Sheremetev took his glass and drank the vodka, trying to drive out the feeling of disgust that was overwhelming him.
‘By the way, she fired Elena.’
Sheremetev looked up at him. ‘Elena?’
‘She said she was stealing. That’s a discovery! Why Elena? They all steal, all the maids, everyone knows that. Barkovskaya hasn’t done anything to stop the others. No, it’s me she wants to hurt. Get rid of Elena to make me suffer.’
Sheremetev frowned, thinking of the maid who had been Stepanin’s lover. ‘How did she take it?’
Stepanin shrugged. ‘She came and cried in the kitchen for an hour. Then Barkovskaya marched in with a couple of the security guys and they took her away. They gave her ten minutes to get her stuff together and then threw her out. Left her standing outside the gate on the road. I don’t know what she did. She had two suitcases with her.’
‘Did you help?’
‘How could I? I was cooking.’
Sheremetev imagined the crying maid dragging her suitcases two kilometres to the nearest bus. The sense of misery that he had been feeling totally engulfed him.
Stepanin nodded knowingly, as if he shared the feeling.
‘My nephew’s in jail,’ blurted out Sheremetev suddenly.
Stepanin looked up at him with interest. ‘Really? What did he do?’
‘He wrote something about President Lebedev on the internet… and about Vladimir Vladimirovich as well.’
‘What sort of thing?’
‘Not very complimentary.’
‘How old is he? Six?’
‘Twenty.’
‘So not very smart, huh?’
‘They want three hundred thousand dollars to let him go.’
The cook recoiled slightly. ‘Nikolai, I don’t have—’
‘No, I wasn’t thinking… Actually, Vitya, can you help? Even something would be a start…’
Stepanin shook his head. The truth was that he had the required sum in the bank – in fact, a few dollars more – courtesy of the gargantuan appetite of his staff for overpriced provisions that never even arrived at the dacha and the unquestioning largesse of whoever was paying the bills, but he wasn’t going to postpone his dream of having his own restaurant for the sake of some oppositionist who presumably must want to be in jail if he was dumb enough to have written something insulting about the president – and not only one president, but two presidents – and put it on the internet.
Sheremetev sighed. ‘No. Of course not. I wasn’t asking. I’ve got nothing. A couple of hundred thousand rubles, that’s all. And my brother, Oleg, hasn’t got much more.’
Stepanin gazed at Sheremetev pityingly. All these years with the old man, and he had taken no advantage. ‘I suppose the boss has got nothing worth taking, has he?’ said Stepanin, putting his mind to the problem. ‘Just some old clothes. Nice ones, but still, second-hand clothes, how much would you get for them…?’ Stepanin’s voice trailed off. He frowned, and the frown got deeper, and then he broke into a grin.
‘What?’ said Sheremetev.
‘Vitya Stepanin, you’re a genius!’ said the cook, gleefully congratulating himself.
Sheremetev watched him sceptically.
‘There is something you can sell, Kolya, and it doesn’t involve stealing.’
‘What?’
‘The chance to see him!’ Stepanin raised an eyebrow meaningfully. ‘You know, when he was president, they say, for a businessman it cost a million dollars just to have a meeting with him.’
‘A million dollars?’
‘That’s what they say. Now, say someone wants to meet him now. Who would know if he’s well enough or not?’
‘He’s usually well—’
‘But who would know? Only one person.’ Stepanin raised an eyebrow again. ‘You,’ he said, in case Sheremetev hadn’t made the connection. ‘You’re his nurse. They would have to ask you.’
‘I suppose so…’ murmured Sheremetev guardedly.
‘Charge them!’ cried Sheremetev triumphantly. ‘Charge his visitors.’
‘He doesn’t have any visitors.’
‘Then charge the wife! She still comes, right? Charge the wife to see him. If she doesn’t pay, say he’s too unwell.’
‘The wife?’ demanded Sheremetev in horror.
‘She’s not dead, is she?’
‘She hardly comes to see him.’
‘Then charge the children.’
‘The children?’
‘Why not? Kolya, it’s no hardship for them. Quite the opposite. Do you know how much money they must have? Can you imagine? And then they come to the dacha, and the man looking after their husband or their father or whatever – the only man who can stand in their way – asks for nothing. It’s unrussian. I bet their handbags are stuffed with cash they’re expecting to have to give you.’
It was true that once or twice Sheremetev had glimpsed a big wad of cash in a handbag of one of the daughters. But to ask a sick man’s wife or daughter to pay to be allowed to see him… The idea of it made him ill.
Stepanin laughed, seeing the look on Sheremetev’s face.
A grunt came out of Sheremetev’s pocket. He pulled out the monitor and put it to his ear.
‘Is he okay?’ asked Stepanin.
Sheremetev listened a moment longer, then nodded.
‘You think it will be a rough night tonight?’
‘Who knows?’ Sheremetev put the device back in his pocket.
‘I don’t know how you do it, Kolya. How many times a night does he wake you up? You know what? You should make him pay!’ Stepanin laughed. ‘That’s it! That’s what you should do! You should tell him, a thousand dollars a time. To him, it’s nothing. I bet he used to pay a thousand dollars for a blow job and not think twice about it. Every time you have to go in, Kolya – a thousand dollars!’
‘I don’t think that would stop him.’
‘You don’t want to stop him! Kolya, that’s the point. You want him to call you ten, twenty times a night.’
‘Who’s going to pay? He has no money himself.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing! What would he use it for? Besides, I couldn’t charge him for such a thing.’
Stepanin ignored the absurdity of Sheremetev’s final statement, mulling over the conundrum of Vladimir’s impecunity. He hadn’t thought of that one – that the ex-president, for all his wealth, might not actually have any money. ‘What fuckery, eh? The richest man in the world, they say he was, or in Russia, or something. And here he is, and he hasn’t got a ruble in his pocket.’ Stepanin paused, flabbergasted at the thought. ‘Is that really true? Nothing?’
‘Nothing.’
Stepanin shook his head incredulously, then finished off the vodka in his glass. Immediately, he poured himself another, then proffered the bottle. Sheremetev declined. ‘What fuckery,’ said Stepanin again. ‘Sometimes everything seems like a fuckery, eh, Kolya?’
Sheremetev watched him for a moment. ‘You know, I’m sorry about Elena,’ he said quietly.
Stepanin sighed. ‘She was a nice girl, that one. Although to be honest, I was getting a bit sick of her. The other one, Irina, what do you think about her? Sexy, huh? Shit, after this, she’ll run a mile. Barkovskaya knows what she’s doing. Come near me and you lose your job.’ He sighed again. ‘First the chickens, now the girls. What’s next, Kolya? That bitch is mad. For three years Pinskaya and I live happily together – suddenly, Marshal Barkovskaya arrives and it’s war. One blow after the next. I tell you, her greed is insatiable. Better that you don’t have some scam going, Kolya – she’d be after you too. She wants every last ruble, every last crumb from the table. Mother of God, leave some for somebody else, you cunt! No, she has to have it all. What do you do with someone like that?’