East of the Sun

by Janet Rogers

  ‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ Wilfred said, beaming up at the man. ‘I thought you were out of town.’

  ‘It was a last minute invitation,’ the man answered. ‘Apparently Mara had some cancellations, but I think she’s up to something. She said she needed a favour – a big one!’

  ‘Oh, that certainly sounds like my wife,’ Wilfred chuckled, shaking his head, but before they could continue their conversation, someone pulled on the tall man’s arm and started speaking to him. He listened for a moment and then turned back to Wilfred.

  ‘I’ll talk to you again later?’ With a brief nod in Amelia’s direction, he moved away.

  She wondered who the tall man was. Apparently he was at the party courtesy of the same last-minute invitation that had been extended to her. What was Mara up to? She was about to ask Wilfred about him, but he spoke first, his face suddenly serious.

  ‘How have you been, my dear? We’ve been so concerned about you.’

  Amelia squeezed his arm, touched by his kindness. She’d often thought that if she could have ever had a second father, Wilfred would have been her choice. ‘I’m doing fine. Not always, but I’m getting there.’

  Wilfred nodded gravely. ‘Tell me to mind my own business if this is inappropriate in any way, but why have you come back? You know, this place,’ Wilfred tsked, shaking his head as he continued, ‘it’s not a good place for you to be.’

  ‘I know and I agree.’ She could see he was waiting for more. ‘It’s difficult to explain, Wilfred, and this is such a line from a bad soap opera, but I feel I have to be here right now. All these loose ends. It would be good to tie them up once and for all. Before they disappear completely.’

  Wilfred nodded, but looked unconvinced, his expression thoughtful.

  ‘I can assure you, though,’ Amelia added, ‘that I hope this will be the very last time I come here.’

  ‘I’ve tracked you down!’ Mara exclaimed as she appeared next to her husband. ‘Why are you two looking so serious? Amelia, are you all right?’ Without giving her a chance to answer, Mara patted her husband’s arm affectionately and reached for Amelia’s hand. ‘Come with me.’

  Mara led her down a passage, away from the guests, into what appeared to be the master bedroom. She closed the door behind her. Then she led Amelia into the en-suite bathroom.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked again. ‘You look a little flushed.’

  Amelia looked at her reflection in the mirror. It was true: two bright spots had appeared on her cheeks. She opened a tap and held her hands under the cold water.

  ‘Just a little warm. I haven’t been around this many people in a while.’

  ‘Oh dear, it’s my fault. Have I pushed you too far? I’m sorry if I’ve caused you discomfort, Amelia.’ Mara was silent for a moment as she perched on the side of the bath. ‘I’m afraid I have a little confession to make.’

  Amelia closed the tap and turned around. ‘I thought as much. It’s pretty clear that there was no need for you to make up numbers tonight.’

  Mara sighed. ‘I hope you’re not going to be angry, but I’ve invited someone who might be able to help you make sense of this whole thing.’

  Amelia started to protest, but Mara held out a hand to stop her. ‘I know you feel this is your issue, your problem to make sense of, but perhaps a little help will ease the way?’

  Amelia didn’t reply. She was instantly angry at Mara’s interference. Of course Mara meant well, but she really didn’t like being sidelined like this. Emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

  Mara stood up. ‘I know I’m asking a lot, but it worries me so much to see you back here in Moscow. Will you give me – and the person I’d like to introduce you to – a chance to help?’ For the first time since Amelia had known Mara, she looked uncomfortable.

  Amelia started shaking her head. ‘Mara, I—’

  ‘Listen,’ Mara interrupted unceremoniously, ‘I know it’s difficult to be here among these people again, but please give this a chance. I’ll give you a few moments to cool off. Dinner will only be served in about ten to fifteen minutes, so take your time. No one will come in here.’

  It was clear that Mara didn’t want to hear her objections. She started moving towards the door, but turned back. When she spoke again, her brisk tone was gone. ‘Forgive me if I’ve been a meddling old woman, but I really believe this man will be able to help you. I trust him implicitly.’

  It took Amelia the entire fifteen minutes to calm her breathing and consider Mara’s actions. She didn’t want to compromise her own effectiveness, her desire to fly below the radar of whatever dark forces were at work because she was unable to deny a friend’s well-meant, but potentially distracting offer of help. Could she afford to let anyone else in on her pursuit of the truth? Or would it be short-sighted not to? She trusted Mara’s judgement, but she doubted her friend could truly understand the complexity of the situation. When she finally left the bedroom, she still hadn’t made up her mind.

  The room was hot, but the din seemed to have diminished a little. Guests were starting to move into the dining room when she entered the main reception room. Immediately Mara appeared at her side again, this time, unsurprisingly, with the tall blonde man in tow.

  ‘Amelia, I’d like to introduce you to someone. This is Nick Sanford. Nick, Amelia Preston. Nick is a geologist, Amelia, and he knows the local mining industry very well. I’ve seated you next to one another. I think you’ll find much to talk about.’

  Mara had the decency to blush as she introduced them. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her eyes imploring Amelia to cooperate, and then she moved away, forced to focus her attention on other guests.

  Amelia glanced up at the man who looked as discomfited as she felt.

  She extended her hand. ‘Amelia Preston,’ she said, unnecessarily. ‘Earlier I heard you mention to Wilfred that Mara was up to something? That she needed a big favour?’

  Nick Sanford took her hand and gave a slight nod. He looked embarrassed, as if she’d caught him in a compromising situation.

  ‘Well,’ Amelia said, ‘it seems you may have had prior knowledge of Mara’s little scheme, but I’ve just discovered that I am that favour.’

  She didn’t wait for an answer, but withdrew her hand and walked into the dining room without a backward glance.

  7

  Armed with bag, hat and gloves, Amelia decided to brave the cold and make her way up Tverskaya Street. It was late morning and a slow trickle of people was starting to emerge from the metro exits and underpasses.

  Saturday. A whole weekend lay ahead of her. What would she do with all that time? So many busy, overworked people would kill for a weekend with no obligations or commitments, and it was true that a little more than a year ago she too would have considered herself very lucky to have this kind of a break, but now she dreaded it. When she’d lived here as the Canadian ambassador’s wife, she’d never felt a complete sense of freedom. Security and logistical considerations meant that her trips outside the embassy and official residence had either been short or in the presence of other people. How often had she not yearned for fewer restrictions. The irony of it wasn’t lost on her – now she had all the time and freedom in the world, was accountable to no one, and yet she couldn’t enjoy it.

  The rush to get to Moscow had been so overwhelming that she hadn’t taken into account that there would in effect only be half a week to get things done before the weekend would slow everything down and force her to endure long hours in a city she didn’t really want to be visiting.

  What’s more, the previous evening’s party at Mara and Wilfred’s house weighed on her. She thought of Nick Sanford and how she’d treated him. Only now, in bright daylight, did she feel a stab of guilt about snubbing him so frostily before the dinner had even started. Had she been unreasonable? Had she judged too harshly? She pushed the thought aside, not particularly keen to analyse what had happened.

  There was little she could achieve o
ver the next two days. Her appointment with the new Canadian ambassador was only on Monday morning. She didn’t want to confront Patrick until she’d checked the truth of Kiriyenko’s account, so visiting him and Cathy were out of the question. As for contacting other people, she simply didn’t have the energy for it. What remained was solitude, something she’d grown accustomed to. Sitting around the hotel was out of the question, however, and she had a destination in mind.

  Moskovsky Dom Knigi was a well-known and well-stocked book store that lay just a few blocks away from her hotel. It was as good a stop as any and she was in need of fresh things to read anyway. The only reading material she’d brought had been the wad of clippings currently weighing down her shoulder bag. If she was honest with herself, it had become a safety blanket. She seemed to have difficulty parting with it and carried it with her wherever she went. Every time she started doubting her actions, which happened often, she pulled out the clippings and read one of them. Somehow it never failed to strengthen her resolve.

  The security guard posted just inside the entrance gave her the expected once-over as she stepped inside the bookstore. A wave of heat hit her. With it came the smells of people, damp wool and books. The store was crammed with the latter from top to bottom, the aisles so narrow that it was a challenge to squeeze past other people in their equally thick coats. Once past travel guides and language books, she aimed for the architecture and history sections. On her very rare visits before, she’d noticed that the selection had been surprisingly good.

  She managed to kill a good fifty minutes before she selected two books and headed to foreign fiction for something that would aid her sleeping while in Moscow. It didn’t take long to pick two more books. Even if they didn’t manage to lull her to sleep, they would at least help her while away the hours of wakefulness.

  Outside in the street again, the cold came as a shock after the overheated air of the bookshop. Her cheeks tingled as she surveyed the scene. In the short time she’d been inside, the city had come alive. Now the sidewalks were crowded and young people hung around in small huddles. Across the street a group of young soldiers on weekend leave walked up the street, a bounce in their step.

  The strap of her book-laden bag was digging into her shoulder. There had to be a café close by. She could have something to eat and start looking at her new books. For sanity’s sake she needed to pass at least a few more hours before she could go back to the hotel.

  She walked to the corner of the block and turned left. The street sloped gently downwards and it was slow going with the weight of the books over her shoulder and patches of ice underfoot. At the bottom of the street the slope evened out and she stopped for a moment. On the opposite side of the street, a few hundred metres to the left, she spotted a coffee place and headed that way immediately, carefully trying to avoid the many pedestrians rushing towards warm destinations of their own.

  It happened fast, too fast. One moment she was glancing into a shop window at a display of decorative Russian porcelain and the next her right shoulder was wrenched back painfully.

  She saw a young face, a beanie pulled low over the forehead, hands pulling at the strap of her bag.

  ‘No!’ she yelled. ‘What are you doing?’ Somehow she managed to keep her grip on the heavy bag. ‘Stop, help!’ Still she held on, clutching it to her body, but the young man was stronger than his skinny frame looked and he started dragging her down the street.

  ‘Stop!’ She aimed for his ankles. The kick was clumsy, without any real power, and she only managed to land a weak blow to the side of his leg.

  He glanced around and she caught another glimpse of mean eyes and the determined curl of a lip. She wouldn’t let go. If she could hold on long enough, someone might help her.

  ‘Help!’ she shouted, but no one did and she could feel her grip starting to slip.

  Amelia held on and held on, but she could feel her strength waning. The young man – boy – turned around and for an instant released the tension on the strap. She felt herself stumbling backwards. And then, with another sharp yank, he pulled again and freed the bag from her grip.

  The victorious smile was smug and brief. He snarled something incomprehensible at her and set off. By the time she regained her balance, he’d reached the end of the block. Once more time he looked around and then he disappeared around the corner.

  There was no point in trying to follow him. He was too far ahead, she’d never catch up. And he looked just like every other Moscow weasel. There was no way she would find him again.

  She looked around. No one had even tried to come to her aid! On the opposite side of the street, a few people stood staring at her vacantly. She glared at them and felt the urge to shout at them for not helping her, but in the same instant the adrenalin left her body and all she was aware of was her aching arms and shoulder. She pulled off her gloves. Her hands were red and swollen.

  Stunned, she assessed her situation. She didn’t know what to do. Would it help to find a member of the militsia? Or maybe she should try and follow her assailant. She leaned against the closest building, trying to garner a coherent thought. No, she couldn’t approach the militsia. Only an idiot would ask them for help right now. It would merely invite more trouble. And trying to pursue her attacker would be futile. He was gone, hadn’t even hesitated to show her his face, just to emphasise how little he feared her.

  Pain was creeping into her raw hands. Shakily Amelia pulled her gloves on again and started walking back to the hotel for lack of a better option. She stuck her hands into her coat pockets, hoping warmth would ease the soreness. There: salvation. Her fingers closed around something familiar. Her wallet! How had it ended up there?

  It came back to her. When she’d paid and loaded the heavy books into her bag, she’d stuck the wallet into her coat pocket to keep it out of the way and had forgotten to put it back. The relief she felt was overwhelming. Her cards and room key were safe. The thug wouldn’t know where she was staying.

  Twenty minutes later Amelia entered her hotel room, still shaking. She threw off her coat and walked across to the wardrobe. She sank down on her knees to be eye level with the room safe and punched in her security code. She knew it was irrational, but she had to be sure. The door swung open.

  Nothing had changed. Nothing was gone. Her phone, money and a few other valuables were safe. Why wouldn’t they be? For a moment, happiness erased her pain and shock.

  Her notes, her carefully compiled and even more carefully guarded clippings were gone, though. Everything about her return to Russia was encapsulated in that small collection. What would she do without them? Amelia could feel panic rising in her chest at the thought that her reassuring stash of information was gone.

  Hold on. Breathe. Get a grip, she told herself. It wouldn’t be too difficult to collect the information again. Besides, didn’t she know just about every word that was written in there anyway? Slowly she started to breathe normally again. It wasn’t the end of the world.

  There were always stories doing the rounds in expat circles of people having their purses slashed or stolen in the metro or of being mugged on the street. Had she lost her edge, that crucial constant awareness you needed to survive in a big city, especially a nasty one like Moscow?

  And then another thought.

  What if the attack hadn’t been random? What if it had been planned, what if someone had come looking for her? If that was true, if it wasn’t random, her closely guarded secret was now in someone else’s hands.

  8

  When Amelia stepped through the door, she immediately surveyed the vast room, wondering for the hundredth time how, and why, she’d let Mara persuade her to agree to a second meeting with Nick Sanford.

  Two days after Mara’s party she was still irritated by the whole thing and had very nearly not come. If she was honest, she was mainly annoyed with herself for not staying in control, for letting someone else, however dear, take the initiative away from her. This was no one else’s figh
t to fight, something she had been so adamant about, but after a long debate, Mara had convinced her that she had nothing to lose by meeting him again. Which may or may not be true, but she had also tired of arguing her point and had ended up giving in. Besides, the weekend was beginning to feel very long, and the chance of filling the hours until the next day’s meeting with the new ambassador with something at least potentially useful was better than sitting in her hotel room.

  She hated to admit it, even to herself, but Mara’s persistence had caused her to start doubting her conviction that it would be best if she alone chased the few remaining leads, especially after what had happened the previous day during her bookshop outing. Eventually she’d told herself that if she didn’t like or trust the man Mara continued praising to the high heavens, she could simply opt not to involve him. It was the only way she could make her defeat feel palatable, the only thing that made it possible for her to maintain a sense of control.

  At a corner table pushed close to the large windows that looked out onto Tverskaya Street she saw Nick Sanford, the man who’d been seated next to her at Mara’s dinner. She wondered how the meeting would go today. When they’d met, she’d made it clear that she wasn’t thrilled about being bamboozled and consequently, rather unsurprisingly, their dinnertime conversation had never progressed beyond superficial trivialities. Although she’d known she was being unfair to someone who had apparently also been unaware of the plan, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from blaming him for Mara’s tactics. She hated appearing vulnerable, even more so in the eyes of a stranger, and had kept him at a chilly distance throughout the remainder of the evening. In truth, she was surprised that he had agreed to another conversation.

  Quickly she weaved her way through the tables towards him.