by Kim Wilkins
“How many for lunch?” she asked, as she paused over the last place setting.
“Five. You, me, Anatoly, my son and Elizavetta’s husband. I’ll take Elizavetta’s to her room.”
“How old is Elizavetta?” Rosa asked cautiously. Ludmilla seemed far too young to have a married daughter.
“She’s nineteen. I’m thirty-four and you’re right, my husband is much older. I see your mind working, Rosa. Be careful your curiosity doesn’t make you rude.”
Rosa set the table in silence, wondering how a fifteen-year-old Ludmilla had ever paired off with Anatoly, who must have been at least forty at the time. Ludmilla placed the bread on the table, along with butter, honey, cold meats and cheeses in plastic tubs, and Rosa helped her lay it all out on plates.
While Rosa was at the sink washing her hands, Ludmilla glanced at her irritably. “Anatoly takes too long. Will you go and find him?”
Rosa wiped her hands on her skirt. “Which way?”
“Around the back towards the hives. Follow your ears.”
Rosa ducked out the front door and around the side. Tall spruce trees shaded the house, and although the grass was overgrown it was not out of control. She could hear buzzing, and did as Ludmilla had advised, following her ears.
Down a gentle slope she found them. Two dozen hives dotted the garden, which led to a stream. A cloud of bees surrounded each hive. Anatoly had stopped about thirty feet from the hives to talk, in an intense and authoritative tone, to a young man. A little boy of about nine years hung onto Anatoly’s hand, kicking his toe impatiently.
“Anatoly!” Rosa called.
Anatoly broke off mid-sentence and looked up as Rosa approached. “What is it?” he asked.
Rosa stopped before them. “Ludmilla sent me to tell you lunch is waiting.”
“She is an impatient woman.” He roughed up the little boy’s snowy hair. “Makhar is just like her, aren’t you?”
Rosa considered the man with Anatoly, presumably Elizavetta’s husband. He was about twenty, with yellow-gold hair, strong shoulders, warm tanned skin, a long straight nose and determined mouth. Oddly, though, his eyes were different colours: one brown and one green.
He offered Rosa a strained smile. “I’m Ilya,” he said.
“Nice to meet you,” she replied, offering her hand. “I’m Rosa.”
Anatoly chimed in quickly. “Ilya is Elizavetta’s husband,” he said. “My son-in-law.”
Rosa turned to the little boy. “And you are Makhar? I’m going to teach you English.”
Makhar switched to English and said, “Nobody else here speaks a word of it, except Elizavetta, and we use it to pass secret messages.”
Rosa laughed, sticking with Russian out of politeness to her host. “Well, that sounds like fun, but right now your mama wants you to come home for lunch.”
“Are you American?” he said.
“Canadian,” she replied, “but I was born here.”
“That’s boring. Never mind,” he said, and he wrested himself from Anatoly’s firm grasp and ran back towards the house.
Anatoly took Rosa’s shoulder and gently turned her to follow Makhar. “Tell Luda we’ll be right behind you,” he said. “I have one last thing to discuss with Ilya.”
Rosa made her way back to the house. Her ears told her that Anatoly waited until she was a safe distance before resuming his conversation with Ilya. In the kitchen, Makhar waited at the table alone, drumming his feet impatiently against the underside of the table.
“Where’s your mother?”
“She takes food to my sister.”
Rosa glanced towards the hallway. Quiet voices.
“How long has your sister been ill?”
Makhar shrugged. “She’s been in bed for a month, but she was ill before that. Ever since Nikita died.”
“Nikita? Who is Nikita?”
“Her husband. I mean, her husband before Ilya.”
The door burst open and Anatoly came in, stopping Rosa from asking the million new questions which sprang to her tongue.
“Where is Ilya?” asked Makhar. “He promised to teach me a song at lunchtime.”
“He’ll have his lunch later. He has to clean up the guesthouse for Rosa’s stay.”
Makhar turned on her with an expression of unabashed jealousy and excitement. “Hey! She gets to stay in the magic place.”
Rosa hid her surprise.
“It’s not magic, Makhar. It’s just a guesthouse.” Anatoly touched his hair fondly.
Makhar began to pick at his food when the voices from down the hallway grew impassioned.
“But, Elizavetta, you must eat something.”
“I won’t! Leave me be!”
A second later Ludmilla was retreating along the hallway, a tray of food still in her hands. She caught Rosa’s eye with a cold warning stare, and Rosa looked away.
“Let’s have lunch,” Ludmilla said, rattling the tray onto the kitchen bench. “Otherwise we’ll never get any work done.”
Anatoly avoided Rosa for the rest of the afternoon, forcing her to sit with Ludmilla at the table sticking labels on honey jars. She worked impatiently, glancing at the door at every slight noise, her mind swirling with thoughts of Daniel, of what lay beyond the veil, so that she worked haphazardly and slowly. Ludmilla was tight-lipped but polite. Rosa’s only glimpse of the rest of the Chenchikovs’ home was on a trip to the bathroom, where she quickly surveyed each of the cramped, dusty rooms—except Elizavetta’s; her door was shut—before being recalled firmly by Ludmilla. A request for a cigarette break was met with an icy admonition that nobody ever smoked within the house, or garden, or guesthouse, and certainly not ever around the bees.
Finally, after dinner, Anatoly instructed Ilya to take her to the guesthouse. Makhar was in his pyjamas on the sofa, watching a dubbed American comedy. The fire was low in the grate. Nobody hurried to stoke it, as the warmth of the day still hadn’t withdrawn completely.
“Can’t you take me, Anatoly?” Rosa said.
This request drew a suspicious scowl from Ludmilla.
“Ilya knows the way as well as I do,” Anatoly said, his eyes not leaving the television screen.
“But I thought you were going to…outline the terms of my employment,” she said, careful to keep her real purpose here a secret.
Anatoly smiled up at her. “Tomorrow will do just as well.”
Rosa swallowed down her annoyance. She’d worked for him all day and he’d given her nothing in return. If he thought she would be washing his dishes again tomorrow, then he was mad. By then, hopefully, she’d be across the veil again and away, chasing after Daniel.
“We’ll speak at length tomorrow,” he said to Rosa. “Ilya, come straight back. I need you to help me load some crates into the car for the morning.”
Then the door was closed behind them, and Ilya offered her a tentative smile. “This way,” he said, leading her through the garden and hives. “Anatoly said you were from St Petersburg.”
“That’s right. Just looking for a change of scene, some fresh air.”
“It’s good that you could come. Ludmilla’s been trying to do everything by herself.”
“I’m sorry that Elizavetta is sick,” Rosa said. “Has she seen a doctor?”
“Anatoly’s taking good care of her at present,” Ilya said, feeling in his pockets for a key and deliberately not meeting her eye.
“Is Anatoly a doctor?”
“No, but her malady is nothing Anatoly can’t treat. Besides, summer is here and soon she will be able to take some air and sunshine in the garden.” Ilya stopped at a crooked wooden structure with a sloping roof, perched on the bank above the stream. “Here’s the guesthouse.”
She surveyed it with a lift of her eyebrows. “It’s a bathhouse.”
“It used to be. All the inside has been rebuilt.”
This is why Makhar had called it a magic place. She wondered where Anatoly practised his magic now this building had been turned in
to guest accommodation, but dared not ask Ilya.
He urged her forward. “Anatoly had me fetch your bags from the car earlier today.”
“How did you get in?” she said. “It was locked.”
“Nothing is locked to Anatoly,” he said, smiling. “I noticed some men’s clothes. Are you expecting someone else?”
Daniel’s clothes. Or, at least, the clothes that Vasily had loaned him. Another pang. Was he wandering, cold and bewildered, in a strange land? “No,” she said. “Just me.”
They walked up the four steps to the front door of the guesthouse, and Ilya unlocked it. “How long do you think you’ll stay?” he asked, and Rosa began to understand that Ilya was as curious about her as she was about him.
She turned to him. “Not long.”
“Is there more to it?”
She smiled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Are you here for more than just a job?”
Rosa pushed open the door. “Is there a bathroom in here?”
Ilya reached above her head and switched on the light, closing the door behind him. “No, there isn’t. You have to use the one at the house. But Ludmilla locks the door when she goes to bed, so if you need—”
“Do I get a key to the house?” she said.
Ilya shook his head. “I’m afraid there are no spares.”
Rosa sighed. She had hoped to sneak up to the house after everyone was asleep and get her mother’s bracelet back. It would have to stay here until she came back with Daniel. She looked around her.
The windows were high and narrow, the bed was covered in a faded patchwork quilt, the floorboards were softened by a thick rug; an old armchair sat in the corner under the lowest part of the roof, a battered wardrobe under the highest; a matching dresser stood next to the bed. A low buzzing noise came to her ears, and she wondered if the bees ever slept.
“There’s no fire,” Ilya was saying, “but there’s an electric heater in the wardrobe if you need it.”
Rosa’s suitcase was on the bed, along with the cases she’d loaned to Daniel and Em. “What time do they go to bed up at the house?” she asked, unzipping her case and pulling out clothes.
“Everyone’s locked in by midnight,” he said, handing her a key to the guesthouse. “I suggest you do the same.”
Rosa took the key and met his eye. “Are you serious?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“It’s safer. Really.”
“Locks can’t keep everybody out,” she said lightly, flicking a strand of hair off her shoulder. “You said Anatoly can open any lock.”
Ilya smiled, and Rosa was struck by how attractive he was. “You needn’t be afraid of Anatoly.”
Rosa leaned over and placed the key on the dresser. “Thanks for your help.”
“There’s a key to the front gate on there too. I expect you’ll want to go home for a weekend, or go into town on your days off.”
“How close is the nearest town?”
“About an hour’s drive.” He moved towards the door. “Goodnight, Rosa.”
“Goodnight, Ilya.”
He left her in the tiny guesthouse with the creaking floorboards and the insistent buzzing.
Rosa resumed unpacking, looking for a comfortable pair of pants and a warm shirt. Today’s running after Anatoly in low heels and a lace skirt had been hard; tramping around the fields and woods, looking for the veil, she would need more practical clothing. She stripped to her underwear and changed, her thoughts preoccupied with remembering the route and worrying about Daniel. Did he even know where he was? His disbelieving nature was a liability to his safety: the longer he didn’t acknowledge that he may be experiencing something magical, the more likely he was to wander into danger. At least Em had some sense; Rosa was glad she was with him.
So typical of Daniel, she thought, to need a woman to look after him.
She sat on her bed to go through her suitcase for a pair of socks, and the buzzing continued. For the first time since she had heard it start, she looked up. In the corner of the window above her bed, a bee was trapped inside.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, standing on the bed to push the narrow window open, “I didn’t realise you were in here with me.”
The bee found the fresh air and slipped through, leaving Rosa standing with her hands on the sill, peering out into the dark. Night-time cold was beginning its creep across the land. She’d need a coat, too.
She finished dressing, slipped on her shoes then checked her watch. Only a few hours to wait. Anatoly could tie her up for days if she let him. As soon as midnight was upon her, she would be away across the fields, looking for the veil.
NINE
Em cast a hopeful glance down the long, empty road.
“Em!” Daniel called from the side of the road where he sat smoking a cigarette and picking the skin from around his nails. “There’s nothing coming.”
“There has to be something.” Em had been watching the road since sunrise; hours of fruitless waiting. “A truck, a farmer’s pick-up, a lost tourist…” She shielded her eyes against the glare in the east. “It feels like we’re the only people who have ever used this road.”
“Just us. And car thieves.”
Em turned, considering him in the mid-morning sunshine. He was hunched and anxious. She was starting to get anxious too. Not about the interview—she had let that go—but about the strangeness of the situation. How could it be that on this, the emptiest of roads in the universe, thieves were on hand to do their work at precisely the same time the car was unattended?
“Check your mobile again,” Daniel said.
Em pulled her cell-phone out of her pocket. No signal, and the battery was running low. “Nothing.” Neither of them had slept last night, and her eyes were sore from tiredness and from the fine dust of the road. “How much longer are we going to wait here?”
Daniel rose and butted his cigarette under his toe. “Until one of us becomes convinced that no car is ever going to pass this way.”
“I’m already convinced.”
“Then we’d better start walking.”
Em approached him, pushing her hair behind her ears. She longed for a shower and a change of clothes. “I think that’s for the best. Towards that light I saw last night. If I can get my hands on a working telephone, I can make this all better.” She hitched onto her shoulder the shopping bag with the bear in it and led the way into the woods. Daniel fell into step behind her. “If I can reschedule the interview for late this afternoon…even early tomorrow morning. Then we can still have the bear back before Rosa’s uncle returns.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I expect we’ll have to report to the police about the car being stolen. I hope that won’t hold us up too much. Maybe you can do that while I organise the professor and the film crew.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Em gave Daniel a smile. “Sorry, I’m thinking aloud.”
“At least you’re thinking about solutions,” he said. “If I was thinking aloud, I’d be saying, ‘Where the hell are we? Where the hell are we? Where the hell are we?’”
“Oh, I’m thinking that too. Of course I am,” she said. “Daniel, do you think it’s strange at all that the car should disappear so quickly on such a deserted road?”
“I guess thieves take advantage of any opportunity.”
“The car wouldn’t start.”
“Maybe it was some temporary problem. The mechanic in Vologda said that it wasn’t safe to drive.”
Was that an accusatory tone? Em ignored it. “I’m concerned that thieves found it so quickly. I doubt that they were driving past. They might live in the area.” She nodded in the direction they were walking. “They might live in the house we’re trying to find.”
Daniel fell silent. At length, Em said, “I’m sorry, have I made you worried?”
“Yes,” he grumbled.
“I didn’t mean to. Daniel, here’s some advice. Today is going to be a day of u
ncertainties, I have no doubt about that. If you can’t be calm, then take a breath and pretend to be calm. It’s the next best thing. Okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Maybe we’ll find a whole village. A gas station, a car-hire company, a hotel, and lots of friendly people. Take heart.”
They moved further into the trees. A ridge opened out in front of them, so they inched their way into the gully and followed it for a mile or so. Em grew warm and shrugged out of her overcoat. Her caramel wool suit and brown pumps were comfortable for driving, but not for hiking. She was sweaty, itchy, and tiring rapidly.
They came to the other end of the gully and back into trees. Em stopped to catch her breath.
“Well?” he said.
“We should have been there by now,” she said, sitting down and taking off her left shoe to rub her foot. “I’m certain we’ve been tending towards the right direction.”
“Are you certain you saw a light last night?”
“Yes.”
“Because I didn’t.”
Em hesitated. She had seen other lights, strange coloured lights in that moment between sleeping at the wheel and waking. “I’m sure, Daniel.”
A cloud moved across the sun and Daniel peered upwards anxiously. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”
“At least it’s warm. Let’s count our blessings this didn’t happen to us in the dead of winter.”
“We would never have got out of the car in the dead of winter.”
Again the accusing tone, subtle but unmistakeable. “Daniel, I know you didn’t want to leave the car. But we did. We can’t change that now.”
“Sorry.” Daniel crouched next to her. “I’m not angry. I’m guilty about not flying. It’s not fair to blame you.”
“Well, to be fair to you, you did say that you had a bad feeling about us leaving Vologda yesterday afternoon. Perhaps we should have trusted your intuition.” She slipped her shoe back on. “Though Rosa seemed to think you don’t believe in anything as mystical as intuition.”
Daniel rose and gazed off into the distance. “Do you want to keep going? Or do you want a rest?”
“A quick rest. My feet are hurting. Your shoes are much more sensible.”