‘I’m sorry I took so long,’ Nick said as he carried her suitcase through the lounge to the bedroom. ‘Getting hold of my friend proved to be more difficult than I anticipated. He’s out of town.’ He placed her belongings on the bed and returned to where she still stood in the entrance hall. ‘You must be freezing. Why don’t you take off your coat and things while I unpack those?’ He pointed to the shopping bags he’d brought with him, which she now saw held milk, bread, coffee and a few other essentials.
As if in a trance, Amelia slowly started unbuttoning her coat, her fingers aching as warmth finally returned to them.
‘Nick,’ she started, but the words froze in her mouth and instead she found tears there. Hot, heavy, tears that came out of nowhere. Before she could turn away, Nick was in front of her. Without hesitation he pressed her against his chest. The embrace was tender and strong in equal measure. It had been so long since she’d allowed anyone, much less a man, to hold her this way. The ache in her chest sharpened and to her horror her silent tears turned into sobs.
Nick said nothing, but stood very still, and only when her tears had subsided, he stepped back carefully. Gently he finished unbuttoning her coat and hung it on a peg in the entrance hall, next to the door. He pulled off her hat, hung it next to the coat and then, still without saying anything, he led her into the kitchen where he pulled out a chair for her at the minute kitchen table.
Amelia could find no words to speak out loud, no thoughts to voice, and he let her be, let her sit while he started busying himself with pots and pans. She watched as he pulled out a packet of pasta and started chopping onions and tomatoes. After a while, lulled by his quiet industriousness, her gaze drifted outside to where the snow was still falling. She could feel his eyes on her occasionally, and found it, combined with the silence, reassuring. Still there were no words and he seemed to require none from her.
The pasta sauce started simmering on the stove. She got up to taste it. ‘You can cook.’
‘A little, yes.’ He smiled at her and reached for a bottle of wine that still stood unopened on the counter. Holding the bottle in front of him, he raised his eyebrows and to her surprise she found herself smiling and nodding.
Silently she helped with the last preparations and a short while later they sat down for a simple meal. It was good. Halfway through it proper words returned to her and she finally asked him the question she’d wanted to ask since their second meeting.
‘Why are you helping me?’
Nick’s face became still. He stared at her for a second as if to make sure he understood what she was asking, then dropped his gaze and scooped up another bite of spaghetti. Amelia waited. After what had happened that day, after he had seen a measure of her inner turmoil, she felt a connection with him. She knew that after all that had transpired he wouldn’t answer glibly or easily, but would reveal more of what had compelled him to get involved in her quest. Despite her desire from the start to remain independent and unhindered by ties to anyone, she now craved the honesty that a true connection brought.
His face was serious when he finally spoke. ‘Well, the most obvious and initial reason was that Mara asked me and although I had reservations about getting involved, I would do a lot for Mara.’ He shrugged. ‘For a whole host of reasons, I don’t like to say no to her.’ Nick paused as if to consider his next words carefully. ‘And this,’ he said, gesturing towards Amelia, ‘was something that I thought I might be able to help with.’
His words were simple and straightforward and held no element of dishonesty. Amelia nodded, and waited for him to speak about the less obvious reasons for offering his insights and advice and especially for coming to the rescue earlier in the day. She too knew how difficult it was to say no to Mara, but there had to be more than just her request.
‘My mother is Russian.’
Amelia nodded again, already familiar with the fact, half expecting him to tell her how his mother’s family managed to escape the Soviet Union after the Second World War, how they settled in America and how his Russian-born mother had met her American husband later. Instead he said something quite different.
‘I should say “was”. She passed away a few months ago.’
Amelia immediately wanted to say something appropriate, but Nick made a movement with his hand to stop her.
‘It’s okay, you don’t have to. She was ill. It was amazing that she’d lasted as long as she did. We – and she – knew the end was coming.’ Nick pushed his plate aside, the remaining food either forgotten or tasteless now.
Outside the night held on to the silence that always followed a heavy snowfall. Amelia watched his face as he poured the last of the wine into their glasses.
‘If there was one thing my mother had in common with Russians living here today, it was a fierce national pride. But in her case it took a slightly different form. Hers wasn’t blind pride in her country’s supposedly great achievements. She knew very well about all the things that were wrong, and had gone wrong, in this country. There was no arrogance. It was pride without the chip on the shoulder. She always acknowledged that Russia had allowed and unfortunately sometimes still allows people to indulge their basest desires. Her pride was less self-righteous, but more defiant, despite this country’s blemished history. It was as if she dared people to disbelieve that someone as normal, as kind, as self-aware as she was, could have come from here. And she clung to the notion that it had the potential to be a place of great things and people. Not greatness achieved at the cost of human rights, but true, uncorrupted greatness.’ He smiled as he thought of his memories of her, his eyes filling with a gentle expression that bordered on affectionate amusement.
Amelia didn’t interrupt and he continued. ‘She was never strong and couldn’t travel back here after the country opened up again, but she urged me, sometimes on a daily basis,’ he smiled ruefully, ‘to return and to do something good here. She had great faith in the value of one small good act at a time.’ He took a sip of wine and held it in his mouth for a moment before he swallowed, sat back and looked at Amelia. ‘An attempt to remedy the past, if you will. Even if it was a past she’d had no hand in creating herself.’
Amelia considered his words in silence, unsure of how to voice her thoughts. ‘But I’m not even Russian,’ was all she could say. She spoke gently, careful not to offend. ‘I have no claim to your goodwill, Nick. There are people here – Russians – who are in far greater need than I am.’
He held her eyes for a moment. ‘It doesn’t matter in this moment. I mean, it always matters that there are people in need, but right now you’re the one who could do with some help. This place made it possible for your nightmare to happen, made it possible for people, whether they are governments, companies or individuals, to dispose of an innocent person purely because he got in the way.’ Nick sighed. ‘Besides, it’s all I know to do right now, all I feel I can help with.’
Silence fell between them again. Amelia was touched that he would deem her worthy of his help, but also that he’d shared some of his past with her. The rawness of earlier was gone. When they finished the wine, he started gathering the dishes together.’
‘Leave it,’ Amelia said, briefly touching his arm. ‘You’ve done enough.’
He straightened. ‘I should go.’
She nodded and followed him into the entrance hall.
‘We need to talk,’ he said, ‘strategise. We never spoke about the next steps tonight. Or the contents of that envelope.’ He was visibly switching gears, becoming business-like again. ‘I have some new information. Remember that we wondered if the project’s geologist would be able to confirm or deny the value of the deposit? Well, it looks like I may have tracked him down. Hopefully we’ll be able to find out soon . . .’ He trailed off, exhaustion clear on his face.
‘It doesn’t matter right now. Tonight was good. Thank you.’ She saw the surprise on his face, and she felt some surprise of her own for being willing to let the new information wait.
‘I’ll be back in the morning,’ he said. Again she nodded, not wanting him to leave her alone, but not voicing the thought. He put on his coat and gloves and she fought the urge to ask him to stay.
At the door he paused. ‘Don’t open the door or answer the phone.’
She nodded.
‘I’ll be here again at nine.’
She turned the lock to let him out, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. As she started to open the door, he leaned towards her. The leather of his glove brushed against her temple as he pushed her hair away and placed a kiss on her forehead. His eyes rested on hers for another moment and then he was gone. An unfamiliar emotion took hold of Amelia as he disappeared from sight. She listened until she could no longer hear his footsteps. Carefully she locked the door behind him and reluctantly turned towards the foreign apartment that would now be her fortress.
T
he night in the unfamiliar apartment turned out to be exhausting. Spells of deep sleep were intermingled with dreaded periods of wakefulness filled with noises, real or imagined. When Nick arrived at nine, as promised, she could see her own fatigue mirrored in his face. His gentle smile made her struggle to suppress the memory of the cautious intimacy and his brief kiss of the previous night.
After what happened, it was probably natural for them feel a sense of closeness, but she just couldn’t be distracted by it. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she let Robert down again. And so she waited until they each had a cup of coffee in front of them, took the bull by the horns and told him everything.
In silence he listened as she told him about all three of the notes left at the hotel, the strange meeting with Jennings, Popov’s refusal to see her and his threats when she’d intruded on his lunch. She ended with her visit to the hospital and Sergey Alyoshen’s diminished state.
It was a relief to talk about the things that had happened. Throughout Nick remained attentive, his face still with concentration.
‘You seem to have ruffled quite a few feathers,’ he said when she finished.
‘It couldn’t be helped. I was as careful as I could be in the circumstances.’ She took a breath. ‘There’s one more thing.’ She pushed the envelope she’d received the previous day across the table.
For a long moment Nick hesitated. He gave her a searching look, as if waiting for her to change her mind.
She nodded. ‘Open it.’
He took out the single piece of paper. A quick frown was the only visible sign of his bafflement. He said nothing.
‘It’s an e-mail from Robert to someone else. At least, that’s what it looks like.’
Nick nodded. ‘I see. Was this his e-mail address?’
‘No. At least not that I was aware of. Look at the recipient.’
‘Who is it?’
‘No idea, but look at the e-mail address –
[email protected]
.’
‘EME. The company that bought Prism’s stake?’
‘Exactly.’
Nick read the message out. ‘
I’m ready to help you out at the agreed terms. Contact me when convenient
.’ He shook his head. ‘Strange.’ He stopped and stared at her. ‘What do you make of it?’
‘I really don’t know. Obviously someone wanted me to see it.’
Nick nodded. ‘But who? And how would they have gained access to something like this? And what does it mean?’
‘I don’t know, but when I went to see Popov, he dropped a heavy hint that I didn’t know Robert quite as well as I thought I did.’
Nick frowned. ‘Does this really sound like something Robert would write?’
‘Not the message, but it doesn’t sound unlike his writing style.’
‘It’s two sentences. Anyone could have written this.’
‘Look at the date.’
Nick glanced down again. ‘It was sent last year in September.’
‘Right in the middle of the Prism-Sibraz negotiations.’
Nick was silent. He gave her a searching look.
Amelia took a deep breath. ‘I know, I know. I can’t believe that Robert would have been driven by financial gain or agree to manipulate negotiations, but that’s what the e-mail implies, doesn’t it?’
‘You don’t know that. That’s a big conclusion from so little.’
‘Maybe, but it’s still difficult to ignore.’
‘Amelia, I’m going to remind you of what I said a few minutes ago. You’ve ruffled feathers. Powerful feathers, I might add. Quite a few people seem to be worried by your presence here.’
‘That’s the problem. It “seems” and “feels” like a lot, but when you dissect the facts, there’s very little of substance, except for this e-mail.’
‘Perhaps, but having very little evidence, which may even be fabricated or manipulated, doesn’t have to be a permanent state of affairs.’
‘Let’s hope it won’t be.’ She stared at the sheet of paper in his hand. ‘But what do I do about it?’
‘I’d say ignore it for the moment, purely on the basis that it’s out of character for Robert.’
Amelia hesitated, then relented. It probably wouldn’t serve her well to jump to conclusions based on something so flimsy.
Forcing herself to focus, she changed the subject. ‘I still think the diamond deposit and its true value lies at the heart of the matter.’
‘I happen to agree with you. I’m not sure how it all fits together, but I have a feeling you’re right.’
‘And I think Bruce Jennings is involved,’ she said, pleased and relieved that he shared her suspicions.
‘Or at the least he knows something.’
Amelia nodded. ‘And much as I would’ve liked to pay Popov another visit, I think that’s a dead end. He, like Jennings, must know something about how the whole Prism-Sibraz thing played into Robert’s disappearance, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so aggressive. Unfortunately I don’t think he’ll tolerate my presence again.’
‘While we’re on the subject, Amelia, I don’t want to sound overbearing, but I’d like you to promise me that you won’t try and do anything like that on your own again. Please.’ Nick’s gaze was solemn and the moment she’d hoped wouldn’t arrive, was there for her to handle.
She needed to tell him of the afternoon’s planned meeting with Mikhail at the grave of Stalin’s Soviet Foreign Minister, Vyacheslav Molotov, the sixty thousand roubles hidden at the bottom of her suitcase and the stern warning to go alone.