Читать книгу Moscow Blue - Philip Kurland - Страница 8

Crocker was awake when Reception rang through at 8.30 a.m. precisely. He had fallen asleep with the curtains open and was woken by the bright early morning sunlight falling brusquely on his eyelids before snow clouds had time to cover the sky. His jaws were sore from grinding during the night; a sure that something was getting to him. He couldn’t decide whether it was Paul, Slava or Kolyunov. Or even Angie Powers. But then it could have been any combination. He quickly gave up thinking about it, dressed and went down for breakfast.

Oleg was waiting for him outside the front of the hotel looking cold and hungry as usual. Every time Crocker saw him, he felt sorry for the man.

Powder snow was falling, and in the morning light Crocker had to confess that Oleg’s orange ski hat was not a mere affectation. It certainly made picking out both driver and Lada far easier.

The hard black plastic-covered upholstery uttered a soft hiss as Crocker dropped onto the back seat. He was still feeling tired having found himself awake during the night planning his campaign of ways to learn more of his brother’s death. These thoughts mingled with snatches of Slava’s phone call and the airport interrogation, and sleep had returned only after he had persuaded himself that nothing could be done until morning.

When Crocker arrived at the offices of JC Trading Corporation, the staff of five was seated around what was loosely referred to as the ‘conference table’ situated under two flickering fluorescent strips of pink light. They all stood as Crocker approached.

‘Please sit down, everyone,’ said Crocker, surprised at the unusual courtesy.

One person remained standing. It was Yuri Pischl, the German multilingual manager who had worked in the London office for some years. Dressed smartly in a charcoal grey suit, he was a slim fifty-year old but his weather-worn skin made him look older.

‘We all wish to say how sorry we are about the death of Paul,’ said Yuri. ‘Moscow is not a civilised place to be.’

‘Thank you all,’ responded Crocker, feeling a little humbled. ‘I still haven’t got over the loss myself. But let’s get on.’

A dense cloud of cigarette smoke hovered over the room. Other than Aleksei, the young computer apprentice, all of the staff were smokers.

The manager took obvious pleasure as he introduced the new member of staff. His hand was on the shoulder of an attractive mid-thirties woman with shiny blonde hair tied back in a bun. She stood smartly. Her muted purple dress was simple, fresh and stylish, but Crocker could tell she had one of those shapes that would look good in a bin-bag.

‘This is Evelina Livenko, who is bilingual, almost,’ the manager explained in his characteristically undiplomatic manner. ‘She started work a few weeks ago. Call her Lina. She’s learning the ropes. She has replaced Anna who did yours and Paul’s secretarial work, you’ll remember, and who you may have noticed is not here today.’

Lina’s pretty open Slavic face betrayed a little reservedness, but Crocker didn’t notice as he shook her hand.

‘Hi, Lina,’ he said, his gregarious manner coming to the fore with a wide smile. ‘If you have any problems concerning your work, just you let me know. Okay?’

I must get to know her better. This trip could work out fine.

She nodded politely, her light brown eyes giving a hint of a smile.

Before he sat down, Crocker carried out a well-established and appreciated ritual: he distributed small gifts he had bought at the airport. He wasn’t expecting the newcomer and gave Lina the packet of Earl Grey tea Anna had always appreciated.

‘If there’s something you want instead of tea, please say so for next time,’ smiled Crocker, fighting hard to retain an employer’s remoteness.

‘Thank you. This is lovely,’ said Lina, examining the package from all sides.

While he sipped sweet black coffee from a small white cup, Crocker checked the current work-in-hand situation from the bundle of papers Yuri had placed in front of him. He paused to read through two frustrated contracts.

Damn!

He was very aware that the company couldn’t afford to lose this work, and though based more in London, Crocker knew that the plight of the Russian wing of the company could bring down the whole business.

As he read on, a voice in his head kept repeating two magic words of a hypnotic mantra:

‘government . . . rich’

When the meeting broke up, Crocker took Yuri aside and asked, ‘What happened to Anna?’

‘To be honest, I don’t really know. You know how much you can rely on what these people tell you, but apparently someone called to say her mother needed her in Saratov, down south on the Volga somewhere. Maybe. But maybe she was secretly having a baby. Who knows? Contraception is very difficult to come by and you know what it’s like trying to get an abortion here in Moscow?’

‘No,’ was all Crocker could think of. He understood Yuri’s vagueness because he had experienced the same national trait of Russians to generate unusually complex stories to avoid a simple but truthful answer.

He found his gaze wandering to Lina sitting at her desk directly opposite him. They ventured a minimal smile at each other as their eyes met.

Crocker wrote ‘Kolyunov’ on his pad a few times, and called Yuri into his office.

‘Have you ever come across the name, Kolyunov?’ Crocker asked, holding up the piece of paper.

The manager’s bushy black brows knitted where they met, plunging his eyes into deep shadow. He stared hard and thought about it for a few moments then replied in his slightly Germanic English, ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘He’s never been in touch with this office? Never made an appointment or something like that?’

‘Not while I’ve been here, I’m sure. Why? Who is he? A prospective buyer?’ Yuri was inquisitive by nature.

‘Maybe.’ Crocker shrugged. ‘But perhaps you could check whether we’ve a record of his name somewhere. If not, it’s not important. Just a name that came up in conversation.’ Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked. He smiled, trying to treat the matter lightly, but he could see Yuri was disappointed not getting the full story. Everyone in Moscow loves a little spletni, as it’s free and often entertaining, and in this case Yuri had hoped for some gossip that could be both entertaining and interesting.

Crocker spent the rest of the morning and the early part of the afternoon on the phone, chasing the frustrated contracts and some possible new sources of materials. He had been in the business of metal trading on and off for a few years but he didn’t like the job and never had. It was his family’s means to an end and he appreciated that.

Looking occasionally through the glass partitioning around his office as he contemplated the situation, he caught Lina stealing quick glances, which didn’t help him to focus on the job in hand.

Boy is she sexy!

Sipping another coffee, Crocker accepted he was nowhere in his search for more information on Paul’s death. He was disappointed but consoled himself with the thought that he had to concentrate on the business if the company and Paul’s family were to survive. And now, Slava’s offer was becoming an obsession. He knew the sooner he got the complete story, the sooner he could get on with some productive work.

The management of Mitsui Mining, a large international conglomerate, had made an approach to discuss a possible ‘buy-out’ of the company, and as a result, a confidential meeting had been arranged for later that afternoon. Crocker anticipated it would be heavy going, like most meetings he’d attended involving the Japanese, requiring a clear head and unlimited patience. It didn’t take Crocker long to make the decision to reschedule. He considered he had his priorities in perspective and as soon as he felt it appropriate, gathered up his papers and said goodbye to each member of staff, shaking hands. He noticed the firmness of Lina’s handshake and the friendly look in her eyes. He touched her arm briefly as he said ‘Do svidaniya.’

With his fur hat trailing from his hand, he raced out into the snow. The Lada was parked not far from the front door, its windows steamed up. Oleg was inside, asleep against the driver’s door, an English phrase book in his lap. Crocker felt bad at having to wake him, but tapped lightly on the window with his fraternity ring. Almost instantly Oleg’s large eyes opened and blinked at the fading sunlight.

‘Okay, Oleg. It’s time we went and had talks with Slava.’