The door was flung open instantly. Andrei was on the doorstep wearing only his shorts. Solovyov noticed that his assistant was barefoot.
Excuse me for disturbing you, he said, embarrassed. I thought you were asleep and I tried not to make any noise.
Im not asleep, Solovyov said dryly. What happened? Why are you wandering around the house?
You know, I was falling asleep when I remembered that I hadnt put the butter in the fridge. Was I really making so much noise?
No, but my hearing is very good, Solovyov grumbled. Put away the butter and go to bed.
He put out the light and curled up under the covers. He was ashamed of himself. Like a baby, honestly, afraid of the slightest sound. He had to stop. He decided once and for all that there was nothing to be afraid of, there was nothing of value in the house and robbers wouldnt come here. It was ridiculous being such a coward. He had to get hold of himself.
* * *Contrary to his expectation, he woke up in a marvelous mood. The sun was shining and it was his birthday. He didnt care that he was an invalid. It was holiday and he would celebrate.
Solovyov decided not to get up until the masseur came, since he would have to get undressed and get back into bed anyway. The masseur came at ten on the dot, as promised, and forty minutes later Solovyov felt his skin tingling and his weakened back muscles feeling stronger. After the massage, he had a bath and shampoo, shaved, put on a gray silk shirt with a beautiful dark gray pullover, and went to breakfast.
The first thing he saw was a huge bouquet in the middle of the table. Andrei was smiling, and Solovyov saw that he was holding a large gift.
Happy birthday, Mr. Solovyov! his assistant said, handing him the present. I wish you all the best and hope that you spend the day so that youll enjoy looking back on it the whole year.
Solovyovs spirits soared, he felt so easy and happy, the night fears forgotten and gone, it seemed, forever. He was glad that Andrei shared his mood and was ready to celebrate.
He untied the package and almost gasped in amazement. It was lovely landscape, stylized in the traditional manner of Japanese prints. Solovyov had never considered himself an art connoisseur and always evaluated art on the simple test of whether or not he liked it. He liked this painting at first sight. He simply fell in love with it.
Thank you, Andrei, he said warmly. Thank you so much. Its a wonderful gift and a wonderful painting. Where do you think it would look best? Id like to hang it in the study, since I spend most of my time in there, and it will give me pleasure to look at it.
All right, Andrei said. Well hang the painting in your study after breakfast. But now, a surprise.
Another one?
Since its already eleven thirty, instead of a light breakfast, well have a real European lunch.
And with those words the assistant took out a huge pizza from the oven and put it on the table. Just think, it was his favorite, Quatro staggione, the four seasons. How did he know?
First a Caesar salad with tomatoes and cheese, then the pizza, then coffee with strudel. And without rushing, with feeling. Well stretch out the pleasure for at least an hour.
Great, said Solovyov, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.
What an amusing young man! How subtly he sensed his mood and his tastes. Solovyov really enjoyed Italian cuisine, and Andrei must have been told that by the Sherkhan people. A long time ago, when they were just beginning to work together, they took a trip around Italy. Solovyov was with his wife, Svetlana, Kirill Esipov had his girl friend, and Grisha Avtayev, his son. What a wonderful time they had! It was very touching that they had gone to the trouble of telling the new assistant so much about him. What good people they were. They appreciated quality work.
The salad was authentic, and that was another pleasant surprise.
Did you make the salad yourself? he asked, helping himself to a second portion.
Of course. Out of a cookbook. Is something wrong?
No, no, its perfect. Marvelous. What about the pizza?
The pizza is from the restaurant. Im not good with the dough. Mr. Solovyov, Esipov called this morning to find out what time was convenient for you. I took the liberty of telling him any time after five. But if that doesnt suit you, Ill call them back.
Its fine. Let them come after five. Did anyone else call?
No one.
For a moment, Solovyov was sad. There used to be a time when his phone started ringing early in the morning on his birthday. People called to wish him the best and to find out what time the meal was, and asking if they could bring a friend. And now
He chased away the sad thoughts. Everythings fine, Solovyov, dont sulk, people dont like sorrow and you cant blame them for that. Why dont you think back how many times you called an old friend last year with birthday greetings? Youre the one who moved and changed phone numbers, and even though Igor was still at the old apartment, you couldnt expect him to take the trouble to pass on your new number to callers. He lived in a permanent party state, and whoever was closest picked up the phone. All they say is that you dont live there anymore.
Lets finish breakfast and go for a walk, he ordered. The weather is fine. Its a shame to stay indoors on a day like this.
* * *But his mood changed abruptly during the walk. And he couldnt say why. No one insulted him or upset him, but he felt depressed. It had been a mistake to want a celebration. A lonely invalid should lead a quiet hermits life instead of trying to be like people who are healthy and independent.
Andrei was pushing his wheelchair along the paved path that circled Daydream Estates. The spring air was warm and delicious, and Solovyov took deep breaths with pleasure, but nevertheless he wanted to go back home, to his translations. It was only in his work that he felt independent and self-reliant and even more importantly, irreplaceable.
Solovyov was about to ask Andrei to turn back, but he changed his mind. Why let the boy know that his mood had soured. He had tried so hard to make this a special day, had bought him a present and cooked a great lunch. He would be saddened to see that his efforts had been in vain. Whats the matter with me? thought Solovyov. What do I care if his feelings are hurt? Hes not a friend or relative, he works for me. And his feelings shouldnt effect me in the least.
Its probably time to go back, he said calmly, so as not to reveal his sudden irritation. I have work to do today.
Of course, Mr. Solovyov. As you wish, Andrei replied, turning the wheelchair around.
At home Solovyov went straight to work and his depression and irritation quickly disappeared. He plunged into ideographs, reading them easily and turning them into polished, refined phrases in Russian, at the same time respecting the mastery with which the author developed the plot. He was distracted from his work by the sound of a car stopping outside, and he looked up at the clock in surprise. Was it already five oclock and he had not noticed the time fly by? It was only a little after three. The doorbell rang, he heard Andreis hurried steps and the click of the lock. Solovyov heard a womans voice that did not seem familiar. It must be somebody lost and looking for a neighbors house, thought Solovyov. However, a minute later the assistant was in his study.
Mr. Solovyov, you have a guest.
Solovyov rolled out to the living room in his wheelchair. In the middle of the room stood a blonde woman in narrow trousers that hugged her slender hips and a loose white sweater. At first he did not recognize her. They had not seen each other in many years, and Solovyov had not thought of her in almost as long. He had simply erased her from his memory as something superfluous and unnecessary.
Solovyov rolled out to the living room in his wheelchair. In the middle of the room stood a blonde woman in narrow trousers that hugged her slender hips and a loose white sweater. At first he did not recognize her. They had not seen each other in many years, and Solovyov had not thought of her in almost as long. He had simply erased her from his memory as something superfluous and unnecessary.
Hello, Solovyov, she said softly. Happy birthday.
His mouth went dry. Now he remembered her and recognized her.
You?
Me, as you can see.
Chapter 2
They drank coffee in the cozy living room, having sent Andrei upstairs to his room. Nastya observed the man she had not seen in more than ten years with curiosity. He had not changed much, except for the wheelchair. The handsome manly face was the same, and so were the gentle eyes that could look at you with such warmth and penetration. The light chestnut hair was still thick and there were very few gray hairs.
What is the meaning of your visit?
A feminine whim, she replied evasively.
Thats something new, Solovyov smiled tightly. I dont remember you being whimsical.
Ive changed.
A lot?
Very much. You cant even imagine, Volodya, how much Ive changed.
But I was still happy to see you.
Thanks. Im glad to hear it.
But why did you really come? Youve never wished me a happy birthday since we broke up.
Why did I come? I dont know. I wanted to see you, I guess, to see what youre like after all these years. I loved you, although you may not want to remember that.
What Im like now? Solovyov asked angrily. Im a widower and a helpless invalid. Satisfied?
Im very sorry, she said softly, looking into his eyes. Do you want to talk about it?
No. Its useless to talk about it, talking changes nothing. Well, then, dont talk about it.
His eyes grew warmer and for an instant Nastya fell under the spell of his incredible gray eyes.
You havent changed a bit, he said, almost cheerfully. Same sneak. Catch me up and turn things around to your benefit. What are you doing? Raking in the bucks in some business?
Of course. All us lawyers are working in business now.
Especially with your knowledge of foreign languages. How many do you speak? Three, I seem to recall.
Five, Nastya corrected him with a smile. English, French, Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese. But actually, youre right. The romance languages are so close you could consider them as one.
With your brains and languages, youre really too good for the police. Remember how worried you were after graduation that you wouldnt get a job with the police, that they would send you off to be a lawyer? You wanted to get into a uniform so badly then, I remember. Now you must laugh about it, right? Lawyers with experience are worth their weight in gold today, especially in domestic law and real estate. The richest people in Russia.
Nastya had gotten used to this sort of conversation over the years. At first she would get very angry, but then she got used to the fact that a lot of people considered her love of police work unnatural somehow.
And are you making a lot at your firm?
Not a lot. You know my passion for order. I wouldnt work in a company that made a lot of money illegally. But working legally and paying taxes, you cant make a lot of money nowadays.
Well, youve made enough to buy a car, he noted.
Thats my husbands car.
So youre married, too?
He couldnt conceal his surprise, and it took all she had to keep from laughing. Solovyov was always conceited. Did he really think that she would carry a torch for him to her dying day?
And whos the lucky man? Some New Russian businessman, Ill bet.
No. A Ph.D., a professor, prize winning academician, and so on. The whole thing. Plus a car.
A good deal, he snorted. Arent you worried about being a young widow, with such an elderly husband?
Not at all.
She had followed his thinking. He was probably imagining that since her husband was so honored and so old, she, Nastya Kamenskaya, had decided to have an affair and wanted her old flame for the job. It was better than looking for a new lover. The old ones are tested, known, dependable. And so she had looked him up, having heard that he was widowed. But she hadnt known that he was an invalid. And now he would definitely say something about it.
You must be disappointed to find me like this.
Right. There it was. He hadnt changed at all in twelve years. She could still read his mind.
I still dont know what youre like, she replied softly. Weve only been chatting for a half hour. Shall I make some more coffee?
Dont bother. Andrei will do it.
Solovyov pushed a button on a small square box and footsteps came right away: the assistant was coming down from the second floor.
Youve become an aristocrat, she joked. You call on the help even to make coffee.
He did not respond but stared at her. Once again she felt uncomfortable, as she had in those days, twelve years ago, when his eyes melted her. Could she really still have feelings for him? No, impossible. Couldnt be. He had too much power over her then, when she was a twenty-three-year-old law school graduate. He could twist her into ropes then and use her as a floor mat. She put up with everything and forgave him everything because she was head over heels in love with him. Now she was different. She didnt fall in love head over heels and she didnt let anyone use her. Even those who were much stronger.
Are you expecting guests? she asked when Andrei brought coffee with fresh strudel and went back upstairs.
A few people. Solovyov nodded vaguely.
At what time?
After five. Why do you ask?
If you dont want your friends to see me here, tell me. Ill leave early.
Nonsense. Why should I hide you?
I dont know. Who knows what your situation is. Maybe your lady will be coming.
Relax, Im expecting only men.
Well then, that makes me happy. That means my trip wasnt in vain.
She set her cup on the table, stood and came up behind him, putting her arm around his neck and pressing her cheek to his thick, wavy hair.
Solovyov, youre so stupid, Nastya sighed. Why havent you grown up in twelve years?
She felt his muscles tense. Was he trying to hide the fact that her touch was unpleasant to him or was he fighting the desire to embrace her?
Have you grown up?
Thats what Im trying to find out. Thats why I came here today.
Im missing something.
His voice was tense, but his muscles had relaxed somewhat.
I want to see if Ive stopped reacting to you. Youve bothered me all these years, Solovyov. I kept remembering how much I used to love you. And I want to know for certain that its over. Or not. One way or the other. Its better to know the truth, even if I dont like it, than to suffer through guesses and suppositions.
And what do you need this truth for? He bent his head over so that his cheek rested on her hand. How will it help?
It will help me understand whether Ive grown out of that love or whether Im still running around in training pants. Im going to be thirty-six this year. A watershed year. I want to approach it with my life in order.