“Irina?”
“It is a good marriage for her. British passport. And he has an inheritance.”
“It is not possible.”
Yateka smiles. “In love, anything is possible.”
Then one of the buzzers starts going off, and Yateka grabs her bag and disappears silently on her softie shoes.
There was a gravel pathway leading through the rose beds down to a lower lawn, a secret place hidden away inside a circle of laurels, with a couple of benches and an old sundial.
“You and Andriy can sit down there,” said Yateka. “I finish at seven o’clock. Then I’ll show you the spare room.”
It was still warm, but the sky was heavy with rain clouds, and no one else was in the garden. You could sense the storm coming, the leaves of the laurels were curling in the heat. Dog appeared out of nowhere and started padding along beside us, farting disgustingly. What had he been eating? Why couldn’t he leave us alone?
Andriy sat down on one of the benches, and I sat down beside him. He seemed very moody. I was wondering whether I had done something to annoy him. Bad moods are not attractive in a man.
“I want to discuss a problem with you,” he said. “Love problem. Man-woman relationship type of thing.”
Oh, at last, I thought, and my heart started to beat faster. Then he said, “Mr Mayevskyj, this old scoundrel, has proposed marriage to three old ladies, and all have accepted.” He gave me a nasty narrow-eyed look. “Now I hear that it is in fact four. And that you also, Irina, have fallen victim to his charm. Is it true?”
What has that naughty Yateka been telling him? I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly.
“Irina, you cannot go about smiling at every man who comes your way.”
This made me quite annoyed. What makes him think he has the right to lecture me?
“I can smile at who I like.”
Then he said, in a very primitive voice, “And if you do, you will end up giving full body massage to Vitaly’s mobilfon clients for twenty pound.”
I was shocked. Why is he saying such a horrible thing to me? I thought he was teasing, and now it seems he’s serious.
“Vitaly is dead,” I said.
“No, the world is full of Vitalys. You just don’t see them, Irina.”
“What are you talking about, Andriy?”
“The men you smile at, Irina-some of them are not decent types.”
Oh, so he’s still upset about the twenty-pound note, I thought.
“Mr Mayevskyj is not a bad type.”
“Actually he’s quite a scoundrel.” He frowned. “Are you going to marry him?”
“That’s my business. I can decide how to live my life. I don’t need you to lecture me.”
“You are blind, Irina. You don’t see what is happening in this world.”
“For example? What don’t I see?”
“This mobilfon world all around you. Businessmen buying and selling human souls. Even yours, Irina. Even you they are buying and selling.”
“Nobody is buying and selling me. I made my own choice to come to the West.”
I was thinking, if he is going to carry on like this, maybe tonight will not be the night after all.
“The West is no different. This Orange Revolution that you like so much-what do you think this was but a Vitaly-type business promotion? Who do you think paid for all the orange flags and banners, and the tents, and the music in the square?”
What on earth has got into him? I thought we were going to walk in the garden, and maybe talk about something romantic, that would be nice, and instead he starts prattling about politics. Maybe this is how it happened with Pappa and Svitlana Surokha. No, with them it was probably the other way round-first the politics, then the romance. Well, if he can argue, so can I.
“If we’re going to talk about this, at least let us do so honestly, Andriy. Nobody paid my mother and father to be there. They went because they want Ukraine to be free from Russia. To have our own democracy-not one run from the Kremlin.”
“To exchange one run from the Kremlin for one run from the United States of America.”
“This is Russian propaganda, Andriy. Why are you so afraid of the truth? Even if the government doesn’t change, the important thing is that we the people have changed. No one will take us for granted any more. Once in a lifetime a nation makes a historic bid for freedom, and we have the choice to be participants or to stand on the sidelines.” Was that from one of Pappa’s speeches, or one of Svitlana Surokha’s?
“What use is freedom without oil and gas?” he sneered.
“With freedom, maybe we can join European Union.”
“They are not interested in us, Irina. Only for new business possibility.”
He lectures me in that ridiculous Donbas accent, as though I am the dim-wit.
“And who do you think paid for the buses that brought you up from Donbas? Eh?”
“This is all Western media propaganda. You are naive, Irina, you believe anything that any mobilfonman tells you. You thought you were the actors, but you were only extras.”
“You didn’t walk, though, did you? You Donbas miner?”
“Hah! Now we hear the typical voice of the bourgeois schoolgirl!” His tone had become harsh and sarcastic.
“I’m not a schoolgirl!”
I don’t know what came over me at that moment. I just wanted to hit him. I wanted to punch his smug stupid face. That ridiculous superior smile-what does he think he’s got to smile about? I just wanted to get rid of that smile. I couldn’t help myself-I lunged with my fist. But he caught hold of my wrist and held it. He wouldn’t let go. And then he pulled me towards him, and then he grabbed me in his arms, and next thing he was kissing me, on the mouth, with his lips, with his tongue. And pressing me closer, so tight my breath was squeezed away, and my heart was beating its wings like a bird struggling to ride a storm. And the sky and the clouds were spinning and wheeling around my head until I didn’t know where I was. But my heart knew I was where I wanted to be.
It is night time. The clouds have cleared, and through the pointed gable window above the iron-framed bed Andriy can see the hunter Orion, bright in the southern sky, his jewelled belt, his dagger, and nearby the starry Sirius. On the floor at the foot of the bed lies his own faithful Dog, almost as starry, snuffling in his sleep.
Irina is in the bathroom at the end of the corridor, taking a shower. She has been in there half an hour. What is she doing?
So far, everything is as it should be. All satisfactory. You have moved up from second to third without slipping, and now all you need is to gather a bit of speed and gently engage fourth, without suddenly slamming into reverse. No, Andriy Palenko, it’s more than satisfactory, it’s fantastic. This is no Zaz, this girl, this Irina-so sweet, so lithe, one moment she melts like a snowflake in your hands, then she sears you like a fire, until you don’t know whether you’re freezing or burning; you only know you want more. And even though she doesn’t know yet what’s coming, somehow her body already knows it’s yours; you can feel it, and so can she. Like a garden waiting for rain.
And although you can see there will still be many disagreements to negotiate-because this girl, this Irinochka, she’s still young, and she thinks she knows everything; she has led a very sheltered bourgeois life, her experience is limited, and there’s a lot she has to learn-and let’s face it, she does say some very stupid things-still, you’re in no hurry, you have eternity in which to re-educate her. And though she can be both stubborn and slippery, she’s not unintelligent. Quite the opposite. She has already started to take an interest in Ferrari, and look how she came up with a solution to the gearbox problem. Yes, definitely you have made the right choice.
Andriy gazes through the window at the stars. Why is she taking so long? His mind drifts back over the events of the day, and for no particular reason he starts thinking: room twenty-six, Mrs Gayle’s room, is directly below this one-two floors down. Is she still smoking down there? He thinks he catches a faint whiff of smoke wafting upwards. The matches-what was that word the handyman used?-he should never have let her have the matches. Is there a fire escape in the attic? If that room were to catch fire in the night, how many of them would survive to see the next morning?