of Sasha’s existence. “How long will you need to be sure?”
“Two hours should be more than enough,” said Charlie, knowing Natalia wouldn’t require the same amount of time to ensure she wasn’t under surveillance. He also knew that she would still take every precaution.
“Eight then,” accepted Natalia. “The tropical plant greenhouse, as always.”
She’d even remembered the specific meeting spot, Charlie recognized, encouraged.
8
Natalia was waiting on the seat he’d expected, partially hidden beneath an overshadowing cedar but with an unobstructed view of his approach to establish for herself that he was not under any surveillance. This was where- and how-she’d expertly waited in those initial days that now seemed so long ago: it had been summer then, too, and although it would have been impossible for it to have been the same one, she was even wearing a matching light coat that Charlie remembered her wearing then.
She would have seen him enter, of course, but she didn’t look up from her book and Charlie made no acknowledgement as he continued past to a seat closer to their chosen glassed exhibition hall where he sat and opened that day’s
He’d been alert to everything and everyone around him when he’d left the embassy, deep within as big a departing group as he could find among which to hide himself from the remaining although slightly smaller media melee, knowing there would still be FSB cameramen among the photographers. He kept that danger in mind while making for the already identified telephone kiosk on Smolenskaya. Although not suspicious of any suddenly slowing pedestrian or vehicle during his brief conversation with Natalia, he held back from descending immediately underground at a convenient Smolenskaya Metro station. Forcing himself onto Kievskaya with growing protest from unexpectedly challenged feet, he changed at Barrikadnaya onto the inner-city sixth Tapansko line, disembarking at Tverskaya to change lines again, allowing himself two stops until transferring to the Kaluzsko-Rizskaja route to go north. He became uncomfortable with a bespectacled, mustached man who stayed with him as far as Turgenevskaya, remaining on the train after the man disembarked, and only got off himself at the warning of the doors closing to trap on the departing train anyone who might have worked an obligatory observation switch. Charlie went back and forth between two alternative lines, once coming up to ground level-before going back down again after five lingering minutes-at Poljanka. He’d finally emerged at Botanicheskiy Sad with fifteen minutes to spare before his rendezvous with Natalia, sore-footed but confident he was alone.
It was an additional fifteen minutes before Natalia finally got up from her bench and crossed to where he rose to meet her.
“You’re clear,” she said.
“I know.” She was wearing her hair shorter but otherwise he didn’t think she’d changed at all. “You look wonderful.”
“You look like you,” she said, smiling.
“I’d like to kiss you.”
“Do you have to ask?”
“I’m not sure. Do I?”
“I’m not sure, either.” She turned her head as he came toward her, offering her cheek.
“We know we’re alone but I can’t remember anywhere around here where we could move on to,” said Charlie. Hurriedly he added, “A restaurant, I mean.”
“I know what you mean. There’s a place on the next block. I’ve never been there, so I don’t know what it’s like.”
A discovery she’d made clearing her own trail, Charlie guessed. “Let’s look at it.”
It specialized in Georgian cuisine, already with enough people inside to recommend it, and able to provide Charlie’s choice of wine, which he ordered the moment they secured a secluded table at the rear, against an inner wall. He also ordered chilled vodka with the Beluga, which they both appropriately chose before their fish.
Natalia said: “You ordered caviar for me the first time we ate out.”
“I was trying to impress you then, too.” It had been Natalia who’d taken the risk then, agreeing to the outing while still officially debriefing him to confirm he was a genuine defector, which he hadn’t been, living another professional lie.
“As you are now?”
“Now’s a celebration of our being back together.”
“In the same city together,” she qualified, heavily.
“It’s a start.”
“You’re rushing, Charlie. There’s a lot to talk about: maybe too much for one night.”
“I’ve got as many nights as we need.”
Natalia made as if to speak but didn’t. Then she said, “Do you really know how long you’ll be here?”
Now it was Charlie who hesitated. “It’ll be some time.”
“I didn’t enjoy the Botanical Gardens routine,” Natalia declared. “I didn’t the first time.”
“I didn’t imagine you would.”
“And wouldn’t, for all those nights we might need. Nor would Sasha.”
They both waited for their main fish courses to be served. Charlie considered a second bottle of wine but decided against it. Natalia had often complained of his drinking too much. When the waiter left, Charlie said: “Of course, Sasha wouldn’t be involved in anything like tonight. It just had to be this way, to make contact.”
“And?” she asked, laying down her knife and fork unnecessarily to show the importance of her question.
It was a protective demand she was justified in making, not an investigative inquiry into what he was professionally involved. “A possibility at Turgenevskaya. I slipped it, if indeed there was a watcher with me.”
“You hope.”
“You were the final cutoff check. You know I arrived clean.” This wasn’t evolving as he’d expected.
Natalia began eating again. “Sasha called, before I left. She’s enjoying herself.”
The encounter wasn’t working out as Natalia had intended, either, Charlie guessed. “What do you tell her, about me? About us?”
“That you’re her father but that you have to work away.”
“Doesn’t she question that?”
“She’s starting to. There are other fathers of children in her class who work away but they come home sometimes. She can’t understand why you never do.”
“Doesn’t she remember me at all?”
“Not really. She’s got all the toys and dolls you spoiled her with.”
“My meeting her now-but then having eventually to go away again-is going to confuse her even more, isn’t it?” said Charlie, objectively.
“Yes,” agreed Natalia, abandoning her meal altogether.
“Do you want me to meet her now, this time?” asked Charlie, pushing his own plate aside.
“You’re her father.”
“Who doesn’t want to confuse her, upset her, any more than is happening now.”
“Any more than I do,” echoed Natalia, shaking her head against Charlie’s offer of more wine.
“I can’t live here again. And it’s not primarily a question of my not wanting to-although I don’t, as you know- but the practicality of not being
