

So it was going on until destiny interfered in the most undisguised manner. In her prostration, Nina neglected everything – her work, her apartment, herself. Among other things, she forgot to empty her mailbox. The box got packed up with advertisement stuff so that new papers were sticking out and falling down onto the floor. One such paper landed at her feet just as she was passing by. Nina picked it up and scanned it absent-mindedly.

Gradbank! The word was printed in bold type. It took Nina some time to take in the message. It was a vacancy advertisement – the bank wanted an employee for its analytical department.

Once in her apartment, Nina sat at her computer and, hardly realizing what she was doing, sent off her resume at the bank’s address.

After two weeks she had a job in Gradbank.

What did she count on? What was she plotting? She could not explain it to herself. Really, she could not seriously plan to set the bank on fire. Still, the resentment in her heart had not at all quieted down – now that she was in her enemy’s camp, she had even greater hatred for that inhuman establishment and its principle monster, Director Samsonov. To Nina, he was evil itself.

Nina swore to herself that she would have her revenge. She had no idea when or how that was going to happen, but she was firmly set on dealing her blow. With luck, she would make Samsonov suffer as her father and herself had suffered.

Part II

Chapter 1

“You play tennis?”

Nina looked up in bewilderment. “What?”

“The racket.” Samsonov nodded towards the handle of a racket sticking out of Nina’s bag which was tucked under her desk.

“Yes, I play a little.”

Nina felt embarrassed. In fact though, what was there to be embarrassed about? All right, she played tennis, so what? However, when talking to Gradbank’s director Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov she was never herself, constantly saying what she did not mean to, and alternating between shyness and some sort of impudent excitement.

Samsonov took no notice of that, of course. His own manner was quite simple and natural – as natural as that of a tank which goes wherever it wants to without heeding anything around. He could run a staff meeting yelling at his men and kicking their asses for two hours non-stop and then, having shoved everyone out, perch on Klara Fedorovna’s desk and tell her an obscene joke himself laughing his head off. He did not care in the least what other people thought of him.

“I envy you,” he said to Nina. “I’ve long been meaning to learn how to play, but I’ve never had the time.”

They were sitting in Nina’s room. Samsonov came over almost every day about five o’clock when his reception emptied. He never informed her in advance that he was coming – the door would just open wide, and his massive shape would emerge dwarfing everything in the room including Nina. Samsonov would say briskly, “Hi,” then pull up a chair and sit down close to Nina. The chair squeaked under his weight. Samsonov would say, “All right, show me what you’ve dug up.” Clicking the mouse on her computer, Nina reported her findings to him.

So far, her analysis had not brought any sensational results. Gradbank was well prepared to bid for the giant business center construction project, and its positions were strong. But so were the positions of some competitors of which the bank Atlas was the most dangerous one in Nina’s view. When she reported that conclusion to Samsonov, he nodded, “Yes, we’re up against Atlas. The others don’t count.” As it turned out, he had long known that – since before the tender contest had been announced. He knew lots of things about everything – all organizations in his sphere and people who headed them, their past and their shady dealings, their ties with the city administration and the ministries, as well as their mutual relationships. However, he did not share any of it with Nina – he wanted her to work with the documents only and look at everything through the eyes of a financial analyst.

As he sat down next to her, he invariably put his elbow on the desk and propped up his jaw with his big fist. Then he froze up and listened to her report without a stir, only asking her occasionally to dwell on some piece that he did not quite understand.

Being in such proximity with a man whom she had long hated from a distance – sensing his large masculine body just ten centimeters away, and picking up the smell of his tobacco and of his disgusting gutalin – made her shrink and stammer. Angry with herself, she would speak loudly and forcefully – so that Samsonov even remarked once, “You don’t need to shout, you know. I’m not deaf.”

After hearing her out, he would rise, say, “All right, carry on,” and leave.

But this time it was different. When Nina had reported her daily catch, Samsonov said, “All right, I get it,” and then turned his eyes to her racket.

“You’re going to play tonight?” he asked.

“I was. But it’s all right, that can wait.”

Nina thought that the director meant to load her with some extra work for the night.

Samsonov hesitated for a moment and then smiled a surprisingly shy smile.

“Take me along, will you?

Nina was confused. “Take you where?”

“Well… Take me with you to play tennis.”

Nina was dumbfounded.

“I don’t know… Well, of course, if you like… But it would probably be a better idea for you to hire a coach and take some regular lessons.”

“I will some time,” replied Samsonov with a sigh. “But when is that going to happen? What with the life I’m leading… I never have time for anything, not even for my tai chi.”

When Nina came to herself, her astonishment gave way to mischievous mood.

“Pavel Mikhailovich, I’d love to take you to the tennis club,” she said. “Only I have to warn you – if you’ve never held a racket in your hand before, it might not work very well at first.”

“Why? What’s the problem? I’ve seen people play – it doesn’t seem a big deal.” He nodded towards her racket, “May I?”

Samsonov took the racket and started swinging it. In the narrow room, he barely cleared the walls. Parrying an imaginary blow, he made a slashing stroke just over Nina’s head so that she had to duck. On the face of Gradbank’s director was a boyish, happy look.

“That’s decided then,” he announced. “I’ll just go tell Klara to cancel whatever I’ve left for tonight.”

Nina’s face kept the expression of unperturbed politeness – or at least, she meant it to be that way. In fact, she was full of malicious glee. Knowing how hard the first steps in tennis could be for a beginner, she anticipated discomfiture of the almighty director. “You’re in for it, mister Samsonov,” she gloated. “And with your conceit, too! Well, it serves you right…”

Nina turned off her computer and put the documents in the safe. Then she picked up her bag, glanced around the room to make sure she had not dropped any scrap of paper on the floor, walked out and locked the door carefully.

For a quarter of an hour, she had to wait for the director by the elevator. Finally, Samsonov came out pulling on his overcoat. The beautiful Marina was gliding along like a carvel, carrying his gloves and scarf. She did not pay any attention to Nina.

“You ready, coach?” Samsonov asked merrily.

Marina froze up – it occurred to her that her chief was going somewhere with that grey mouse, that little careerist wriggler from the analytical department.

She shoved Samsonov’s things into his hands, turned round on her high heels and walked away. When she was in anger, her gait was even more defiantly beautiful – if that was at all possible.

They had already stepped into the elevator cabin when security chief Sinitsin sprung up. He jumped into the cabin at the last moment.

“Pavel Mikhailovich, would you care to sign…?”

“What’s that?”

Sinitsin handed his boss some papers. Samsonov started signing them, pressing the pages against the cabin wall.

Sinitsin turned to Nina, “I haven’t seen you for a while, Nina Yevgenievna. Are you comfortable at the new place? Everything’s all right? Good, I’m glad to hear that.” He was smiling, but his eyes were looking with cold attention. “Please don’t forget about the little safety things such as locking the door. You can’t be too careful, right?” Nina blushed. On one occasion she had actually left without locking the door to her room. “We are all one big family here, but rules are rules, you know.”

He nodded towards the racket that was sticking out of her bag. “Playing tennis, eh?”

“Yes, I am. And Pavel Mikhailovich wishes to try his hand,” Nina explained.

“Indeed?”

The face of the security chief showed polite interest, but it seemed to Nina that none of that was news to him. “Can it be that he has my room bugged?” thought Nina. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I used to play a bit, too,” Sinitsin said with a chuckle. “Maybe, you’ll let me join in sometime, too?”

“We will. But not today,” Samsonov said, giving him back the signed papers. “As far as I know, you’ve got a lot on your plate, Sinitsin.”

It was Samsonov’s habit to treat all his male subordinates with army-style familiarity and curtness, while they were invariably respectful – and many of them quite obsequious – towards him. Nina considered this disparity as another proof of bad manners on the part of the director. On the other hand, Samsonov was quite civil to all the female employees except for Klara Fedorovna and Marina.

The elevator reached the basement floor. Sinitsin got out of the cabin along with them and accompanied them to the car. As they walked, he went on speaking to Samsonov in a low voice, never forgetting to smile at Nina. Nina could not hear almost anything – she only caught the word ‘Atlas’. Samsonov listened, striding vigorously with his head down, and finally cut the other man short brusquely, “All right, we’ll talk about that tomorrow.”

The director’s car was waiting for them with the engine already running. Samsonov took the front seat, and Nina got into the back. Sinitsin held the door politely open for her.

The driver stepped on the gas, and the car glided, purring softly, onto the ramp leading up to the garage exit gate. In the rear window, Nina caught a glimpse of Sinitsin. The security chief was following the car with his eyes, not smiling any more.

“Well, coach, it’s your call. Where are we heading?”

The car was huge. Samsonov was way off in front, so Nina could only see the back of his head and took some time to realize that he was speaking to her.

Samsonov turned his head round so that the white collar of his shirt cut into his thick neck.

“Nina, are you there?”

Nina started. It was the first time since she had come to work on the twelfth floor that the director had called her by her first name. She was sure that Samsonov had forgotten it, but apparently he really had a good memory.

She gave him the address.

“And one more thing – you’re going to need some sports clothes. And a pair of tennis shoes, too.”

“That’s right,” agreed Samsonov. “And what about the racket?”

“You can hire one in the club,” explained Nina.

Samsonov turned to the driver, “Kolya, make a stop at a sports store.”

They were driving through the city. It was late autumn. The day was cold but clear, and the rays of the setting sun were playing in pools of cold water and on the rain-sprinkled car bonnets.

“Damn, look at all this traffic! How’s one supposed to drive?” muttered Samsonov. “Kolya, I don’t know how you can even manage this.”

“It’s all right,” replied Kolya.

Kolya was a young guy with stick-out ears and tousled hair. He was a master of driving – if Nina had not seen, through the stained windows of the car, the street lights glide by, she could have thought that she was not in the director’s car, but at home, sitting in her favorite chair.

The car pulled over by the glittering show window of a sports store.

“Here, take this.“ Samsonov handed a plastic card to Kolya. “Buy me some tennis stuff. Take your own pick. I have size… Do you remember what size I have?”

“It’s fifty-six,” replied Kolya.

“Yeah, right. And it’s forty-four for shoes.”

Kolya did not seem at all surprised by the commission – obviously, he had run errands like that before.

“I hate jostling around in stores,” Samsonov remarked, confirming Nina’s guess.

Nina smiled to herself. “Men! No woman will entrust someone else with buying her clothes – a woman will do the shopping herself, fussing about in the fitting room for at least half an hour. And this one doesn’t seem to care what he pulls on.”

As Kolya was closing the door, another idea occurred to Samsonov. “Hey, buy me a racket, too. Why hire?”

“What kind of racket do you want, Pavel Mikhailovich?”

“Aren’t they all the same?”

Nina had had no intention to intervene, but she could not help it.

“Nikolai, you’d better buy a racket for beginners,” she remarked from the back of the car.

Kolya nodded, but Samsonov stopped him.

“As you were, soldier! Who do you listen to? You listen to me. Get a regular racket for grown-up guys.” He turned to Nina, laughing, “Don’t you order my Kolya around. I am director here yet.”

“Sorry,” Nina muttered, and added to herself, “Thick, conceited stud!” Over the period of their acquaintance, she had pronounced that verdict in her mind a hundred times.

Kolya grinned, slammed the door shut and left.

“A good kid,” said Samsonov. “A terrific driver and a prompt fellow, too. And most important, he is faithful.”

He said that with an emphasis, putting some meaning of his own into the words. But Nina took it her own way. “Look who’s talking of faithfulness!” she said in her mind. “Exploiter, puppeteer, what have you done to deserve faithfulness?”

“I’m afraid, I’ll lose him soon, though,” remarked Samsonov.

“Why so?” responded Nina from the back seat.

“Got married.”

“Who got married?”

“Not me – him.” Samsonov grinned. “They’re expecting a baby, too. His wife wants him to find another job. She agrees to a smaller pay provided the work is not dangerous… That’s sensible of her, though.”

“Does he have dangerous work?” asked Nina.

Samsonov turned his head to her so that his collar cut into his neck like a knife.

“I have dangerous work, and so he does, to keep me company.”

“What’s the danger?” inquired Nina.

Samsonov looked at her searchingly and, seeing that she was genuinely puzzled, waved the question away, “It’s nothing, really. Forget it.”

He kept silent for a while, and then asked, “Are you married?”

Nina started in her seat.

“No, I am not,” she uttered.

“Why not?”

Samsonov asked one unceremonious question after another as if trying to complete the image of a boorish boss that Nina created in her mind.

“I was married once. Divorced. No children,” she reported in an even tone, eager to be through with the job of satisfying the director’s idle curiosity.

“Really? I see,” Samsonov said and dropped the matter.

“What is it you see, you blockhead? You don’t see a thing,” Nina responded in her mind. She would have mentally pursued the topic further if it had not been for Kolya who came back from the store.

Kolya carried a large plastic bag from which the handle of a racket was protruding.

“Hey, give it to me.” Samsonov took out the racket and started feeling and palming it.

He showed the racket to Nina: “What do you think?”

“It’s a good racket,” said Nina. “An expensive one.”

Samsonov’s face was radiant – the picture of a boy that had received a new toy. He could not wait to use the racket, and he would actually have started swinging it right away if there had been a bit more space in the car.

“I say, physical exercise is an important thing. It’s for real, I mean it,” Samsonov reflected aloud. “I’m thinking of installing some fitness equipment in our basement. We don’t have anywhere to squeeze in a swimming-pool or a tennis court, but we’ll find room for a dozen treadmills and exercise bikes. The employees could practice after work or even during their lunch break.”

When she imagined her former chief Ariadna Petrovna, with her immense form, jogging on a treadmill during a break between two business conferences, Nina let out an involuntary giggle.

“Laughing, eh?” Samsonov responded good-naturedly. “All right, you can laugh all you like, but I’ll do it.”

Gradbank’s director Samsonov was in an excellent mood.

It all went exactly as Nina had anticipated. As he came out onto the court, Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov smiled broadly at Nina, tossed up the ball and struck it with all his might. The ball flew as fast as a bullet, only it hit the ceiling. Another such deadly ball hit the net. The third time it came out worse still – Gradbank’s director and the beginning tennis-player Samsonov hit the ball with the rim of his racket, and because it was an almighty hit, the racket got torn out of his hand.

Slightly confused, he rubbed his hurt fingers, picked up the racket and smiled at Nina, “It’s all right. I’m just getting the knack of it.”

He was dressed conventionally, in shorts and a tennis shirt, but the shorts were too loose around the hips and the shirt far too tight in the shoulders. A store price tag was dangling from the collar, down his spine. The ridiculous appearance of Gradbank’s director gave Nina great satisfaction. Her own attire was perfect. In the period of her life when she had been working on a strategy for winning men she had equipped herself with good clothes, including tennis articles. Her short white Lacoste skirt was impeccable, and in combination with her slender, strong legs deserved being placed on the cover of a tennis magazine.

They occupied the best court in the club. Normally, there were no vacant courts at that time of day. As they were riding, Nina pondered over a way for Samsonov and herself to wedge in to do some practicing. She had an annual club subscription and a permanent partner named Alik, a man of about forty who worked in television. Alik did not display any interest in women; he played tennis in order to slim down. Nina had known him for about a year, and over that period, the man had accumulated even more fat around the waist. Nina and Alik suited each other as tennis partners, but on occasion, by mutual consent, they swapped around with other pairs. Lolling comfortably on the back seat of the director’s car, Nina was trying to think of somewhere to squeeze in Alik so that she had the court to herself and could give Samsonov a tennis lesson. She recalled that another tennis acquaintance of hers, a middle-aged professor, had mentioned the previous week that he was going to miss tennis next time as he was going away to some international conference. Nina’s plan was to try to fix up Alik with the professor’s partner.

However, the problem sorted itself out in a different way.

As they arrived at the club, Nina spoke to the girl at the reception, trying to explain that while she herself had a subscription, she brought a guest for whom she needed a one-time pass.

“Are you kidding? What one-time pass? We’re packed, don’t you see?” snapped out the receptionist girl rudely.

Samsonov did not take part in the discussion. On entering the club lobby, he stood at its exact center and remained there, erect and massive as a column, as if he was sure that he was going to be attended on and provided with all he needed. And that was exactly how it worked. Behind the counter, beside the receptionist, the manager of the club was sitting. He had more savvy than his employee and was a better judge of people. When he surveyed the figure in an expensive coat that was standing in the lobby with a driver waiting behind with a bag, the manager came out to the visitor.

“Do you wish to play?” he asked.

“We do,” Samsonov replied looking over the manager’s head.

Something in the tone of the visitor finally convinced the manager. He motioned to his receptionist to shut up, took out a guest form from a drawer and brought it to Samsonov.

“Will you fill this in, please?”

Samsonov took out a golden Parker pen and wrote in his name in a bold hand.

“But where are we going to…” the receptionist started, but the manager had already made up his mind.

“First court,” he said.

The first court had a special status in the club. Isolated from the other courts and maintained in a perfect condition, it was kept closed most of the time – the management opened it for VIPs only. That day, Samsonov and Nina were the VIPs.

Sometimes the first court was played on by tennis professionals, and sometimes by rich amateurs. But it had probably never seen a man who had absolutely no idea how to use the racket he had in his hand. Samsonov made all the errors that a beginner could make. He was naturally very strong and developed physically – he had clearly practiced weight-lifting – but now his powerful body worked against him. Where calculation was necessary, he rushed to strike, and instead of feeling the ball, he applied all the might of his iron hands and body. The results were catastrophic. Trying to keep an unruffled expression on her face, Nina watched in delight her enemy, the great and terrible Samsonov, making a fool of himself.

Samsonov became more focused, not smiling any more. He realized that this tennis thing was not as easy as it seemed. He no longer struck the ball just anyhow – he did it with care – but the results were hardly any better for that.

A door in the fencing opened, and the manager appeared. His face and the whole of his bent figure expressed deference and happiness about his club being visited by such people. Obviously, he had already made his inquiries and knew who it was he had on the first court.

“Mister Samsonov, sorry to disturb you – would you like me to send in a boy to pick up the balls?”

“No need,” Samsonov responded raising his racket for another strike.

“Drinks, masseur – anything you like, you just name it,” the manager went on fawning.

Samsonov slashed, and hit the net again.

“Close the door!” he barked.

The manager retreated.

“Stop yelling, you boor,” Nina retorted in her mind. “It’s no fault of the manager that you don’t know how to play.”

She saw that Samsonov was all worked up and wondered what it was leading to. Basically, there were two possibilities – either Samsonov hurled down his racket in fury and left, or he swallowed his pride and asked for help.

But somehow neither one nor the other happened. Samsonov went on struggling with his racket and the ball, trying as best he could to get the ball over the net without hitting the ceiling or the far wall. Little by little, he made some progress. He still did everything the wrong way, but before Nina’s eyes, he was working out his own ugly style which allowed him to send home at least one out of every three balls. Each time he did that, he triumphed openly.

Parrying easily his sparse successful strikes, Nina watched him with interest. She had no memories of how she herself had acquired the basic tennis skills. At that time, she was a little girl to whom everything came easily, and she had a coach to teach her. Now she watched a grown-up man trying hard to do what he absolutely did not know how to do, and what he was ill-suited for by his physique. Still, contrary to her expectations, the man would not chuck down his racket; not in the least baffled, he carried on what he had begun.

It went on that way for about an hour. Little by little, Nina’s malicious gloating faded out and gave way to a sentiment of some respect. Samsonov was making one absurd pirouette after another, but essentially, he was not doing anything shameful or contemptible – on the contrary, he showed enviable grit and persistence. Obviously, it was the same kind of persistence as was necessary for him to deal with his problems in business.

It was time to help him with some advice but Nina kept silent, not wishing to make his life easier. Also, if she butted in with unwanted tips, she risked meeting with the same rude rebuff as the poor manager had run up against.

Apparently, however, persistence was not the only quality required of the leader of a bank. No less essential was the ability to control one’s own obstinacy, assess the situation soberly, and change course if there were good reasons to do so.

On throwing another ball successfully over to the other half of the court, Samsonov lowered the racket suddenly.

“Enough. This damn thing really takes learning – I can see it now. I’ll hire a coach.”

Nina nodded her consent. She was ready to go back to her partner Alik.

But Samsonov was not ready to let her go. He came up to Nina. On his wet face was a puzzled look.

“Still, damn it, tell me how you do it! It seems so easy, but no way… Look, I’m all foam and you’re not sweating at all.”

Smiling to herself at yet another vulgar remark by her boss, Nina said, “Pavel Mikhailovich, there are some tricks to it that you need to master. If you wish, I’ll try to show some of them to you, but first you have to take a little rest.”

Samsonov said, “All right.”

He waved his racket inviting Nina to sit down on a bench.

“Wanna have a drink?” he asked. “Where is that idiot with drinks?”

He opened the door and called the manager. Apparently, the man had been sticking around as in a minute already they were brought lemonade.

Nina was sitting on a bench side by side with Samsonov. The man was really very hot. In the light hair covering his legs and arms, drops of sweat were glistening.

He poured some lemonade for Nina and for himself. Nina took a sip and put the glass aside.

“Actually, it’s not recommended during a practice…”

“Yes, I know,” responded Samsonov. Yet, he finished his glass in two gulps and poured himself another.

Samsonov looked at Nina approvingly, scanning her skirt and athletic-looking legs.

“You’re all right, you know. You play well and all that…”

He did not specify what “all that” meant.

“Have you been playing for a long time?” askedSamsonov.

Nina answered.

“You’re a native of the metropolis? Me, I’m a Krasnoyarsk guy,” said Samsonov. “Tell me about yourself. Look, I don’t know you at all.”

Nina who had not at all expected her boss to take personal interest in her started reciting the facts of her biography incoherently, trying hard not to say too much.

But, apparently, Samsonov was not such a dumb blockhead as she believed him to be. He felt something and said, “All right, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t wish to.”

He rose.

“Enough of resting. Come on, teach me. You promised, didn’t you?”

Nina led him to a wall.

“Pavel Mikhailovich, the main thing – don’t apply force. Don’t squeeze the handle as if you’re trying to obtain juice from it. My coach used to tell me that the handle should not be squeezed, but rather only fixed in your hand as if you were holding a living bird. Try it.”

Samsonov relaxed his fist and moved his racket hesitatingly to and fro.

“But I can’t keep the racket this way – it’ll get kicked out.”

“No, it’s not,” Nina assured him. “If you strike the right way, there will be no kick at all. Here are the rules: don’t bend your arm at the elbow, draw the racket with your shoulder and body so that at the instant of the strike, the racket face is at a right angle to the ball trajectory. Meet the ball with your body side – not your front – turned to it. Keep your legs slightly bent, as if you were on a pair of springs, one foot put forward. Here, look.”

She started striking the ball, hitting it against the wall, showing markedly her movements to Samsonov. The ball flitted to and fro, each time returning obediently to her racket.

“Great,” said Samsonov. “Let me try it now.”

He was not born for tennis, but he was a good learner. It turned out that he had understood and memorized Nina’s tips. He was trying hard to do everything right, but the problem was that, being very strong physically, he lacked coordination and was unable to follow all her instructions at once – if he straightened out his elbow, he forgot about the legs, and the other way round. Still, he made some progress.

Samsonov turned a happy face to Nina.

“How am I doing, coach?”

Nina actually felt as if she were a coach who was training a problem pupil, but not a hopeless one. She got really involved in the process.

“It’s not bad, Pavel Mikhailovich. Now try to keep your arm straighter still, and don’t work your fist, just fix it. Here, let me show it to you.”

She stood right in front of Pavel Mikhailovich with her back turned to him and said, “Imitate me.”

She recalled that her own coach had once used that teaching technique.

“I’ll be doing everything slowly, and you try to copy my movements exactly.”

Without a ball, she pretended to be performing a strike – drew her hand as in slow motion so that he could follow her. Behind her, just half a step away, a big, hot man was breathing noisily. Her pupil.

She could not see how he was doing, but she felt that he was trying honestly.

“Do you get it now, Pavel Mikhailovich?” she asked, still with her back turned to him.

“I get it,” he said. The sound of his voice seemed to come from somewhere right over her ear.

Nina made a step aside and… Afterwards, she returned to that moment many times, unable to explain how all that could have happened. She stumbled and nearly fell down. The stumble was caused by a powerful, light-haired leg which she had not noticed. The leg belonged to Samsonov who put it forward as she had taught him to.

Nina would have crashed down in a big way if it were not for a pair of strong arms. The arms belonged to the same man. Although Samsonov was not naturally very quick, he managed to catch her, his racket thrown aside. He lifted Nina as if she were weightless, and for a few seconds, she was floating up in the air in his arms. Nina felt the heat coming from his body and saw quite close his face and his grey eyes.

Then Samsonov put her cautiously down on her feet.

“Take care! You are in my employment, mind you, and I want my employees able-bodied,” he joked awkwardly.

Nina felt giddy, her heart pounding.

“I’m sorry, I stumbled.”

Samsonov picked up his racket and made a few imaginary strokes. Then he stopped.

“Well, I guess, it’s time to wind up. I’ve learned something, and I’ll pick it up when I find time… Are you staying or going? I can give you a lift.”

“No, no, thank you,” Nina refused hastily. “I’d like to play some more.”

“I’m leaving then.”

Smiling, he looked Nina in the eye.

“I can’t remember the last time I carried a woman in my arms,” he joked awkwardly again.

Nina smiled a strained smile.

Samsonov was lingering as if he was going to tell her something else, but then he said simply, “Thank you for your lesson. I owe you.”

He held out his hand and Nina took it. Chafed by the racket handle, his palm was as hot as an oven.

When the door closed after him, she had to spend some more time on the bench to regain her senses. Then she went to look for Alik. She was in no mood to play, but she wanted to apologize for her absence.

She found Alik on a court with the professor who apparently had not gone away to any conference. The two of them were absorbed in the game, obviously enjoying each other’s company. Nobody seemed to have any need for Nina. She said her goodbye and left the club.

Nina had never learned to drive, so she used public transport to go to and from work, or hailed a gypsy driver in the street if she was not in a mood to jostle in the crowd. This time, however, she was even glad to use the underground – it was not crowded at this late hour, and the familiar jolting and rumbling of the metro car could help her get distracted and relax a little.

Usually after tennis, even if she had done some serious practicing and her muscles were hurting, she had a surge of energy. That surge was not welcome towards the night, but it was slow to subside – she only relaxed completely after she had arrived home, made preparations for the next day, had a shower and drunk some green tea with milk which she had for supper. Then she could go to sleep.

This time, she had done no real practicing and yet, she was in a state of great excitement. It was understandable, though – the whole adventure of her playing with the director was totally out of the ordinary. Things like that did not happen to one every day. She had to think it over. As she was jolting in the underground car, Nina kept turning that remarkable experience in her mind, smiling anew at the amusing episodes. Now Samsonov was brandishing her racket in her little room in the bank. Now they were riding in his car, arriving at the club, getting out onto the court…

The scenes kept flashing in her mind as she entered her apartment, dumped her bag into the wardrobe, got undressed, and went to the bathroom to take a shower. The images were bright, they popped up before her mind’s eye as shots in a movie, but they would not add up to any meaningful total. Nina was in the habit of analyzing everything in her life, and she was proud of her analytical mind, but this time, her mind was being sluggish, dodging its responsibilities, and unwilling to produce any conclusions.

Nina made some green tea. Once again, she pictured herself on the court where Samsonov, in a tight tennis shirt with a price tag dangling from his collar, was jumping about and swinging his racket, sending the ball in the most unexpected directions. Now he stopped, they sat side by side on the bench and had some lemonade. Then she taught him some tennis techniques at the wall, and then… Then she fell, and he caught her. One of his powerful arms was under her shoulders and the other under her thighs draped in a white Lacoste skirt. His face was quite close…

“I like him,” she said aloud.

That was so unexpected that she dropped the milk carton. The milk spilled and made a pool on the table. The pool had the form of a head and seemed to her a likeness of Samsonov – she thought she recognized his high forehead, light hair and massive features.

Frightened, Nina snatched a cloth and wiped the table. But the words had been said, and there was no wiping them away.

The discovery that she had made staggered her so that for a good half hour, she sat motionless, with a cup of green tea in her hand and her eyes fixed on one spot.

Her whole self was burning with indignation. That was out of the question! He was her archenemy – one on whom she was going to take her vengeance. She could swear that she never – not for a second – had thought of him as a man. He was a stud, an unfeeling boor, not at all her type…

Nina named hectically the reasons she could not take a fancy to – or, in fact, any interest in – that man. Those reasons were numerous, and they were solid. They seemed to bear down on one of the scale dishes as a crushing weight. But the scales were in the hands of a woman. Nina had not felt the woman inside herself for such a long time that she believed her dead. As it turned out though, the woman was alive and well – appeared out of nowhere, took hold of the scales and tipped the other dish with her thin finger. All of Nina’s reasons lost their weight at once and soared up.

“You’re in love with him, you fool,” Nina said aloud.

That confession was only witnessed by the cup of tea that she had never drunk.

Tears welled up in Nina’s eyes. Falling in love with her enemy was a horrible, degrading thing. As they say, there is only one step from hate to love. Nina found out that it was true literally, and she had taken that step as she had fallen down on Samsonov’s arms on the court.

She went to bed, but she could not have a wink of sleep – she kept tossing and turning in fever. She was totally unable to understand anything or explain anything, but she felt that her whole being was filling – in fact, had filled already – with some new, alien substance which she could not hope to get rid of and had to live with from then on. She only dozed off towards morning, still undecided as to what to do about her old vengeance and her new love.

Contrary to the conventional wisdom, the morning was no wiser than the night. Nina was in a complete mess. She could not imagine how she was going to arrive at the bank, spend another day rummaging in the papers and, worst of all, see him in the afternoon. What was he going to think of her? Pumping herself with strongest coffee, Nina recalled the events of the previous day – especially his lifting her in his arms… Then an awful thought pierced her. What if he thought that she had stumbled on purpose – that it had been her female play?

That awful thought made her wince. Honest to God, she had not planned any of it. But how could she prove it? He was going to hold her for a cheap flirt. Besides… Nina was struck by another, even more terrible thought. Was she really all that innocent? What if it was the woman inside her, that traitress, that had contrived Nina’s fall?

Nina was so depressed that she was about to skip work – call in sick and stay at home. But what good would that be? Besides, Samsonov might interpret her absence in his own way. No, she had to go to the bank and pretend that nothing had happened. And really, nothing had happened – nothing in the world had changed for anyone but her. What business was it of anyone else’s?

In the bank, she barely made it to the end of the day. She only hoped to sit it out until Samsonov came and then pull through the meeting with him in the ordinary way, without giving herself away.

As was his habit, Samsonov came towards the end of the day. Instead of his usual “Hi”, he said, “Salute to champions!” – and smiled broadly. The rest of their meeting went just the usual way. He sat at the table, propped up his cheek with his fist and did his listening. Nina had done next to nothing that day but, thank heaven, she had a lot of material that she had not had a chance to report to Samsonov before.

She rattled it off hardly understanding what she was saying.

When she was finished, he said, “All right, carry on,” and left.

Once the door was closed after him, Nina buried her face in her hands and wept.

Chapter 2

One writer compared love to an assassin that springs up in an alley in front of a man and a woman, and stabs both with a knife. It was not that way with Nina. Love hit her alone, and rather than stabbing, it hooked her so that there was no getting off that hook.

There was nothing pleasant about that love. If anything, it was a persistent ache in her chest – now stronger, now weaker, it would not cease for whole days, and often whole nights, too.

Nina was unhappy. She tried to grasp her situation, but her thoughts were being wayward, unwilling to focus – they would fly asunder like butterflies every time love stirred in her breast, presenting to her mind’s eye his massive profile and grey eyes. Pavel Mikhailovich, Pasha, Pashen’ka…

Common sense suggested that she should leave Gradbank at once, under any pretext, so as never again to see that big, strong, rough man. The man she loved. That was certain to be hard – perhaps, very hard – but everything was going to pass finally, nobody was going to die as people did not die of love except in novels.

There was another option – she could open up to him. She could take a deep breath and blurt out, “I love you, Pavel Mikhailovich!” Picturing that scene, Nina got horrified. Her love was not a tactful man, to put it mildly. He was capable of mocking and offending her. Or… Was it possible that he loved her, too? Well, not loved, of course, but was ready to love, unaware of it himself, and when she confessed her feelings…

“Stop it, you idiot!” Nina snubbed herself. “Don’t be such a wimp, have at least a drop of dignity, and stop degrading yourself with this pathetic, silly hope!” Under a shower of reproaches, the pathetic, silly hope shrank and hid somewhere for a while, only soon to appear again, none the worse for wear. During the daytime, Nina was usually able to hold it at bay, but it was harder at night.

Nina was not getting enough sleep and could barely work. Samsonov noticed that. Once, seeing her paleness as he came into her room, he asked, “What’s up with you, Nina? You look a fright.” His calling her by her first name (for the second time during their acquaintance!) made her start, and his unceremonious remark made her wince. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t sleep well.” That was the truth, or at least part of it.

Before leaving, Pavel Mikhailovich gazed at her intently again. “Still, Nina, I don’t like you. I know that you’re breaking your back over this job, and I appreciate that. You know what? Take a couple of days off, have a rest. I can’t let you have a real vacation but, I guess, we can spare two or three days…”

“No, thank you, I am all right,” Nina muttered. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

It’s just I’m in love with you, you stupid man!

Pavel Mikhailovich was waiting, his grey eyes looking kindly at Nina. Nina had to decide – it was now or never.

“I just was thinking something over, sorting out a problem. That kept me awake till morning.”

“Well, did it work? Did you sort out your problem?” inquired Pavel Mikhailovich.

“Not quite. But I’m going to.”

Pavel Mikhailovich smiled encouragingly at his employee, “Good. But still, there is daytime for that sort of thing. I need you to make it to the end. Just hold on, it will be over soon. Then we’ll all be having rest.”

Samsonov left. He did not show any signs of fatigue himself, but Nina knew that he worked every day from early morning until late at night.

Thus Nina failed to confess her love to her man, missing a rare occasion when he showed some human care for her. She did not confess, but neither did she quit. All her righteous thoughts and decisions about leaving Gradbank were self-deception – she was unable to give up her daily meetings with that strong, unceremonious, unfeeling man. Her love.

Nina joined the multitudinous class of women that she had always heartily despised – women that were hopelessly in love with their unresponsive bosses. She would have laughed at herself, but laughing was painful because of the love which stuck in her breast, all bristled up like a porcupine.

Nina had not seen her father since his company had been sold. They called each other from time to time to exchange a few empty phrases. She wished him good health, and he wished her success in her career. Neither of the two suggested a meeting, and even those brief phone talks were burdensome to both.

Also, Nina’s father was away from the city for months as Lydia Grigorievna was taking him to one sanatorium after another. The sanatoria had done their work, and Yevgeniy Borisovich had recovered almost completely.

However, there was an occasion that could not be evaded – Nina’s father was turning fifty. A celebration was planned at his home to which some employees of his former company were invited – in fact, all those with whom Yevgeniy Borisovich had once planned to celebrate the acceptance of his main project. He called Nina to invite her, and Lydia Grigorievna joined in to say a few friendly words. Everyone pretended that there had been no hurt feelings or estrangement between them.

That was a chance to repair their relationship. Nina knew what was expected of her: to play the role of a loving daughter who was by her father’s side on his anniversary, comforting him with her attention and avoiding any painful subjects. However, she discovered with a sad feeling that she did not really care about all that any longer – her resentment had burnt out, and her childish love for her father had gone, too. She was a different person now.

The celebration started very smoothly. Lydia Grigorievna surpassed herself as a cook, and the table was overladen with exquisite snacks. The guests maintained a pleasant table conversation and seemed to be really glad to see the host who looked fine and was quite communicable except that from time to time he fell into a slight trance and for a few minutes, stopped reacting to anything or anyone around him. Toasts were proposed, and glasses were clinked – everything was going on the way it should be. As a birthday present, Nina gave her father a beautiful cashmere pullover with a domino pattern which had always been his favorite.

After a third glass, Nikolai Nikolayevich started talking about work. Failing to notice warning signs that Lydia Grigorievna was giving, he announced that all the key employees had kept their jobs in the company, and on the whole, things were going pretty well. The new director was a good engineer.

“You know him, Yevgeniy Borisovich – he worked with you at one time.” Nikolai Nikolayevich said the name of the new boss. “Of course, he’s no match for you, Yevgeniy Borisovich, but he’s all right.”

Nina cast a look at her father. Yevgeniy Borisovich was chewing away at roast beef in silence.

“Honestly, Yevgeniy Borisovich, you built up one great engineering firm, you have,” Nikolai Nikolayevich went on, and then he suddenly turned to Nina, “We owe an earthly bow to Nina Yevgenievna, too – she got us through the tough times. I can’t stop wondering how you managed that, Nina Yevgenievna. All that finance and accounting are Chinese to me, but thank God you’re an expert in that kind of thing. I can’t remember – where do you work, Nina Yevgenievna?”

“I work in Gradbank,” Nina said distinctly, though not very loudly.

There was a pause. Nina’s father was still chewing away at the roast beef.

“And we’re just back from Carlsbad!” Lydia Grigorievna cried out. “You can’t imagine what beauty it is. What with the architecture and scenery… Just listen – I played roulette in the very casino Dostoyevski had played in once. I actually won ten euros! Mark my word, everyone should visit the place, it’s just a must… And now – the main course!”

Nina was not sure whether her father had heard what she had said. But she did not really care, neither she was going to explain anything. As soon as she got a chance, she proposed a toast for him and left the celebration under some pretext.

Nina, with her love, went on working for Samsonov. Unable to decide anything, she surrendered herself to what was happening to her. That was not at all in her nature, or rather, not in her former nature, for now she no longer knew what her nature really was or whether she had any of it at all. She did not know, but neither did she try to find out. Contrary to her life-long habit, she did not analyze the events of her life but simply flowed with the current without thinking. She even came to find certain comfort in not having to decide anything any longer – come what might, she would accept it.

Love dwelled in her breast and behaved like a tyrant there, but little by little Nina got used to it, and her daily existence got back on track more or less. She regained her ability to go to sleep at night. All it took was sending mentally a confession of love to her man a few times – twenty times usually did the trick. Getting enough sleep, she was able to concentrate on her work. Nina had always known how to work and loved working – that was her lifeboat in the sea of life, and that lifeboat was rescuing her once again.

Nina soon became adapted to working on the twelfth floor. That was Mount Olympus, a place that most of the bank’s employees never once visited in their life. If they had visited it, they would have discovered that there was only one Olympian god at the top. Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov. The rest of those admitted were no more than favored mortals – they had been elevated because they had attracted the benign attention of the all-powerful Director, and they could roll down in a blink if they incurred his displeasure. However, the members of that inner circle valued highly their privileged position and let everyone else feel it. Nina observed many times how those selected greeted each other over the heads of the ordinary folks, patted each other’s backs with a special expression on the face, and switched to an intimate half-whisper to share news about some important matters that were inaccessible to the laymen.

Nina was one of them now. Although she was a mere analyst who never took part in any management meetings and had no voice in making any decisions, everyone knew that almost daily the director conferred with her in person and listened to her report, which placed her very high in the bank’s hierarchy. The vice-directors and department heads – all the bosses who formerly had been unaware of her existence – were now saying hello to her politely and smiling at her as one of their own. There was no doubt that it was going to be that way until the need for her was over and Samsonov sent her away to where she really belonged.

Her new status made itself felt in small things, too. The guards no longer required that she produce her pass – they only nodded respectfully. When she requested that an additional power socket be mounted in her room, an electrician showed up in ten minutes accompanied by the superintendent who came in person to see to it that everything was done properly. Nina recalled that her former chief Ariadna Petrovna once spent a whole week trying to get that kind of service for her own office. Such episodes tickled Nina’s vanity. She was surprised to notice the effect this was having on her. “If I were a vain fool, I would get ideas of my own importance,” she said to herself. “But I am not a vain fool… I hope.”

As they met her in the lobby or in the elevator, her former co-workers fell into a kind of gleeful stupor. To them, she was a creature of a higher order, the heroine of a myth who had ascended to the sky right before their eyes. All office workers are alike. When one of them gets a promotion, the rest, while smiling to the lucky one’s face, are hissing spitefully, green with envy, behind his back. But that is only if it is an ordinary kind of promotion. If somebody, like Nina, draws a lucky ticket and jumps over many rungs of the career ladder, there is no more room for envy. The minion of Fortune is sincerely admired, seen as a dream come true.

“What is it like up there?” her former mates would ask Nina sheepishly whenever she ran into them. “It’s all right, it’s just work like any other,” Nina answered simply. They nodded with a grave look on their faces, showing that they understood everything and appreciated her modesty.

In order not to disappoint them, Nina threw in some food for their imagination. “Yesterday we had a visitor from the Cabinet of Ministers… Let’s not bandy about any names,” she said, smiling to herself at their simple-hearted love for the high-ups. “If only you knew what plans were discussed, what figures were cited! … There’s an awful pile of work to do – no breathing space left, really.” Hearing this, the analysts got stupefied with admiration.

Indeed, the bank had been visited by the minister of economics; his hearse-like limousine stood by the main entrance for everyone to see. Nobody had seen the great man himself, though – before he entered the building, the security had cleared the lobbies and elevators of any stray employees. Nina had not seen the minister either; all during his visit to Samsonov she had been toiling in her little room and had not learned of the event until later. But why share those details with her poor colleagues? She might as well let them imagine that at the negotiations, she was sitting at the director’s right hand, and everyone present, including the minister, devoured every word she had to say on financial issues.

Once or twice her colleagues plucked up the courage to invite her to some party that they were having. Their intent was clear – they hoped desperately that Nina would shed her heavenly light upon them – infect them with her good luck, or perhaps, even actually put in a word for them with Samsonov. “Thank you, but no chance, you understand,” Nina would reply. They did not get offended – they understood it their own way: Nina was out of their league now, and it did not become her to mix with small fry like them. In fact though, Nina would not at all mind getting distracted and spending an hour or two in meaningless chatter with people who, although not really her friends, were akin to her, being analysts like herself. But Nina was really overloaded; all the nights when she did not play tennis which she was sticking to obstinately, she stayed at work after hours. She had piles of work to do, that much was true.

It was also true that now she was involved with really big things – in fact, the largest construction project of the decade. The sheer size of it was dazzling in terms of both the money to be invested and works to be carried out. At first, figures with a lot of zeros had a paralyzing effect on Nina. Overwhelmed, she had difficulty getting at the meaning underlying the numbers. She was about to give up the assignment, when she thought of a simple trick – divide everything by one thousand. The project shrank miraculously, and everything became accessible and visible, similar to what she had dealt with before.

That allowed her to take some initial steps in her analysis. Yet, as an Asian saying goes, “a thousand susliks do not make a camel”. The project of constructing a huge business center was different in many ways from any number of small projects. Nina noticed that for some construction materials, the prices adopted in the project budget were significantly higher than those suggested by the market, even with due allowance for the future inflation. “Here, for example, for this type of cement, there is a local producer with a good business reputation,” she told Samsonov. “And here is their current price list. With a wholesale discount, we can get an economy of…” “That’s true,” the director replied. “But we are not just any other wholesale customer. We’re going to need ten times more of that cement than is produced locally. We’ll have to import it from abroad. Or, perhaps, we’ll buy that company and expand the production. Either way, it means expenses…”

It was the same way with unique construction machinery, specialists in areas that had been unheard of before, and lots of other things. The project was so big that it did not fit into the local construction industry as a whale did not fit into a pond.

The enormous scale of the project boosted the expenses, but it provided some additional opportunities, too. Nina pointed out to Samsonov that some of the project’s parameters disagreed with the construction industry regulations. He was surprised. “What do you know about the regulations?” Nina bit her tongue. She could not possibly start telling the director how those very regulations had been used by his henchmen to snatch away her father’s company. “Well, I don’t know anything, really… I just scraped the surface of this stuff in connection with a loan case,” she mumbled. “You’re really a precious worker,” Samsonov said. It was not clear whether he was joking or speaking seriously. “Don’t you bother about those regulations. They’re going to be revised by the time the project starts; that’s already been agreed on with the government.”

Even Nina who had very little knowledge of the business backstage realized that the project affected the interests of a lot of influential organizations and persons in the construction industry, city administration, federal agencies. However, Samsonov never discussed such matters with her, and whenever she touched upon them, he cut her short: “You don’t need to know that.” That was his domain which he was not sharing with anyone.

For that reason, some of Nina’s questions remained unanswered, hung in midair. “Why is this loan going to be placed with Bank X rather than Bank Y? You see, Bank Y offers more favorable conditions,” she would ask Samsonov. He would drum his fingers on the table, and then say reluctantly: “It works that way, that’s why.” But he did not ignore Nina’s remarks. “Does it stick out a lot?” he would ask in his turn. And if Nina confirmed that it did, he took some measures of his own, and after some time, corrections were made to Bank X’s offer which restored the logic of investments.

With time, Nina understood and appreciated the reasons for Samsonov’s secretiveness. It was not only that many of the things that he knew were really hot and explosive. Samsonov wanted Nina to look at the project through the eyes of an analyst – only. He wanted to be sure that his baby, investment project Zaryadje–XXI, was a robust financial organism. Of all the rest he was going to take care himself.

Even being almost totally ignorant as to the implications of Zaryadje and only guessing at the true importance of the project to various parties, Nina could not help feeling impressed by its grandeur and proud of her humble part in it. Hundreds of businesses, tens of thousands of people, enormous funds, strategic plans of the government… Gradbank which vied for leadership in that huge enterprise had to exhibit titanic drive and ability to crush down everyone and everything that stood in the way.

“As it has crushed father with his tiny company,” Nina reminded herself. The resentment at the wrong that had been done to her family had not dissolved with time – it was there, as a scar on her heart – but now that she looked at it from the height of Gradbank’s top floor, she had to admit to herself that she was beginning to understand another truth – the truth of big business in which the scale and challenging nature of the objectives left no room for sentiment. Nina had not noticed when she had lost her determination to take revenge on Gradbank. She had lived with that determination for a long time although she had always known at heart that it had been nothing but a silly, childish fantasy. Now it was time to grow up. Since she had not left the bank, she should be a good employee for it and do her job in a professional manner. Good work and professionalism were things that were always right and always important. Besides, Zaryadje was the project of her beloved man, so… Damn it, she was ready to kill herself with work to help him.

From time to time, Nina had visits from employees representing one or another of the bank’s departments. The visitors advised Nina on various special subjects. Sometimes it was Nina who asked for a consultation, but more often it was Samsonov’ decision. After another report by Nina he would say: “I think you should see someone from the leasing department.” Or: “It seems you’re not well enough versed in currency transactions. I’ll send someone along to enlighten you.”

The employees that were sent up to Nina were experts rather than managers. Typically, they started by being wary of Nina whom they took for a new boss of some kind, but then, finding a kindred spirit in her, they thawed out and helped Nina willingly to find her bearings in their respective fields.

Nina’s head was reeling with the knowledge hastily crammed into it. She feared at first that an overload might occur – that her head would refuse to work, stuffed beyond measure with all those facts and figures, rules and exceptions, and all the multitude of methods and procedures adopted in different areas of the boundless world of finance and investments. But her head was coping.

In one of the Sherlock Holmes stories, the great detective compared the human brain with an attic which, crammed with useless stuff, might be unable to take in anything else and thus be rejecting what was necessary. Nina adored that English gentleman and had read all the books about him but she found out from her own experience that Sherlock was wrong on that particular point. The human brain had an unlimited capacity; it could keep and process a huge amount of information – provided one had persistence and aptitude for organized thinking. Nina had both.

Nina was gratified to feel a growing control of the material. She had developed her own mnemonic technique: all the information on the project stored in her mind she divided into sections which she thought of as library catalogue boxes. Whenever she needed to recall something – for instance, the projected expense structure at a certain stage of the works, or forecasted return rate on such and such type of investments – she drew out mentally the right box, found the right card, and voilà! – the right figures were retrieved from memory. Afterwards, checking her mental findings against the computer data bases, she had never once caught herself being in error.

That memorizing of hers made a lot of sense. Computers were all right, but it was only in her memory that the figures became really alive and started to cross-fertilize one another paying mutual visits, as Nina called it. Then, suddenly, a question would pop up: what was going to happen to the profitability ratios if a particular stage of financing was prolonged by one month? by three months? What if this or that tax rate was raised or lowered?

The figures swarmed in her mind like a beehive. Quite often even at home, already lying in bed, she would go on pondering over some problem that she had posed herself. It even frightened her – such obsession could end in exhaustion – but as soon as she solved the problem she plunged immediately into sound sleep to get up the next morning feeling totally fresh and ready for further analytic labor.

One day the door of her room opened and Ariadna Petrovna appeared.

“Hi, Shuvalova. Samsonov told me to stop by and have a chat with you.”

Nina jumped to her feet. “Ariadna Petrovna, you didn’t have to! I would’ve come down to see you myself.”

The woman waved it away: “Don’t sweat it. Samsonov says have a talk here, so here we have it.”

As soon as she sat down, she asked: “Do you have any coffee?”

“Instant kind,” replied Nina.

“Not good,” Ariadna Petrovna said in a mentorial tone. “Instant coffee is no coffee.”

The woman looked around the room with interest.

“Hey, you’ve fixed yourself nicely here. The only downside is it’s too close to the bosses.” She grinned. “On the other hand, some like it that way.”

Nina did not know how to conduct herself with her former – or was it present? – chief. Above all, she did not want to appear a conceited upstart which was not at all easy to avoid in her new position.

The woman did not seem to notice her confusion.

“Well, come on, show me what you’ve got.”

Nina was not prepared for a discussion with Ariadna Petrovna, the bank’s most experienced analyst. It occurred to her afterwards that the director probably had meant it to be that way – he expected to gain some additional benefit from her being taken unawares. Samsonov was not always dumbly direct in his ways; those who believed that he was were in for a surprise – they discovered sooner or later that they had been unsuspectingly playing his game. It was not cunning on Samsonov’s part; he just did not consider it necessary to explain everything to everyone.

Nina was thinking hectically what to talk about with Ariadna Petrovna. Finally, she decided not to stall but to lay out directly her main finds.

There were three of them, and in Nina’s opinion, each could increase Gradbank’s chances of winning the tendering contest. Her first find concerned the leasing terms of heavy construction machinery. Nina had invented a leasing scheme that she believed to have a great cost-saving potential.

Ariadna Petrovna drew her massive body closer to the computer and started looking through the computations, clicking the mouse at a great pace. After a couple of minutes, she spotted an error.

“Here, look.” She highlighted a number with the cursor. “It should be zero zero five, not just zero five.”

Nina’s brilliant scheme which she had toiled at for two weeks burst like a soap-bubble.

She was burning with shame.

“Take it easy,” Ariadna Petrovna said indifferently. “Shit happens. Anything else?”

Another of Nina’s ideas was concerned with the city. It was true that project Zaryadje– XXI belonged to the domain of national and transnational interests, but at the same time, it was to be materalized in a particular metropolis with its problems and opportunities.

Nina had dug up the municipal budgets and investment plans for the entire city, and specifically, by the district, for the area bordering upon the future business center. She sifted through all those papers, asking herself just one question: “How does that relate to Zaryadje?” Mostly, there was no apparent relation, and occasionally the project of building a huge business center conflicted with the city’s interests, but on some essential points cooperation was possible with great potential mutual benefits. Nina was surprised to find out that those opportunities were totally ignored by both the municipal plans and Gradbank’s proposal. Nina prepared a whole package of suggestions on the issue. She had done a lot of meticulous work which she believed she could be proud of.

However, on hearing that, Ariadna Petrovna did not grab the mouse to open the file.

“I’m not even looking at it.”

“How…? Why?” Nina was taken aback.

Ariadna Petrovna was gazing at her with an expression that Nina could not read. After some hesitation, the woman said: “All those in the city hall who have anything to do with investments are on Atlas’s payroll. It’s a tight liaison of long standing, so we have no chance to butt in. Haven’t they told you that?”

“No. Nobody told me anything.” Nina blushed.

Her main achievement which she had hoped would become her contribution to the great project burst as quickly as her leasing scheme. But if with the leasing scheme it was an elementary error…

“Tell me, Ariadna Petrovna, why do they hold me for a dummy?” she asked, almost crying.

“It’s for your own good,” Ariadna Petrovna grinned without much sympathy. “All right, stop sniveling. And don’t you think of holding a grudge against Pavel Mikhailovich. He knows what he’s doing.”

“I’m not holding a grudge,” Nina sighed.

“How are you getting on with him, anyway?” asked Ariadna Petrovna.

“I’m good,” Nina uttered with a wooden tongue, feeling that she was blushing even deeper.

Nina had no intention of going into her relations with the director, but Ariadna Petrovna did not need much to figure things out. The shrewd woman looked Nina in the eye.

“Hey, girl, you what – have a crush on him?

Gradbank’s chief analyst burst into laughter. Ariadna Petrovna did not laugh often, but when that happened, she shook her whole massive body and hooted like and owl.

“Ariadna Petrovna, I would never…” Nina babbled.

“Welcome to the club! You’re like one hundredth,” the woman added through her laughter ignoring Nina’s babble.

When she was finally done laughing, Ariadna Petrovna said, “All right, relax. It’s your personal thing, what do I care? If you want to pine for him like an idiot, it’s your choice. Do you have anything else on business?”

The third idea Nina had in store she did not take seriously herself; she was aware that it was too bold – probably, totally unrealistic. She had not even intended to mention it to either Samsonov or the ruthless Ariadna Petrovna, but as things stood now, she had nothing else to report. Besides, she was only glad to change the subject, so she rushed into explanations eagerly.

It had to do with the financing of the project. The financing sources were the biggest secret of each tenderer; everyone was trying to disclose as little of them as possible and as late as possible. Most of the relevant information was kept secret from Nina, but from occasional remarks made by Pavel Mikhailovich Nina understood that an efficient solution of the financing issues could be a decisive factor in the fight for the contract. “No, a solution that’s merely efficient won’t do,” Nina corrected herself. Any tenderer bank had specialists capable of producing one. To win, the financing scheme had to be something really daring and unique – as was the project itself.

Lacking real information, Nina gave free rein to her imagination, and one night, as she was going to bed, she stumbled upon an idea. It was pure fantasy and at first, Nina was even unwilling to waste her time elaborating it.

What Nina invented was a large-scale multi-step financial operation. Apart from Gradbank, it required the participation of the largest state-owned bank which was known to be preparing for a major placement of its shares on the London stock exchange. The operation involved a huge package of government bonds which, under certain conditions, Gradbank could get hold of, thus becoming a creditor to the government, with all the legal and financial implications of such status. The plan was packed with details concerning the terms, conditions, rates and the like, but, as Nina realized with amusement and some horror, it was basically a reincarnation of the scheme that the late Ignatiy Savelievich had once initiated her into – only the scale was infinitely larger.

Ariadna Petrovna started reading the file.

Nina expected the smart woman to wave her idea away and scoff at her, but as minute after minute passed, Ariadna Petrovna kept reading, clicking the mouse and scanning the monitor pages with her eyes, pausing at calculations.

“Do you have any coffee?” she asked suddenly, without taking her eyes off the monitor, when some twenty minutes had passed. “Ah, yes, you have the instant kind. I’m telling you, it’s no coffee…”

Having done reading, she took out her calculator and re-checked some figures. Then she accessed some data bases which Nina was not aware of, searched them for something for quite a while and on finding it, grunted.

At last, Ariadna Petrovna moved away from the monitor. For some time, she gazed into space in silence, and then said:

“You know, it can work. It’s one hell of a crazy idea, of course, but who knows…”

She looked at Nina with a new expression.

“You’re good, Shuvalova. No, seriously, you’re good.”

Knowing how chary of praise the woman was, Nina blushed again – out of pleasure this time.

“Only you need to fix a few minor things here,” said Ariadna Petrovna.

She pointed out to Nina several items on the plan that had to be refined or reworded.

“Report this to Samsonov today, make no delay,” Ariadna Petrovna said, rising to her feet.

“I’ll tell him that you’ve helped me with that,” Nina assured hastily.

“Like hell you will! Don’t even think of that. It’s your idea, and it’s for you to take the rap.”

Nina did not understand whether that had been said as a joke or in earnest.

Already in the doorway, the woman turned around.

“I’m going to make you my assistant when all this mess is over. Are you in?”

“I am,” Nina replied mechanically.

“It’s a deal then. But you have to survive here first.”

“Wh-what do you mean?

“Nothing. Well, enough chitchat. I’ve got work to do… Yeah, and get yourself a coffee-maker!”

After Ariadna Petrovna left, Nina spent a while absorbed in thought. She had a lot to think about.

Chapter 3

Apart from Samsonov, Nina had only one person on the twelfth floor she could talk to; it was Klara Fedorovna. That was a woman of about forty, quite nice-looking, always very neatly, formally dressed. At first she was rather official, though polite with Nina, always ready to help with anything that belonged to her area of competence. And a broad, important area it was; apart from the duties of the general director’s secretary, she was performing the job of an assistant in charge of keeping the most important documents of Gradbank.

A breakthrough in Nina’s relations with Klara Fedorovna occurred when the secretary once took a seat next to Nina’s in the cafeteria. The director’s floor had its own cafeteria which was used by the top management. When Nina was told that now it was available to her, too, her first impulse was to refuse as she would rather stick to the common canteen on the third floor. But Sinitsin insisted: “Sorry, Nina Yevgenievna, you don’t have a voice in that matter. Security considerations, you understand.”

Forced to use the directorate cafeteria, Nina always tried to arrive there towards the closing time, when the bosses had already had their lunch and dispersed, leaving the cafeteria empty. Once, as she was sitting there alone, just starting on a mushroom julienne baked in smetana (the cafeteria served excellent dishes for symbolic prices), Klara Fedorovna suddenly came running in.

“Open yet? Thank God. With all this rush work, one will go hungry.”

In the recent weeks, Gradbank had been swept by some kind of rush every day.

Klara Fedorovna filled her tray and headed for Nina’s table.

“Do you mind, Nina?”

It was Nina’s impression that the director’s assistant was not exactly happy about the prospect of joining her for the meal but the woman had no choice – it would be impolite to take another table in the empty cafeteria, and Klara Fedorovna clearly tried to be polite to the analyst girl who was being singled out so by the director.

At first, their conversation was limited to idle comments about weather, but then, little by little, Klara Fedorovna warmed up to it. Apparently, she had long lacked someone to chat with like a woman, and now, finding a good listener in Nina, she thawed.

Since then, the secretary, too, often came to the cafeteria when it was already empty, not hiding her desire to have a chat with Nina. There was no stopping her now; she would go on about anything, telling stories from her life, gossiping about Gradbank’s managers, or sharing the local rumors. Nina had no taste for gossip, and at her former jobs, she rarely indulged in the favorite pastime of all employees – tittle-tattling about their superiors – but she would not stop Klara Fedorovna. As an excuse, Nina told herself that in that way, she could occasionally hear something useful for her work, but she knew deep inside that it was self-deception; the simple truth was that she wanted to know more about the world of her man. And about himself.

Klara Fedorovna came from Alushta.

“It’s a town down South, by the sea – you’ve heard of it, Nina? For five months each year, it’s season there – every hole is crammed with holiday-makers, it’s all beach life, night life, and all that… The locals work in the service industry or sell fruit. For the remaining seven months, there is nothing – no life at all, just unemployment and boredom.”

After finishing school, the young Klara was taken on as a typist for the town hall. She worked for peanuts, but at least it was a permanent job.

“But I also sang,” Klara Fedorovna said with a smile. “We had an amateur choir. We were giving performances at the holiday homes and we were received well, too.”

She looked around to make sure that they were alone in the cafeteria.

“Here, listen.”

In a deep, rich voice, she sang, “Hey you, dashing Cossack – hey you, eagle of the steppe…”

“How beautiful!” Nina exclaimed in sincere admiration.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” sighed Klara Fedorovna.

Klara left her Alushta for the capital which she was determined to conquer. She dreamed of receiving professional singer training in the conservatoire.

“What happened?” asked Nina. “Don’t you tell me you weren’t admitted. With such a voice!”

“Admitted? Not a chance! Ninochka, do you have any idea how many talented, young provincial fools flood this city every year? And the local folks have their own children to fix up…”

Klara from Alushta never made a career as a singer. Instead, she revealed a real talent for the secretarial profession. She quickly learned how to use personal computers which were the coming thing at the time. A typing virtuoso and a meticulous, industrious worker, she was a dream of any manager. After changing several secretarial positions, she came to work, for a good salary, in one of the start-up financial firms which, in those times, were springing up all around like mushrooms.

Then something happened. More than once, as she approached that point, Klara stopped short and changed the subject. The subject that she changed to was invariably her son Stas. A young man of twenty, he was a student at the architectural academy. Klara Fedorovna had raised him alone, and understandably, he was the apple of her eye. Apart from her son and Gradbank, Klara Fedorovna had no life at all.

“Stasik is such a gifted boy, you have no idea!” Klara Fedorovna beamed rapturous maternal love. “In his second year already, he took part in an international contest. Everybody – I mean, everybody could see that his project was way better than all the rest of them, but you understand, those contests are all about backstairs pull and intrigues…”

Finally, little by little, Nina learned what had happened to her lunch companion twenty years before. Nina was not really trying to fish out Klara Fedorovna’s secrets; the woman herself clearly had the need to make a clean breast of it.

In those days, the ephemeral firms that called themselves financial companies did not usually last long. Typically, they ‘circulated’ – successfully or not – their money for some time, and then burst like bubbles on the water pools after a May shower. Before long, Klara’s company, too, started showing symptoms of a near demise.

It was mainly the fault of one of the two young co-owners of the company. He was a nice, likeable guy who had made some bad choices and had run the company into debt as a result. He was in for a prison term or a more immediate and brutal punishment by some creditors of the sort that wore crimson jackets and close-cropped skulls according to the fashion of the day.

At some point, he fell on his knees before Klara and begged her to forge a certain document that was in her keeping. And Klara complied.

“Excuse me, why did you do that?” Nina wondered.

“Don’t you understand?” Klara uttered with an anguished look on her face. – “I loved him. He was the father of Stas who I was carrying then.”

Nina was embarrassed. She did not mean to pry into other people’s painful secrets – she had enough secrets of her own.

“We do insane things for people we love, don’t we?” remarked Klara Fedorovna.

Nina made no reply. Moved by the story of Klara Fedorovna, she had an impulse to tell the woman what she herself had done for someone she had loved, but she bit her tongue.

“How did it end?” she asked.

Even now, after twenty years, it was clearly a painful subject for Klara Fedorovna.

“It all came out. My lover got killed. But the firm survived – it was saved by the other owner. Do you know who it was?”

Nina shrugged in bewilderment.

“It was Pavel Mikhailovich, Ninochka. Yes, none other. Not that anybody used his full name at that time; he was only twenty something and everyone called him Pasha. But he was a big man even then. I mean… Well, you understand.”

It took Nina some time to digest what she had heard.

“And what happened to you?” she asked.

“Pasha saved me, too. I would’ve thought he would be the first to finish me off, but no, he covered up for me instead – told everyone that I’d been kept in the dark, used as a dummy. Then he gave me a good scolding, of course, and demoted me to cleaner for three months. But what kind of punishment is that? I was ready to cut off my own hand for what I’d done… I’ve been with him ever since,” Klara Fedorovna concluded. “I’m telling you all that just so you know – he is a noble man, if ever there was one.”

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.

“She’s not dumb, mind you,” assured Klara Fedorovna. “She can speak two foreign languages. Not on technical matters, of course, but still…”

Each time after the talks, Marina received a large bonus and was now a well-off girl. If she wished, she could open her own model agency.

“And what about Pavel Mikhailovich? I mean, are they…?” Nina finally asked the question that had long tormented her.

“Sleeping together?” understood Klara Fedorovna. “No, definitely not. Pavel Mikhailovich has a rule about not mixing up work with bed. He doesn’t indulge in it himself, and he discourages the others. So, as he took Marina on, he warned her that their sexual involvement was over.”

“And how did she…?”

“She said, ‘Don’t be so sure’,” laughed Klara Fedorovna.

“How do you know all that?” asked Nina.

“She told me herself. She used to be mischievous and full of fun, you know. It’s only this past year that she’s been kind of sulky.”

“Do you think she is still hoping to marry Pavel Mikhailovich?” Nina asked trying to sound indifferent.

“Of course, she is,” answered Klara Fedorovna. “She would leave if she weren’t… And you know what, Nina? A think she would make a good wife for him.”

Nina gave no reply to that.

Chapter 4

As usual, Nina was the last to learn the news. She had been noticing for some time that the directorate floor was in a state of unusual commotion: the elevator kept bringing up people that she had never seen before; the door of the director’s office opened continually letting visitors in and out. But Nina, as she was wont to, took little interest in anything that did not relate directly to her work which she was still loaded with to capacity. Also, Klara Fedorovna stopped joining her for lunch in the cafeteria – the woman either came earlier or did with sandwiches at her workplace.

At last, the director’s assistant showed up.

Nina asked, “Tell me, Klara Fedorovna, what’s up? What’s with all these people coming and going?”

The woman stared at her: “Are you kidding? You really don’t know anything? There’s been such a lot going on here…”

As it turned out, Gradbank was experiencing a crisis – one not apparent to the outsider’s eye but the most severe in the organization’s entire history. An opposition to the general director had arisen within the board; the dissenters demanded that an urgent stockholders’ meeting be held at which they planned to put Samsonov out of office.

The main charge brought by the opposition against Samsonov concerned the involvement of Gradbank in the Zaryadje investment project. The director’s adversaries maintained that the bank had insufficient resources; that Samsonov got the bank mixed up in that adventure moved by his personal ambitions; that to participate in the project, the bank had to put its main assets at risk, and if the project failed, the bank was in for bankruptcy. The chances of success were illusory, they said. It was necessary to face the reality and do the right thing – give up the project and revert to the bank’s core business. Preferably – with a new director, one that was capable of conducting a more reasonable policy.

The opposition was an ill-assorted lot. Some were sincere in their doubts and worries about the bank; others had some score of their own to settle with Samsonov and hoped to make use of the situation to bring him down; also, there were the ambitious ones who nourished a dream to grab his seat for themselves.

A date for the stockholders’ meeting had been announced. That was to be preceded by a board meeting where the members were to hear the general director’s report and carry out an appraisal of his work as well as recommendations to the stockholders’ meeting.

“Wolves. Just a pack of wolves,” Klara Fedorovna commented hotly. “Scented blood, they have. But they’re messing with the wrong man. Pavel Mikhailovich will show them all!”

Klara Fedorovna’s feelings were understandable: the destinies of a lot of people in the bank were tied up with Samsonov’s career. Incidentally, so was Nina’s destiny. Nina imagined Pavel Mikhailovich tumbling down from his Olympus and becoming an ordinary man – possibly, a manager in some small firm with only one employee. Nina would be that employee. He would no longer be so unattainable – he would be just ‘Pasha’ to her – and then…

Carried away by her daydreams, Nina was slow to notice that Klara Fedorovna was very upset, actually on the verge of tears. “Well, of course, they’ve been together for twenty years…” thought Nina.

She tried to comfort the woman by changing the subject. “Tell me about Stas. How is he doing?”

Somehow, that did not go down well, either. Klara Fedorovna started, and her face got distorted.

“What? … Why? … Why do you ask? Everything’s all right with Stas, do you hear that?”

Without finishing her meal, Klara Fedorovna dumped her tray and left.

“What’s wrong with her?” Nina wondered, perplexed. “It seems all of them here have gone off their head.”

For a week already, Samsonov had not visited her – he had just passed the word through Klara Fedorovna that Nina was to carry on working as usual. Nina had wondered what could be the reason for that break, but now the reason was clear – the director had no time for her as he was preparing for battle. Before fighting the powerful Atlas on the contest, he had a fight to win in his own camp.

After the talk she had had with Ariadna Petrovna, Nina reported her audacious plan to Samsonov. As soon as she started speaking, she knew that her lady chief had not breathed a word about the matter to the director. Nina had made up her mind beforehand that she would present the plan in a matter-of-fact manner, as if it were some ordinary technical stuff.

At first, Samsonov was interrupting her with questions, but then he fell silent. The chair beneath him stopped squeaking. With his head propped up by his fist, he was listening to her in stony immobility.

When she was finished, he said, “I don’t get it. Let’s start again from the beginning – slower this time.”

On hearing her out for the second time, he said, “I’ll be damned!” – and started drumming his fingers on the table.

Then he asked, “Did Ariadna see that?”

“Yes,” replied Nina. “Ariadna Petrovna helped me specify certain points.”

For some time, Samsonov remained silent, with a pensive look on his face, and then he said, “All right, Nina. You go through all that once more, from the beginning, but this time I’ll be asking questions.”

And he was – picking on almost every word. “What’s this? And that? What’s this figure about? Where does this estimate come from? Why is this graph curving so?”

That went on for hours. Nina did not feel any fatigue, too excited by the intense discussion, Samsonov’s proximity, and her own audacity.

“All right, I guess I get it,” Pavel Mikhailovich said at last. “Hey, look, it’s dark outside already.”

Only now he allowed himself to stretch his spine. Still, the expression of stony concentration did not leave him.

“Here’s the deal, Nina. You copy this onto a memory stick for me.”

Nina did. There was such a lot of material that the copying took some time.

Samsonov grabbed the memory stick and hid it in the breast pocket of his jacket.

“Now erase all this stuff from your computer.”

Nina was bewildered.

“Did you hear me?” said Samsonov. “Erase everything and make sure there are no backup copies left. Do it right now, while I’m here.”

Nina obeyed.

“Don’t discuss it with anyone, not even with Ariadna Petrovna, understand?” Samsonov said in a stern tone, but then, noticing Nina’s confused look, he added, “Don’t take offence – it has to be this way. You have no idea what almighty mess is brewing about this business now. It doesn’t concern you, though.”

“Is that it?” thought Nina. She had expected Pavel Mikhailovich to recognize her work in some way. But the man fell silent and remained so for a while.

“Come on, my dear Tin Man, praise me – admit that I’ve been a brave girl!” Nina urged him in her mind.

Suddenly he covered her narrow hand with his huge, tough palm.

“You know, I’m not good at saying nice words, but… thank you, Nina. I’m going to consult someone else about it, but it seems your idea might work. If it does, then… Quite possibly, you’ve just saved me. I’ll not forget that.”

He squeezed her hand, looking at her point-blank with his grey eyes.

After a pause, he nodded, said, “All right then,” and left.

Nina’s cheeks were burning. For this man to hold her hand in his, she was ready to invent a dozen financial schemes.

For some time, Nina had to move to the director’s reception. The date of the board meeting was near, and it meant preparing piles of papers. Many employees were involved in that, and Nina was mobilized, too.

Nina shared the desk with Klara Fedorovna who needed help with financial documents which were multiplying as an avalanche. Watching closely Klara Fedorovna at work, Nina was amazed – that was really a great secretary. The woman’s fingers flitted about the keyboard at an incredible speed; she kept everything in her memory and never mixed up things. Having received a handful of disparate pieces of text speckled with hand-written editing marks, she would take only a couple of minutes to produce a final document, completely corrected and formatted.

Nina joined in with Klara and got infected with her breakneck pace, but even absorbed in work, she could not help noticing what was going on in the reception. An endless succession of visitors were passing through it. Some of them Samsonov came out to greet personally and showed out afterwards; others were let in and out by Marina. Nina saw for the first time how diverse Samsonov could be with people. Sometimes he was unceremonious and rude, sometimes businesslike and formal, sometimes markedly respectful, and sometimes easy and matey. Occasionally, laughter could be heard coming from his office, but more often heated arguments, or even fierce rows.

Samsonov was no natural diplomat or sly dog; he was a fighter, but the fight that he was waging required diplomatic skill and slyness, so he was maneuvering as best he could. As the French say, à la guerre comme à la guerre. The date of the board meeting was nearing, and Samsonov was busy from morning till night talking to the right people and cementing the ranks of his supporters.

One day Nina heard a familiar voice in the reception. She was sitting side by side with Klara Fedorovna, with her back to the waiting visitors and could not see the one who spoke, but there could be no mistake about it – the voice belonged to Konstantin from Gradstroiinvest. Nina froze up.

“What the hell’s going on?” Konstantin said, not loudly but with passion. “This is the limit, really. How can he not understand it? In another month we’ll complete the reorganization, and then this business will soar up in value…”

“Quiet, Kostya,” said another visitor. Undoubtedly, that was accountant Revich.

“I don’t give a damn!” Konstantin raised his voice. “I’m not going to keep mum, I’ll tell him everything.”

“You will, for sure. You just quiet down for now,” muttered Revich.

They were silent for a minute. Then Konstantin said, “Listen, it doesn’t look like we’re going to be let in for another half hour. Let’s go have a smoke.”

“You’ve given up smoking, remember?”

“With all this bedlam going on? Not a chance… Come on, let’s go.”

The men left the reception. When the door closed after them, Nina waited out a few minutes, and then ran away to her room under some pretext never to show her face in the reception until the end of the day.

She never saw Konstantin again. Much later she found his name on the list of the top executive staff of the project, “Zaryadje XXI”. For the young manager, that was a huge promotion.

A few days before the date of the board meeting, Samsonov disappeared. Nobody – not even the bank’s top management – knew where he was or what he was up to. For the time of his absence, he assigned Sinitsin to act for him, thus bypassing the first and second vice directors. Apparently, Sinitsin was the only one Samsonov kept in contact with. At any other time, such an assignment would cause a lot of gossip, but in the turmoil of those days it was taken for granted.

Sinitsin refused to occupy Samsonov’s office and exercised his directorship from his own, very modest one. He behaved in a studiedly plain way, not posing as a big boss, and to almost every question, he gave the same answer, “Pavel Mikhailovich will decideon that when he’s back.” It was only the arrangements for the board meeting that Sinitsin left to himself. He checked up thoroughly on the work made by Klara Fedorovna and Nina. Nina had an occasion to find out that, although not being a specialist in finance, Sinitsin knew his way around all the papers. He gave some very reasonable instructions; then, just before the meeting, when everything was ready, he suddenly sent off on a two-day vacation Klara Fedorovna, Marina, Nina, and all the rest of the twelfth floor staff except for the board members. Samsonov’s battle against the opposition was to take place without witnesses.

As soon as she got home, Nina dumped onto her bed. “Gosh, am I tired,” she murmured as she was sinking into the dark abyss of dreamless sleep.

When she woke up, it took her a while to figure out what time of day it was – morning or evening. She took a shower, had something to eat and went to sleep again. Thus she slept through all the main events and it was only afterwards that she learned how things had turned out in the bank.

Samsonov arrived at the board meeting dead on time. Without explaining anything to anyone, he opened the session.

The opposition were well-prepared and bursting to fight. Samsonov was markedly polite to everyone. If his opponents had feared that he was going to abuse his authority to shut them up, they had been wrong.

The board included twenty one members. By prior estimates, eight of them were solidly on the director’s side, seven flatly against him, while the rest were undecided. Samsonov gave the floor to everyone who wished to speak. One by one, his opponents rose and voiced their grievances against the director. The charges mainly focused on the project Zaryadje; the speakers maintained that it was an insane adventure which was bound to wreck the bank.

The opponents’ arguments clearly impressed the undecided members who exchanged glances and remarks in whisper, watching the director worriedly, or else looking aside in confusion.

Finally Samsonov took the floor. He thanked all the speakers for their genuine concern about the future of Gradbank as well as their principled stand and valuable criticism which he promised to take account of in his work.

Then he set off a bomb. The bomb was the stunning news that Gradbank’s general director, acting through the bank’s subsidiaries, had sold off at one go a huge package of the bank’s assets including over one hundred businesses in the public utilities sector. Taken separately, none of those businesses were large, but as Samsonov listed them, it became clear that Gradbank had let go – and somebody had got hold of – a solid lump of the local utilities industry which gave the owner real influence in the city.

Baffled, the board members attacked the director with questions. To the first question, “Why did you do that?” – the answer obvious: Samsonov had been accumulating resources for Gradbank to bid for Zaryadje. With the additional injection of funds, the prospects of financing the project no longer seemed hopeless. But it was almost in chorus that the board members asked the next question, “Who’s the buyer? Who did you sell all that to?”

Samsonov took a theatrical pause, and then said calmly, “Atlas.”

When the members grasped the meaning of what they had heard, there was a deafening uproar in the conference room. To make a deal with Gradbank’s main competitor, give up to them a great package of assets… That was unbelievable!

Samsonov waited for the noise to subside, and then started explaining calmly. As it turned out, he had conceived the operation a long time ago and made a secret of it for security reasons. The idea was to provide the bank, at the expense of its most dangerous competitor, with financial resources that could decide the matter in favor of Gradbank. Besides, Atlas was becoming the owner of assets that, although very valuable potentially, required considerable urgent investments to maintain the current liquidity and complete the necessary reorganization. That was going to tie the hands of Atlas even more.

“But the Atlas people are no fools. Why did they swallow that?” wondered the board members.

“Well, they didn’t – not off the bat; it took a while to bring them around. I had to do some seducing,” Samsonov replied. “Finally, greed took the better of them. They’ve long had an eye on this business of ours for which they have a greater need than we do since Atlas is after control over the city. As to the contest, they’re totally confident of winning it, so they decided to kill two birds with one stone. Then again, it would be a shame for them to miss such a chance. Mind you, I let them have the assets for half the price.”

“What?! …”

“Yes, for half of what they’re worth. Otherwise, Atlas would never rise to the bait – as you said, they’re no fools.”

Once more, there was a terrible uproar in the conference room. Agitated in the extreme, the board members spoke all at once, their heightened tones rising to shouting. The double oak doors were incapable of blocking the noise; it could be heard all around the floor. Apparently, it was for that eventuality that Sinitsin had cleared the place of all the staff.

In order to dampen the emotions a bit, Samsonov ordered a break.

After the break, the opposition launched a new attack. They believed that they had it in the bag since the director himself had admitted to squandering the bank’s assets. It appeared to have been a desperate move on his part – an attempt to break a hopeless situation he was in. Apparently, the director had lost his grip, and all it took to topple him over was one good final push.

Again, Samsonov quite politely gave the floor to everyone. Then, when the steam had been let off, he said, “Now, my dear colleagues, I ask you to kindly give me your attention. I’ll tell you how we are going to win the contest for Zaryadje XXI.”

And he did. Deliberately, point by point, he expounded the project financing scheme that had been suggested by Nina. He omitted some important details but presented the main points very clearly and colorfully.

The board members were stupefied – they had not heard of anything like that. The board consisted of financiers and lawyers. They showered Samsonov with technical questions. Samsonov answered them all calmly one by one, and as he was doing that, the board began to realize that the idea was not a groundless fantasy, but rather a real, although incredibly bold plan.

One more thing became clear. With the means gained from the sale of the utility business, Gradbank had enough resources to carry out such a plan while Atlas, drained of those means, was no longer up to anything like that.

The prospect of winning the contest loomed before the board, with all the ensuing huge opportunities which dwarfed the city utility assets to a mere trifle.

It was clear to everyone that Samsonov had won, and the opposition had been beaten. His antagonists tried to muddle the case by raising some other questions, but Samsonov was no longer polite. Not listening to anyone, he put his (and Nina’s) plan to the vote. The plan was approved by sixteen votes to five.

The defeated opponents suggested canceling the stockholders’ meeting scheduled for the next day, but now Samsonov himself insisted on holding it. He also demanded that a vote of confidence be taken in him as director.

“In this critical time, what the bank needs is cohesion,” he argued. None of the board members dared to dispute that.

The stockholders’ meeting was held in an elite out-of-town hotel located in a beautiful countryside. Contrary to the expectations, it did not last long.

Before the meeting, Samsonov was approached by the five remaining dissenters.

“You win, Pavel Mikhailovich. Let’s make peace. We’ve decided not to speak against you at the meeting.”

“Glad to hear that, my friends, but that’s not good enough,” Samsonov responded cheerfully. “I said that the bank needed cohesion. It seems, you didn’t quite get my point. I’m going to propose some changes to the board roster. I’m afraid, you won’t find your names on it.”

The former opponents were choked by anger, but they were men of business and knew when they had lost a game.

“Pavel Mikhailovich, there’s no point in wasting us. Name your price.”

“Really, why waste you?” Samsonov replied as cheerfully. “I just wanted the board to be solid for the contest. To act as a clenched fist, so to speak. This means that at the meeting, each of you in turn must take the floor and speak in support of the project Zaryadje and me as director. I hope you will be convincing.”

The opponents took the floor and were quite convincing. Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov and his policy were given an almost unanimous vote of confidence.

He called when Nina was in the kitchen, about to fry some eggs. It was the first time she heard his voice on the phone, and she did not recognize him.

“Nina?”

“Who’s that? … Papa, is that you?”

“No, sorry… It’s Samsonov,” said the voice.

Nina dropped an egg which she had had in her hand. The egg broke and spread out on the floor as an ugly yellow pool.

“Pavel Mikhailovich! …”

Taken by surprise, she could not utter anything else.

“Nina, you remember that we’re partying tonight?”

“Partying? …”

“What’s wrong with you, Nina?” laughed Samsonov. “You don’t know anything? Shame on you. How can you be so indifferent to the life of your company?”

Finally, Nina came to herself and realized that Samsonov was referring to the results of the board meeting and stockholders’ meeting. She really did not know anything – she had slept through it all and was just about to call Gradbank to inquire about things.

“I’m sorry, Pavel Mikhailovich. Did it go well?”

“Very much so. Some bad guys tried to knock us over, but we beat them off and now we’re back in the saddle.”

Samsonov was not bragging, but he was not hiding his triumph either.

“I am very glad,” Nina said.

In fact, she was happy for her man, although it meant an end to her dream of becoming the only employee of the befallen Pavel Mikhailovich.

“We owe a lot of our victory to you,” Samsonov added seriously. “You are our hero. I’ll reward you for that, trust me.”

“It’s nothing, Pavel Mikhailovich, you don’t have to…” Nina murmured, showing due modesty. In fact, she was in seventh heaven.

“Well, then, it’s eight o’clock at…” Samsonov named one of the city’s most expensive restaurants which was hired up completely by Gradbank for the night.

“I was planning to play tennis tonight,” Nina recalled irrelevantly.

Samsonov’s voice thundered in the receiver: “What’s your problem, Nina? You’re what – messing with me? To hell with your tennis! Now listen – you get prepared, and Kolya will come by to pick you up.”

“Oh, there is no need…”

“He’ll be with you at half past seven.”

Samsonov hung up.

Nina did not feel the floor beneath her feet. It seemed she only had to push off with her toes lightly to float up in the air like a real fairy. Her man had called her. Her! Himself! He had invited her! He was grateful! He was thinking of her!

Suddenly, the flight of the fairy named Nina stopped short, and she sank onto the floor beside the pool that had once been an egg. “What am I going to wear?” That eternal question, the curse of all women, had bothered Nina very rarely, but now it posed itself to her in the most threatening way.

Nina rushed to her wardrobe and drawers. Their contents flew onto the sofa and bed. An inspection of her clothes gave disheartening results, testifying eloquently that Nina had no life of her own. All those mouse-grey blouses and skirts were only suitable for sitting behind the computer or jostling in the underground.

True, there was a special case in the back of her wardrobe where chic, unworn things were kept that Nina had bought once following Aliska’s instructions. Nina retrieved them and laid them out. The things were beautiful – Nina felt intimidated by them. However, inexperienced in fashions as she was, Nina realized that some items were lacking if she meant to go out. For one, a purse. And the right costume jewelry. And good perfume. “And my hair? Oh, goodness!” Nina could not recall when she had last done her hair.

After some rummaging in her note-books, Nina found Aliska’s number.

Aliska took some time to recognize her. “Shuvalova? Who is Shuvalova? … Ah, hello.”

Nina asked her former university mate for some more instructions. Aliska started enlightening her, but then she cut herself short.

“Listen, I’m going downtown now – I need to do some shopping myself. Join in, if you like.”

They met in the shopping center of the city. Aliska was still the same – strikingly showy, cynical, and chain-smoking. Together, they made the round of a dozen fashionable boutiques. Aliska solved easily all of Nina’s problems, throwing in some precious advice in passing about the right time to put on this or that ‘rag’, and the time to take it off, the right way to wear a thing, and the right pose to assume to best display it.

“All right, spit it out – what beast are you hunting?” Aliska asked as they landed, with their bags, in a coffee-shop to have a cup of coffee.

“What are you talking about?” Nina wondered sincerely.

“Who is it you’re going after? Let me guess… Your boss?”

Nina flushed.

“No, I never…”

“Don’t be coy,” Aliska said, ignoring her protests. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. True, I didn’t expect that of you – you’ve always been a nerd.”

“I’m not such a total nerd,” Nina murmured.

“Uh-huh. Not any longer, to be sure,” Aliska laughed, patting the bags of purchases.

“How are you doing?” Nina asked to change the subject.

“Kicked out of the job again… Because of the boss, too. He’s the right kind, and we had some very good time together, but his frump of a wife got the wind, and – goodbye, dear Alisa…”

“Speaking of jobs, could you fix me with a job in a bank or something?” she asked suddenly. “Clearly, I’m not like you – work is not my hobby – but one has to draw salary somewhere.”

Nina pondered a moment. She was grateful to Aliska for her help.

“Yes, I think I could put in a word for you.”

She would never think of recommending the lazy, immoral Aliska to Gradbank, but she did not care much about the shady financial institution in which she had once committed a malfeasance.

“There is this growing bank. I worked there for some time and I know a vice-director. His name is Kirill.”

She pictured Aliska thrusting her claws into the soft body of her former chief and laughed.

“What’s this about?” asked Aliska.

“Nothing, sorry. Only, mind you, that guy Kirill adores his wife.”

“We’ll sort it out,” Aliska said resolutely.

At half past seven sharp Kolya called.

“Nina Yevgenievna, I’m here, down by the entrance.”

Nina was ready. She had spent the past hour developing the important quality of ease. That was one of the lessons she had received from her mentor. “The problem with new things is that they are new,” explained Aliska. “It shows, see? That should be avoided at all cost. The things on you and you in them must look natural —as if you just slipped on something at random from among your everyday rags. If it’s not natural, then it’s not chic, but a housemaid’s attempt to pass for a lady.”

Aliska’s remark struck home. Nina felt mortally awkward in all those stylish clothes.

“Can it be helped somehow?” asked Nina.

“Well, it helps if you wear the new things a couple of days before going out. When are you going to need all that?”

“Tonight,” sighed Nina.

“Tough luck. Still, put it on for an hour at least. Sit in it, walk about in it. Try to occupy yourself with something that can distract you. Not washing floors, of course, but something casual, you know…”

Having put on dutifully all her posh new clothes, Nina walked, and sat, and then walked again before the mirror. Everything fitted her ideally, but there was not a grain of ease; the mirror reflected a housemaid all figged up in her lady’s garments. “He’s going to notice that – he’ll know that I’ve dressed for him. He might even think that the clothes aren’t mine – that they’re off somebody else’s back. Terrible,” Nina fretted. “Ease, ease… How am I supposed to acquire it? Think, girl.”

Her eye fell on her music center. Nina had not turned it on for a long time – she had been too busy to listen to records. She loved music, although she was not a naturally musical person. It was her mother who had had an ear for music, as well as her father. When Nina was about ten, her mother signed her up for music classes, but Nina quit a month later, to the relief of her teachers.

Nina had always admired people who could sing. If she had had such a gift herself, she would have been singing old Russian romance songs which she believed she felt deeply. Her music center had a karaoke function, and at one time, Nina had made some attempts to imitate the current pop hits. But as for many other things, she had had no time for that, so karaoke had been put aside, although the methodical Nina had promised herself to pick it up some time in the future.

Now she turned on the center, plugged in the microphone, adjusted the karaoke, and, standing before the mirror with the microphone in her hand, announced: “My Grey-winged Dove, sung by Nina Shuvalova.” Music poured from the loudspeaker, and Nina began to sing. What sounded so natural and easy when performed by the famous pop diva turned out to be anything but easy. Nina started out of time, and either ran ahead of or lagged behind the music; she missed beats, found herself unable to utter the simplest words, and was totally off the tune. Nina was angry with herself; she was not used to being so bad at what she was doing. Once she finished mutilating the Grey-winged Dove, she did the same kind of carnage to the Pink Flamingo and the Artist Who Painted Rain. Little by little though, she was getting the knack of it. When she had done for the second time Call Me Your Little Girl, she had a breakthrough. Her shyness was gone, and she was no longer afraid of the microphone; she grasped the feel of the rhythm and gained control of her voice. In the mirror, an elegant young woman sang in a manner that was neither powerful nor artful, but with something very right and soulful to her singing.

Then Kolya called.

Nina went down. Music was ringing in her head; she was feeling relaxed and spirited at the same time. The clothes from the best fashion houses no longer hindered her.

The huge Samsonov’s car was standing by the entrance. Kolya was out, wiping the windshield. Both the car and the driver were being scrutinized rapturously by three local pensioner women who were sitting on a bench close by. When they realized that the car had come for Nina, their curiosity rose to dangerous levels, fraught with clinical consequences. Undoubtedly – if the blood pressure did not kill them – that event was going to be the main subject of their gossip for a week ahead.

“Good evening,” Nina said politely to her neighbors and waved to the driver: “Hello, Kolya.”

She was aware that she looked dazzling, and for the first time in her life she was not afraid to be so. She deserved it.

At the sight of Nina, Kolya’s hand on the windshield froze. The simple-minded guy let out: “Wow!”

“What?”

“You’re high class,” Kolya said with conviction. “Totally super.”

Nina gave him a worldly smile and took the front seat. She was followed by three pairs of pensioner eyes whose owners had stopped breathing with excitement.

Kolya started the car and set out for the restaurant. “At this time of day, all the avenues are jam-full, so we’ll have to do some dodging about,” he warned.

And they did. Before that, Nina had had no idea how many side streets and back alleys this city had which could be used to make a route from point A to point B. Kolya knew them all. The director’s car was diving under arcs, sallying deep into dark yards, and at times seemed to circle around, but the bottom line was that it moved rather rapidly towards its goal. Kolya seemed to have no part in it – the heavy automobile found its way on its own, miraculously making turns and squeezing through where, it seemed, a compact Zhiguli would not have made it.

“Kolya, Pavel Mikhailovich told me that you were going to become a father. Is that true?” inquired Nina.

“Yeah,” Kolya smiled broadly. “It’s going to be a guy. Nastena is six months into it already.”

“Are you going to leave Pavel Mikhailovich?”

“Yeah…” The guy stopped smiling. “Nastena wants me to. She says she fears for me. I say, what is there to fear? This is armor, see?” Kolya knocked on the door. “What can happen to me here?”

In fact, the automobile was very heavy; Nina felt that it did not move in the same way as ordinary cars did.

“Do you mean to say that in the event of a car accident – God forbid, of course! – you are not going to be hurt?”

Kolya gave her a strange look.

“Eh? … Yeah, car accidents are no problem to us here.”

“What are you going to do?” inquired Nina.

Kolya’s face lit up.

“You see, I have this idea. Some guys that I know and I want to set up a motor club. I used to be a racing driver before the army, you know… So, we plan to build a motordrome for amateurs.”

“Motordrome?”

“Yeah. It’s where you can take some lessons for a driving test, or do some real racing if you’re up to it. True, we don’t have anything yet, but Pavel Mikhailovich promised to help.”

“It’s a great idea. Sign me up,” said Nina. “I’ve long been meaning to get a driving license.”

“Deal!” Kolya exclaimed. “Why don’t you try racing, too? I’ll teach you.”

“Deal!” responded Nina.

She felt that she was up to anything.

Chapter 5

Despite all of Kolya’s skill, they were a little late for the party. On entering the restaurant, Nina stood still, baffled. She had never before been to a corporate function of such scale. The huge room was crammed with round tables. The stage, decorated with lots of balloons and tinsel, was ablaze with lights while the rest of the restaurant was immersed in semi-darkness. On the stage, someone was making a speech about the bright way that Gradbank was following led by its wise director, Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov. Clearly, it was neither the first nor the last time that night that somebody spoke of Gradbank’s bright way and the director’s wise leadership. The audience was barely listening – the guests at the tables were busy pouring out champagne, laughing, and going over to other tables to clink glasses with people they knew.

Nina hardly recognized anyone – mostly, those gathered were not the bank’s employees, but shareholders, partners, and other important persons. Mostly, they were mature men with bellies. They were wearing expensive suits, but some already had the top buttons of their shirts undone and their ties gone awry. Among the men, occasional dressed-up women of various calibers could be observed. “Thank God, I’m not the only dressy one here,” thought Nina.

She looked around, not knowing where to squeeze in. She would like to join Klara Fedorovna, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. Then Nina spotted in the back of the restaurant some familiar faces – those of Ariadna Petrovna and a few of her staff. The analysts occupied a separate table.

Stepping awkwardly on her high heels, Nina hurried to them.

“May I? …”

Her colleagues stared at her in blissful amazement. Their former co-worker who had miraculously ascended to heaven, showed herself to them at last in her true form – that of a goddess.

“Hi, Shuvalova,” said Ariadna Petrovna. “Let me see…“ She took from Nina’s hand the invitation card that Kolya had provided her with.

“You belong at the director’s table, not here,” said Ariadna Petrovna.

Nina stared at the card.

“Here, look,” said the woman. “Do you see this stamp here – the image of a lion? That’s Director’s emblem. Didn’t you know that? How come you never know nothing, Shuvalova?”

Nina was about to step away, but her chief stopped her: “Hold on. Come here. Closer. Turn around.”

The woman picked a knife from the table, made a quick movement, and slipped into Nina’s hand a small cardboard rectangle. A price tag.

Fortunately, the room was poorly lit, and nobody could see Nina blush. “Damn price tag! Where did it spring from?” Nina was sure that she had cut them all off.

“Thank you, Ariadna Petrovna…”

“Come on, move it, don’t keep your betters waiting.”

“Where’s the director’s table?” Nina asked the woman who clearly knew everything.

“Look around,” said Ariadna Petrovna.

Nina did. Samsonov was striding across the room towards her. There were about two hundred people in the restaurant, and that meant that about two hundred pairs of eyes watched Gradbank’s general director Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov traverse the hall paying no attention to those sitting and barely clearing the tables, to take the arm of a splendidly dressed young woman who almost no one recognized to be the analytic department worker Nina Shuvalova.

Pavel Mikhailovich examined Nina openly from head to foot.

“Damn!” he uttered.

“What?” Nina asked innocently.

“You’re high class!”

Nina barely suppressed a giggle on hearing the general director express himself in the same words as his driver.

“I know, Pavel Mikhailovich. I am super,” she replied saucily, looking him straight in the eye.

He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the director’s table which was placed beside the scene. Nina minced along awkwardly on her high Italian heels, but then she accommodated more or less to his stride, making two quick steps for each one of his.

What Nina could not know was the impression that the two of them made on the crowd. Despite the poor lighting, all the guests devoured Samsonov and Nina with their eyes, and to many of them the same thought occurred, “Here’s one great couple.” All those present knew Marina, and of course, Nina could not rival her in sheer beauty, but whenever Marina was by Samsonov’s side, she was still on her own – a perfection that did not need any supplements – while Samsonov and Nina looked ideally together.

Neither did Nina know what a wave of hot whisper rolled over the room. She was assumed to be the monarch’s new plaything and caused due gossip. “Who is she?” asked each other financiers, lawyers, and big bureaucrats. Those who knew something enlightened those who knew nothing, but because little was known about Nina in the first place, fantastic versions began cropping up at once. “She seems to be a former model.” “Model? You are kidding!” “Look at the way she is dressed.”… “They say she used to be Aronovich’s mistress.” “Which makes her who – Darya Zhukova?” “Don’t be absurd, Zhukova is the wife.”… “This is all crap, she’s actually a stewardess. Mikhalych picked her up on a flight to London. Incidentally, one cabinet minister was chasing after her, too…”

It was Ariadna Petrovna who knew more than anyone about the subject, but the woman was drinking her coffee in silence, not interfering with the people’s talk.

The director’s table was occupied by Sinitsin and Marina. On a separate chair was a large plush lion which Samsonov’s subordinates had presented him with.

“Good evening,” Nina said in a worldly tone.

Sinitsin rose and kissed her hand gallantly. Marina turned away. Samsonov awkwardly, with a clatter, moved back a chair helping Nina to sit down.

“Gentlemen, allow me to congratulate you on the victory,” said the worldly lady Nina.

“Yes, Pavel Mikhailovich smote all his adversaries at one stroke,” responded Sinitsin. He gave Nina a pleasant smile while viewing her intently.

Samsonov poured out champagne. “Let’s drink to success! To the success that’s in store for us.”

Pavel Mikhailovich, Nina and Sinitsin joined their glasses. Marina did not touch hers.

By then, the official part of the party was over, and the popular presenter Maksim Khabalkin rolled out onto the stage. He captured everyone’s attention at once by showering his audience with jokes, sketches and parodies. Nina detested stage performers of the kind – she viewed their genre as low taste – and now she cast a concerned look at Samsonov. She feared that she might see her love roar with happy laughter at the trite jokes. To her relief, Samsonov did not laugh. He winced: “I hate those clowns. But you can’t do without them – people expect to be given this kind of trash.”

Samsonov had his eyes glued on Nina. He moved up closer to her, took her hand in his and said, leaning over so she could hear him over the noise, “Once again, Nina: thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

“Not for ‘us’. For you, Pavel Mikhailovich,” Nina corrected him in her mind.

The presenter retreated, and dance music played.

“Will you dance with me, Gennadiy Viktorovich?” Marina asked Sinitsin.

The man rose at once, offered Marina his hand and led her out onto the dance floor. Marina looked totally ravishing.

They danced. Sinitsin led his partner masterfully, in every pose and movement displaying her beauty to best advantage and making it shine even brighter.

The guests admired the sight. Some other couples went out onto the floor, but around Marina a kind of no-dance zone set in – nobody dared to challenge such a beauty.

Nina plucked up her courage. “What about you, Pavel Mikhailovich? Will you dance with me?”

Samsonov was clearly embarrassed; it was the first time Nina saw him like that.

“I’d love to, Nina, but I don’t dance. I used to, but you see, I was always treading on my partner’s feet, so I made a vow not to dance any more.”

Seeing that the director was in no hurry to invite to dance his companion, another man approached her.

“May I have the pleasure?”

Nina accepted the invitation. She knew how to dance thanks to her mother, who, trying to foster all the proper female skills in her daughter, had signed her up once for a dance class. Nina had a good sense of rhythm, and she moved well, so dancing came easily to her, but as soon as she had mastered the skill, she left the class. The main reason was that in the group, there was one young man per three and a half girls. The guys abused their advantageous position and behaved like swines. Nina despised them, and she would not let anyone treat her like that.

Now those dance lessons did her good service. As it turned out, her legs and body had not forgotten anything, and she glided in a slow waltz with her partner.

“Let me introduce myself: Khalilov, of the lawyer firm Khalilov and Shwartz,” said the man. He was bald and sputtered as he spoke; otherwise, he was quite a dignified cavalier.

“Nice to meet you,” Nina replied, following the music easily.

“And you…?”

“Nina.”

“Nina who?”

“Just Nina.”

She was not going to appease the curiosity of mister Khalilov, even if he was the senior partner in Khalilov and Shwartz.

After Khalilov, Nina had another cavalier. “Vaganov, brokerage house. By the way, we have the second highest rating…” Then she was invited to dance again and again. All the men tried to worm out of Nina who she was, but she evaded their questions with an enigmatic smile. At this ball, she was a mystery princess, and she wanted it to last. Cinderella could wait.

Another man approached Nina, but he was not given a chance. Samsonov’s massive figure materialized behind his back.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said. “Nina, you are officially my lady here, and I lay claim to you.”

Nina was about to cry out that she would willingly give him that dance and her whole life, but she just laughed instead: “So, Pavel Mikhailovich, you’ve made up your mind to crush my feet after all? Does it qualify as an employment injury, I wonder?”

The man said, in an embarrassed but resolute tone: “I’ll do my best not to crush ‘em. But you, too, please try to…”

He did not finish his sentence because the music started to play. Pavel Mikhailovich drew Nina closer to himself. The room was full of observant people with tenacious memory. If they had doubted that Nina was worth paying attention to, their doubts would have been dispelled now. The fact was that Pavel Mikhailovich had never been seen dancing. Not once, not with anyone.

Determined to sacrifice her feet– suffer any pain from her man – Nina lifted her smiling face up to him. She did not have to suffer, though. The massive and clumsy Samsonov was really a bad dancer, but from the very first beats of the music, she felt connected to him. His right hand was on her waist; his left hand held – in a surprisingly delicate way – her fingers; and his eyes seemed to look directly into her soul. Nina could not say how it happened, but she knew in advance where he was going to step, and which way he was going to lead her. It was as if, on some deep level, the two of them had merged into a whole. Seeing that the dance was working out well, Samsonov grew more confident and led Nina more firmly, with large amplitude and unexpected variations. As it turned out, he loved dancing and knew how to dance, in his own way, – he simply had never before had a suitable partner.

All the guests watched them with bated breath, as if under a spell. Marina and Sinitsin had disappeared, and the other couples had retreated, too, so Samsonov and Nina had the dancing floor to themselves. The lighting technician even focused obligingly the floodlight on them.

When the music died away, and they stopped, there was loud applause.

Samsonov was clearly elated and confused.

“I don’t know what to say, Nina. I had never had such a… Stop it, will you?” He waved his hand, smiling, trying to quash the applause.

When they returned to the table, Sinitsin and Marina were gone. Nina’s heart was pounding like mad; she was in need of a break to quiet down.

“Excuse me, Pavel Mikhailovich, I need to go powder my nose. I’ll only be a minute.” She slid up from the table. “Only you promise not to dance with anyone!” She shook her finger at the man in the manner of a regular coquette.

Pavel Mikhailovich was smiling a happy, silly smile.

The ladies’ room – a shiny one, trimmed up with genuine marble – was empty, or at least, Nina thought so. When she came up to the mirror, she did not recognize herself. The hairstyle was unthinkable by her standards, the make-up alien; the lips, eyebrows, cheeks – everything was totally not her. Nina did not recognize herself… and she liked that. The woman in the mirror was a real woman. Nothing was left of the retiring grey being that had been hiding from life in her shell, capable of nothing but work, work, work… The new Nina was not afraid of being a woman and struggling for her happiness. She was ready to open her feelings to her man. The man had already seen and appreciated her. Everything was just beginning for them…

“Worm.”

Carried away by the vortex of her thoughts, Nina did not catch it.

“Who’s there?”

She turned around. Just a few steps away from her was Marina. The reception queen was beautiful as always, but now her face was dark with hatred.

“Worm. Scum. Where did you dig yourself up from, anyway?”

“Marina, don’t…”

“Don’t ‘Marina’ me!” the other one flared up. “I’m no friend of yours. Who are you? Pathetic ugly piece of nothing! And all figged up, too…”

Nina kept silent, not knowing what to say.

“Who do you think you are?” Marina went on. “Do you imagine he needs your kind?”

That was too much. Nina took up the challenge.

“And who do you think he needs? A brainless doll like you?”

Marina screamed and flung at Nina. She reached out her hands with impeccable cherry-colored nails trying to scratch Nina’s face. But that was where she failed. Nina had a good reaction and hands that were strong from tennis, but most importantly, she had come out of her shell and was ready to fight for her love against any adversary. Nina intercepted Marina’s wrists easily. The beautiful girl’s face was distorted with fury and hatred, but even now it was exquisite. “How unfair,” Nina thought irrelevantly.

The two women were struggling. Marina was not able to either free her hands or scratch Nina.

Suddenly, Nina felt a stabbing pain – Marina kicked her hard in the shin with the sharp toe of her shoe. The pain was terrible. For a second, Nina nearly let go of Marina’s hands, but the next moment she gripped them even tighter and pushed her rival away.

Nina had not meant it to be that way, but in the scuffle, one cherry nail scratched the cheek of its owner. Marina cried out and recoiled. The scratch was not a deep one, but a tiny drop of blood showed.

“Bitch, scum! …” Marina murmured as she mopped her cheek with a handkerchief in front of the mirror. The handkerchief became spotted with red.

Nina was trembling all over. Trying to quiet down, she took out her compact and started powdering her nose; after all, that was what she had come here for.

“I’ll kill you!” Marina hissed. She had tears in her eyes.

“Don’t you work yourself up so. You didn’t have it your way this time, so what? It happens, you know.” Nina was dealing her rival final blows. “You’d better leave the bank and try your luck somewhere else… And take care of your pretty little face! It’s all you have.”

Nina put away her compact and walked away with the proud gait of a winner.

Samsonov spotted her from afar and waved at her, smiling. He had been waiting for her.

Nina homed in on his smile, not heeding anything around. Her heart was still beating at a quickened pace, but otherwise she was calm and focused. That was her big day; a lot was going to be decided until it was over.

Samsonov got up at her approach.

“I didn’t dance with anyone,” he reported like a little boy.

Nina thanked him with a worldly smile. They sat down.

Samsonov said, “Nina, I want to tell you – you are different today…”

“How so?”

“Well… I’ve never seen you like that.”

“Maybe, you’ve just never taken notice of me, Pavel Mikhailovich?” Nina asked, resuming her female offensive.

Samsonov started and protested, “No, I… As soon as I met you, I …”

He fell silent and dropped his eyes.

“Come on, speak! My darling, my sweetheart, don’t clam up,” Nina was begging him in her mind. “As soon as you met me, you – what?”

“Shall we dance?” Pavel Mikhailovich suggested awkwardly.

“You and your dances!” Nina thought. Aloud, she said, “I’d love to, Pavel Mikhailovich,” and held out her hand to him with a smile.

But at that moment the music stopped. The presenter appeared on the stage. He showered more jokes and then announced a stupid contest – something about impersonating famous people. Nina, who was totally on the alert and ready to strike back like a tennis player on the court, did not miss the ball.

She rose. Samsonov jumped up, worried. “Where are you going?”

Nina got him seated again. “Bear with me, Pavel Mikhailovich. I’m going to be naughty. You don’t mind?”

She went up onto the stage, approached the bandmaster and said something to him. The musician nodded. Nina took the microphone and stepped out into the brightly lit center.

“Ladies and gentlemen! I don’t know if it’s at all appropriate, but I’m going to sing. I hope you’ll be indulgent.”

The presenter tried to intervene, but Nina ignored him.

The music began to play, and Nina began to sing. She was singing about time being so fleeting, the clock ticking away, while every woman’s heart was craving for love – even if it was not going to last and promised no happy ending. She was singing on behalf of all women, no matter what they happened to be in their life – shop assistants, secretaries, tram drivers or top managers of large corporations. Call me your little girl, then hold me in your arms, and then deceive me if you must… Have no regrets – simply love me, just like that…

Nina Shuvalova was no singer, neither she tried to sing – it was the woman who had woken up in her that did the singing. The woman sang that she was ready for love, expecting love, demanding love.

At first, the guests were puzzled by what was going on, then whispered and then fell silent. When Nina finished, there was a storm of applause.

Beside herself with excitement, on wooden legs, she stepped down from the stage. Pavel Mikhailovich was waiting for her on his feet. He was neither applauding nor smiling, but looking at her more intently than ever before. When she glanced up into his eyes, Nina knew that she had achieved her goal – for him, she was no longer an employee from the analytic department, but a woman, and that was how it was going to be from then on.

The applause would not die down. Pavel Mikhailovich winced with vexation.

“It’s too noisy here. Why don’t we go someplace quiet? I need to speak with you, Nina. I know a decent café not far off. Agreed?”

They moved towards the exit. Somebody came up running and shoved the plush lion into Samsonov’s hands. “Here, Pavel Mikhailovich, please, don’t leave your present behind.”

They came out into the street, to the garage exit. Samsonov was hugging the lion with one arm; at the same time, he was holding Nina’s hand firmly – as if he had found her after a long search and was afraid of losing her again.

The car already appeared below – Kolya was steering it onto the ramp.

It was a warm August evening after a hot day.

“Pavel Mikhailovich, let’s have a walk instead,” suggested Nina.

The man responded eagerly, “Great idea! I haven’t had a walk for ages.”

Samsonov took out his mobile. “Kolya, stop. Don’t drive out. Wait for us in the garage. I’ll call you later… Ah, come here a second – take this damn lion away from me.”

The director’s car stopped, and Kolya jumped out of it.

At that moment, Sinitsin appeared from behind Samsonov’s back. “Leaving us, Pavel Mikhailovich?”

Kolya was approaching, hopping up the ramp.

When Nina recalled that moment afterwards, she was unable to pinpoint in her memory the explosion itself, although it must have been deafening. She remembered seeing the director’s car jump up, tongues of flame bursting from under it. Kolya, who had been already just a couple of steps away, flew towards her and knocked her over. They both tumbled down.

Nina, in her luxurious evening dress, was lying on the pavement. Her head reeled, and all her senses were numbed. She did not feel like moving. “Thank God, the weather’s dry,” she thought, rather absurdly.

Slowly, she sat up. Next to her, Kolya, Pavel Mikhailovich and Sinitsin were rising from the ground. The car was a fright to look at. Crumpled beyond recognition, it was all on fire. From the garage came the wailing of the alarm sirens of dozens of cars which had been hit by the shock wave.

The pavement all around was littered with debris. Pavel Mikhailovich was still clutching the toy lion. A jagged piece of iron about a foot long was sticking out of the plush back of the beast.

Chapter 6

“Nina, are you all right? …”

Samsonov lifted her from the pavement. For the second time Nina floated up in the air in his strong arms. Once again, she saw very close his grey eyes and massive-featured face. This time, there was true concern and care in his look.

Carefully, Samsonov set her down on her feet.

“Are you OK, Nina? Does it hurt? Do you feel giddy?”

Nina was stupefied and only vaguely realized what had happened, but with all that she was feeling fine. Her exultation over her success as a woman and anticipation of something much bigger had not left her. She was not even frightened.

“Pavel Mikhailovich, everything’s all right with me. What was that?”

Samsonov drew himself up. “You want to know what that was?” he asked. His face was distorted with rage. “Damned outrage – that’s what it was! Scum, bastards!”

Sinitsin came up to them, limping.

“You are not hurt, Pavel Mikhailovich? Thank God. And you, Nina Yevgenievna?”

Samsonov turned to the man abruptly.

“Ah, here you are! Where have you been? How could you overlook that?”

The security chief made a helpless gesture: “I’m totally shocked, Pavel Mikhailovich. I believed we had taken all the precautions, but as it turned out, it wasn’t enough. Who knew that they would go as far as that…?”

Gradbank’s director grabbed his vice by the lapels of the man’s jacket, pulled him up, and roared him in the face: “You! You should have known! It’s your business to know everything!”

Samsonov was shaking the medium-sized Sinitsin like a tree – the security man was practically dangling up in the air, barely touching the ground with his toes.

“Listen, Sinitsin, listen carefully!” Samsonov roared on. “Do whatever it takes – don’t sleep, don’t eat, move heaven and earth – but give me security. If you blunder again – if the project wrecks because of you, or…” Samsonov glanced at Nina, “or if my people get hurt, I’ll kill you with my own hands. I mean it, you know me.”

He let Sinitsin go. The vice-director was all rumpled and had a remorseful look, but he did not strike Nina as being particularly scared.

Sinitsin smoothed his clothes. “I don’t deserve this kind of treatment, Pavel Mikhailovich,” he said quietly. “I am your man, too, and I am devoted to you. Believe me, I’ll do everything humanly possible…”

“Go away!” Samsonov barked at him.

Sinitsin flinched, dropped his eyes and retreated towards the burning car.

“Really, he shouldn’t treat people like that,” thought Nina.

Samsonov turned to the driver: “Kolya, how are you? Still in one piece?”

Contrary to his usual self, Kolya was not smiling. One could see now that it was a man, not a boy.

“I’m all right,” he responded. “What I don’t get is – where was the bomb? I checked everything out before starting up, as usual. Could they have planted it in the gas tank? … And it wasn’t a small bomb, either – three kilos at least.”

“Listen, Kolya,” said Samsonov. “You’re not working for me any longer. I promised your wife that your son would not be an orphan. So you hand in your notice and leave. I haven’t forgotten about your motordrome – you come round some time later, and we’ll have a talk about that.”

Kolya gave his boss a hurt look. “What kind of rat do you hold me for, Pavel Mikhailovich? You know I’ve been in Chechnya. Leave no man behind – that’s what we were taught there. I’m not leaving you until things quiet down here – don’t you even ask me to.”

“I am sorry,” said Samsonov. “And yet, don’t you be a fool! I don’t want you to get killed over nothing…”

“I’m in no hurry to get killed,” Kolya said seriously. “But if I leave, another guy will fill in – how about him getting killed? Me, I’ve been through stuff, at least.”

“That’s true,” muttered Samsonov. He was clearly touched. “And still, you are a fool, Kolyan.”

The familiar smile appeared on Kolya’s face.

“Yeah, Nastena says so, too. Well, it seems I was born that way.”

People began to pour out from the restaurant into the street; those were Gradbank’s guests of honor. In the street, they ran into the smoke-screen from the burning car. Startled cries and excited hubbub could be heard.

“To think that the bastard that contrived that must be here somewhere,” muttered Samsonov. “Scum…”

The guests realized at last what had happened. The cries grew into continuous tumult; the stockholders and partners rushed to the director – to satisfy their curiosity, to gloat, to sympathize.

“Kolya, take any car and drive Nina away,” said Samsonov. He turned to her: “Nina, you go home and stay put until I call you. You’ve got no business here…”

“Pavel Mikhailovich! …” Nina tried to protest.

“I don’t want to hear anything!” Samsonov cut her short. “One hero is enough… And anyway, you’ve already done your job – the rest is my business. You take a good rest now.”

“And one other thing,” he added, handing her a card. “Here, it’s my doctor’s. Tell him I sent you along. Let him make sure you don’t have a concussion or anything.”

“Yes, Pavel Mikhailovich. I get it – you need your employees to be able-bodied,” Nina tried to joke.

Samsonov ignored that. He was urging Nina to go away, and at the same time, he was keeping her, holding her by the hand.

“Nina, it’s awful that you had to go through this because of me. I’ll never forgive myself… But it’s a lesson for you, too: you see now that you’re better off away from me,” he smiled wryly.

More than ever before, Nina wanted to throw her arms around his neck and shout that she loved him and could not live without him. Embrace him and never let go. And let the bombs explode.

“Don’t worry about me, Pavel Mikhailovich,” she said simply.

“I do worry,” he objected.

He drew her up to his chest and kissed her on the cheek.

That was merely a friendly gesture, an expression of care, but still, that was their first kiss – and probably their last one, too.

“Well, you go now.” He released her.

Nina smiled, turned on her heels and walked away to where Kolya was waiting for her. Thus she missed her second chance to open her love to her man.

Nina was having rest. For once in a long while she had no work to do. Her brain and nerves which over the recent months had got accustomed to constant, great strain were idle now, which gave Nina a feeling of anticlimax and emptiness.

Nina was reliving the various episodes of her meetings with Samsonov. To her, it was like a favorite TV series, which she had already watched more than once but was eager to relish again, constantly finding something new in the familiar episodes. The last scene was, of course, the most important one – the culmination of the entire story. In it, the grey-eyed hero finally took notice of the heroine (modest, but full of inherent good qualities) and was about to open his armor slightly to let her into his heart, but… But at that very moment some scoundrels staged an explosion. Although Nina realized that Samsonov and his driver Kolya – and, incidentally, herself, too – had barely escaped getting killed, she did not give it much thought and was hardly worried at all – as if it really had been no more than a spectacular scene fixed by a skillful pyrotechnician.

What she was upset about was that the explosion had occurred at the wrong time. Had it taken place a little later, some very important words would have been passed between her man and herself so that everything would have been different ever since… As it was, the harsh reality claimed its rights; Pavel Mikhailovich was reminded in a brutal way that he was surrounded by enemies and had to be on the alert, not allowing himself even a moment’s weakness. He hid himself in his armor again and was not going to open up – at least not until all that contest business was over.

And then what? Nina had no doubt that Gradbank led by her beloved man was going to win. The success would make Samsonov a star of the banking world, a figure of international scale. From then on, he would be moving in the highest circles where not Marina alone but dozens of professional beauties would be seeking his attention. What chances would she, Nina, have then? “None whatsoever,” she admitted to herself with a sigh. She would be sent back to the analytical department where she properly belonged. Midnight struck, the ball was over – time for Cinderella to return to her kitchen.

And yet, Nina did not believe that it was the end. It could be that she, as all women in love, indulged in wishful thinking, but she had the feeling that the wonderful series was going to continue. The feeling was weak as the glow of a lightning bug in the night, but it would not die out.

She had absolutely nothing to do. As Samsonov had been sending her away, he had said that her work had been over, and that was true. The material that had been available to her had been squeezed dry, all possible conclusions extracted from it.

“All right, I’ll revert to my old life,” Nina said to herself. But the reverting did not work very well. She paid a visit to the tennis club which she had almost given up recently, but it was not half as good as before – the game seemed primitive and monotonous to her now. The partners were worse still – all of them were total nobodies compared with one big, awkward man who did not even know how to hold the tennis racket. Nina wondered at herself – it seemed impossible to her now that she had once planned to find a life companion among those jumping jacks in shorts.

Tennis set aside, Nina was sitting at home. She managed to kill some time doing chores about her small apartment which she had neglected badly in recent months. However, soon everything had been washed and polished, and she was again left without anything to do.

Nina spent her whole days lying on the sofa and leafing through her favorite detective stories. To get her head occupied, she tried inventing new episodes and dénouements to them, but soon she was bored with that, too.

The insipid literary images vanished as soon as her mind’s eye evoked the dear face with massive features and grey eyes. Nina repeated the words that she had said to her man on various occasions and added words that she had never dared to say; she voiced his answers for him and played out whole scenes in which they opened their feelings to each other, and everything went very well from then on. One evening Nina realized suddenly that she had been lying like that the whole day – staring blankly at the ceiling, immersed in her fantasies. “I’m losing my mind,” she said to herself. “I need to do something.”

The next morning Nina phoned Ariadna Petrovna.

“What do you want, Shuvalova?” the woman asked in a not very friendly tone of voice.

Nina started speaking hurriedly, trying to explain that she had been sitting at home for ten days already and did not know what she was expected to do.

“What does Samsonov say?”

“Pavel Mikhailovich told me to wait for his call.”

“Then wait.”

“But, Ariadna Petrovna, I’ve got absolutely nothing to do…”

“So what are you beefing about? I’d be happy to trade places with you. Me, I’m swamped here.”

“But… What if Pavel Mikhailovich just forgot about me?”

“He didn’t. Don’t you bother me with your nonsense, Shuvalova – I’ve got no time for it. Over and out.”

The woman hung up.

Nina felt uneasy. She imagined the frantic rush the bank must have been swept with during those last weeks before the date on which the bids for the contest were due to be submitted officially. The bank was united in an all-out effort to get things done properly, and she was the only one to be idling.

Once upon a time she had come to the bank with a silly intention to take revenge, but now she was a loyal employee, even a devotee, of the bank. She was especially partial to the project Zaryadje XXI, to say nothing of its grey-eyed leader…

Samsonov had said that her work had been finished. But was it really so? Had she taken everything into account? Could she be certain that there was no flaw in her recommendations? It was her responsibility to think about that since the director had a lot of other things on his plate and could miss something.

Nina began sorting out in her mind everything that she had done on Zaryadje. It turned out that the ten days of forced idleness had done her good – her brain had relaxed and distracted so that now she was able to take a fresh look at the things that had long been analyzed and decided on. But this fresh look seemed only to confirm that her conclusions were sound, and she had nothing to reproach herself for.

Then she remembered something. At the very beginning, as she had first been summoned up to the twelfth floor and Gradbank’s formidable director was introducing her to the project Zaryadje, he posed two questions – whether everything possible had been done to win the bidding contest, and whether it was a good idea for the bank to win it. Afterwards, the second question was somehow forgotten. Samsonov did not put it that way any longer; it seemed obvious that participating in the project promised huge benefits to the bank, and all the discussions were about the best way for the bank to win it. But Samsonov had not said those first words for no reason – he must have had his doubts.

Of course, at every stage of Nina’s work, the relevant risks were analyzed automatically, and all of them had been assessed properly… Or had they?

Nina remembered Samsonov saying once, “It looks like we’ve taken everything into account. Well, short of a big asteroid hitting the earth.”

It did not look like the earth was in for any such catastrophe in the near future, but what if something really extraordinary happened – something that could undermine all the basic estimates and parameter variation ranges adopted in the analysis?

Nina pondered. What was it that could happen? A political crisis, radical change of government? Nina had never taken interest in politics and was totally out of her depth in such matters. She thought of Ignatiy Savelievich who would have been able to give her invaluable advice. But the old finance trooper was no longer there, and Nina had never acquired any other good advisers in her life.

Nina’s mind was active again, and she was glad to have found a way to distract herself from her joyless love dreams. What if an influenza pandemic burst out similar to the one that had mowed down millions after the first world war? Nina shuddered at the thought, but her analytical mind noted that there was room for analysis here: such an event was impossible to predict but evaluating its broad consequences could be feasible.

A revolution in her mind occurred one evening, as she was drinking her green tea lazily preparing to go to bed. As usual, she had her TV set on, with sound off. The caption, Economic Review, appeared on the screen. Nina rarely listened to such shows – there was too much incompetence and lies to them – but this time she turned the sound on without much interest.

The host, a sleek character with shifty eyes, started putting questions to an equally sleek interlocutor who was introduced as an expert on global finances. Nina listened to their babble for a minute and was about to turn it off when she heard something that made her hand with the remote control in it freeze.

The expert on global finances spoke on the prospects for the next year. Most experts’ forecasts – including his own – were optimistic; the world was in for growth in every way. “True, sometimes different opinions are voiced,” added the speaking head on the screen. “For instance, the Nobel prize-winner in economics Bartholomew Mattiasson is predicting a global financial crisis. Well, what can I say…” The head smiled condescendingly. “We should take into account that professor Mattiasson won the prize forty years ago, and he is ninety-two now.”

Nina even got up from her chair. That was what Samsonov and she had not reckoned with – the possibility of a global economic crisis. All their estimates were based on a certain forecast of the economic growth of the country, with due margins allowed for unpredictable variations. Both the basic forecast and margins, computed and re-computed by various methods, were quite sound, but… But all of them relied on the fundamental global trends projected into the next few years. Those trends were universally accepted – all the leading expert institutes and rating agencies were unanimous about that. A major global economic crisis was as unlikely as the collision with an asteroid.

But what if the institutes and agencies were wrong?

Nina had never bothered herself with issues of global economy, and now she did not know even where to start. She tried the Internet. The query, “global crisis”, brought back an incredible amount of all sorts of rubbish: prophecies by ancient and modern visionaries, including those by Nostradamus; astrologers’ predictions; insane fantasies of an imminent apocalypse spread by the leaders of various cults; and almost as nonsensical twaddle by politicians.

Little by little, sifting tons of such stuff, Nina found what she was after. As it turned out, the elderly professor Mattiasson was not the only one to believe in a global crisis; some other economists predicted one, too. There were not many of them, and their voices evoked little response – the world was not eager to listen to bad news.

The alarmists approached the crisis issue in their separate ways, each focusing on their own piece of the general picture. The problem was that no satisfactory model of the global economy was available – nobody knew how to describe the enormous multitude of factors, disparate in nature and direction, as well as the ocean of individual human wills, chaotic on the surface of it while hiding in its depth the force fields of global control whose origins were a total mystery. As long as things were going on smoothly, any schoolboy could come up with an adequate forecast. But a major crisis – an economic collapse – nobody could predict to any degree of certainty; in fact, such predictions were no better than fortune-telling by tea leaves.

However, the heralds of crisis infected Nina with their concern. What if a global crisis was actually going to break out? What if it was going to occur not in some remote future but this year already?

Nina was surfing the Internet for whole days now. As a whale filters tons of ocean water to obtain plankton, Nina was running through her brain huge volumes of vacuous information to filter out facts that could be relevant to the possibility of a global crisis.

After a week of such whale work, she already had an idea of the main problem spots of the global economy. Despite apparent well-being, things actually were not going at all well – ignored for decades, the global economic problems were aggravating, and multi-billion financial bubbles were brewing which were bound to burst sooner or later.

There was nothing new about all that, and there were known counter-arguments that seemed to explain everything. Life on credit and systematic procrastination of dealing with problems had its proponents who wrote books, ran university courses and talked on TV shows. “Everything’s going to be all right,” they said. “Market will regulate everything on its own.”

The optimistic forecasts were groundless logically and clearly motivated politically, but one simple fact spoke for them: with all its crying problems, the global economy had been growing more or less steadily for many years, so why not go on growing?

Nina did not count on being smarter than all of the world’s best economists put together. Still, she hoped in her heart that her intuition which had helped her out many times before would do the trick again. But her intuition kept silent – apparently, the global problems were just beyond it.

That was a deadlock. The global economy showed all the prerequisites for a crisis but paradoxically, instead of a crisis, that might result in another couple of decades of accelerated growth. And if a crisis was to break out, there was no telling when that was going to happen. Nobody had anything more sensible to say on that, and neither had Nina Shuvalova who happened to take interest in global problems as she was dying of idleness and love-sickness in her one-room apartment.

What could she say to Samsonov? That they should make allowances for a crisis which might, or might not, happen? But that kind of strategy had its price as excessive caution reduced the profit margin of the project. What arguments could she offer to justify such sacrifices? None whatsoever. And anyway, there was only one week left before the tender due date, so it was probably too late to change anything.

After sitting up late into another night over a pile of dissimilar, controversial materials, Nina turned off the computer, saying aloud: “That’s enough, it doesn’t make any sense.”

She went to bed, but the global economy with its unfathomable problems kept her awake for another hour and then penetrated her sleep. In her dream, she met with professor Mattiasson who had the appearance of a gnome wearing a long white beard. Gnome Mattiasson was sitting on a heap of gold coins, looking very sad. The reason was that the coins were rapidly turning into cow’s droppings. Pointing at that disgrace with his crooked finger, Mattiasson said: “For shame, Nina! I counted on you so!”

On waking up, Nina slipped on her robe, groped for her slippers with her feet and, following her morning ritual, walked to the window to see what the weather was like. Like Nina, the sun was up late; its oblique rays were neither bright nor warm. Nina opened the window to let in the morning cold, and peeped out.

A near autumn could be felt in the air. On a brick ledge close by, a ruffled-up pigeon was sitting, waiting for the sun finally to warm it up.

“A global crisis is coming. It’s a matter of weeks at the latest,” Nina suddenly said aloud.

The pigeon squinted at her suspiciously.

Nina was startled much worse than the frozen pigeon. She stood there for a while, holding on to the window handle and trying to figure out whether it was she who had said those words, and whether something else was going to follow.

There followed a revelation.

It was like solving a puzzle of the type where an image – such as a huntsman with a dog – is hidden among a deliberate chaos of spots and lines. Peering at such a picture, one gets annoyed at first at not being able to make out anything, and then suddenly sees the huntsman and wonders how they could not see it just a second ago. It was the same way with Nina and the global economy. The night before she had not been able to make out anything in the tangle of economic problems, and now she saw the approaching crisis quite clearly. The crisis was huge, it was going to rock the whole world, and it was just about to burst out.

Of course, Nina would not be able to prove anything to any TV phrasemonger. But she was not going to prove or explain anything. She just knew that the crisis was near, almost arrived already.

Nina was standing motionless by the window, absorbed in the picture of imminent global economic trouble which had presented itself to her mind. The picture was terrifying and bewitching at the same time.

Nina was seized by a pioneer’s rapture. “To think that the world does not know anything yet. Nobody knows but me,” she said proudly to herself. “Well, that is – except for doctor Mattiasson and me…”

She wanted to cry out, “I am a genius!”

Instead, she yelled, “Idiot!”

The pigeon startled, slipped down from the ledge and flew away heavily.

Nina clutched her head and groaned. “Idiot! Genius, indeed! You’ve fouled up everything!”

All her recommendations on project Zaryadje were now up in the air. Gradbank had trusted her… To hell with Gradbank! Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov, her love, had entrusted her with a matter of utmost importance to him, and she failed, let him down. Now it was too late to fix anything. Or was it?…

As she was, in her robe and slippers, Nina darted to her computer table.

“All right, calm down. Crisis, crisis… What does it mean?”

Nina was racking her brain trying to understand what consequences a global crisis might have for the project, Zaryadje XXI. The oil prices were probably going to fall. By how much? The state currency reserves were going to reduce, and a budget deficit was inevitable. How large a deficit, and what did it imply? All the stock indices would sink, that was for sure. A collapse of the entire system of international credit was possible. Enormous bad debts, bankruptcy of the major banks…

Nina lost track of time. When she finally noticed that night was falling, she realized that she was still sitting at her table in her robe, and that she had not had a bite to eat that whole day.

She gulped down a sandwich and two cups of coffee in the kitchen, and then rushed back to her work.

Chapter 7

If Nina had had a dog, the beast would have hated its mistress because in those days, Nina would have certainly been forgetting to feed or walk it. The only excuse Nina could provide was that she herself was forgetting to eat, let alone have walks.

To say that Nina was hard pressed for time would be a gross understatement. Developing the ‘Zaryadje under crisis’ scenario should normally take at least a couple of months; as it was, Nina had only a few days at her disposal. The tenders from the contest participants were officially due the next Monday. Not counting the weekend, Nina had it until Friday to draw up her new proposals. How she was supposed then to reach Samsonov, bring him to listen to her sensational ideas, and convince him to make last-minute changes to the approved document – about all that Nina tried not to think for now.

Complying with Sinitsin’s directions, Nina did not keep any project materials on her home computer, but she had no need for that. She relied on her well-organized, ‘library’ memory. Drawing out the right ‘card-boxes’ from her huge ‘catalogue’, she restored the necessary figures and facts immediately.

When the first panic that had seized her after she had made her global discovery was over, Nina forced herself to concentrate and at least try to evaluate the new risks. That was an incredibly hard job, her analysis constantly getting blurred and falling apart. A lot of doubtful pieces of information had to be taken on trust, and a lot of missing pieces had to be thought up. Still, having gathered and organized in great haste all the available data on major financial crises over the past half century, Nina was pretty confident she could put her finger on the main threats. Everything that did not qualify as such had to be neglected.

To her great relief, Nina discovered that things were not all that terrible after all. Gradbank’s investment project proved to be rather robust and, on the whole, capable of surviving even a serious shake-up. Part of the credit for such high quality of the project was due to her, Nina.

The project Zaryadje XXI would survive the crisis, but only at the cost of very serious losses. After several days of backbreaking work, Nina identified five issues that were going to become threats to the project in the event of a big crisis. The way it was kept in Samsonov’s safe now, the project contained two of those potential weaknesses. If the other three had somehow found their way into the project, it would have become suicidal for Gradbank. To herself, Nina called that hypothetical, worst-case version ‘Plan B’. If she had been the old Nina who had dreamed of taking revenge on Gradbank, she would have desired fervently that, through some twist of chance, Plan B be adopted by the management of that callous capitalist monster. But Nina was no longer her old self, and quite the reverse, she hoped to convince Pavel Mikhailovich to make changes to the two bad items and thus defuse those time bombs. She had figured out a way to defuse them, too.

Besides, as it turned out, a crisis could paradoxically lead to some big benefits, provided Gradbank was prepared to reap them.

Nina made up a ‘Plan C’. According to that plan, the two problem items were removed from the project, and some good items were added to replace them. With those changes, the project was not only feasible again – it became many times more profitable and promising to Gradbank.

Nina recalled what she had read somewhere about the way the word ‘crisis’ was translated into Chinese – it was represented by two hieroglyphs one of which meant ‘hard plight’, and the other ‘opportunity’. It was the same way with Gradbank: a crisis might ruin it, or else, it could become its hour of triumph.

The victorious Plan C was her gift for her man.

On Friday morning Nina called Samsonov.

She hoped that her call would be taken by Klara Fedorovna as it would be hard for her to go into explanations with Marina. But it was neither of the two; instead, an unfamiliar woman’s voice answered:

“Director’s reception. How can I help you?”

Nina asked to be put through to Klara Fedorovna.

It seemed to her that she traced a moment’s hesitation in the woman’s voice.

“Klara Fedorovna? … She is not here. Who is speaking?”

Nina gave her name and said that she needed to see Pavel Mikhailovich.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but it’s a very important and urgent matter.”

“State your business, and I’ll report it to Pavel Mikhailovich in due course.”

“But it’s impossible! Not on the phone.”

“Sorry, there’s nothing I can do. You said that you worked in the analytical department? Then you should turn to your department head.”

There was no way Nina could approach Ariadna Petrovna about that. What could she say to the wise woman? That she had a presentiment of a crisis and suggested altering the project proposals on those grounds? However much Ariadna Petrovna might favor Nina, she was not about to go to the director with such nonsense. At best, the chief of Analytics would advise her employee to stay at home and take a really good rest since, obviously, the girl had gone off her head a bit as an aftermath of a long, exhausting pull.

Nina was pondering what she could do. Go to the bank and try to force her way to Samsonov through the unfamiliar secretary? The secretary would probably just call the security and kick her out. Nina did not even know whether her pass to the twelfth floor was still good – it could have been cancelled already.

Nina dialed Sinitsin.

“Gennadiy Viktorovich, this is Shuvalova. I have an urgent need to speak to Pavel Mikhailovich. It’s about the project. Helpme, 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.

“Go home and don’t come to the bank until you’re told to do so,” said Sinitsin. “But don’t leave town either – a need for you may arise any time.”

“Yes, of course… In a minute, I’ll just grab my stuff.”

She hurried to her room. She had no more than a minute at her disposal. It was clearly not a good time to approach Samsonov with her new proposals. But she was hardly going to get another chance to pass them on to him.

Nina snatched a memory stick and stuck it into the computer hastily. She could no longer hope to provide Samsonov with a complete picture – the detailed best and worst scenarios, with her commentaries. All she could do was pass on to him a list of what, in her opinion, had to be done absolutely. Pass it on – and hope that Samsonov would find time to speak to her.

Nina selected ‘Plan C’ with the cursor and pressed, ‘Copy’.

The copying completed, she pulled out the memory stick, snatched a piece of paper and wrote the note, “Pavel Mikhailovich! It’s absolutely vital to make some changes to the project. I beg you to listen to me – I’ll explain everything. Nina.”

With the memory stick and the note in her hand, Nina hurried back to the reception.

At the door, she ran into Sinitsin.

“Gennadiy Viktorovich, I must see Pavel Mikhailovich for just a second. It’s very important – the entire project depends on it!”

“Pavel Mikhailovich is gone.”

Nina’s heart sank.

“He… When is he going to be back?”

“I have no information about that. Possibly, not until Monday.”

Nina was in despair.

“Well… Then… You are going to see him, aren’t you? Can you give this to him?”

Nina held out the memory stick and the folded note.

Sinitsin took one and the other, and without showing any interest, tucked both into his pocket.

“Nina Yevgenievna, didn’t I ask you to leave the bank?”

“Yes, sorry, I am leaving.”

And she did. She did not know what else there was to do. She could not but hope for a miracle now – that Sinitsin would not fail to give her material to Samsonov; that Samsonov would not wave it aside but would send for her and have a talk with her; that she would be able to convince him…

There were two days left for the miracle to work: Saturday and Sunday.

Chapter 8

On Saturday, Nina got up late after no less than twelve hours of heavy, dreamless sleep. She felt exhausted, both physically and mentally.

When she came up to the window, she saw that the sun was already high. The weather was beautiful – the Nature indulged people with a late Indian summer.

On the ledge, the familiar pigeon was perching. It squinted one eye at Nina, as if asking, “Well, how goes? Save the world?”

“Not me. Who am I to even try?” Nina answered in her mind.

“And your man? Did you save him?” asked the pigeon.

Nina sighed. She did not know what to say. She had done all she had been able to, but that was probably not enough. The chances that her belated revelations would help Samsonov were almost non-existent.

“So what was that yelling about? You alarmed the whole alley, you know,” the pigeon said reproachfully. It turned away, slipped down from the ledge and flew off. Nina with her anxieties was of no interest to him.

Nina still cherished a faint hope that Samsonov would pay attention to her proposals and give her a call; in order not to miss it, she was keeping her phone constantly within reach. But Samsonov did not call.

Nina no longer cared about either the global problems or Gradbank. Let the world and Gradbank take care of themselves. She only cared about Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov, but apparently, her man did not took any more interest in her now than did the alley pigeon.

Nina shuddered as she recalled what she had witnessed the day before in the director’s office. She had pity for Klara Fedorovna. “Poor woman! Whatever happened to her?” But Nina was too exhausted to ponder about that either.

The day passed without her noticing it. Towards evening, the phone rang. Nina snatched the receiver: “Pavel Mikhailovich?”

But it was her father, not Samsonov. Nina did not remember when she had last spoken with him on the phone.

“How are you, Nina?”

“I am good. How are you?”

“I’m all right… Here’s the thing – would you care to go to the dacha? We have some stuff left there since the old times, remember? Somehow I feel like messing about with it a bit.”

Nina was surprised. They had not been to their dacha for several years already. She had been the last to visit it, and she had since kept the keys.

“Of course, papa. Why not go tomorrow? It looks like the weather’s going to be fine. Is Lydia Grigorievna going, too?”

“No, she has some tidying up plans… But thank you, I’ll tell her that you invited her.”

They arranged to set off in the morning, but not very early. In fact, they did not have any real business at the dacha, and nostalgic rituals should not take more than a couple of hours. “Is it that he has decided finally to sell the dacha?” thought Nina. “All right, let him sell it if he likes…”

The next morning, as she was preparing for the trip, Nina wondered how she was going to conduct herself with her father. For a very long time already the two of them had not had a heart-to-heart talk as a father and daughter. A lot had happened both to him and to her. They both had changed, but Nina hoped that they were still family. It was time to forget all wrongs and forgive each other whole-heartedly whatever there was to forgive.

Nina dug up the old, rusty key to the dacha and was already getting dressed for the trip when the word ‘Gradbank’ caught her ear. It was mentioned on the TV which she had turned on, with sound on for once, and was just about to turn off. Something had happened at the bank but Nina could not make out what it was all about.

“My God! Not another explosion! Let him be safe,” the anxious thought of Samsonov flitted through her mind. She snatched the remote control and started switching the channels hectically. At last, she came across an intelligible news release. At nine thirty in the morning Gradbank’s general director Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov had been assassinated at the entrance to the bank building. It was a sniper shot from a great distance; the bullet missed the director but grazed his vice Sinitsin. Sinitsin was taken to hospital, his wound not giving cause for concern.

Nina was appalled. “What’s going on, for heaven’s sake? What kind of people are doing that? How can they?” When Samsonov’s car had been blown up with her just a few steps away, she somehow had not been shocked too much, but now she was dumbfounded by the thought that her man had been shot at and only barely escaped death.

“Damn this big business! No business is worth it…”

Nina was no longer in a mood for any dacha outing, her mind preoccupied by Samsonov. She called her father and excused herself from the trip.

“Let’s go next weekend, OK? I’ll free up a whole day, I promise.”

“Sure, next weekend is all right.”

It seemed to Nina that her father was going to say something else but changed his mind. They said goodbye to each other.

Nina was beside herself with anxiety. She kept switching TV channels in the hope to hear some more details of the accident, but all in vain. The drama that had taken place at the entrance to the Gradbank building did not make a sensation and was soon replaced by other news. Indeed, what kind of sensation was that? Nobody had even been killed.

Nina called Samsonov’s reception several times, but the number was dead. At some other time, she could have turned to Sinitsin, but the man was in hospital.

Even if somebody had answered Nina’s call, what could she have said? That she was worried about the director and wanted to make sure that he was safe? And who was she to pester people on a Sunday with her worries? Not even a wife – just an ordinary employee of the bank…

Hours passed. Nina was sitting with a phone in her hand, waiting for God knows what.

When the short autumn day turned to evening, she said to herself, “That’s it. I can’t take it any more.”

Hardly realizing what she was doing, she set off for Gradbank.

As she was approaching the building of the bank, a beautiful, expensive car pulled out of the parking lot. The car seemed familiar to Nina but she was unable to place it.

Nina started crossing a wide asphalted space. The car that seconds before had been at the far end of the parking lot was nearing rapidly.

Trying to get out of the way, Nina took a few steps aside, towards a railed-off sidewalk. The car seemed to alter its course slightly and was now heading in her direction. Puzzled, Nina quickened her pace, but the car accelerated, too. It was clear now that, even if Nina ran like a sprinter, she would not make it to the safe sidewalk. The crazy car was tearing along right at her. And then it came home to Nina whose automobile it was. It was Marina’s.

The distance between them was shrinking swiftly – twenty meters, ten meters, five meters… Nina shut her eyes tight.

The screech of the brakes was deafening. When Nina opened her eyes, a gorgeous bumper was glistening close by, and smoke was rising from the wheels of the mercilessly stopped car.

Marina was glaring at her from an open window.

“You deserve to be run over, you bitch…”

Nina was barely conscious and weak in the knees.

“Going to see him?” Marina asked and answered herself: “Sure you are.”

Even now, despite all her ugly hatred, Marina’s face was beautiful.

“Yeah, right, go ahead,” she said. “I hope you’ll get zapped there along with him.”      Nina kept silent.

Marina set the car in motion and skirted Nina who was unable to move as if rooted to the ground.

Marina braked again as she was side by side with Nina and asked suddenly, “Do you even love him, or just…”

“I love him,” Nina said resolutely.

“Bitch,” pronounced Marina.

She stepped on the gas and drove off, gaining speed. After a few seconds, the beautiful car disappeared from view.

When she regained her senses, Nina hurried to the building entrance. Marina who hated her had let her know the main thing: Samsonov was in the bank.

Nina had been in the bank on weekends before. Usually, there were some people there on both Saturdays and Sundays – some kind of emergency constantly arose in one or another department, and the employees worked overtime. Now Nina was struck by the quiet: there was no one around, and not a sound – of human voices or working elevators – could be heard. The bank was empty.

A guard stopped her: “You can’t go in.”

But Nina would not be stopped. She waved her pass: “I’m the director’s assistant. I have admittance to the twelfth floor at any time.”

The guard clearly hesitated but he was still blocking her way. “All the same, nobody is allowed in. We’ve had special orders.”

“Who gave the orders? Gennadiy Viktorovich?” Nina asked and, on a sudden inspiration, bluffed: “I just visited him in the hospital, and he sent me down here to Pavel Mikhailovich.”

Unable to withstand such pressure, the guard reluctantly let Nina in. As she was entering the elevator, Nina saw him speak on the phone with someone.

On the twelfth floor, where one muscular young man had always been on watch, there were two of them now.

“Where are you heading? How did you get here?”

“I need to see Pavel Mikhailovich. It’s urgent,” Nina declared.

Both muscular guards knew Nina well – they had more than once seen her with the director. For the twelfth floor, she was a persona grata.

“Open your bag.”

Nina complied. She had nothing in her bag except for the rusty dacha key and some snacks she had gathered for the trip that she and her father had planned.

“You may pass.”

The reception room was empty and almost totally dark. Some light was filtering from the director’s office whose door was slightly ajar.

Nina stepped into the office.

Pavel Mikhailovich was sitting in a chair, smoking. The director’s desk was occupied by Kolya who was busy cleaning a disassembled gun.

As she was opening the door, Nina wondered – what kind of reception was she in for? Was Samsonov going to be glad, or vexed, or just indifferent, to see her?

Samsonov’s face was alight with joy: “Nina!”

But the next moment already he jumped up, frowning: “Nina, what are doing here? Go away now!”

Tears welled up in Nina’s eyes.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was all right with you… And please, don’t you yell at me, Pavel Mikhailovich!”

Samsonov stepped up to her and took her by the arm.

“For God’s sake, Nina, what are doing to me? … I’m not yelling, I’m begging you to leave. You can’t stay here.”

“Pavel Mikhailovich, don’t talk to me like I’m five years old. I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. It concerns me, too.”

Samsonov took it his own way.

“Nina, you are in no danger. The project has already been sent off to the committee. By the way, I made the changes that you suggested. I couldn’t make head or tail of your proposals, but I did all you wanted me to. You can see how much I trust you… Nobody’s going to harm you now – you only have to keep away from me.”

Nina clutched at his arm, her whole air testifying that she was not going to budge.      “All right, Nina,” Samsonov gave in wearily. “I’ll tell you everything, but you must promise that you’ll leave right after that.”

Nina nodded without letting go of his arm.

Samsonov made her sit down and took a seat beside her.

“The matter is quite simple, Nina. They mean to kill me.”

He told Nina how things actually stood. As it happened, apart from the open competition, there was a fierce shadow battle going on for the project Zaryadje. Samsonov’s main rival, Atlas, had colluded with dissenters inside Gradbank. Too much was at stake, and the interested parties would stall at nothing. Samsonov’s opponents had no choice – they had to stop Gradbank at all cost, or else many of them would lose their career and money, if not life. They had tried to remove Samsonov in a legitimate way, through a general meeting. When that attempt failed, they tried bribing, then intimidating him.

“Nina, do you remember how we wallowed in the dust when the car was blown up? That was not in earnest yet, they just wanted to scare me. And then Klara…”

“Klara Fedorovna? What happened to her?”

Samsonov’s face was distorted by anguish.

“She stole some documents and handed them over to Atlas.”

“My God! …” Nina let out.

“Yeah, that’s that… To think that she’s been with me for over twenty years. Who’s to be trusted then?” Samsonov shook his head dejectedly. “On the other hand, one can understand her – she’s a mother.”

As it turned out, Klara Fedorovna was cursed with a misfortune which she did not share with anyone – her son Stanislav was a drug addict. Once he had been admitted to the architectural academy, he got mixed up with some bad company, neglected his studies and ran into debt. The international contest which he had nearly won was all a figment of Klara Fedorovna’s imagination – in reality, Stas had never even entered it. By now, Stas was on heroin in a big way. The academy was a thing of the past – he had got expelled from it a year ago. Two of his lot had died of overdose, and he was in for the same fate in the near future.

Klara Fedorovna tried to get him treated, but all in vain. She had one last hope now – to put Stas into a famous Swiss clinic where the likes of him reportedly were given real help.

But the clinic required a pile of cash. Klara Fedorovna drew a good salary at Gradbank but she did not have that kind of money. In fact, she was penniless now as in the recent years she had been spending everything on her son. Somehow, Atlas’s agents had found out about her problems and offered Samsonov’s assistant the necessary means.

“Poor woman.” Nina was really sorry for her.

“Yes,” responded Samsonov. “But why didn’t she tell me anything? Ah, Klara…”

“How is she now?” asked Nina.

“She’s in hospital. It’s all right, she’s going to be looked after there. And I sent Stas off to Switzerland yesterday. They say, there is hope…”

Nina saw how hard it was for Samsonov to even speak of that.

“What kind of documents were those?” she asked.

“They were pretty important documents, but they did not cause any big damage after all,” answered Samsonov. “It appears we’ve really worked a solid project – it can’t be undermined by such spy attacks. We owe that to you, Nina.”

But Nina was in no mood to listen to compliments.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Now their only hope is to remove me from the picture by hook or by crook. It must be done today so that early tomorrow morning my first vice can withdraw our tender under some pretext. They tried shooting me this morning but hit Sinitsin instead.”

Nina was horrified: “So you are what – sitting here waiting for them to come and kill you?”

“Well, I don’t mean to be anybody’s sitting duck… Kolya and I were just talking things over – trying to figure out what to do.”

“But there is police after all!” Nina cried out. “Call the police!”

“Don’t be absurd, Nina. Police is useless…”

“Well, thank God, you have your own guards. I saw two of them on my way here.”

Samsonov and Kolya exchanged glances.

“Yeah, that’s the question: which way are those two going to shoot when it comes to action?”

Samsonov cut himself short: “All right, Nina, I’ve told you everything, and now I beg you to leave. Don’t worry about me – I’ll get out of this mess somehow. And… Thank you for everything.”

But Nina was not about to leave – she was set on staying with her man to the end, whatever it might be.

She braced herself to argue with Samsonov, but the matter decided itself in a different way.

“It’s too late, Pavel Mikhailovich,” said Kolya.

He had cleaned and assembled his gun and was now standing by the window, peeping through the Venetian blinds down at the parking lot.

“Those two jeeps are new – they’ve just arrived.”

Samsonov came up to the window and took a peep.

“Did someone get out of them?”

“Not yet.”

Kolya tucked the gun under his belt and covered it with the flap of his jacket.

“That’s it, Pavel Mikhailovich, we have to go.”

“But how? Every exit is held in sights by a sniper.”

“I got an idea. Wait a minute, I’m going to do some recon – we need to know what our brave guards are up to.”

Kolya left but was back almost immediately.

“The guards are not there. The fun is about to start. We have to leave – now.”

They left the office, and Kolya led them to an elevator – not the big, passenger one, but a service elevator used to lift food stuffs to the directorate cafeteria. That elevator was not designed for people; they were barely able to get into it, bending painfully.

The elevator took them down to the basement where technical services were quartered. Through a dimly lit corridor, they came out onto an iron spiral staircase which took them further down, into a completely dark space that smelled of gasoline and machine oil.

“Where are we?” asked Samsonov.

“It’s the garage for the service staff. I guess, you’ve never been down here before, Pavel Mikhailovich,” responded Kolya’s voice which had a trace of irony to it.

“No lights. Careful. Follow me,” Kolya commanded.

In a minute, he brought them to a car which on closer examination turned out to be a Volga.

“Whose is that?” asked Samsonov.

“Mine. Get in.” responded Kolya.

They got into the car trying not to slam the doors.

Kolya turned the ignition key. The engine purred softly, but under the softness, power could be felt as if it were a Ferrari rather than a Volga.

With headlights off, Kolya pulled the car out of the parking bay and drove somewhere. Although Nina’s eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dark so she could discern the contours of the cars, it was still a mystery to her how Kolya could make his way.

They drove up to a wall against which some barrels were piled up.

“There’s an emergency exit here. It’s long been out of use, but chances are it’s usable. Let’s risk it. Only we need to go very quiet.”

The men got out of the car and started moving the barrels trying not to make noise. Soon the emergency gate was cleared.

Kolya produced an oil-can and oiled the hinges. Then he used a pry bar to unfasten the lock. The gate opened noiselessly.

It was night outside. About forty meters away, a noisy avenue lay which the bank faced with its front. The distant street lights barely dissipated the darkness of a narrow side alley cluttered with trash cans and stacks of boxes.

Kolya surveyed the alley.

“It’s all right, we’ll make it.”

In the car, Kolya handed the gun to Samsonov and instructed Nina to lie down on the back seat and never lift her head. Nina obeyed.

“Well, then, let’s go,” said Kolya.

The Volga glided into the alley noiselessly, turned around and headed to where the lights of the avenue were shining. Miraculously, Kolya managed to keep clear of all the boxes and trash cans.

At the end of the alley, Kolya paused and did some idle gassing to warm up the engine.

“Now. Hold on!” he said finally and pressed the gas pedal into the floor to the limit while turning the steering wheel abruptly.

Roaring and screeching, the car tore out onto the avenue.

Nina, who was lying in the back, was alternately pressed into the seat and tossed about fiercely.

Kolya cast a glance in the rear view mirror.

“Damn, they are quick.”

Nina rose. Two black jeeps had pulled out of the bank parking lot and rushed after them.

“Head down!” Kolya yelled.

Nina ducked. Almost immediately there was a shock, and the rear window above her head exploded littering her with broken glass.

Samsonov turned around. “Are you all right, Nina?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Nina replied, shaking broken glass out of her hair. “What was that? They what – shot at us?”

“You bet,” responded Kolya.

“Nina, I beg you – don’t get up!” shouted Samsonov.

He stuck out of the window and extended his gun-holding hand. A shot banged.

Nina was lying on the back seat obediently, trying not to distract the men. She was unworried; something told her that neither she nor Samsonov were in for any harm. Quite the reverse, she had the feeling that something very good was happening to them.

Kolya was spinning the steering wheel sharply, stepping hard on the accelerator. Nina heard the screech of the other cars’ brakes, and the indignant honking of the horns. The Volga was jumping from one lane to another violating all the norms of the drivers’ code.

Kolya looked in the mirror.

“No, we’re not losing them this way. Some good drivers, those are… But they’re in for a surprise.”

After a short while, Kolya made a sudden ninety-degree turn and darted out of the avenue on an impossible trajectory.

They were tearing along a narrow street in some built-up area now. Up in the window, Nina could see the façades of brick buildings flit by.

Then Kolya slowed down and turned sharply but carefully. The car plunged into total darkness. Nina raised her head. They were driving under an arc in some old house. The arc was so narrow that the Volga barely cleared the walls and actually scraped against them a couple of times despite all of Kolya’s skill.

From under the arc, they got into a through-passage yard, then onto a boulevard.

“That’s it,” Kolya said applying the brakes. “Those fellas are going to get stuck there. Their jeeps can’t make it through the arc – they’re forty centimeters wider than that.” He smiled a satisfied smile and patted the dashboard of his car. “Mark my words, Volga is the best. All it takes to make it run is to overhaul the engine.”

Kolya turned to Samsonov and Nina: “They’ll have to go around the block, so we have a couple of minutes. Let’s say goodbyes.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” asked Pavel Mikhailovich. “Your car’s going to be hunted for, so you have to dump it.”

“Dump such a great car? Not for the world,” Kolya laughed. “It’s going to run another hundred years.”

“What are you up to?” asked Pavel Mikhailovich.

“I’ll play cat-and-mouse with them for a bit. That’ll give you time to get lost.”

“Don’t be a fool, Nikolai! Come with us – we’ll find somewhere to sit it out together. I’ll buy you five cars such as this afterwards.”

“No way, Pavel Mikhailovich. And don’t you give me orders – reckon me quit. I have my own scores to settle with those bastards. They broke my rear window, see? Where am I going to find another one like that?”

“Where are you going then?” asked Samsonov.

Kolya scratched his head.

“Here’s what – I guess it’s time for me to visit the northern capital. Some guys that I know live there. We did some great racing together at one time. We’ll have a meet and talk motor club.”

Samsonov sighed: “Really, aren’t you a fool? … Let me at least hug you.” He hugged the guy. “Don’t you even think of getting yourself into trouble…”

Kolya freed himself.

“It’s all right, Pavel Mikhailovich… And another thing – give me your cell phone. They’re going to spot it, and it’s just as well. Cat-and-mouse it’s gonna be.”

Samsonov handed his driver his phone along with the gun. He and Nina got out of the car.

“Practice motorsport!” Kolya cried to them from the window of his Volga. On his face was his usual, boyish smile.

He stepped on the gas pedal and in a couple of seconds the car was gone.

Chapter 9

Samsonov and Nina were sitting on a boulevard bench. It was late in the evening, and the sky was already studded with stars. The day’s warmth was going rapidly, a cold, autumn night setting in.

Nina did not want to go anywhere. She felt good, lacking only for Pavel Mikhailovich to embrace her which was expected of all lovers sitting on boulevard benches in the evening.

But Pavel Mikhailovich was motionless. Nina saw suddenly that he was nodding. The enormous tension of the past days had prevailed finally over that strong man.

Nina took him by the hand.

Samsonov woke up.

“Where are you going now, Nina? Home? … Oh, no, you can’t go home. They’ve seen us together and are capable of visiting your place, too. Damn, it’s all my fault. I’ve drawn you into this mess…”

“You haven’t drawn me into any mess, and I’m not going anywhere,” declared Nina. “I’m staying with you.”

Samsonov rubbed his temples wearily.

“I don’t know whether I have anywhere to go myself… Some hotel, maybe? I only need to hide until morning.”

Nina remembered how quickly Samsonov had been figured out by the tennis club manager on the glorious day of his first tennis practice.

“No, Pavel Mikhailovich, it’s not a good idea.”

Samsonov grinned: “Well, then, I’ll camp on this bench.”

“The police will pull you in.”

“Yeah, the police…”

It was clear that Samsonov was incapable of thinking even for the sake of saving his life.

Then a solution occurred to Nina.

“I know of a place for us to hide.”

“Where is that?” asked Samsonov.

“You’ll see. Trust me.”

Samsonov finally put his hand round her shoulders and bent his head towards her. Nina shifted on the bench trying to sit in such a way as to make the embracing convenient for him. If her man decided to open his feelings to her, any hindrances should be removed.

But Samsonov’s head was dropping uncontrollably.

“Nina, why are you taking so much trouble for me?” he mumbled falling asleep. “Everyone else has betrayed me and left me, but you…”

“I’m not leaving you, Pavel Mikhailovich.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

There was no telling whether Samsonov got what she had said. Through the slumber that was seizing him, he murmured something. It seemed to Nina that he had said, “I love you, too…”

Thus they confessed their love to each other. It was very different from the romantic scenes that Nina had dreamed of, but it was neither the time nor the place to cherish her disappointment. She had to act.

Nina hailed a taxi. She bribed the driver and with his help, dragged Samsonov into the car.

“Railway station,” she said.

The suburban train was almost empty. As soon as he got seated, Samsonov dropped into sleep immediately again, with his head resting on Nina’s shoulder.

He was wearing a fisherman’s jacket and hat which Nina bought from some round-the-clock shop at the station. Of the same origin was a sleeping bag which Nina was holding, bundled up, on her knees. Samsonov and she looked like a couple of outdoor enthusiasts who were going to spend a nice day on some river, away from civilization. It was a bit odd though that they were going on their outing late on a Sunday night.

A middle-aged woman who was sitting across the aisle from them nodded at Samsonov disapprovingly: “Drunk?”

“No, just tired,” said Nina. “Works a lot.”

The woman was in a talkative mood.

“He’s kind of older than you, isn’t he?”

“He is,” admitted Nina. “But it’s all right, we are good.”

Not inclined to keep up the conversation, Nina leaned her head on Samsonov’s and closed her eyes.

“Yeah… The main thing is for the man not to drink,” the woman summarized with conviction.

At their destination train stop, they got lucky – in spite of the late hour, they managed to catch a car that took them directly to the dacha settlement.

Samsonov was still dozing in the car and woke up only when they arrived.

“Where are we, Nina?”

“It’s my parents’ dacha. Nobody’s going to find us here.”

Samsonov got out of the car and stretched his legs. It was a still, starry night. In the moonlight, the dacha looked picturesque and mysterious.

“A good house,” Samsonov said. “My parents used to have one just like this.”

With some difficulty, they opened the rusty lock and went in. Within, it was damp and smelled of mold.

“Nobody has lived here years since mama died years ago,” explained Nina.

The house had long been uninhabited, but it was fit for habitation. There was no electricity, but Nina found some candles. In the corner was a stove which her father had once built with great care, and there was even a pile of dry logs left over from old times.

They lit the candles and built a fire in the stove. The room became warm and cozy. Merry flickers of light danced on the walls and on their faces.

Samsonov went out to the water pump and came back with a pail of water. Nina found a copper kettle which her mother had once bought for their dacha. From her bag, some tea, sugar, and sandwiches appeared.

When they had made the tea and laid out their provisions on a piece of paper, they both felt suddenly that they were starving. Laughing, they devoured the sandwiches and gulped down the tea from large metal mugs which were almost too hot to hold between their palms. They barely talked, making only some joyful noises. They felt good.

Finally, they were full and warm. It was time to bed down. There was only one bed in the house, and Nina spread the sleeping bag on it.

“There are some bed clothes up in the attic, but they are surely all damp and moldy, so we’ll have to make do with this,” she said.

She sat down on the bed.

Samsonov who was smoking by the window killed his cigarette. Silently, he rose, crossed the room and sat down beside Nina.

He hung his head, this time not because of drowsiness. He was going to declare his feelings to Nina, but he clearly did not know how to start.

“Nina, I want to tell you that you… I mean, I’ve long been…”

Nina remembered vividly Dima, her unhappy, young ex-husband. “Why on earth are they all so…”, thought Nina.

“Kiss me, Pavel Mikhailovich,” she said.

“Nina…” he whispered as he entered her.

She had feared that he – being so huge – would crush her, but it was nothing like that. His weight was only agreeable to her.

She was connected to him – much more so than she had been once, at a corporate party. She anticipated his movements as if they were her own. At the same time, each movement and each touch of his was a wonderful, happy discovery to her – something that she had been waiting for all her life.

Their bodies were only half covered by the sleeping bag. The flickers of light from the stove were dancing on his shoulders and face. His grey eyes seemed black.

The time halted, and the planet stopped revolving. The whole universe stood still, with only one live spot left in it – a room in a deserted dacha cottage where a woman named Nina was giving herself completely to her man.

She had wished heartily for him to feel good with her but it was she who felt good. A couple of times in her life she had been close to experiencing ecstasy with a man. Now those episodes were infinitely remote and insignificant to her. Anything that she might have had with men had happened to someone else, not her. Her true life started here – she had just been born.

His thrusts almost immediately incited response in her body, her whole being. That response grew and grew and finally burst into a scream.

“Nina, are you all right? Does it hurt?”

“No…”

“You screamed so…”

“I am fine…”

And again he entered her, and again they became a whole, and again she screamed.

“Nina, I love you,” he muttered into her ear during the brief minutes of their rest. “I thought I’d never be able to love anyone…”

“Don’t think,” she whispered stroking his head. “Don’t you think of anything.”

…The fire in the stove went out, but it was hot under their sleeping bag almost until dawn when the chilly dampness crept into the cottage from the outside.

Nina did not have a wink of sleep. When her man fell asleep, she nested beside him, with her head on his powerful shoulder, and listened to his even breathing while watching through the window the black night giving way imperceptibly to an ashy morning.

She did not have a single thought in her mind. All her life she had been proud of her brain, but now it seemed as if she had totally lost the ability to think. Indeed, what did she have to think about if the most important thing had already happened to her?

The sun was rising. A ray of sunlight penetrated the room – first highlighted the far corner, then started approaching imperceptibly their nuptial bed. After a while, it threatened already to fall on the face of her love.

Nina got up and closed the shutters.

The squeak of the wood woke the man.

“What? … What’s the time?”

“It’s early yet. Go to sleep,” Nina quieted him and tucked the sleeping bag that had slipped down from his broad back.

The man turned over onto his other side and plunged into a deep sleep again.

Nina slipped out of the room shutting the door carefully after her. She had to make some breakfast and tidy up the clothes of her man which had got rumpled and soiled during their escape the previous day.

She went out of the cottage and sat on the porch. With a smile on her face she set about doing something that she had long wanted to do. The night before, as she was buying stuff for the journey at the railway station, she picked up a can of shoe polish and a brush. The polish was not the best kind but at least it did not stink like her beloved’s gutalin. It was all over with gutalin – from now on, she was going to take care of her man’s shoes herself.

“Nina, is that you?”

From over the fence, the neighbor was watching her polish a pair of men’s shoes.

“Is Yevgeniy here, too?”

“No, papa is not here,” replied Nina.

The neighbor was intrigued.

“Who’s that with you then?”

Nina smiled, “It’s my husband.”

The neighbor sighed.

“Congratulations. Look at you, Ninka – grown up already. When did you all grow up?”

Nina was sitting in the shuttered room looking alternately at the watch and the sleeping man.

At last, it was ten o’clock. That was it. According to the rules of the contest, all the bids that had been submitted to the committee by that hour were officially accepted. Along with the others, the package of documents that had arrived from Gradbank was now being registered and sealed. Nobody, not even the bank’s general director, could undo that.

The hunt for Samsonov was over – he won.

Nina touched him by the shoulder. “Darling…”

He opened his eyes, stretched sweetly and smiled, “Nina…”

He reached out his arms for her, “Come to me.”

Then his eyes fell on the watch.

“What time is it? … Damn, it’s ten already!”

Samsonov jumped to his feet.

Nina watched him wash hurriedly at the wash-basin, then pull on his trousers and shirt.

“Come have some breakfast. It’s on the table.”

He stepped up and hugged her.

“Sorry, I have to run. Are you going with me?”

“Ah, no, I’m staying. I have some tidying up to do here.”

“Sorry…” He kissed her. “I’ll call you as soon as I sort things out, I swear.”

“Sure.” She smiled and stroked his unshaven cheek.

She tucked some sandwiches into his pocket and walked him to the road where he could catch a car to the railway stop.

He leaned over her.

“Don’t you think that I… As soon as I’m done with this, I’ll…”

She drew his head down and kissed him.

“Go.”

Samsonov hailed a car.

Crossing her arms under her breast in the manner of a peasant woman, she watched her man leave.

Nina was sitting on the porch of the house in which she had spent almost every summer of her childhood, and where the main event in her life had now taken place.

It was another – probably the last – day of the Indian summer. Nina squinted as she held up her face to the caressing sunlight.

She did not know what lay in store for her, neither she wanted to ponder over it. What kind of relationship were she and Samsonov going to have? Was there going to be any relationship anyway? Maybe that night was destined to be the only one?

She could think about all those important matters some other time. At the moment, she could not be bothered – her whole being was absorbed in love. It was a new love – not the painful feeling that had gnawed her for months, but a calm and triumphant happiness. That happy love filled her to the brim.

Be that as it might, she had done what she had had to – what her nature had demanded of her: she had opened her feelings to her man and had given herself to him. Nobody would ever be able to take that away from her.

Nina was not aware how long she had been sitting like that. In was her neighbor that snatched her from her reverie. He hailed her from over the fence:

“Nina, you’re sleeping or what?”

Nina opened her eyes.

“I say, what’s that they’re talking about on the radio? It looks like there’s a crisis on. A global one, too!” the neighbor said excitedly. “You’re like an economist, so it’s for you to explain what it’s all about.”

Nina approached the fence. The neighbor’s portable radio was giving out news; it was being reported that the major stock exchange indices had plummeted, the business community was seized by panic, and rumors were abroad of a global financial crisis. Nina borrowed the radio set from the neighbor, and listened to it holding it tight to her ear.

While she had been experiencing her love, the world had been hit by formidable events. Everything developed exactly the way Nina had anticipated, but that did not make her happy at all.

The reality reached her in her refuge and thrust her out of her love trance. Her holiday was over; it was time for her to go back to the city and settle her affairs one way or another. Nina had no idea what she was going to do, but she knew one thing for certain: she was not returning to Gradbank. She had known for some time already that she had had enough of big business. She had to leave, and it was all the more obvious now: her working in the bank would be awkward if she and Samsonov were together, and it would be right impossible otherwise. Clearly, that page of her biography had been turned anyway.

She was about to lock up the dacha when a block of domestic news started on the radio. Among other things, a road accident was mentioned – a Volga fell down into the river from a bridge on the North-West highway. The ordinary event had attracted the observer’s attention by some curious details. A local herdsman who had been grazing cattle nearby was reported to have seen four trucks coming in the opposite direction. On the bridge, the trucks regrouped to form a rank which occupied all the lanes, so the driver of the Volga had no choice but to break through the side barrier and fall down. However, a denial soon followed. A road police spokesman said that no trucks had passed the bridge at the time. The accident had obviously been caused by a punctured tire and the driver’s want of skill. Apparently, the man had got killed, although his body had not been found – it had probably been dragged away by the stream.

Chapter 10

Samsonov was sitting with his head clasped in his hands, looking aside from Nina.

The interrogation was being conducted by Sinitsin who had a jacket slipped over his shoulders and one of his arms, bandaged picturesquely, in a sling.

“Is your name Kisel?”

Nina’s heart dropped.

“My name is Shuvalova…”

“You know what I mean: was your birth name Kisel?”

“Yes.”

“Is your father Kisel Yevgeniy Borisovich?”

“Yes.”

“Did your father own a civil engineering company which has been sold to Gradstroiinvest?”

“Yes,” muttered Nina, barely able to move her benumbed lips.

Aside from Samsonov, Sinitsin and Nina, Ariadna Petrovna was present in the director’s office. The woman was sitting aside, taking no part in what was going on.

Nina was exposed. As she had been interviewed for a position in the bank, she had held back some important information about herself. But what did it matter now? She wanted to reach out her hand, touch her man and say, “Darling, I love you. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“Is it true that Yevgeniy Borisovich Kisel felt keenly the problems his company faced and had a stroke as a consequence?”

“… Yes.”

“Did he believe that Gradstroiinvest treated him unfairly?”

“Yes.”

“Did you believe so, too?”

Nina faltered. How could she explain all that had been going on at that time – her father’s impracticality, the severe pressure by Gradstroiinvest, her involvement, the salvation of a major part of the capital, and as a result – her falling out with her father which had never been really repaired?…

“Yes,” she said.

In his good hand, Sinitsin was holding a file. It was impossible to say by his facial expression whether he was satisfied with the way the interrogation was going on.      “What was the purpose of your coming to work in Gradbank?”

Nina felt as if an enormous weight had been laid on her shoulders. She was unable to wriggle and lie – she only wanted all that to be over.

“I had a desire to take revenge.”

At his table, Samsonov sighed heavily, turned away and stared at the wall.

“But that was nonsense, I was just being childish. Afterwards, I forgot all that and simply worked,” Nina hastened to explain, speaking to her man who was not looking at her.

“Alas, that is hard to believe,” Sinitsin said calmly.

Nina was puzzled. What else had the vice director cooked up against her?

Sinitsin opened his file and took out a small object in a plastic folder. He laid it down before Nina.

“Do you recognize it?”

Of course, Nina recognized her memory stick – the one on which she passed, at the last minute, her salvation plan, Plan C, to Samsonov through Sinitsin.

“Yes, it’s mine.”

“And how do you explain this?”

He took out some papers and laid them down before Nina. It was a printout of Plan B.

Nina was dumbfounded. “But where did you…?”

“What was the purpose of your foisting on Gradbank’s management proposals that are bound to cause great damage to the bank in the time of crisis? Is it how you revenged your father’s distress?”

Nina gasped. “But that’s not true! I made an optimal anti-crisis plan which I called Plan C. That’s what was on my memory stick!”

She looked pleadingly at Samsonov, drawing forward to him with all her body. She expected any minute that he would burst out laughing and say that it was all a stupid joke – that of course, she had passed him a good plan which was going to bring huge benefits to the bank.

But Samsonov kept silent and would not turn to her.

“This was printed out from your memory stick. There was nothing else on it. In the situation of emergency that the bank was in at the time, your proposals were adopted without any verification and included in the project which was then submitted to the contest committee. You’ve attained your objective, Miss Kisel – you’ve dealt Gradbank a deadly blow.

Everything went dark before Nina’s eyes. Could it be that, in a hurry, she had copied the wrong plan on the memory stick? No, that was impossible! Or was it? …

Nina was drowning – an awful abyss was swallowing her – and her man who was quite close would not reach out his hand to her.

“No, it’s impossible! You can see it on my computer: I prepared two alternative plans – the worst and the best. Could I, by mistake, … No, I don’t believe it!”

Sinitsin watched her reaction closely.

“The computer that you worked on is in the junkyard already, its hard disk destroyed,” he said. “That’s security protocol.”

Nina was trembling uncontrollably.

Samsonov turned to her at last. His face was terrible.

“You… I trusted you. How could you?”

“But I swear, I never…” muttered Nina.

Samsonov banged his heavy fist on the table and got up, his massive figure towering over the scene.

“Get out of here!”

Nina fell unconscious.

Epilogue

In late March, the weather was wet and windy. Except for Nina, there was not a soul in the cemetery which she visited at this time every year.

The crows which were swaying on bare branches watched indifferently Nina squatting by a simple grave to sweep away the blanket of litter. She had difficulty squatting, hindered by her belly.

“You see, mama, my baby is due soon,” said Nina. “It’s a girl, just as you wished.”

She rose and sat on a low bench.

Her lips quivered. “Papa died, you know.”

Yevgeniy Borisovich passed away suddenly, in the same fateful September. He had a second stroke the possibility of which had been unanimously denied by his expensive doctors. Nina had never seen her father before his death.

Nina sat silently for a while, and then said, “Don’t you worry about me, mama. I’m all right. I’m teaching now, and I like it.”

After leaving the bank, she came to work in the very university that she herself had once graduated from. In his will, her father had left her one half of all his money, so Nina did not have to work now, but teaching was to her liking. The students who were separated from her by a mere ten years seemed children to her, while she felt very adult and wise. She liked her work, but soon there was going to be a break in it.

“I’ll bring you your granddaughter as soon as I can, promise,” she said to the dark marble slab which held a small, framed portrait of a young, cheerful woman – her mother. “And now I’d better go – I got a bit chilled.”

Nina stroked the slab with her hand, then rose and went away with a waddling gait of a pregnant woman.

At the cemetery gate, her miniature Folkswagen was parked. She had finally learned how to drive and got a license.

As she was opening the door of her car, Nina noticed a large automobile parked not far off. It was a VIP affair similar to the one she had once been driven in.

“Nina.”

She turned round. Before her stood Samsonov.

He sank heavily to his knees. “Nina, forgive me, I’m an idiot.”

Nina gazed at the dear face. Her man had a weary look; his massive features were sharpened, and his hair seemed to have receded even more from his forehead.

“Nina, that was all Sinitsin’s doing. It turned out he had long hated me and worked for Atlas. He replaced the plan. We found all your materials on his computer. Thank Ariadna, she sorted it all out, and we were able to make use of some of the stuff from your Plan C, so things are not all that bad now…”

Samsonov was kneeling on a thin crust of ice covering a spring pool. Under his weight, the ice broke and dirty slush came out from under it.

Tears ran down Nina’s cheeks.

“Get up, stupid, you’ll ruin your trousers,” she said.

He got up and took her timidly in his arms.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

Nina took his hand and put it on her belly.

“Meet your daughter.”

It took him some time to grasp what she had said; then he dropped down on his knees again and pressed his head to her belly muttering something.

Nina made him get up.

“Kiss me.”

A woman and a man joined in a kiss under bare, black trees. Aside, the Future was waiting patiently. In the future, they got married and their daughter arrived. Afterwards, they separated and then got together again. Another child was born… A whole life lay ahead, but for now, a man and a woman were standing at the gate of an empty cemetery, unable to break their embrace. Their endless kiss had both sweetness and bitterness to it, and Love was stretching its invisible wings over them in that cloudy sky, that cold spring wind.

2018, Moscow

Please e-mail your comments and proposals to: sharakshane@yandex.ru

Оглавление

Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

Part II

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

Epilogue