There, she had done everything she could to make him invite her to visit. She needed this house and its owner, and if she had to lie to be able to come here, she would lie. Pretend. Act as if she were in love. Once upon a time she had been hurt, so hurt that she thought she would not survive it. But that was over ten years ago, and in her heart there was no need for revenge, in her heart there was nothing for this man. Empty. As if nothing had ever happened. But if for her work she had to cause him pain, she would do it without a seconds thought. It could not possibly hurt any more than the pain she had experienced. And even that, as she learned from bitter experience, can be survived. And so Solovyov would survive if he had to suffer a few unpleasant minutes when his eyes opened to the real feelings and motives of the woman to whom he was attracted.
Solovyov took her by the hand and pulled her toward him. Nastya jumped down from the low window sill and sat on his lap. He gave her a long, tender and very expert kiss, every now and then pulling away from her lips and moving his lips along her long neck. One hand was behind her back, the other caressed her breast under the loose sweater. Nastya paid attention to her reactions. She didnt feel a thing. God, twelve years ago she would have died from caresses and kisses like this. But now nothing. It was not unpleasant, she did not want to tear away in a grimace of disgust, as she would have if it had been a stranger. But there was no delight as in days of old, either.
She pulled away carefully from his arms and went back to the window sill.
I didnt hear an answer, Solovyov. I still dont know whether you want me to come back.
You dont want to.
He looked at her closely and tenderly with his incredibly warm eyes.
Dont kid yourself, Nastya. You dont need me. Im a cripple and youre a young healthy woman with normal needs that I cant satisfy. You dont feel a thing when I embrace you. So what is this all about?
I told you that you havent grown up. Sex is still the most important thing for you. You were a stud and you still are. She smiled and patted his hand. And you havent understood. Im going back to my honored husband, and you take some time to think about what I said. Ill come back tomorrow, and well talk. I hope your business associates wont be in the way tomorrow. Thats all, Solovyov, Im off. Dont sec me out, Ill leave quietly, so that I dont have to say good-bye to your sharks of capitalism. Is there only one door out of here to the living room?
No, that door leads to the hallway.
Until tomorrow, dear, she said mockingly, at the door.
He nodded without taking his wary eyes from her.
Nastya slipped quietly into the hallway. The door to the living room was open, and the voices carried clearly. Nastya took a few steps in the other direction and peeked into the kitchen. Andrei was having a peaceful talk there with the long-mustached Zhenya Yakimov. That meant that only the publishers were in the living room.
She got her jacket carefully from the closet, trying not to make any noise, and listened to their conversation.
The Gazelle is what you need for that business, Avtayev the commercial director was saying. We wont be able to manage otherwise.
Thats too complicated, Voronets replied uncertainly. So much effort, and what if its in vain?
Theres nothing to discuss, Esipov cut him off. There it is, and it has to be done. At whatever cost.
Easy to tell whos the boss, thought Nastya, deftly unlocking the front door.
* * *Alexei Chistyakov lay on the couch watching a mystery on TV. On the floor next to the couch was a tray with empty dishes and a cup with dregs of tea. Nastya could tell that her husband had been in front of the TV for a long time, since lunch.
Whats the matter, Lyoshka? she asked in concern Are you sick?
Uh-uh. He shook his head of red hair. Im on strike.
Why?
Those bastards at the college arent paying for my course. They said they would pay after exams. In other words, they want to see how I taught the course and what the students learned.
When are the exams?
May.
Great! Nastya whistled. Well be short again? That puts a damper on our anniversary trip.
Nice euphemism for coffin lid, her husband commented.
They had gotten married last year on May 13. On the same day Nastyas half-brother, her fathers son by a second marriage, got married too. Her brother was very happy, getting ready for a double wedding, and he made joking plans for joint celebrations of their first and all subsequent anniversaries. Alexander Kamensky insisted that all four of them go to Paris for the first anniversary, to Vienna for the second, and Rome for the third. Nastya paid no attention, knowing that she wouldnt go anywhere on her brothers money, and that they couldnt afford such a trip on their own. Lyoshka could make a good salary if he accepted offers from universities abroad and signed contracts to work there. But he refused to move without Nastya, and Nastya refused to leave her job. And so they had to deal with holes in their budget almost every day.
Are you going to have dinner? Alexei asked, getting out from under the plaid blanket and feeling around with his feet for the slippers that always manage to escape.
No thanks.
Where did you get fed? Didnt you come straight from work?
She no longer worried about whether she should lie or not when it came to her husband. The answer was always: dont lie. First of all, Lyoshka had known her since she was fifteen, he knew her through and through, and he grew suspicious the moment she did anything out of character. Second, he was a truly gifted mathematician, a major scientist, and had a mind that was precise and unemotional, which made it very easy for him to see falsehood. And third, he knew what had happened between Nastya and Solovyov many years ago. He courageously hung on through it, but the suffering and fear he went through for a year and a half when it looked that he would lose the only woman he loved had left an ineradicable mark on his heart. With the slightest cause for suspicion, he became insanely jealous, everything inside him boiling and aching with the fear of losing the unpredictable, uncontrollable, and willful Anastasia, the only woman he needed in his life. Therefore Nastya knew that she could not give Lyoshka any cause for jealousy, because he would go crazy.
I was at someones house.
During working hours? He looked at her in surprise. Nastya didnt do that. She never took care of personal things during work.
It was for work. Lyoshka, I was at Solovyovs.
She didnt need to ask if her husband remembered Vladimir Solovyov. She knew perfectly well that he did.
Really?
He tried to appear calm, and Nastya appreciated the effort.
He lives where we are searching for criminals. I needed an excuse to be there. Moreover, I need an excuse to be there frequently until we clean up our case, and Solovyov is perfect for that. We had an affair which ended badly, but now he is a widower and it is quite natural for me to try to pick up where we left off. You do understand?
Yes, of course. It is completely natural. Shall I prepare for a divorce?
Lyoshka, shame on you!
She sat down next to him on the couch, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her cheek on his shoulder.
Its work, Lyoshka. And nothing more. After so many years, Solovyov has no effect on me. Im a big girl now. And Im asking you please, dont worry about this. I could have hidden it from you, you know. You would have never learned. But I dont see why I shouldnt tell you. Solovyov means nothing to me now. Not a thing. The owner of a house where I must be regularly.
Yes, of course. It is completely natural. Shall I prepare for a divorce?
Lyoshka, shame on you!
She sat down next to him on the couch, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her cheek on his shoulder.
Its work, Lyoshka. And nothing more. After so many years, Solovyov has no effect on me. Im a big girl now. And Im asking you please, dont worry about this. I could have hidden it from you, you know. You would have never learned. But I dont see why I shouldnt tell you. Solovyov means nothing to me now. Not a thing. The owner of a house where I must be regularly.
Alexei said nothing, gently caressing his wifes head.
What about him? Does he know that your visits are just work?
He went to the heart of it. Nastya snuggled closer. Try fooling someone like him. Of course, if Chistyakov hadnt been so smart, she would not have married him.
No, sweetheart, he doesnt know.
So, he sees you as a former lover?
Lyoshka!
Nastya, weve known each other for twenty years, so lets not kid each other and pick our words when were discussing important things. How did you explain your re-appearance to Solovyov?
Just as you think. I said that I wanted to make sure that I was over him. It was his birthday. I used that as an excuse to visit.
And, are you sure?
I am. Lyoshka, please, stop tormenting yourself. I knew that Solovyov was nothing to me a few years ago. I certainly didnt need to go to his house for that. But I needed an excuse.
Arent you worried that now that he isnt married, he might explode with passion for you?
No, Im not. If he couldnt love me then, he cant love me now. The world knows that the existence or absence of spouses has nothing to do with it. And then, I havent told you this yet. Hes an invalid. A cripple. Hes in a wheelchair.
An accident?
I dont know yet. He didnt want to talk about it, and I didnt push it. But I can find out without him, thats no problem. Lyoshka, lets forget it, what do you say? Dont make a mountain out of a molehill. You asked me why I didnt want dinner, and I told you that I had been at Solovyovs. Fine, lets move on. I could have told you I had been visiting somebody else, and you would have slept well. Dont think about Solovyov. I love you, I married you, and I plan to go on living with you until were little old people. Lets have some tea.
She got up and pulled her husband by the arm. Looking at his disheveled hair, she involuntarily compared him with Solovyov. Yes, Volodya was handsomer. And Lyoshkas eyes were never as warm and enchanting. His hazel eyes could be serious, sarcastic, mocking, openly ridiculing, or tenderly concerned. But Chistyakov didnt have that male sexuality in his gaze that made your knees turn to jelly and your head spin. Maybe thats why Nastya loved him, her red-haired mathematical genius. She couldnt stand studs men who were so sure that their sex appeal conquered all women, bending them to their will. Men who were certain that women were destined to have orgasms and bear children and that she had to obey the man who helped her or allowed her to fulfill her destiny.
* * *The guests had left, but Solovyov was still in his study. He had sent away Andrei, saying that he would put himself to bed. Anastasias visit had disconcerted him. He was ashamed of what had happened between them, and it was always unpleasant remembering it. And since it was so unpleasant, he didnt think about it.
He had never been a fighter, able to insist on what he thought was right and necessary. He always took the easy way, accepting circumstances rather than trying to change them to suit his desires and needs. Let things happen. Let things be. When he realized that the daughter of his advisor was madly in love with him, it was easier to let it happen, to have an unnecessary and burdensome affair with her, rather than take the trouble to gently move their relationship to friendship without hurting or wounding the young girl. He went with the flow, rather than against it.
Solovyov saw that she was suffering and he knew that he was the cause of her pain, first by letting her believe that he returned her love and then by not hiding the truth. But the consciousness of his guilt was a weight he preferred not to feel. Or remember. He managed to forget quite well.
Why was she here? To mock him? To enjoy the sight of his helplessness? But she no longer loved him, that was perfectly clear. However who knew. Just because she didnt get turned on from a single caress, didnt mean anything. She was older. How old did she say? Almost thirty-six. She had grown cold and rational. Even a bit cynical, he thought. And very lovely. She was better-looking now than she had been twelve years ago. She was still colorless and not very striking, using no make-up, but Solovyov appreciated the purity of lines of her face and figure. Long slender legs, a thin waist, high breasts, luxuriant hair, long and thick, graceful hands, strong cheekbones, straight nose. Women like that are for connoisseurs. You dont notice them, you could walk past them ten times and never see them, and only a sophisticated and discerning eye could appreciate their charms.
She was coming tomorrow. Did that make him happy or would he prefer that she not come again? Solovyov tried to understand his own feelings, but as usual, he did not have the persistence. It was so nice just going with the flow, let Anastasia come, let her love him again. It wouldnt be a burden this time, for his status as an invalid freed Solovyov of any obligations toward women. He was lonely, and a woman in love with him would not be amiss. Especially since he lived so far away that she couldnt come visit every day. Plus she was married. Well then, he thought, it was all for the best.
Chapter 3
Nastya patiently waited for a moment when Solovyov would be out. It was two days after her last visit, and as soon as she saw Andrei take the wheelchair outside and go off on a walk with Vladimir, she rang the doorbell of cottage number 12. Childrens voices responded instantly, the door was flung open, and a girl of about eight, covered with paints, appeared at the door.
Here to see us? the child demanded.
Yes, if youll let me in, Nastya replied with a smile.
Zhenya Yakimov appeared behind the young artist.
Is that you? he said in amazement. To see me? Actually, to see Solovyov, but hes not in and I thought you might give me shelter until he returns.
Theyre probably out for a walk, the long-mustached neighbor volunteered.
Nastya realized that he was about to suggest she go find them, even give her directions, since such walks couldnt be far-ranging.
Probably, she agreed. But my foot is killing me. I wore new shoes, and they hurt. May I come in?
Of course, of course, Zhenya said. Come on in.
This cottage was laid out in a completely different way. The kitchen was much larger and the rest of the first floor was taken up by a huge living room, where all three offspring were located twelve-year-old Mitya, who didnt resemble Zhenya in the least; the young art lover Lera; and a tiny creature with long reddish curls who upon closer examination turned out to be a boy named Fedya. Mitya was engrossed in a fascinating game with a computer opponent, while Lera, lying on the floor was trying to depict a Crocosaurus under the sensitive supervision of Fedya, serious beyond his years. This creature was the fruit of the boys boundless imagination, and he was explaining to his sister how it looked, using mimicry, gestures, and a wealth of noises from bellowing to squeaking. The computer was making a lot of noise, too, and Mitya played with a running commentary and exclamations. The living room was a bedlam. Zhenya introduced the children to Nastya and led her away to the kitchen, which thanks to its size and European design could easily function as a dining room.