Faithless

by Tony Walker

  "What do you mean?"

  "I saw her hand up your shirt."

  "It wasn't her hand. Just her finger."

  Joe gave a sceptical look. "Whatever. The principle's the same."

  John covered his face in his hands. "Oh my God. I don't want this."

  "Why not? She's pretty. It's her birthday. It would be rude not to."

  "I've got Karen."

  "Yeah in England."

  "Honestly Joe, trust is a big thing with me and Karen. I wouldn't betray her."

  "Any other man would for a fox like Yelena."

  "I'm not any other man."

  Joe laughed. "Didn't realise you were up on the moral high ground. You want to watch that glass house around you. It might come crashing in one day."

  They went back to their table. Yelena was tipsy. A bottle of champagne had appeared in front of her. "Sovietskoye Champanskoye - from the Crimea," she said.

  "Very nice."

  "You must try. It is from that boy over there." Extending an unsteady arm she pointed over the dancefloor to where a tall Russian with a shock of blonde hair was staring back at them. John noticed that he was well built. Yelena said, slurring her words, "In Russia, if a boy likes a girl, he sends her champagne and then he will ask her to dance if she accepts it. Drink some."

  John shook his head. "No, he meant it for you. You can't share it with me."

  She wagged her finger at him. "John, I can do what I want. I am a free Soviet woman."

  "A bit of an oxymoron there," said Joe in a whisper. Yelena didn't hear. She got a glass and poured John some champagne. Under sufferance, he took a sip. "There," he said.

  "Good," she said, "And now we must dance."

  He groaned. "Really? I'm not a good dancer."

  She shook her head. "You offend me. Come. Dance." She grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the dance floor. Various members of her family, including her mother clapped loudly.

  "Oh fuck," said John to Joe as he passed. Joe was now talking to a vivacious brunette but he looked round distractedly and said, "Later man. Enjoy."

  John half heartedly danced with the obviously drunk Yelena who took both his arms and pulled them this way and that. Another song came on. She wouldn't let him sit down.

  "It is my birthday John. Dance."

  After the third song the tall, muscular Russian with his wild blonde hair and manly moustache, gestured to cut in. With a sigh of relief, John detached Yelena from his arms and nodded to the Russian. "She's all yours."

  He went back to his seat. Joe was still preoccupied with his attractive new friend so John sat down and took a gulp of the champagne. He nudged Joe. "You ready to leave?"

  Joe shook his head. "Are you joking? I haven't had this much fun since we arrived."

  Shortly after that a red-faced Yelena came and sat down, grinning as she ran her finger down his arm. "I missed you John."

  "You have an admirer I think." said John.

  She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "He is a nice boy yes. But, I like you." She gazed up into his eyes. "You have a beautiful soul. Russian boys just like to drink and they do not take care of women. I think I need a Scottish gentleman."

  John sat there wishing he wasn't. He looked at the Russian who was staring at him. Then another bottle of champagne arrived. "Ooo," she said, "This boy really likes me! Here drink. Then you and I dance again."

  "Why don't you go and dance with him?"

  "No!" she said drunkenly but sternly. "No! I decide who I dance with."

  Joe looked over his shoulder. "How's it going?"

  "It's getting worse. She wants to dance again."

  Abruptly Yelena rose to her feet. "Come John," she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the dance floor. She leaned against him as they shuffled around to a slow number. He felt her breasts against his chest. The dance demanded that his hand rested on her hip. He tried to move it away but she grabbed it and put it back. He could feel the firm flesh slide under the silky dress. He sighed to himself. If only he was free to take the gift that was offered.

  Then the big Russian was back. This time without even a pretence of manners. He punched John's bicep in a unmistakable sign that he wanted him let go of Yelena.

  "Jesus. Ok big man. She's yours."

  Yelena suddenly noticed the change in partners. She looked like a little doll in her blue dress against the huge Russian. She shook her head and leaned out to touch John. "No, I want you."

  The Russian pulled himself up to his considerable height and said, "You want to fight?"

  John shook his head. "No thanks." He waved goodbye and made his way back to the table where Joe was. The brunette was now sitting on Joe's knee.

  John said, "See that fucking enormous Russian dancing with Yelena?"

  "Ah yeah. Seems you've lost her."

  "He wants to fight me for her."

  Joe laughed. "I've got your back man."

  "And he's got ten friends about as big as him. And I think from the way the cousins are looking at you they'd be on his side too."

  "They're jealous of me pulling this little beauty." He tickled his brunette under the chin. She looked quizzically at them, not understanding a word.

  Then Yelena came back from the dance floor.

  "You left me," she said.

  "Your champagne friend requested it."

  She laughed. "He is a nice boy. He is in the KGB."

  John shook his head. "Oh fuckity fuck. This gets worse." He pulled Joe's arm. "Come on, we need to get out of here. Lover boy is with the KGB."

  "I don't know the way home."

  "We can get a taxi."

  "Do you know how much that will cost?"

  "I don't care. I'll pay." Joe began to say goodbye to his new friend. He got her number. John suddenly looked at Yelena, then at Joe. His face soured. He said, "You know what. I think this whole thing is a KGB provocation. Presumably I get into a fight, get arrested then they use that as leverage to blackmail me?" He looked back at Yelena. "And are you as drunk as you pretend? Or are you trying to avoid responsibility for this?"

  She looked at him hazily. Her head lolled heavy. She looked like a wilted flower. "I am not drunk!" she shouted.

  Joe laughed. "Of course you're not. Come on Scotty, let's get out of here."

  Yelena looked up again. "Well maybe I am a little drunk." Then she said, "I really do like you even if I am."

  "It must be harder if you like them," said John bitterly.

  January 25th, 1973: Moscow. Bitter cold it was: John and Joe trudged through the snow from the Metro station to the British Embassy for the Burn's Night Supper. They were greeted at the door by the local Russian staff who took their coats and offered them a drink. John chose whisky to be patriotic. Joe had a beer. There were plenty of people there: a notable few in kilts. A small jazz band sat playing "In The Mood" at the far end of the reception room. Through the double doors he could see tables laid for supper, crisp white linen, crystal glasses, gleaming silver cutlery. The chandeliers sparkled above. Ladies in cocktail dresses stood next to men in dinner suits. John felt underdressed.

  Philip saw them from across the room and came over to greet them. "Hello chaps. I see you have a drink already. Please mill, your student wit will leaven the otherwise stodgy bread of diplomats and Russian Foreign Ministry bores."

  "We'll try to liven things up," said John.

  "By the way, I have a couple of letters for you John."

  "Oh great."

  "Wait here while I get them or I'll forget." He went off to fetch the letters.

  Joe said, "Yelena's over there."

  "What's she doing here?"

  Joe said, "She's a great lover of Burns of course." His eyes twinkled. "Or maybe she wanted to see you."

  John had avoided Yelena since the incident at the party. She was talking to someone and didn't notice them looking. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and a string of pearls. A tall Russian was standing by her and from the body language he seemed to be
her escort. He was in his thirties and strikingly handsome. He didn't look much like a student. Joe noticed him too. "Looks like she's got a new boyfriend. Maybe he bought her the pearls."

  "Don't know. Don't care."

  Philip arrived back with two letters. He recognised Karen's handwriting on one and he smiled. The second one was addressed in blue ink in his mother's hand. The envelope was thick. He opened it while Joe asked Philip, "Who's the dude with Yelena?"

  Philip shook his head. "Yelena who? You mustn't presume I know every Russian in Moscow."

  "The hot blonde over there."

  "Ah her, I must admit I did notice her when she came in. I think she's with Mr Gelashvili - a high flyer from the Soviet Foreign Ministry."

  "A Georgian?" said Joe. "That explains the tanned good looks. Hey John tell Philip here about our provocation."

  John said nothing. He was staring, dumbstruck at the letter he had opened.

  "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's up buddy?"

  John looked dazed. "I've just received a letter from my father."

  Philip raised an eyebrow.

  John said, "He killed himself when I was 4." John was reading the cover note his mother had written. "My mother got a letter from his sister. Apparently his mother has just died and among her papers they found a letter that he had written to me. "

  "You look a bit unsteady. You need another drink," said Joe. He turned to Philip. "Are we allowed two Mr Cultural Attaché?"

  Philip smiled. "Well, as you've promoted me, I don't see why not." He caught the eye of one of the waiters who brought a tray. Joe took a whisky for both he and John. Philip patted John on the back. "Take it easy old man. Tell me about this provocation?"

  John was glad to have his mind taken off the letter. He folded it and stuffed it in his pocket. He told Philip the story of Yelena's party.

  Philip smiled. "Classic stuff. They would have wanted to get you into a fight. You get arrested, taken to the Police station. One nasty Policeman tells you you're going to jail and you'll never leave Russia."

  "Being locked up in a Russian jail is quite a scary thought."

  "Quite. But then one nice policemen suggests that there is an easy way and he'll even give you some money, just so long as you let him know what's going on in the student community."

  "Sounds like you've seen it all before," said John.

  "Indeed. It gets boring. But the other one, which is nastier, is when they break into your room and strip you and photograph you doing sexual acts with some naked Russian sailor. You don't want your mother seeing that kind of photograph."

  "No," said John. "I don't want it to happen at all. Do you think they'll try that on me now this other attempt has failed?"

  Philip shrugged. "Don't know. I'll speak to our Ambassador and get him to mark their card and let them know we would be very displeased at any further provocation targeted against you."

  The band stopped playing and the guests looked expectantly as the Ambassador welcomed them to the Burn's Night Supper and invited them to be seated. They sat down on a long table. There were about fifty people there all told. The Defence Attaché in a kilt stood up to speak the Selkirk Grace in Scots. Then cock-a-leekie soup was served.

  "Good this," said Joe. "I don't know if I told you that my grandfather was a Scot - from Oban."

  "You did. Lots of Scots went to Canada. "

  "Must be the love of cold that made them settle there rather than Florida" He paused. "Have you read the letter?"

  "I don't want to. Not till I'm alone."

  John sat with Joe on one side and Philip on the other. John caught Yelena looking over at him from down the table where she was sitting next to the handsome Mr Gelashvili. She smiled wanly. John nodded politely back. The soup dishes were cleared away and then the Defence Attaché asked everyone to stand. The skirl of a bagpipe started up playing The 72nd's Farewell to Aberdeen. Then the piper came into view, followed behind by the chef with a haggis on a huge silver platter.

  The piper stopped playing. The chef placed the haggis down on a table adjacent to the main one. The Defence Attaché addressed the haggis; Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftan o' the puddin race!"

  "I hope he isn't going to do all eight verses," whispered John to Joe. But the Defence Attaché was enjoying himself. Philip said, "He's the star of the Embassy Am-Dram society. Or he thinks he is."

  At the end of the eight verses, there was a toast with yet more whisky and after that they ate the main course of haggis, tatties and neeps. After the meal people went through to the main reception room. A space had been cleared and the carpet removed to reveal a small wooden dance floor.

  John was standing with Joe when Joe warned. "Watch out, Soviet forces approaching from 12 o'clock."

  John looked. Yelena was making a beeline for him. "Oh shit," he said.

  She came up and touched his arm. "John, I have missed you. Will you dance with me?"

  John shook his head. She looked upset. "Please?"

  John sighed. "But just as friends."

  She led him to the dance floor.

  "You tried to entrap me," he said.

  "No."

  "Yes, all that business with the KGB man was to get me arrested."

  She looked down as they shuffled round to the music.

  "Well at least deny it."

  She shook her head and looked away.

  "So it's true."

  She looked back at him - her pupils large and dark in her blue eyes. "I really like you."

  "I thought it was just business."

  "You're being cruel."

  "Plotting to get me arrested was cruel."

  He saw she was beginning to cry. " I only did it because they will make my life here difficult if I do not cooperate with them. They can say I am anti-Soviet and I could even get arrested. Even my family could. I had to help them."

  He watched her cry. He fumbled in his suit for a handkerchief and gave it to her. He placed his hand to her cheek while she dried her eyes. He said, "It's very different from where I come from. I don't think we understand the pressures you're under. I'm sorry."

  "Thank you John." She buried her face against his chest. She was crying again. He felt her tears wetting his shirt. The dance finished. She still held him. He said, "I need to go back to Joe. Your friend is looking over too."

  She clung to him even after the music had stopped with quiet desperation. "I think I love you John. Take me to Britain with you."

  He moved his hand to hers to try and prise himself free but then stopped. He shot a panicked look at Joe who was looking puzzled. Then another song started and couples came back onto the dance floor. He leaned forward so that he couldn't be overheard. "I'm really sorry."

  She nodded. She lifted her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. Her mascara had run. She smiled. "I know. You have Karen."

  "I've known her a long time. Since we were young."

  She nodded. "I must learn that. Life can't always be how we would want it. But don't forget me."

  At that point her escort appeared and said in Russian, "Do you mind if I cut in?"

  John shook his head. But he didn't move straight away. He was worried she was going to get in trouble. She must have read his mind because she said, "Don't worry John. Bebur is like my brother. He looks after me."

  The man extended his hand. "Bebur Gelashvili, Soviet Foreign Ministry."

  John accepted the handshake. "John Gilroy. Student. That's as grand as it gets."

  Bebur smiled. "But you are no doubt destined for great things once your studies are finished."

  John laughed. "You know more than me."

  John went back to talking to Joe and drinking more of the free whisky. Towards the end of the meeting Bebur happened to be standing next to him where he was chatting to an Australian embassy official. He said to John, "I meant it you know."

  "Sorry? Meant what?"

  "That you are destined for great things. Your Russian is excel
lent. You are very clever. Yelena tells me."

  John said, "Well, I'm flattered, but I can't think you have much to base that opinion on."

  "You are modest too. How British." He smiled.

  John shrugged.

  Bebur said, "I will be posted to the UK perhaps. It's good for me to talk to real British people, both for my English but also for my cultural knowledge."

  "I can see that."

  "I understand from Yelena that you are Scottish."

  John nodded.

  "I would very much like to see Edinburgh. It looks a beautiful city."

  "It is. Cold though."

  "Not as cold as Moscow."

  John laughed. "That's true."

  "I'm Georgian."

  "Yes I was told."

  "Though we are Soviet, we are not Russian. We have our differences. Sometimes the Russians treat us like little brothers."

  "That must be difficult."

  " You have the same problem with the English?"

  "Sometimes. But we Scots rely on our natural superiority."

  Bebur laughed. "Maybe we have a lot in common."

  "I don't know about that."

  "And your family? Do they miss you?"

  "Yes, of course. And I miss them."

  "What do they do for work?"

  "My father was a coal miner. He's dead. My mother is a nurse."

  "We do have a lot in common. My father was a coal miner. He is dead now also. And my mother is a nurse."

  John looked hard at him as if to ascertain whether he was telling the truth. Bebur shook his head. "No it is true."

  "Coincidence."

  "We are both products of the proletariat."

  "Apparently."

  Bebur gestured to the dancing crowd. "You are therefore quite a rarity in this gathering."

  John nodded. "Aye, not many of us make it to this kind of place. More comfortable in Wimpy's."

  "Wimpy's?"

  John laughed. "A burger bar."

  "Ah," laughed Bebur. "You see you are good for my cultural knowledge."

  Joe returned from somewhere. He had gone to the toilet but had been a long time. John saw him wave goodbye to a pretty girl. He saw John looking, "The Ambassador's daughter – Amelia. I think she digs me."