“I suppose it was an unusual request, Madam Anna.”
“Call me Svetlana.”
“Svetlana then,” Kovalov said, standing awkwardly by the door. “And call me Sergei.”
“Please, sit, Sergei.” Anna pointed to an area with two large comfortable chairs clustered with a coffee table between them, a small couch on the other side of the coffee table. “May I call for tea?”
Kovalov sank into one of the chairs, thinking this was a small corner of comforting luxury aboard this otherwise all-business naval vessel, as was Svetlana Anna.
“I have no watches to stand until we may need to undock under the ice. So I was imagining something stronger.”
Anna smiled at him gently, her teeth small and white. She really had a beautiful smile, Kovalov thought, but again reminded himself that that should come as no surprise, as she was the military’s version of a call girl.
“I have Tsarskaya and Beluga Gold,” she laughed, “for such special occasions. I’ve never hosted anyone over the rank of captain lieutenant, so we should celebrate.”
“I don’t suppose you have scotch, do you?”
Anna smiled. “Would Glenmorangie 1999 do?”
Kovalov raised his eyebrows. “Good God, absolutely.” That scotch would cost months of his salary, he thought. Probably reserved for a visiting admiral — or the president himself.
Anna went to a credenza and pulled out a crystal decanter and two crystal glasses and poured for them both.
Kovalov raised his glass to her and said, “to fallen comrades.”
She closed her eyes solemnly for a moment, then sipped the scotch and put her glass down. Kovalov kept his glass in his hand.
“I thought we could talk,” Kovalov said, haltingly. He felt in the breast pocket of his submarine coveralls. “May I smoke?”
“Of course, Sergei.”
Anna put an ornate crystal ash tray on the table, then sat back, crossed her shapely legs, and looked at him with just a trace of amusement on her face as he fumbled to find his lighter. His hand shook as he held the flame to the cigarette.
“Forgive me. I am nervous.”
“You can talk to Svetlana. For as long as you need, I am yours.” She tried to give him a significant glance, but he’d looked down, concentrating on lighting his cigarette, finally getting it lit. He blew a cloud of smoke to the overhead. She had the impression he was almost trying to hide inside a veil of smoke, but hiding from what?
“I suppose I am here to experience feminine acceptance. Comfort. Encouragement. Affection. Even if those things are manufactured or fake.”
“My emotions and reactions are always genuine, Sergei,” she said, sipping the scotch. “I don’t act. I don’t have to. I am never with a man for whom I harbor the slightest distaste. I am only with gentlemen I like. Privilege of rank, I imagine.” She smiled at him again, trying to make him feel at ease. “Although it has been two years since I actually hosted a client. My usual function is to find a personality match between the man and one of the test wives reporting to me. But you asked for me specifically. I suppose I should ask you why?”
Sergei nodded, taking a gulp of the scotch. “You’re the same age as my second wife. I can’t imagine I would gain much comfort from the company of a nineteen-year-old, who is only a little older than my little girl.” An expression of agony briefly twisted Kovalov’s features.
“Tell me, Sergei. Is there trouble between you and your wife? Did she gain weight? Lose her looks?”
“Oh no,” Kovalov said. “Ivana is a gorgeous, striking woman.” He laughed, but it came out as a bitter kind of noise. “I suppose she has looks that could have served her well if she had wanted to come into your world.”
“Go on.” Anna gave Sergei an encouraging look, leaning slightly forward in her chair.
“The problem is that she has turned cold to me. I believe she stopped seeing me as a man. She lost respect for me. It came from my parenting of my daughter from my first marriage.” He took another sip and coughed as it went down the wrong way. “She thinks I’m easily manipulated by my daughter. I should say she used to think that. Something terrible happened.”
Slowly, Kovalov told the tale of striking Magna and the agonizing fallout from that single desperate act of fatherly discipline. Svetlana Anna hung on his words, encouraging him when it became overwhelming for him, until finally the story was over.
“So now?” Anna asked. “Your Ivana no longer wants to be with you? Sexually?”
Kovalov nodded. “But it’s more than that. She won’t speak to me. She won’t even look me in the eye. Anyone visiting my house would tell you the marriage is long over.”
Anna moved over to the loveseat. “Join me here, Sergei. Allow me to put my arm around you. Would that be acceptable?”
Slowly, Kovalov stood, put out his fifth cigarette and stepped to the small couch and sat beside Svetlana Anna. He could feel the soft warmth of her body. He shut his eyes for a moment, luxuriating in the sensation of feeling the touch of an understanding woman. A woman who had no hatred or contempt for him.
“You know, it wouldn’t be so difficult if I’d lost my feelings for Ivana, but I am still deeply in love with her. I know it’s over. My relationship with her. And with Magna.”
Anna kissed Sergei’s neck softly, just for a moment. “Your daughter will come back to you. Little girls always do. I didn’t speak to my own father for almost five years. Today we are close.” She took Kovalov’s hand, interlacing her fingers between his. “Sergei, we can move to the bed if you would like.”
“Can we stay like this? Just for a while?”
“Of course.” She stroked his shoulder while she held his hand. Kovalov’s eyes slowly shut as he felt her touch.
“This is wonderful,” he said.
The slight sound of a buzzer came from the wall behind Anna. “Do you mind, Sergei? I have to answer. There could be trouble with one of the test wives.”
He opened his eyes and nodded, finding his glass and emptying it.
“Yes, he is,” she said quietly into the phone handset. “I’ll tell him.” She hung up and looked at Kovalov. “It was the command post. Captain Alexeyev requested your presence there.”
Kovalov stood. “I suppose it is all for the best that we didn’t go any further,” he said sadly.
“There’s always another time,” Anna smiled at him. “Write me on the system and I will clear my schedule for you.”
“I will,” he said, hoping the scotch wouldn’t be detectable on his breath. It was too bad smoking was not allowed in the command post.
Far down the passageway, past the retracted ladder to the escape chamber, he passed the door of the captain’s stateroom, then the first officer’s. He opened the aft door to the command post and walked in.
Captain Georgy Alexeyev stood at the number one periscope on the starboard side by the tactical console lineup of the battlecontrol system.
“Hello, Georgy,” Kovalov said from over Alexeyev’s shoulder.
“Ah, Sergei. I thought you might want to see the icepack. We’re departing the marginal ice zone and diving under complete ice coverage. One last look at blue sky, yes?”
Kovalov nodded and took the periscope, the rubber eyepieces of the optics warm from Alexeyev’s use. He put his hands on the horizontal grips. The left one could change the optical magnification. The right could tilt the view up or down. The deep blue waves of the Arctic Ocean rolled slowly toward the view. In the middle distance was an ice landscape of a thousand colors of white, glinting in the stark sunshine of the cloudless evening, at a latitude where the sun never set in the summer months. A double-peaked mountain range presided over the ice, the valley between them deep but its low point at what seemed at least ten meters higher than the periscope view. Kovalov rotated the scope to look behind them, seeing a few icebergs floating free, most small, two of them fairly large. He returned the view to directly ahead of them.