He has probably just seen Eliza, was the only thought that occurred to Fandorin when he saw the assistant director.
‘Is the rehearsal already over, then?’ he asked.
‘No. But Mr Stern has let everyone go apart from the two leads. Madam Lointaine and your stepson are rehearsing the love scene. I could have stayed, but I preferred to leave. He is far too eager altogether, this Japanese of yours. It was painful for me to watch it.’
This was a painful topic for Erast Petrovich too and his face contorted in a wry grimace.
‘What does that matter to you?’
‘I love Madam Lointaine,’ Nonarikin declared calmly, as if merely affirming a well-known fact. ‘Like many others. Including yourself. I would like to clear the air on this subject.’
‘Well, then, c-come in…’
They sat down in the drawing room. Georges held his back straight and kept hold of the gloves. Is he going to challenge me to a duel again? Fandorin chuckled languidly to himself.
‘I’m listening. Please c-continue.’
‘Tell me, are your intentions concerning Madam Lointaine honourable?’
‘They could not p-possibly be more so.’
Never to see her again and to try to forget her, he added to himself.
‘Then as one honourable man to another, I propose an agreement not to resort to any base, deceitful tricks in the contest for her hand. Let her be united in marriage with the one who is more worthy, who will be hallowed by the light of heaven!’ Following his penchant for lofty expression, the assistant director raised his eyes to the chandelier, from which little Japanese bells dangled, swaying in the draught. Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, they tinkled gently.
‘L-let her. I don’t mind.’
‘Excellent! Give me your hand! But bear in mind that if you break our agreement, I shall kill you.’
Fandorin shrugged. He had listened to similar threats from more dangerous opponents.
‘All right. That’s the first matter dealt with. We won’t come b-back to it again. What is the second matter?’
‘Hippolyte’s murder. The police aren’t doing anything. You and I must find the murderer.’ Georges leaned forward and tugged belligerently on his moustache. ‘In cases of this kind, I am even less adroit than you.’ (Erast Petrovich raised his eyebrows at that.) ‘But even so I can still come in useful. It will be easier if there are two of us. I am willing to be your deputy, the position of an assistant is one to which I am accustomed.’
‘Thank you, but I already have an assistant,’ Fandorin would have replied a few days earlier. But now he answered in a dull voice:
‘Very well. I shall bear that in mind.’
The sufferings occasioned by the rift with the woman he loved were aggravated by another that was equally onerous: the breach in his relationship with Masa, the only person with whom he was close. For thirty-three years they had been inseparable, they had come through a thousand trials together and were accustomed to relying on each other in everything. But in recent days Erast Petrovich had been feeling increasingly irritated with his old comrade.
It had begun on the fifteenth of the month, the day when the play was read. Fandorin had taken Masa with him to the theatre in order to make the strongest possible impression on Stern. When dealing with theatre people, act theatrically. Here is a play drawn from Japanese life for you, and here as an appendix to it is an absolutely genuine Japanese, who can act as your consultant on any questions you might have.
Erast Petrovich had foreseen that the question would arise of where to find someone to play the male lead – someone who could juggle, walk a tightrope and perform various acrobatic tumbles – and he had been quite certain that no such actor existed anywhere in the world, so Stern would be obliged to invite the dramatist himself to play the part. In fact Fandorin had written this role for himself. It had no words, so that his damned stammer would not cause any problems; there was no need for him to show his face (except just once, at the very end); and most importantly of all – there was a love scene with the heroine. Imagining how he would embrace Eliza had lent the author’s inspiration a powerful additional impulse…
But what had happened? The Japanese had been given the part! The director had found Masa’s round face, with its narrow eyes, more interesting than Erast Petrovich’s features. And Masa, the swine, had had the insolence to accept the offer. And when he saw that his master was displeased, he had explained in Japanese that this way it would be much more convenient to observe the theatre company from the inside. That was entirely logical and Fandorin had muttered sourly: ‘Sore va tashikani soo da kedo…’[1] He couldn’t possibly argue about the role in front of witnesses. In his own mind he cursed himself: firstly, for not acquainting Masa with his plans; and secondly, for dragging the Japanese along with him.
Afterwards he had told his servant everything that he thought. He had emphasised in particular the fact that Masa would not be able to play a sinobi because, unlike Fandorin, he had not been trained in the clan. Masa objected that Russians would never notice subtle points like that, they couldn’t even tell the difference between udon noodles and soba. He was right, of course. In any case, the director had already made his decision. Erast Petrovich’s hopes of achieving intimacy with Eliza, at least in the role of her stage lover, had been wrecked.
True, intimate relations had been established anyway, and not onstage, but in real life. Only the conclusion had been a catastrophe, which would probably not have happened if they were acting in the same play. Erast Petrovich already knew enough about the psychology of actors to realise that a leading artiste would never allow herself to break off a relationship with her stage partner – it would have ruined the production.
However, even before the catastrophe there had been more than enough occasions of suffering. When Fandorin was still attending rehearsals, he was constantly tormented by his painful envy of Masa, who had the right to touch Eliza, and in the most intimate fashion too. That damned director, who was obsessed with sensuality, wanted to make the love scene look ‘convincing’. For instance, he introduced an unprecedentedly bold element: driven by his rampaging emotions, Masa’s hero did not simply embrace the geisha, but slipped his hand inside her kimono. Noah Noaevich assured everyone that a natural touch like that would absolutely stun the audience. Meanwhile, it was Erast Petrovich who was stunned. There was not a trace of naturalism in his play, which dealt with spiritual love.
Masa’s behaviour was simply repulsive. He kissed Eliza fervently on the neck, reached eagerly into the top of the actress’s kimono and toyed so freely with her bust that Fandorin got up and walked out. He was especially infuriated by the generous praise that the Japanese showered on Eliza. ‘Her lips are very soft, but her breasts on the contrary are firm and springy! My master has made a good choice,’ he said after the rehearsals, gleaming with sweat and smacking his lips – and all this with an air of the keenest possible friendship and sympathy!
The hypocrite! Oh, Fandorin knew all about his servant’s habits. And that avaricious glint in his eyes, and that voluptuous smacking of his lips. It was the riddle of all riddles how Masa managed to win women’s hearts (and bodies), but in that area he could give his master a clear hundred points’ start.
On the other hand, it was unjust to condemn the Japanese for being unable to resist Eliza’s magic. She was that kind of woman. Everyone lost their head over her.