du coeur, and directed them to a nearby store he promised offered the best in haute couture.
An hour and many hundreds of euros later, the clothes and luggage were on their way back to the InterContinental, and they continued on to the Gaston-Gastounette.
The hotel desk clerk had been right: the furnishings were elegant, recalling a time before the glitterati of the film festival years, when the wealthy of the Cote d'Azur came to Cannes to pretend it was still a time of Empires. Even better than the decor was the view: they were able to get a table next to a window overlooking the old port and marina, with centuries-old buildings rising up the low hills, swept back and creating a huge amphitheater around the bay.
Since they'd just been in Nice but hadn't had chance to sample the salad named after the city, they decided to start with salade nicoise; and, since they would soon leave the coast for the deep inland of Russia, Benjamin suggested they try the house specialty: tortellini and boiled mussels. When they asked the waiter for a wine recommendation, he told them that, frankly, their cellars did contain what he considered simply the best they'd ever offered, but if price was a consideration… 'Pas du tout,' said Benjamin. Then, the waiter said, there was only the Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Montrachet, 1999.
'C'est bon,' said Benjamin, and the waiter bowed, removed their menus, and disappeared most discreetly.
'Guy was right,' Benjamin said. 'Married couples do get better treatment.'
Natalya was staring out the window at the sunset over the bay. She smiled, but she was obviously thinking about something else.
'I think your father can take care of himself,' Benjamin said. 'If that's what you're worried about.'
She turned and looked at him. 'Very empathetic,' she said. 'I am not used to that, from Americans.'
'What exactly,' said Benjamin, ' are you used to from Americans?'
Natalya studied him for a moment. 'Let us just say that my extradiplomatic contacts have not always been positive.'
Before Benjamin could answer, their wine arrived, and they waited while it was uncorked and Benjamin was offered the chance to sample it. He sipped it and was very impressed; nodded to the waiter, and both their glasses were filled.
Alone again, Benjamin lifted his glass. 'Let's drink to a new detente, ' he said.
Natalya smiled, raised her glass, and they clinked. She tried her wine, and also looked impressed.
'I do not usually like white wine,' she said, 'but this…'
'Worth every euro,' Benjamin said. 'Ah, the advantages of ill-gotten gains.'
'Which makes me wonder,' Natalya said, 'just how these gains were, as you say, gotten?'
Benjamin frowned, set his wine down. 'I only know that Samuel Wolfe trusted Anton.'
'And you trust this Samuel Wolfe?' Natalya asked.
'Yes,' Benjamin said without hesitation.
'After you knew him for only two days?'
'Two and a half,' corrected Benjamin. 'And yes, that may sound… hasty. But there was something about the man…'
'Was?' asked Natalya.
Benjamin realized he'd only mentioned to Natalya that Wolfe had 'disappeared' during the fire at the Foundation, not that it was likely he'd actually been in the building and, quite probably, died in the explosion. And he couldn't quite bring himself to suggest that, even now.
Natalya saw his hesitation.
'So there are still some things you are not telling me,' she said. Benjamin started to say something, but she stopped him. 'That is perhaps as it should be,' she said. 'You have known me even less time than you did Mr. Wolfe.'
Benjamin looked at her. The shorter brunette hair may have dimmed her brilliance slightly, but it hadn't extinguished it. He still thought she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.
'Tell me about your father… Sophia,' he said, pouring her more wine.
And so she did. As their meal was served-delicious and quite garlicky mussels in a light cream sauce with tortellini-she told Benjamin a little of how her father had come to be a rocketchiki.
'He was a true believer, and to him this was the most patriotic way he could serve the Motherland,' Natalya said. 'I asked him once, would he actually have pressed his white button, had it come to that?'
'And what did he say?' Benjamin asked.
'He said he could not have reported for duty each week unless he knew, in his heart, that he could do such a thing.' Natalya looked into her wine. 'In fact, it was when he felt he no longer could answer yes to that question that he resigned.'
'And that was after he'd read about the gulags?'
Natalya went very quiet. 'Not just read,' she said.
'What do you mean?' Benjamin asked.
Natalya looked up, forced a smile.
'We are to distract ourselves, yes?' Benjamin nodded. 'Then let us talk about something else. You, for instance. I know nothing of your past, Mr. Levebre, yet here I find myself married to you.'
Benjamin laughed. And so through the rest of the meal it was Benjamin's turn to tell Natalya stories of his childhood: growing up in upstate New York, the son of another 'academician' (using Natalya's term), an historian from a long line of historians. 'My father used to tell terrible jokes,' he said. 'He would say, 'History has quite a long history in this family.' ' Benjamin smiled. 'We would all groan, but he didn't care. He was a very carefree person, for the most part.'
'For the most part?'
'There was one subject that would make him go almost nuclear, as we used to say, and that was when he felt someone was exploiting the Founding Fathers to justify intolerance. He thought it was an insult to the Constitution, to everything they'd fought so hard to achieve. 'Don't they understand?' he'd say. 'The whole point was to have the freedom to piss each other off!' '
Natalya laughed. 'I think I would have liked your father,' she said. 'And I believe you will like my father.'
Benjamin looked up, raised his glass again. 'Then let's toast to new friends,' he said. They tapped glasses.
After dinner, they walked back to the hotel, sticking to the boulevard along the bay. Both of them knew they were trying to extend their little fantasy 'honeymoon' as long as possible, to put off the moment when they would have to face the reason they were here.
Once back at the InterContinental, Benjamin immediately opened the French doors to the balcony, went outside, and stood, leaning on the railing and looking out over the ocean. Natalya came out and stood next to him.
'I don't know how to thank you,' she said.
'No,' he said, 'I should be the one-'
Natalya put her hand to his face, turned it to hers. She looked at him for what seemed an eternity before she finally leaned very close and pressed her lips against his. Benjamin put his arm around her waist, pulled her against him, moved his lips from her mouth to her neck.
'Benjamin,' Natalya said. Then, very gently, she pulled away from him. She put her hands on his shoulders. 'I am sorry,' she said. 'I just do not think-'
'It's all right,' Benjamin said. He was still holding her waist but he made no attempt to draw her close again. 'I understand.'
'And we need to rise early,' Natalya said.
'Yes, we do,' Benjamin said. But he was still holding her.
She took his hands, one in each of hers, and moved them apart. Then, without another word, she went back into the room, entered the bathroom.
After that, they wished each other a friendly good night-though it sounded slightly more awkward now than it had in Nice-and went to their separate beds. Once again, Benjamin was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep. Once again, as soon as his eyes were closed, he was fast asleep.
