Twelve

For her part, I can only suppose she was used to such things, though, I hoped, not from me. I think she was happy enough to perform it as a service for me, as a wife might prepare her husband's dinner or wash his clothes. For me, it had nothing to do with her, and any woman in the building could have taken her place. But she would have seen that as a betrayal, much the same as if a husband got another woman to make his dinner or wash his clothes – a betrayal not of the heart, but of the partnership.

'What's to become of us, Lyosha?' she asked a little while afterwards.

It was the question every faithless husband must dread.

'I've no idea.'

'Neither have I,' she said. 'That's the problem.'

'Is it a problem?'

'Not at the moment.'

'There's still a war. I could be dead tomorrow.' I decided to give myself a little leeway. 'Or the day after that.'

'I know. That's why it's not a problem, but one day it will be.'

'Only if we both survive,' I said with a mirthless laugh.

'Or if the war never ends.'

'So you want an unending war, with us both under the threat of death, but never actually dying, just so we can stay together without our consciences bothering us?' I asked lightly, though the very mention of conscience almost made me shiver at the memory of a different, recent conversation.

'That would just about do it,' she said with a grin.

'I'll have a word with the crowned heads of Europe, then. See if they'll help us out.'

'They seem to be doing pretty well already.'

It was a silly conversation, as trivial as many we had had before, allowing us daily to forget reality, but today it could do little to lift our mood.

I sat up on the side of the bed and glanced towards the table. On it was a letter. I could not see the content, but the single word of the signature screamed out at me: Iuda.

'What's this?' I asked, picking up the letter.

'Ah, yes,' said Domnikiia. 'I was going to tell you about that. Very mysterious – especially from a man you told me was dead.'

'You should have mentioned it,' I snapped.

'I was going to,' she insisted, upset by my tone, 'if you'd given me the chance. Polya – one of the girls – found it when she opened up this morning. It was slipped under the door, addressed to me. Read it. It's more for you than for me anyway.'

I opened the letter and read it silently.

Mademoiselle Dominique,

As I am sure you will have heard from our mutual friend Aleksei Ivanovich, our mission in your country has not gone according to the plans that were originally conceived. It is to my utmost regret that this has led to deep misunderstandings arising between myself and Aleksei Ivanovich, for which I must immediately acknowledge my share of blame. Sadly, affairs have come to such a state between us that it is now impossible for us even to communicate the simplest of requests to one another and, as I'm sure you will readily comprehend, this is no basis from which we can easily find any remedy to the situation.

I therefore entreat you, Mademoiselle Dominique, as Aleksei Ivanovich's close friend (and, I dare to flatter myself, as mine) to act as an intermediary, that you might help to heal this melancholy rift between two formerly hearty and successful comrades. If you would desire to help in this matter, then my simple request is that you convey to Aleksei Ivanovich my petition to meet with him at seven in the evening on the twenty-eighth day of October at the crossroads to the south of the village of Kurilovo. He will know this location better, perhaps, as U4, although I shall not bore you with details of why it is so designated.

Please express to Aleksei Ivanovich the utter sincerity of my wish to meet with him and my fondest hope that with a few minutes of conversation, we can resolve any confusion that may have led to the distressing rift that now exists between us. If Aleksei Ivanovich cannot or chooses not to attend, then please assure him of my continued devotion to both him and his country, and please also, Mademoiselle Dominique, appreciate the heartfelt affection that I hold for you personally.

Your devoted friend,

Iuda.

'He does gush,' I said scornfully.

'I think it's nice that he makes the effort.'

'You are joking, aren't you?'

She put her chin on my shoulder and I felt her arms around my waist. 'Yes, Aleksei Ivanovich, I am joking.'

'I mean you only met him once, and that was for five minutes.'

'Absolutely,' she said in heartfelt agreement. 'And of course on top of that, he is a vampire.'

'Are you teasing me, Mademoiselle Dominique?'

'Well, you sound like a jealous husband going through my correspondence.'

'When did you get this?' I asked.

'I said, this morning, when Polya got up.'

'When was that?'

'About ten o'clock. We work late here.'

'And when did you close up last night?'

'Around two.'

'So this could have arrived any time between two and ten?'

'Yes,' she replied, with emphasized patience. 'Does it matter?'

It mattered a lot. If Iuda had delivered it before our meeting the previous night, then that presented a number of possibilities. Our encounter that night might not have been as premeditated as it had seemed, at least not on Iuda's part, or it might have been that he had all along expected me to escape. A third possibility was that the letter was not intended for me at all, but was solely for the benefit of Domnikiia, to whom, after all, it had been addressed. Could this be to persuade her to attend the meeting in my place? It seemed unlikely. Could it be to give Iuda a veneer of innocence in Domnikiia's eyes once my death was discovered? That was more believable.

On the other hand, if the letter had been delivered this morning, after I had seen him, then it would make more sense, but since Iuda would have been unable to travel in daylight, he must have had human assistance in delivering it. Was this some errand boy he had simply hired for a few copecks, or did he have human servants of a more devoted nature? The obvious suspect would have been Dmitry, but Dmitry had been with me all the time.

'Are you going to go to the meeting?' she asked.

'I think so.'

'Won't it be dangerous?'

'I'll have Dmitry with me.'

'You mean Dmitry's in Moscow? I thought he went back to the army.'

'No, he had other things to do.'

'Do you trust him?'

'I do now.'

'You mean you didn't before?' she asked.

'I did before, but I was wrong.'

'And now you're right?'

'Dmitry's run out of options.'

She paused for a moment before asking, 'How far is Kurilovo?'

'Not far,' I replied. 'We'll set off the day after tomorrow. I'd better go.'

We made our goodbyes and I left, taking Iuda's letter with me. I went back to the inn and slept for most of the afternoon. Early in the evening, there was a knock at my door. It was Dmitry. I showed him the letter.

'Well, you're not going, are you?' he asked dismissively.

'Yes, I think we are.'

'We?'

'Yes, Dmitry, we.'

'But it's so obviously a trick,' he insisted.

'Do you know the crossroads he mentions?'

'No, I don't think I do.'

'It's a very good place to meet someone you don't trust. There's a clear view all around. We'll easily be able to see if he's brought anyone with him.'

'Do you think he knows that?'

'Possibly,' I replied. 'They may have come that way as they made the last stretch of their journey here from Tula. I think he's chosen the place so that we'll both feel safe.'