A Negotiable Instrument

Chapter Nine

Tursunov set out for home earlier than usual. He felt drained, his senses dulled as if they were out of synchronisation with the pulse of the city. He walked along Voznesensky Prospect and retraced his headlong rush of the morning. When he reached the Isaakievsky Bridge, the sinew that connected the limb that was Vasilievsky Island to the main body of Petersburg, he stopped and watched the dark waters churn beneath his feet. He turned and looked back across the Bolshaya Neva and stared for several minutes at the indistinct silhouette of the city that lowered over him, lost in silent contemplation. Once across the bridge he took a circuitous route to wander past the grand façades of St. Petersburg University. He was assailed by memories of the times he had spent there in study and in play, and he mourned their loss. Eventually he penetrated deeper into the shadowy interior of the island, negotiating the pot holes and horse shit that lay in wait to trap the unwary. Frozen to the core by the malevolent wind, he arrived home.

He had expected Maxim to be surprised by his early return and he was disappointed to find his son wasn't waiting for him. Olga glided out of the kitchen and materialised behind him as if she were a dove conjured from an over-sized handkerchief by a third-rate magician.

'What do you want,' he asked. He felt cheated out of the welcome he had hoped for and Olga's sudden appearance had added to his resentment.

'I am to tell you that my mistress is visiting with Madame Konovalova, sir.' It was obvious that Olga's performance had been carefully rehearsed. When she got no answer other than a scowl from Tursunov, she carried on. 'I am to go and tell my mistress when you have returned.'

'Well then, Olga, I suggest that's what you do. Run along now.' As Olga disappeared through the door and hurried along the landing to the Konovalov's apartment he noticed that she had changed into her outdoor dress. He pulled off his hat and gloves, shrugged off his coat, and left them in a heap on a side table. He poured a large shot of vodka and threw himself into an armchair. Downing the vodka, he got up and poured himself another. After a few minutes spent looking out of the window he went into the kitchen and attempted to discover what culinary delights were due to be served. He was surprised by the lack of preparations and he picked up an apple from the kitchen table and took a bite. He wandered back and threw himself into the armchair again, uncomfortable in the apartment by himself. He had the sense that the apartment was aware of his discomfort and resented his solitary presence.

'You are home earlier than I expected, Vasilii,' Galina said as she walked into the room. Olga trailed in her wake like a reproachful shadow.

'Yes, I thought it would be a surprise for Maximka.'

'It is a surprise. I expected our preparations to be finished before you arrived. Olga,' she added, and turned to her maid, 'please continue with the preparations as I instructed you.'

'Yes, Madam,' Olga said, and backed out of the room.

'Forgive me, Galya. I didn't mean to cause you any inconvenience,' he said when they had the room to themselves. 'Where is Maximka?'

'It is not inconvenient, Vasilii. It is merely unexpected. Maxim is having his meal with the Konovalov's this evening.'

'Why? I thought we might spend some time together.'

'I thought it best, Vasilii.'

'I'm not sure I understand. Has something happened? There is nothing wrong with Maximka?'

'There is nothing wrong with Maxim.' She stared at him for several moments before she continued. 'I had an unexpected visitor this morning.'

'Yes? Who was that?' he asked, and took another bite out of the apple.