The New Collected Short Stories (39 page)

Dick didn’t reply immediately, aware that this was not a casual suggestion as it had been years since Maureen had accompanied him on a business trip. Dick’s first reaction was to wonder what she was up to. ‘Let me think about it,’ he eventually responded, leaving his coffee to go cold.

Dick rang Sam Cohen within minutes of arriving at his office and reported the conversation to his lawyer.

‘Symonds must have advised her to witness the signing of the contract,’ suggested Cohen.

‘But why?’

‘So that Maureen will be able to claim that over the years she has played a leading role in your business success, always being there to support you at those critical moments in your career . . . ’

‘Balls,’ said Dick, ‘she’s never taken any interest in how I make my money, only in how she can spend it.’

‘ . . . and therefore she must be entitled to fifty per cent of your assets.’

‘But that could amount to over thirty million pounds,’ Dick protested.

‘Symonds has obviously done his homework.’

‘Then I’ll simply tell her that she can’t come on the trip. It’s not appropriate.’

‘Which will allow Mr Symonds to change tack. He’ll then portray you as a heartless man, who, the moment you became a success, cut his client out of your life, often travelling abroad, accompanied by a secretary who—’

‘OK, OK, I get the picture. So allowing her to come to St Petersburg might well prove to be the lesser of two evils.’

‘On the one hand . . . ’ counselled Sam.

‘Bloody lawyers,’ said Dick before he could finish the sentence.

‘Funny how you only need us when you’re in trouble,’ Sam rejoined. ‘So let’s make sure that this time we anticipate her next move.’

‘And what’s that likely to be?’

‘Once she’s got you to St Petersburg, she’ll want to have sex.’

‘We haven’t had sex for years.’

‘And not because I haven’t wanted to, m’lord.’

‘Oh, hell,’ said Dick, ‘I can’t win.’

‘You can as long as you don’t follow Lady Longford’s advice – when asked if she had ever considered divorcing Lord Longford, she replied, “Divorce, never, murder, often.”’

Mr and Mrs Richard Barnsley checked into the Grand Palace Hotel in St Petersburg a fortnight later. A porter placed their bags on a trolley, and then accompanied them to the Tolstoy Suite on the ninth floor.

‘Must go to the loo before I burst,’ said Dick as he rushed into the room ahead of his wife. While her husband disappeared into the bathroom, Maureen looked out of the window and admired the golden domes of St Nicholas’s Cathedral.

Once he’d locked the door, Dick removed the DON’T DRINK THE WATER sign that was perched on the washbasin and tucked it into the back pocket of his trousers. Next he unscrewed the tops of the two Evian bottles and poured the contents down the sink. He then refilled both bottles with tap water, before screwing the tops firmly back on and returning them to their place on the corner of the basin. He unlocked the door and strolled out of the bathroom.

Dick started to unpack his suitcase, but stopped the moment Maureen disappeared into the bathroom. First, he transferred the DON’T DRINK THE WATER sign from his back pocket into the side flap of his suitcase. He zipped up the flap, before checking around the room. There was a small bottle of Evian water on each side of the bed, and two large bottles on the table by the window. He grabbed the bottle by his wife’s side of the bed and retreated into the kitchenette at the far end of the room. Dick poured the contents down the sink, and refilled the bottle with tap water. He then returned it to Maureen’s side of the bed. Next, he took the two large bottles from the table by the window and repeated the process.

By the time his wife had come out of the bathroom, Dick had almost finished unpacking. While Maureen continued to unpack her suitcase, Dick strolled across to his side of the bed and dialled a number he didn’t need to look up. As he waited for the phone to be answered, he opened the bottle of Evian water on his side of the bed, and took a gulp.

‘Hi, Anatol, it’s Dick Barnsley. I thought I’d let you know that we’ve just checked in to the Grand Palace.’

‘Welcome back to St Petersburg,’ said a friendly voice. ‘And is your wife with you on this occasion?’

‘She most certainly is,’ replied Dick, ‘and very much looking forward to meeting you.’

‘Me too,’ said the minister, ‘so make sure that you have a relaxed weekend because everything is set up for Monday morning. The President is due to fly in tomorrow night so he’ll be present when the contract is signed.’

‘Ten o’clock at the Winter Palace?’

‘Ten o’clock,’ repeated Chenkov ‘I’ll pick you up from your hotel at nine. It’s only a thirty-minute drive, but we can’t afford to be late for this one.’

‘I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby,’ said Dick. ‘See you then.’ He put the phone down and turned to his wife. ‘Why don’t we go down to dinner, my darling? We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’ He adjusted his watch by three hours and added, ‘So perhaps it would be wise to have an early night.’

Maureen placed a long silk nightdress on her side of the bed and smiled in agreement. As she turned to place her empty case in the wardrobe, Dick slipped an Evian bottle from the bedside table into his jacket pocket. He then accompanied his wife down to the dining room.

The head waiter guided them to a quiet table in the corner and, once they were seated, offered his two guests menus. Maureen disappeared behind the large leather cover while she considered the table d’hôte, which allowed Dick enough time to remove the bottle of Evian from his pocket, undo the cap and fill his wife’s glass.

Once they had both selected their meals, Maureen went over her proposed itinerary for the next two days. ‘I think we should begin with the Hermitage, first thing in the morning,’ she suggested, ‘take a break for lunch, and then spend the rest of the afternoon at the Summer Palace.’

‘What about the amber collection?’ asked Dick, as he topped up her water glass. ‘I thought that was a no-miss.’

‘I’d already scheduled in the amber collection and the Russian Museum for Sunday.’

‘Sounds as if you have everything well organized,’ said Dick, as a waiter placed a bowl of borscht in front of his wife.

Maureen spent the rest of the meal telling Dick about some of the treasures that they would see when they visited the Hermitage. By the time Dick had signed the bill, Maureen had drunk the bottle of water.

Dick slipped the empty bottle back in his pocket. Once they had returned to their room, he filled it with tap water and left it in the bathroom.

By the time Dick had undressed and climbed into bed, Maureen was still studying her guidebook.

‘I feel exhausted,’ Dick said. ‘It must be the time change.’ He turned his back on her, hoping she wouldn’t work out that it was just after eight p.m. in England.

Dick woke the following morning feeling very thirsty. He looked at the empty bottle of Evian on his side of the bed and remembered just in time. He climbed out of bed, walked across to the fridge and selected a bottle of orange juice.

‘Will you be going to the gym this morning?’ he asked a half-awake Maureen.

‘Do I have time?’

‘Sure, the Hermitage doesn’t open until ten, and one of the reasons I always stay here is because of the hotel’s gym.’

‘So what about you?’

‘I still have to make some phone calls if everything is to be set up for Monday.’

Maureen slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom, which allowed Dick enough time to top up her glass and replace the empty bottle of Evian on her side of the bed.

When Maureen emerged a few minutes later, she checked her watch before slipping on her gym kit. ‘I should be back in about forty minutes,’ she said, after tying up her trainers.

‘Don’t forget to take some water with you,’ said Dick, handing her one of the bottles from the table by the window. They may not have one in the gym.’

‘Thank you,’ she said.

Dick wondered, from the expression on her face, if he was being just a little too solicitous.

While Maureen was in the gym, Dick took a shower. When he walked back into the bedroom, he was pleased to see that the sun was shining. He put on a blazer and slacks, but only after he’d checked that none of the bottles had been replaced by the hotel staff while he’d been in the bathroom.

Dick ordered breakfast for both of them, which arrived moments after Maureen returned from the gym, clutching the half-empty Evian bottle.

‘How did your training go?’ Dick asked.

‘Not great,’ Maureen replied. ‘I felt a bit listless.’

‘Probably just jetlag,’ suggested Dick as he took his place on the far side of the table. He poured his wife a glass of water, and himself another orange juice. Dick opened a copy of the
Herald Tribune
, which he began to read while he waited for his wife to dress. Hillary Clinton said she wouldn’t be running for president, which only convinced Dick that she would, especially as she made the announcement standing by her husband’s side.

Maureen came out of the bathroom wearing a hotel dressing gown. She took the seat opposite her husband and sipped the water.

‘Better take a bottle of Evian with us when we visit the Hermitage,’ said Maureen. Dick looked up from behind his paper. ‘The girl in the gym warned me not, under any circumstances, to drink the local water.’

‘Oh yes, I should have warned you,’ said Dick, as Maureen took a bottle from the table by the window and put it in her bag. ‘Can’t be too careful.’

Dick and Maureen strolled through the front gates of the Hermitage a few minutes before ten, to find themselves at the back of a long queue. The crocodile of visitors progressed slowly forward along an unshaded cobbled path. Maureen took several sips of water between turning the pages of the guidebook. It was ten forty before they reached the ticket booth. Once inside, Maureen continued to study her guidebook. ‘Whatever we do, we must be sure to see Michelangelo’s
Crouching Boy
, Raphael’s
Virgin
, and Leonardo’s
Madonna Benois
.’

Dick smiled his agreement, but knew he wouldn’t be concerning himself with the masters.

As they climbed the wide marble staircase, they passed several magnificent statues nestled in alcoves. Dick was surprised to discover just how vast the Hermitage was. Despite visiting St Petersburg several times during the past three years, he had only ever seen the building from the outside.

‘Housed on three floors, Tsar Peter’s collection displays treasures in over two hundred rooms,’ Maureen told him, reading from the guidebook. ‘So let’s get started.’

By eleven thirty they had only covered the Dutch and Italian schools on the first floor, by which time Maureen had finished the large bottle of Evian.

Dick volunteered to go and buy another bottle. He left his wife admiring Caravaggio’s
The Lute Player
, while he slipped into the nearest rest room. He refilled the empty Evian bottle with tap water before rejoining his wife. If Maureen had spent a little time studying one of the many drinks counters situated on each floor, she would have discovered that the Hermitage doesn’t stock Evian, because it has an exclusive contract with Volvic.

By twelve thirty they had all but covered the sixteen rooms devoted to the Renaissance artists, and agreed it was time for lunch. They left the building and strolled back into the midday sun. The two of them walked for a while along the bank of the Moika River, stopping only to take a photograph of a bride and groom posing on the Blue Bridge in front of the Mariinsky Palace.

‘A local tradition,’ said Maureen, turning another page of her guidebook.

After walking another block, they came to a halt outside a small pizzeria. Its sensible square tables with neat red-and-white check tablecloths and smartly dressed waiters tempted them inside.

‘I must go to the loo,’ said Maureen. ‘I’m feeling a little queasy. It must be the heat.’ She added, ‘Just order me a salad and a glass of water.’

Dick smiled, removed the Evian bottle from her bag and filled up the glass on her side of the table. When the waiter appeared, Dick ordered a salad for his wife, and ravioli plus a large diet Coke for himself. He was desperate for something to drink.

Once she’d eaten her salad, Maureen perked up a little, and even began to tell Dick what they should look out for when they visited the Summer Palace.

On the long taxi ride through the north of the city, she continued to read extracts from her guidebook. ‘Peter the Great built the Summer Palace after he had visited Versailles, and on returning to Russia employed the finest landscape gardeners and most gifted craftsmen in the land to reproduce the French masterpiece. He intended the finished work to be a homage to the French, whom he greatly admired as the leaders of style throughout Europe.’

The taxi driver interrupted her flow with a snippet of information of his own. ‘We are just passing the recently constructed Winter Palace, which is where President Putin stays whenever he’s in St Petersburg.’ The driver paused. ‘And, as the national flag is flying, he must be in town.’

‘He’s flown down from Moscow especially to see me,’ said Dick.