‘Where’s my bed?’
‘We’re outside.’
‘I think I’ll lie down.’
‘Vladimir Vladimirovich! Please don’t!’ Sheremetev reached for him before Vladimir dropped where he was. ‘Come on, let’s go back.’
Eleyekov heard the shout and looked up to see the nurse spinning the ex-president around and hurrying him away.
Sheremetev managed to march him back to the house, constantly nudging Vladimir forward and deflecting his desire to sleep through the sheer act of moving. He got him upstairs and into bed, still in his clothes. Vladimir lay on his back, staring up, as he always did before falling asleep. Sheremetev drew the curtains. By the time he turned around, Vladimir’s eyes were closed.
Sheremetev took the baby monitor. After a few minutes he looked in and found Vladimir still sound asleep.
He quietly left the suite again. For a moment he stood in the corridor. The sight of the cars had reawakened his incredulity. Surely they couldn’t have both been broken down when he wanted to take Vladimir for an outing the previous week.
He went outside and headed for the wood.
In front of the garage, Eleyekov and his son were still polishing the cars. The two black vehicles gleamed in the autumn sunlight.
Eleyekov spotted Sheremetev on the track and called out to him. His son looked up for a moment and then went back to work.
‘Didn’t I see you before with Vladimir Vladimirovich?’ asked the driver when Sheremetev reached him. ‘What happened? Didn’t you want him to talk to us?’
‘Not at all. We were coming to see you, but Vladimir Vladimirovich got tired, Vadim Sergeyevich. We had to go back. When he gets tired, if you don’t go back in a hurry, he’ll throw himself down just where he is.’
‘Really?’ said Eleyekov. He stepped back from the cars and stood beside Sheremetev, arms folded, as if examining a pair of fine animals. ‘What do you think, Nikolai Ilyich? Magnificent beasts, aren’t they?’
‘So they’re working, are they?’
‘Working? Of course! What do you think? Cars like this? They’re precision machines. They never break down.’
‘Last week you said neither of them was working.’
‘Last week? Are you crazy? I never said that! When?’
‘When I wanted to take Vladimir Vladimirovich to the lake. Last week, I called down and the guard said he phoned you and the cars were being fixed.’
The driver stared at him for a moment. ‘Ah… Well, technically, that was right.’
‘Technically?’
‘Yes, it’s very technical. Everything about these cars is technical. They’re precision machines, Nikolai Ilyich. A lot of computer programming. Very delicate. Very sensitive, right Borya?’
Eleyekov’s son looked around and grunted.
‘So were they broken down or not?’
‘Depends what you mean by broken down,’ said the driver. ‘Could they move? Yes, if you’re talking about simply pressing the accelerator. But with cars like this, that’s only the beginning. Sometimes they need… tuning. Like a piano. If you use them when they’re not tuned… well, yes, in an emergency, if you have to, you can use them, but let’s just say I wouldn’t like to take responsibility for the consequences. Look, the important thing, Nikolai Ilyich, is that these cars are always at the disposal of Vladimir Vladimirovich. Twenty-four seven! The only thing is that if he needs them, it’s best if you can give me some warning.’
‘How much warning?’
‘Not much. A couple of days.’
Sheremetev frowned, trying to understand why he needed to give warning when the cars were constantly at Vladimir’s disposal. ‘But if—’
‘Look, do you still want to take him to the lake?’ said Eleyekov. ‘Yes? When do you want to go?’
‘How about tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?’ Eleyekov pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and consulted it briefly. ‘What about the next day? Tomorrow the cars… they need tuning.’
‘Again?’
‘They need a lot of tuning. Tuning, tuning, tuning. That’s the secret with cars like these. Let’s do the next day? Is the next day alright?’
Sheremetev shrugged. For Vladimir, one day was as good as another.
‘When shall we do it? What time would you like to go?’
‘The morning would be good – instead of his walk. Say ten o’clock.’
Eleyekov checked his notebook again and grimaced. ‘Mmmm… the morning’s not so good. How about the afternoon? Three. No, make it two. Two? Would that be good?’
‘Sometimes Vladimir Vladimirovich has a nap after lunch.’
‘Perfect!’ said Eleyekov cheerfully. ‘He can nap in the car! How long will you spend there? About an hour, do you think?’
‘Maybe a little more.’
‘An hour and a half. Any more is too much for an old man.’ Eleyekov pulled out a pencil and made a note in his notebook. ‘Right! The day after tomorrow. Two o’clock. We leave at two, half an hour there, half an hour back, we’re home by four-thirty. You’re booked in!’
Into the driver’s pocket went the notebook and pencil. Sheremetev watched in bemusement, utterly puzzled by the whole performance. ‘And the cars will be tuned?’ he ventured.
‘Tuned, polished, revved. Nothing’s too good for Vladimir Vladimirovich.’ Eleyekov grinned. ‘It will be good for him to get away for a bit, have a nice outing.’
It would be good for everyone to get away, thought Sheremetev, with the atmosphere as unpleasant as it was in the dacha. He glanced at Eleyekev, who was gazing lovingly at the cars again. The driver, he knew, was friendly with Stepanin, and perhaps knew better than him what was happening with the cook.
‘Vadim Sergeyevich,’ he said, ‘what’s going on with Stepanin? Why is he digging his heels in with Barkovskaya?’
‘Why do you think?’ said Eleyekov, raising an eyebrow.
‘He said it’s a matter of principle.’
Eleyekov laughed.
‘The cook always chooses the supplier. He says it’s the thin edge of the wedge.’
‘It’s the thin edge of the wedge, alright,’ replied Eleyekov, winking.
‘What does that mean?’
Suddenly Sheremetev was conscious of the driver giving him one of those looks that he was accustomed to receiving, a look of pity and amusement that intimated that there was a whole parallel world to the one in which he lived, of which he wasn’t even aware.
‘What, Vadim Sergeyevich?’
‘Look, Nikolai Ilyich… It’s really not my business, so I probably shouldn’t tell you…’
‘What?’ demanded Sheremetev.
‘I shouldn’t say…’
‘Vadim Sergeyevich! Please!’
Eleyekov sighed, as if the other man were really dragging it out of him. ‘Okay. Stepanin had an arrangement with Pinskaya. Alright. Let’s just leave it at that.’
‘An arrangement with Pinskaya? About what?’
‘Let me ask you this, Nikolai Ilyich. How do you think Pinskaya and her husband – a housekeeper and a truck driver – saved enough money to retire to a villa in Cyprus? Huh? Where did they get it from? And how do you think Vitya Stepanin is planning to get the money to open the restaurant he dreams of in Moscow? Nikolai Ilyich, what I’m saying is: there was an arrangement.’
Sheremetev frowned. ‘What was it?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know the details. If I had to guess, I’d say there were two sets of invoices. One real one that she pays, and one for Pinskaya to show to whoever is supplying the funds. One, if you think about it, will be higher than the other. And the difference between the two will go into someone’s pockets. Some to Stepanin, and some to Pinskaya. That’s how things are usually done in Russia. But that’s only a guess, Nikolai Ilyich. It could be something else.’