“I sound like I am jealous,” Sasha said, putting his hand to his chest. “That is what the woman has done to me. I will be thirty-six years old on my next birthday and I still feel like a child when I am with her.”
Rostnikov said nothing. This was an important moment of realization for Sasha Tkach.
“I think,” he said, no longer laughing, “I think I understand something. It sounds crazy. The problems I have had with women during my marriage.”
Rostnikov was well aware of Sasha’s weakness. It had almost cost him his marriage and at least twice had jeopardized his career.
“It is my mother I want to hurt,” he said. “It is my mother I want to show that I am interested in other women.”
“It is a theory,” Rostnikov admitted.
“It seems right,” said Sasha with excitement. “You should have been a psychiatrist.”
“If simply listening qualifies one, then perhaps you are right, but I would give you a caution, Sasha. What seems clear and true and right when it is night and one is tired and on a train rocking into darkness may not seem quite so right in the sunlight.”
And Rostnikov had been right. Now, going through the train in search of a suitcase he probably would not recognize, Sasha thought his whole theory about his mother had been little more than nonsense.
Sasha moved forward, sometimes sensing when someone was in a compartment or catching a glimpse of movement or form on a seat. He had such a sense as he passed the next compartment and was about to open the door of the empty one just past it when a woman’s voice called.
“You missed me.”
Sasha turned back. Standing in the doorway of the compartment he had just passed was the quite-beautiful woman who had been talking to Porfiry Petrovich in the lounge car the night before.
She was wearing a tan skirt and a matching sweater with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair was down and she was smiling.
“I wasn’t looking for your compartment,” Sasha said, finding it difficult to draw upon his charm.
“Come in,” she said and walked back into the compartment and out of Sasha’s sight.
Sasha paused, considered, and moved slowly back to the woman’s compartment, trying to come up with a tale, hoping a creative lie would present itself.
She was sitting near the window, looking up at him, the morning light cast on the left side of her face, a slight shadow on the right. Her lips were full, red, her smile playful.
“Sit, please,” she said, pointing to the seat opposite her.
“I was on my way to-” he began, but she was shaking her head and he stopped.
“I don’t know how much time we have until the people I am sharing this compartment with return,” she said. “So please examine the luggage. Satisfy yourself.”
“I don’t know-” he tried.
“You are wasting time,” she said. Sasha brushed the dangling lock of hair from his forehead and quickly examined the luggage.
“Satisfied?” she asked.
He sat back and nodded to show that he was, at least with his search.
“We passed in the lounge car last night,” she said. “I had just spoken to the plumber and you were about to do so. My name is Svetlana Britchevna.”
She held out her hand. Sasha took it. Firm grip. A feeling he recognized stirred and he willed it to go away. She held the shake and the feeling battled Sasha’s will. She released his hand and sat back.
“I did exchange a few words with a one-legged man in the lounge car,” he said. “I did not catch his name.”
She cocked her head to the side and made an almost imperceptible negative nod.
“And what is your name?” she asked.
“Roman Spesvnik,” he said.
“And what do you do, Roman Spesvnik?” she asked.
She was toying with him. He knew that. He knew she expected lies. Oh God, did she also sense his weakness for aggressive women?
“I work in the government information office in Moscow,” he said. “Utilities division. Gas, electrical power.”
He knew a little about the job. His mother had held such a position until her retirement.
“Roman,” she said, looking out the window, showing a near-perfect profile, “this will be a long trip with beautiful scenery. But one can spend only so many hours a day looking out the window even at the most beautiful of mountains and forests and the most quaint of villages.”
Sasha said nothing.
“It is good to have company on a long trip, don’t you think?” she asked.
There was provocation in her words. Sasha knew them. He recognized them. There was a magic thread with an invisible hook reaching out to him.
“Yes,” he said.
“You are traveling alone?” she asked.
“I … yes.”
“Good, then perhaps we can provide each other with company. Are you married, Roman?”
“Yes.”
“So am I,” she said. “But my husband is far away and, to tell the truth, not very good company recently.”
And then it got even worse.
“I understand that there is a single compartment open in the next car,” she said. “I’ve already inquired about moving into it. The conductor can arrange it.”
She was older than Sasha. That he could tell, but there was a confident sophistication which was overwhelming.
“Shall I do that, do you think?” she asked.
“It is not up to me,” he said.
“Oh, yes, it is,” she replied.
This could not be happening. It must not happen. Not again. She had caught him unprepared. There was nothing gradual in her approach. She was giving him no time to think.
Sasha took a deep breath and said, “Then I recommend that you save your money and remain in this compartment where you have people to talk to.”
“Roman,” she said. “Don’t make a mistake. I’m not suggesting anything that need be shared with anyone else, not even with the plumber you barely met.”
Oh Lord, this was a temptation that vibrated through his body and between his legs.
“I am afraid Į will be very busy during this trip,” he said. “I have a full week of work, reports to prepare. If I fail …”
“… to go through all the compartments and find what you are looking for,” she said, reaching over to touch his hand and lean within a foot of his face.
He could smell her essence. “No, I cannot. And I do not know where you got the idea that I am looking-”
“You examined the luggage,” she reminded him.
“I was humoring you,” he said. “I did not want to be impolite to a woman.”
“And would you have humored me had I been old and ugly?”
“I must go now,” he said, getting up, his nose almost brushing hers.
“Perhaps we can sit together at dinner tonight,” she said. “Perhaps we could discuss putting your work aside for a bit and pursuing our new friendship.”
“I have already agreed to dine with a French couple,” he said, moving to the door.
Her eyes met his and held. He closed his eyes and said, “I must go”
When he was gone, the woman sat back down. Her smile disappeared. She had learned what was necessary and now she was prepared to act. There were risks involved, risks that might end her career, but the
