As they walked up the stairs to the apartment she linked her arm in his. “You look tired, are you eating properly?”
Aarons laughed. “I’m OK. Am I taking up too much of your time? I’ve got an envelope for our friend but I can just hand it over. You mustn’t stop work just for me.”
“I’ve finished work for today. This morning’s shoot was only for a reference sheet for the model. She’s just starting with an agency.”
“Do you do landscapes like the one on the studio wall?”
“No. They’re beautiful but I’m more into people.”
“What kind of people?”
“Professionally it’s models; pretty girls and handsome men. But for myself I’m doing a book about New Yorkers. All kinds, winners and losers. Rich men, poor men, beggarmen and thieves.” She laughed. “We’ve got all those. Black and white. Sutton Place and Harlem. But I’m talking too much, let’s go in the kitchen and I’ll do the coffee and you can sit and watch.”
As she prepared the coffee he wondered what kind of men friends she had. She was so beautiful. The mane of black hair, the big dark eyes, the neat nose and the soft wide mouth. Even making the coffee the movements of her hands were graceful. And almost as if she knew what he was thinking she turned her head to look at him.
“Have you got a girl-friend, Andrei?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Is that because you miss your wife?”
“How did you know about that?”
“Grandpa Lensky told me. And those shits in Moscow didn’t let you borrow some money.” She looked at him, frowning. “How could you go on working for them after that?”
“I guess I don’t really work for them.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
He shrugged. “It sounds dreadfully self-important when I say it out loud but for me I work for all people who don’t get a fair chance in life.”
“And you think Communism could put that right?”
“It’s the only way I know that aims to do that.”
She turned to stand looking at him, shaking her head. “How old are you, Andrei?”
“Forty-one next month.”
“I’m twenty-four but you make me feel like Methuselah.”
He laughed. “Why?”
“Because you’re so unworldly. I don’t know whether you are an innocent or just naive. You know so much about what’s going on in Moscow and here in the States and you still believe that crap.” She shook her head. “I don’t get it. Anyway …” she said dismissively “… with cream or with milk?”
“Milk would be fine.”
Aarons reached for the black brief-case beside him on the white leather couch. The brown envelope he took out bulged with its contents and he looked at the girl. “Do you want me to split this up into two envelopes?”
“No. That’s OK.”
She held out her hand for it and took it into the next room which he assumed was a bedroom. She came back a few minutes later.
“How long before they get it?”
“They’ll get it by Saturday.” She smiled. “What do you do at weekends, Andrei?”
“They’re just the same as any other day to me. I just get on with my work.”
“Have you heard of Sag Harbor?”
“Isn’t it a rich people’s place on Long Island?”
She smiled. “You’re a snob, Andrei, aren’t you?”
“How do you make that out?” He looked genuinely surprised.
“You judge people by their money, not by what they are.”
“How else would you describe Sag Harbor?”
“I’d point out that it was designated by George Washington as the first Port of Entry for the first immigrants. Then I’d say that it was old and historic and beautiful. And for those with a social conscience I’d tell them that John Steinbeck lived there for many years.
Aarons laughed softly, “You dug a trap for me.”
“You need civilising, my friend. You’re a bit of a country bumpkin.” She grinned. “Anyway—back to Sag Harbor. I’m driving there on Friday night—a client has lent me his house for the weekend. How about you come with me?”
“I’m no good at parties. I never know what to talk about.”
“Who said anything about parties? It’s just you and me and my cameras.” She smiled. “And you’ll have to carry my photo bag of lenses and stuff.”
“Are you sure I won’t be a bore?”
She shook her head as if in despair and then stood up. “Be here about five on Friday evening. OK?”
“OK.”
It was in the early hours of the morning when she eased the car into the wide driveway of the house. Before she switched off the car lights he saw the house. It was a magnificent place, white clapboards recently painted, with blue shutters at the windows. Spanish-type arches along a patio and then the extended length of the house that was covered with Virginia creeper. Aarons guessed that it must be the house of a very rich man.
Tania seemed familiar with the interior layout of the house, giving him the choice of two comfortable bedrooms before taking him to a beautifully fitted kitchen with its own dining area. She made Aarons a glass of hot chocolate and a small pot of tea for herself.
“Are you tired, Andrei?”
He smiled. “Not as tired as you must be after that long drive.”
“I’ll have to fix for you to have driving lessons, it’s crazy in this day and age not to be able to drive a car.”
“Who’s the owner of the house? He must be very rich.”
“Just a friend. He seldom comes here. He lives in Manhattan.” She stretched her arms. “It’s time for bed or we shall be too tired to swim tomorrow.” As Aarons stood up and walked towards the bedroom he’d chosen she said, “Sleep well. If there’s anything you want call me.”
“Thank you.”
She shook her head slowly as he turned and walked away. It was hard to believe that this was the man that Grandpa Lensky had talked about. A man who had
