A voice interrupts her midbite. “I know it’s a cliché, what with being here in Russia, but you have to try the caviar.”
The voice has a decidedly haughty American prep school accent to it. Maggie turns. The handsome man offers her a boyish aw-shucks grin. His tuxedo looks sculpted on, graceful, draping exactly where it should be and fitted where it shouldn’t. The midnight-black fabric seems to absorb light more than reflect it. No need for a flashy tie or patterned cummerbund when you’re seemingly fitted by a deity, just the shine of onyx studs against the pure white of his starched shirt.
He looks soft, pampered, privileged.
As the man and his polished shoes glide toward her, Maggie notices a moistness in his blue eyes, perhaps from drink.
“I’m Charles Lockwood,” he says with a crooked grin, sticking out the unblemished, manicured hand.
She hesitates, not sure whether she should give her name. He picks up on it.
“And you’re Doctor Maggie McCabe,” he says for her.
His stubble is curated and on point. His black hair is long and wavy, the kind of unruly and ungroomed that often requires too much product. It all works in its own way, she presumes. Charles Lockwood cuts a striking figure, which is clearly the intended effect.
“Have we met?”
“No, but I knew your husband a bit. I’m terribly sorry.”
“How did you—?”
“I dabble” — Lockwood lifts a manicured hand and shakes his fingers — “in cardiothoracic surgery too.”
“No one ‘dabbles’” — she imitates his finger gestures — “in cardiothoracic surgery.”
“Fair enough. I don’t say this with false modesty, but next to your husband? Yes, I dabble. Marc seemed a good man, maybe even a great man, I don’t know. But he was the greatest surgeon I’d ever seen.”
Maggie feels her throat start to close. She pushes on. “So what brings you to Russia, Doctor Lockwood?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Yeah, but I asked first.”
“Probably the same reason you’re here,” he says.
“Hey, Charles, there you are!”
Two giggling women, both young and blonde and straight out of an influencer’s social media page, call out to him in Russian and approach on either side. One takes one arm. One takes the other. Both look at him adoringly. Charles replies to them in Russian. Both women pout, let their grips slip, and sulk away.
Charles turns back to Maggie and gives her a what-are-you-gonna-do shrug of the shoulders, palms up.
“Yeah, I don’t think we’re here for the same thing,” Maggie says.
He chuckles. “Sorry about that,” he says.
“Don’t let me keep you from your friends.”
“They’ll be around later.”
“I bet. You speak Russian?”
“I dabble.”
“Dabbling seems to be your modus operandi.”
Charles Lockwood gives her what he is sure must be the most winning smile. “I spend a lot of time here. I enjoy the lifestyle.”
“That lifestyle being?”
“A tad hedonistic. Nothing wrong with fun, Doctor McCabe, is there?”
She tries not to frown. “None at all.”
“Perhaps you and I can get together during your visit.”
“Yeah, no, I don’t think so.”
“Come now, Doctor McCabe, there is always time for a little fun along with our fundraising. Where are you staying?”
She ignores his question. “What’s that about fundraising?”
His expression says he knows that she’s dodging. “That’s not why you’re here?”
“No, are you?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“For?”
“A medical startup specializing in cutting-edge longevity treatments.”
Again with the cutting edge, Maggie thinks.
Lockwood peers over her head. “Have you met our host?”
“Yes.”
Charles Lockwood makes a face to indicate he’s impressed. “Have you seen Mr. Ragoravich at the party?”
“It’s a ball, not a party.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.” Maggie’s eyes scan the ballroom. “No, not yet.”
“I’m hoping to meet Oleg Ragoravich tonight.” Charles Lockwood turns his attention back to her. “Your turn.”
“Turn?”
“Why are you here, Doctor McCabe?”
“Maggie.”
“Why are you here, Maggie?”
“I can’t really talk about it,” she says.
“Why not?”
She shuts him down with a face.
“Oh, my bad. I won’t push.” He throws up his hands in mock surrender. Again, Charles Lockwood probably thinks it’s a charming move on his part, and maybe for others, it is. Maggie hates this kind of faux charisma, the playboy blend of privilege and drink and good genes and people around you telling you that you are God’s gift.
Then Lockwood says, “Is Trace Packer here too?”
Maggie doesn’t bother hiding her surprise. “You know Trace?”
“Let’s just say we partied a few times together in our day.”
“I bet.”
“Trace knows how to party.” He looks around. “I figured you’re both here to fundraise.”
“Our charity closed down.”
“I’m aware,” Charles Lockwood says.
“You seem aware of a lot of things.”
“I like to be in the know.”
“Do you know where Trace is?”
“No, why would I?” When Maggie doesn’t reply, he asks, “So are you here to, what, thank your old benefactor?”
“I told you I can’t talk about it,” Maggie says. Then, realizing what he said: “What benefactor?”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
Charles Lockwood moves a little closer. “Aren’t you one of the founders of WorldCures Alliance?”
“Yes.”
“And who was your biggest donor?”
“The Kasselton Foundation.”
“Operated by?”
“I don’t know. I mean, the financial stuff was more Trace’s area of expertise. I met a few board members—”
“Oleg Ragoravich,” Charles Lockwood says.
She almost takes a step back.
“You really didn’t know?” Charles seems amused now. “The Kasselton Foundation is funded by none other than our host.”
Maggie just stands there and tries not to look surprised. She isn’t sure what to say and doesn’t want to make the mistake of saying more. She doesn’t know Charles Lockwood. She doesn’t get what’s going on or why he’s here or if she should believe him. In her peripheral vision, she spots Nadia making her way toward them, wearing a shimmery silver gown. The crowd parts Red Sea — like as she strides with runway grace toward them. All heads turn and follow.
Charles Lockwood leans closer to Maggie and whispers, “Take care of yourself, Maggie. Stay alert.”
Then he slips away.
Maggie debates going after him, but Nadia arrives before she can make a move. Maybe that’s for the best. What else is there to know? Charles Lockwood would have no reason to lie about Ragoravich. Or would he? And if he wasn’t lying, well, what did that mean? Was Oleg Ragoravich the man who gave the original seed money for WorldCures Alliance? And if he is a former supporter of WorldCures, does it matter?
Yes, it does.
Because if he is, it means Maggie’s being here — her being chosen as their personal surgeon — is not a coincidence.
But maybe that makes sense. Maybe Ragoravich and Brovski already know and vetted her work with WorldCures. She would have been a known entity to them. Maybe that’s why she was hired — a surgeon they had some knowledge about, some connection to and familiarity with, would be a comfort, no?
Nadia arrives. “Ivan says you have questions about me.”