by Janet Rogers
‘Phew, woman!’ Ratna exclaimed as Amelia rushed into the office. ‘Slow down!’ She stopped typing and looked at Amelia over the top of her computer screen. ‘Is everything all right? What in the world’s chasing you?’
‘Nothing, I’m fine.’ Amelia glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that she was fifteen minutes early. She pulled at her coat and sat down in one of the chairs opposite Ratna’s desk. ‘Sorry, I’m a little . . .’
‘Hmm, I can see you’re “a little” something today.’ Ratna smiled. ‘You haven’t called me for that glass of wine, you know.’
‘I know. Sorry.’
‘A “little” busy, stressed, tired? Well, whatever it is that’s bothering you, I’m quite certain a glass of wine will make it considerably better.’
Amelia felt instantly ashamed. She’d been keeping her old friend at arm’s length when Ratna had been nothing but kind to her.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been far too distracted by this place and the past.’
‘Understandably.’
‘I really do want to catch up, Ratna. Sorry, I’ve let myself get wrapped up in the things I want to get done while I’m here. How about that glass of wine after work this week sometime? Maybe on Thursday?’
‘Sure, Thursday sounds good.’
‘Good, then we can have a proper talk.’
‘Shall I come to your hotel?’
‘No, no, that’s all right, I don’t like spending too much time there. It’s good to get out, so I’ll meet you somewhere on Tverskaya Street or Nikitsky Bulvar, if that’s okay.’ As with Patrick, Amelia noted again her own hesitation, the desire to keep space around herself, as if she didn’t trust these people she had known for years. Surely it was absurd. She needed to sort out her anxieties and allow people into her life again. Especially those who had cared about her in the past.
‘Okay. In the meantime,’ Ratna interrupted her thoughts, ‘a cup of tea will be a good enough substitute. Come on.’
Amelia glanced at the closed door of the ambassador’s office.
‘Don’t worry, you’re early.’
Amelia still hesitated.
‘And he’s running late. He always is. Come on, he won’t go anywhere,’ Ratna said and walked out, not giving Amelia a choice.
Together they walked down the passage, down a flight of stairs and into the embassy staff kitchen where the normal array of coffee and tea-making items littered the countertops.
‘What a mess it is in here. You’d better sit down, Amelia, before you get those nice clothes of yours dirty. Besides, I know where everything is. Coffee or tea?’
‘Tea’s good, thanks,’ Amelia said, sitting down at a table that was pushed against the wall. All she wanted to do was talk to the ambassador. She had to force herself to exhale.
She watched as Ratna prepared their tea.
‘How have things been? I mean, how are you?’ she asked in an effort to focus on everyday matters.
‘Oh, you know, same-old, same-old,’ Ratna said, keeping her eyes on the kettle.
‘Nothing new?’
‘Not really. It’s still a tough place to be. The job is fine most days. You know, normal stuff.’
‘How are your parents?’ Amelia asked, suddenly feeling guilty for having shown so little interest in Ratna’s life in the past year.
‘They’re well. Slightly less disappointed in their daughter these days, now that she works abroad for a very important man.’
Amelia smiled, aware of the old struggle of tradition versus independence between Ratna and her ageing parents.
‘And Ravi?’
Ratna’s face softened. ‘He’s really enjoying his school here. And he’s a firm favourite with the girls.’ She shook her head. ‘Can you believe he’s almost twelve?’
‘Incredible. Any idea what you’re going to do about high school?’
Ratna was silent for a moment as she finished making their tea. She came over and sat down at the table. ‘I don’t know. He may have to start school in Canada without me for the first year. My posting will be up only when he’s halfway through his first year.’
‘Would he stay with your parents?’ Amelia asked.
Ratna rolled her eyes. ‘Or a cousin of mine, because I don’t really like the idea of him living with his father, who, in case you’re wondering, continues to be as useless as ever.’
Both women fell silent and again Amelia felt bad. Things must have been difficult for Ratna too: losing a beloved boss, having to adjust to a new one, raising a child alone, dealing with family complications back in Toronto.
‘It sounds like things have been tough.’
Ratna shrugged, looking into her tea. ‘No more than usual.’
It struck Amelia that, despite the light-hearted tone, Ratna was being unusually reticent. Things must have been harder than she was admitting.
Before she could say anything, Ratna spoke again. ‘Amelia,’ she said, her face serious, ‘what are you doing here?’
She was taken aback, surprised at the directness of the question, especially after Ratna’s delicacy on the first day she’d arrived at the embassy unannounced. Unsure of how to answer, she glanced at her watch and saw that is was already ten minutes past her scheduled meeting time with the ambassador.
She leaned across and touched Ratna’s arm briefly. She wanted to be as honest as possible. ‘I do have some admin to take care of here, but mainly I need to move on, and I’m hoping this visit will help me do that. It’s a little complicated. Do you mind if I tell you more about it when we have that drink?’
Ratna nodded slowly, drained her cup and smiled faintly. ‘Of course not. Come on, the ambassador’s probably wondering where you are.’
Robert’s office had changed. For a moment Amelia stopped in the doorway and took in the changes. The furniture had been rearranged. When Robert had occupied the office, his desk had always stood diagonally in one corner while the new arrangement had it directly opposite the door. It was inconsequential, she knew, but she couldn’t help but feel that the space had somehow become alien.
She looked up to meet the eyes of a very tall, balding man. He appeared to be in his early sixties already, older than she’d thought he’d be, and with eyes much kinder than she’d expected. She didn’t know why she’d imagined him being aloof, but he seemed to be quite the opposite, coming forward with outstretched hand.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Preston. Please, sit down,’ he said with old-worldly grace, and indicated for her to take a chair across from his. His French accent was noticeable, but not strong.
‘I’m pleased to meet you too. Thank you for seeing me.’ For a moment she felt like an awkward schoolgirl. ‘Please call me Amelia.’
‘And I am Jean. Jean Legault.’
Amelia nodded, unsure of what to say next. She watched as he walked slowly around his desk and sat down to face her.
‘Did you know my husband?’ she asked, not knowing where to begin.
‘I did. Not very well, but as you know, paths cross in government and naturally also in the diplomatic service.’
When the door behind Amelia opened, he looked past her and with a nod acknowledged Ratna, who came in with a document. He thanked her and waited for the door to close behind her again before he spoke, at no moment uncomfortable with the absence of conversation. Amelia sat back, allowing his quiet, unhurried manner to calm her.
‘Robert was a good man, admired by many. He was still young and already so good at what he did.’
The remaining anger and impatience she’d felt that morning was instantly replaced by a knot of emotion in her throat.
‘Thank you. For saying such kind things.’
‘How did you meet him?’ His question was gentle, as if he sensed in her the need to talk about Robert.
‘In London. He was doing a relief posting there for a while. We met at the house of mutual friends, at a dinner party.’
He gave her a smile that was fill
ed with such compassion that emotion threatened to overwhelm her.
‘You don’t have children?’
‘No, unfortunately we didn’t get around to it, as is so often the case with late starters like us,’ Amelia said, unwilling to go into too much detail on the painful subject.
Legault shook his head. ‘It was a terrible thing . . . what happened last year.’
Amelia nodded mutely.
‘What can I – we – do for you? I assume that is why you are here in Moscow again – unfinished business?’
Amelia cleared her throat. ‘Yes, it is.’ She paused. ‘And it’s only fair that I’m frank with you. Last year was chaotic and, as you know, answers were never found. I’m still not sure if that was because there were no answers to be found, or if the police didn’t want to look harder. Perhaps for fear of what they might find. Yet another example of Russian business taking the law into its own hands wouldn’t be good PR for this country, would it?’
He was watching her intently, nodding, but not interrupting.
‘I met with the detective a few days ago,’ she continued, ‘and he told me about certain developments – new evidence they uncovered which they’d passed on to the embassy.’ She stopped, waiting for him to say something, but he remained silent. ‘I was never informed.’ The unspoken accusation hung between them.
Legault’s forehead furrowed. ‘Mais . . . really? Are you sure? But of course you are, what am I saying?’ The frown became deeper. ‘This is not good. I am so sorry, my dear. Could you give me a minute, please?’ He turned to his computer and tapped at the keyboard. His frown disappeared as he typed in something else and reappeared before he turned back to her.
‘I cannot explain it.’ Legault’s French accent was stronger now. ‘I am embarrassed to say that I do not know how it could have happened, but it looks like you are right. It looks like we received a few letters and visits from the Russian police, but I cannot see a reference to communication from the embassy with you.’
He scowled at the computer screen, checking the facts again, but shook his head in dismay. ‘I can only apologise.’
Amelia hesitated. ‘Was the new evidence given to Patrick?’ she asked carefully, wanting to make sure of the facts and not wishing to add to his apparent distress.
He looked at the screen. ‘Yes, it looks like it was. I promise to ask him about it.’ He placed his hand on his chest, as if desperate to reassure her that his promise would not be taken lightly.
‘Would it be possible for me to read the information you have?’
Legault’s uncertainty lasted only a moment before he nodded. ‘It’s a little unconventional to give you direct access, but I think I can do that for you. I read the notes a while back and I’m afraid they are not very informative, but they should still have been shared with you.’
‘Excuse me a second.’ He stood up and walked to the door. Amelia couldn’t hear the words spoken in the outer office, but a short while later he returned with a thin folder. It didn’t look any more promising than Kiriyenko’s police file.
‘Why don’t you read it in here?’ Legault offered and placed the folder on the desk in front of her with great care. ‘I have a meeting elsewhere in the building anyway. No one will disturb you here, I promise.’ His hand crept up to his heart again and his smile was apologetic. ‘Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you. You’ve been through enough.’ Hand on heart he bowed slightly and gently pressed her hand.
‘Thank you,’ Amelia whispered and was relieved when he left the room quickly.
Unable to control them any longer, she allowed the tears to flow. Why, why was this so difficult? Why were there so many secrets? Why weren’t there more kind people like Jean Legault in the world? Why couldn’t Robert walk through the door now and put his arms around her?
Gradually she calmed down and listened to the building’s muted sounds. She pulled the folder closer. It didn’t take long to read through everything. Legault had been right, she already knew most of what was in it. There was a report from the head of security which detailed the events of the night Robert went missing. It was painfully straightforward: Robert had attended a function organised by the embassy for Canadian companies active in Russia or interested in investing in Russia; after the function he’d been driven home by Sergey Alyoshen, an experienced embassy driver; and on his way back to the residence, his car had been stopped and he’d been abducted. There was a copy of the blood analysis – one sample was Robert’s and the other was unknown – as well as a statement about the missing driver who’d been found in Krasnogorsk. There was no record of the actual interview with him, but Amelia hadn’t expected that to be in the file anyway. The possibility was mentioned that he wasn’t in fact crazy; that he might have turned to alcohol in the months following the disappearance and couldn’t, or wouldn’t, remember anything about the last night he’d been given the task of driving Robert home. Nevertheless he was taken to a psychiatric hospital in Krasnogorsk. Someone, presumably from the embassy, had written Tortured? in the margin of the police report.
The folder also contained a few statements from people who had attended the function at the Marriott hotel, but again they contained mostly expressions of shock and unspecific recollections of having seen or spoken to Robert that night. The only person who had referred to a specific time was Patrick, who confirmed that both he and Robert had still been talking to guests between ten and ten-thirty and that they had both left shortly after that.
It reminded her that she still wanted to speak to Patrick, irrespective of the ambassador’s intended follow-up. She glanced longingly at the screen on the desk, wondering if there could be more information on his computer. He’d only given her a paper file. Was he sharing all the information with her or would there be classified electronic files that contained more evidence somewhere? The single written word on the typed report jumped out at her again. Tortured.
There was silence on the other side of the door. Quietly she moved around the desk so that she faced the monitor. Feeling faintly guilty after Legault’s kindness, she quickly moved the mouse to get rid of the screen saver. To her dismay a security box requiring a password popped up. She stared at the screen for another second, wondering if it was worth trying to get into the embassy’s network, but she was no expert and the task would take far too long. And what if the system logged an attempt to get in with a wrong password?
Frustrated, she moved back to the other side of the desk again. She closed the folder and after a last look around, left Legault’s office. To her relief Ratna was nowhere to be seen. Quickly she exited into the corridor, hoping that she would find Patrick in his office.
He wasn’t there, but she decided to sit down and wait anyway and it wasn’t long before he rushed through the door.
‘Amelia, hi!’ he said, but when he saw her face, his manner changed immediately. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘I went to see the detective – Kiriyenko – a few days ago. And I’ve been going through the embassy’s records of last year.’ She kept her eyes on his face, making no attempt to hide her anger. ‘Apparently Kiriyenko sent some new information to the embassy. Information that never reached me.’
She stood up and walked to the door. Quietly she closed it before she turned around to face him again. All she could see on his face was puzzlement. ‘I’d like to know why you never contacted me with this information, Patrick.’
Patrick exhaled heavily. He walked towards her. ‘So that’s what’s upset you. Amelia, I’m so sorry. I can explain.’
He remained standing in front of her, rubbing his hand over his face once, then reached out towards her as if he wanted to take her hand. When she didn’t move, he became flustered and dropped his hand.
‘I really thought that you just wanted to forget this place, you know. There was so little of substance in the new reports that I didn’t want you to get upset over nothing.’
‘Do you think you would s
imply be able to turn your back and move on with your life if something like that happened to Cathy or your children? Do you honestly think I stopped thinking about everything that happened when I was no longer in Russia?’ When she heard how dangerously high her voice sounded, she stopped abruptly, summoning all her inner resources to avoid crying again. Anger and misery burned in her chest.
‘I’m so sorry . . .’ Patrick looked distraught and moved as if to lay his hands on her arms, but Amelia turned away and took a step towards the window. Big snowflakes had started to fall outside.
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Patrick? How could you possibly keep any news from me?’ She turned around and watched his shoulders slump.
He sighed and sat down in the chair behind his desk. Suddenly she found his handsome features, his blue eyes unbearable. She turned away again, unable to face him for the moment.
‘Amelia, please, come sit down, let’s talk this through. I’ll explain again. Please.’
She didn’t want to relent, but a part of her wanted to believe that he was on her side, wanted to know the truth and was desperate to hear a good explanation that would put things right again. At length she returned to her chair and waited for him to give her that explanation.
He sighed. ‘It was all so horrible. Such a terrible shock.’ He shook his head, but didn’t meet her eye. ‘I felt sick. I felt guilty, as if I’d let you – and him – down that night. I felt that I should have looked out for him more. And afterwards I saw how devastated you were. It looked like you were barely functioning, like you were unable to process any information.’
Patrick rubbed his hand through his thick black hair and sighed again. He looked up at her. ‘I thought you were falling apart, and when nothing more could be done, you left. And I thought if I reminded you of that night and that time, if I gave you useless new information, you’d never heal, and that I’d be doubly responsible. I didn’t want to devastate you again.’
