Rosa and the Veil of Gold

by Kim Wilkins

  Daniel groaned. “Shouldn’t we do some sightseeing or something?”

  “I find work always passes the time, and we need to get together a script for tomorrow. I was going to do it tonight, but I’ll be driving.” She gave him a meaningful lift of the eyebrows. “Remember, it’s your job too.”

  The time passed in working on the script, in a walk around the city centre, in a long lunch, in repeatedly and unsuccessfully trying to phone Aaron to let him know they were running late, and in sitting for a while on a park bench. There was no denying that it was a long and boring wait, and the stress of boredom was made worse for Daniel by his growing feeling of dread about travelling so many hours late at night. What if Em fell asleep at the wheel? Or a late-night long-distance truck driver ploughed into them? Or a wild nocturnal animal crossed their path and caused an accident?

  Damn it, if he’d just been able to fly like a normal person. Presumably the rest of the crew were in Arkhangelsk—having caught a perfectly safe flight which had landed on time—and were already relaxing at the hotel.

  At four o’clock, after a taxi ride with a surly driver, Daniel and Em finally arrived back at the garage where they waited for ten minutes for the mechanic to get off the phone from his wife. Their car was parked nearby, and Em went over to check that nothing had been stolen from their suitcases.

  “Hello again,” the mechanic said to Daniel when he had finally hung up the phone.

  “Is the car ready?”

  The mechanic smiled and shook his head. “No.”

  “No?”

  Em joined them. “What’s going on?”

  “The car’s not ready,” Daniel said, forgetting to switch back into English. This didn’t faze Em at all, and Daniel found himself admiring her astonishing ability to pick up the new language.

  “I need a part,” the mechanic said. “It will be in tomorrow.”

  Em held out her hand and clicked her fingers. “The keys.”

  “Em, what are you doing?”

  “It isn’t safe to drive,” the mechanic said.

  “It got us this far,” she said.

  “Em, no,” Daniel said, galvanised by the mechanic’s warning. “We can’t drive it if it’s not safe.”

  Em switched into English. “He’s just saying that so he can charge us more to fix it.”

  “But what if—”

  “The keys,” Em said again. “Now.”

  The mechanic shrugged and withdrew the keys from his dirty overalls. Em snatched them from him and stalked back to the car.

  Daniel ran after her. “Em, come on. It’s a long drive in a car that’s not safe.”

  “It will be fine,” she said. “Get in.”

  Even though he hated her domineering tone, he did as she asked. She was leaning over to the glove box to retrieve the map. “We’ll take a quiet route,” she said. “We’ll stay off the main roads, away from any traffic. I’ll drive slowly and carefully.” She started the car.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Em,” he said.

  She turned to him and met his gaze fully with her own. “Daniel, think of all those flights you refused to take because you had a bad feeling. Have any of them ever crashed?”

  Daniel was taken aback, couldn’t find an answer on his tongue.

  “Maybe your bad feelings are just feelings. Common or garden variety. Not presentiments.” She put the car in gear and pulled out. “From what Rosa told me, you don’t even believe in presentiments.”

  “The mechanic said—”

  “Forget what the mechanic said,” Em replied as they bumped back down the dirt road. “Never trust a mechanic. Trust me instead.”

  Daniel fastened his seatbelt and took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll trust you.”

  SIX

  Hotel Pamyat in Arkhangelsk was a Soviet-era tourist hotel, poorly-lit and drab. In the cold foyer, some touches had been added by the new owners—bright paintings and track lighting—but nothing could hide the building’s innate austerity.

  Rosa waited at the reception desk for five minutes, drumming her fingers on the scarred wood while the receptionist casually finished some paperwork.

  “How can I help?” she said eventually.

  “I’m looking for two of your guests. Daniel St Clare and Em Hayward.”

  The receptionist punched a few keys. “No, nobody here under that name.”

  Of course, it was only four o’clock. They were probably still a few hours away by road. Rosa booked herself a room then asked, “Do you have a group booking for a television crew? Great Medieval Cities.”

  Again the receptionist turned to her computer. “I have a booking for Spartacus Television Productions.”

  “Which rooms are they in?”

  “Three-twenty to three-twenty-four.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rosa scooped up her room key and took the lift to the third floor. She knocked on the door to three-twenty and a man of about forty-five, with long blond hair in a ponytail, opened it.

  “I don’t speak Russian,” he said, in extremely poor Russian.

  “It’s okay. I’m Rosa. I’m a friend of Daniel’s.”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Are you the girl troubles?”

  “What?” she said, confused and wondering if she should be insulted.

  He shook his head. “Never mind. Daniel’s not here yet.”

  “What time are you expecting him?”

  “Around eight tonight. I’m Richard. Do you want me to give him a message?”

  “Which room will he be in?”

  “Well, given that Em will take the corner room because it’s bigger,” he said with a smirk, “that will leave Daniel three-twenty-three.”

  Rosa eyed the door.

  “Do you want me to give him a message?” Richard said again.

  “Yes, let him know I’m staying in the hotel. I’m in five-nineteen.”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “No.” Rosa shook her head. “No, he’s not.”

  “You’ll be a nice surprise then.”

  “No, I won’t,” she said. She considered telling this man that their trip to Arkhangelsk was going to be wasted, that she had to take the bear and send them all back to Novgorod. But she couldn’t do it. She would break the news to Daniel and Em first. “Goodbye.”

  “My mates and I are going out for dinner at seven,” he called after her. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  “Thank you, but no,” she said, and the lift doors closed on his next question.

  Rosa settled herself into her room and lay back on the bed. The paint on the ceiling was peeling, but the mattress was firm and the linen smelled like lavender. She sighed and closed her eyes, a weary anxiety seeping into her bones. Vasily’s early return had thrown matters into chaos. She hoped that Daniel wouldn’t get into serious trouble for dragging a film crew up here. Really it was Em’s fault, and Rosa surmised that Em was more than capable of dealing with the censure of her colleagues.

  Daniel was so much more vulnerable: the third son of the tyrannical principal of an elite school; motherless since two years of age and raised by a succession of foreign nannies; the only St Clare in three generations not to achieve a doctorate; two older brothers who barely spoke to him except to express their disdain. Despite the nest of vipers he had grown up amongst, Daniel was gentle and kind, passionate and funny.

  Rosa sat up, determined not to allow her imagination to travel those well-worn paths of what might have been. She had a few hours to pass and it was best to keep herself busy.

  At eight o’clock, after a long walk by the grey sea in the grey afternoon, an early dinner, and a half-hearted visit to the tourist shop behind the hotel foyer, she passed Daniel’s room again. Nobody there. Richard’s room was empty as well. She decided to leave a note under Daniel’s door, in case his colleagues didn’t return until late or forgot to pass on her message.

  At nine o’clock, the corner of the note was still peeking from t
he door where she had left it.

  At ten o’clock, Richard told her that Daniel and Em were probably just running late and not to worry.

  “We’re filming at eight in the morning,” he told her. He was drunk, and his lecherous interest was more carelessly displayed. “They’ll be here. Em wouldn’t miss the start of a shoot for anything.”

  “They haven’t called?”

  “They’re probably out of range. Don’t worry.” He smiled at her meaningfully. “You want to come in for a drink?”

  “No, I think I’ll go to bed.”

  She lay in the dark for a long time, fingering the charms on her mother’s bracelet. Unlike Vasily, she knew what they all meant: a swallow brought good fortune and luck on travels, unless it flew through a window, which augured a death in the house; a knife was protection against bad magicians; a spoon ensured a child’s good health. She felt her way along the bracelet, considering herself both blessed by her mother and cursed by her. Eventually, she dropped into a light sleep.

  She woke just before midnight and sat up, confused. Daniel hadn’t arrived yet. Or perhaps he had, but hadn’t wanted to wake her. She pulled her dressing gown on over her clothes and went down the hall to the lift.

  In the dim light of the corridor she could see the corner of the note, exactly where she had left it. Moments ticked by unknowing, and even the silence in the corridor seemed pensive.

  Rosa returned to her room and sat at the window. Her breath fogged the glass, streetlights outside spilled light onto her hands as they rested on the cold sill. A prickle walked leisurely up her spine, a knot of knowing tightened in her stomach. Something had gone wrong, something bad had happened.

  Where was Daniel?

  Daniel was sleeping. At last. Em had thought he would stay awake, tensely watching the road, all night. But now the tension had evaporated, his sleeping face was soft against the headrest and Em felt free to press the accelerator a little harder to make up some of the time they were losing in this convoluted route up to Arkhangelsk.

  She felt as though she had been driving forever. The light had long ago fled the land; it was nearly midnight. The road had become narrow and unmarked, the dirt shoulders broader and more pitted with holes. The monstrous conifer woodland closed around the carriageway, and only the occasional village or farm punctuated the dense growth. The last vehicle they had passed was a dirty truck, laden with precariously-loaded logs, steaming into the night. That had been two hours ago.

  Em yawned. She would have liked to get some sleep, but she wasn’t turning the wheel over to Daniel. Not because he was unused to the car’s left-hand drive—which side of the road they drove on was hardly an issue out here—but because he would feel how the steering had deteriorated into a spongy, unresponsive mess. She had been growing used to it, but they wouldn’t be driving it back to Novgorod, that was for certain.

  The dark closed in, the road kept disappearing under her, the hum of the engine seemed to be beating an inaudible rhythm; she stretched her mind to listen…

  Time slowed. Em’s eyelids flickered…

  Her eyes flew open, her heart jolted. The car had drifted to the left. She must have nodded off for a half-second. But something had woken her, some shimmer of rainbow light from the back seat, reflected in the rear-view mirror. She checked the mirror. Nothing. Risked a peek over her shoulder. Nothing.

  A dream, then. The kind that intervenes upon the moment of sleep. She shook herself and wound the window down a few inches. The cold air woke Daniel.

  “Em?” he said dozily.

  “It’s getting stuffy in here. Sorry. Are you cold?”

  Daniel reached into the back seat for the big overcoat he had borrowed from Vasily. “I’m fine, I’ll put this over me.” He yawned. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Not long. About forty-five minutes.”

  “This road’s rough, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but we should pick up an exit in about ten miles. Maybe we can stop for a cup of coffee. Help keep us awake.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “You’re not getting sleepy are you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Because I can drive for a while if you need a rest.”

  “No, it’s fine, Daniel. I’m fine.” She switched the radio on. Snow on every channel.

  “We must be a long way from anywhere,” Daniel said, and something about his words gave her a chill.

  Em snapped the radio off. “How did you meet Rosa?” she asked. She didn’t really care to know, but conversation was a good barrier to sleep.

  “I enrolled in an advanced Russian course and she was my teacher,” he said, yawning again.

  Em suppressed a sympathy yawn. “So you’d learned Russian before?”

  “I had a Russian nanny for six years when I was a little boy.”

  “A nanny?”

  “Yeah. My mother died of cancer when I was two.” Daniel went on, filling in his family history, responding to her carefully placed questions to keep him talking as the road wore her down.

  Finally, he said, “Shouldn’t we have reached that turn-off by now?”

  “Perhaps I underestimated.” She smiled at him. “Optimistic. I’m thinking about a warm bed.”

  They travelled another half-hour in silence, and Em started to worry that she’d missed the turn-off. What if they’d passed it in that moment she’d dozed?

  “Is that it?” Daniel said, pointing to a long dirt road. Two bent posts, once the pillars of a street sign, stood at the corner. Em pulled into the road and stopped the car, knocking it into park.

  “I’m sure it’s a paved road we want,” she said, leaning over Daniel to pull the map out of the glove box. “Let me see.”

  By the yellow light of the overhead bulb she ran her finger down the map. By her estimation, they should have passed the turn-off twenty minutes ago. And this road wasn’t even marked.

  “Maybe the map’s misprinted,” she said.

  “Do you know where we are?”

  “I know where we’re supposed to be.”

  She studied the map a few moments longer, while the car hummed and Daniel looked on nervously. Finally, she folded it away. “You know, I think we’ll just keep driving the way we’ve been going, and see what happens. I mean, we’re heading in the right direction, there will be a turn-off somewhere.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Nothing else we can do. We have to be in Arkhangelsk by morning.”

  She switched off the overhead light and put the car back into drive. It stalled. The engine went dead, light and sound sucked into nothing.

  “What the hell?”

  “What happened?” said Daniel.

  Em tried to start the car. Nothing. The dark outside, now the headlights were off, was absolute.

  “What happened?” Daniel repeated.

  “Maybe the battery’s gone flat.”

  “But the car was running.”

  Em turned the key again and again. Not even a click or a wheeze rewarded her.

  “It must have been more damaged than we thought on the way up to St Pete,” Daniel was saying. “Shit, what do we do?”

  Em pounded the steering wheel. “This is so irritating. We’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, we have a shoot in Arkhangelsk in about eight hours, and my cell-phone has been out of range virtually since I left St Petersburg.”

  Daniel sighed and leaned his head against the window. “It’s all my fault.”

  Em looked at him. “Daniel, that’s not helpful.” Something caught her eye in the distance. She leaned closer and peered into the dark beyond Daniel. “You know, I think I can see a light.”

  Daniel turned. “I can’t.”

  Em nodded confidently. “I can. Between those trees. Maybe it’s a service station.” She was already pulling her coat off the back seat.

  “Wait. What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to walk up there and see if somebody will come take a look at the car. Or maybe l
et us use their phone.”

  “You can’t go alone.”

  “That’s right. Pull your coat on.”

  “Shouldn’t we just wait here for somebody to come by?”

  “They might not.”

  Daniel reluctantly pulled his coat on. “Em, I don’t know if this is wise. There could be wolves out there.”

  “It’s not far. And there’s safety in numbers. We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  Em could see Daniel struggling with her decision and fought down a burst of impatience. “Come on, Daniel. We’ve done this on your terms so far—”

  “My terms? Driving at night in a car considered mechanically unsafe?”

  “We could have flown,” she said irritably. “We would have been there twelve hours ago.”

  He buttoned his coat in silence. “Okay, let’s go then.”

  They were two steps beyond the car when they realised how cold it was and came back for hats, scarves and extra layers. Daniel also grabbed the bag with the bear in it.

  “We should bring her,” he said. “Just in case somebody breaks into the car while we’re gone.”

  “Fine,” Em said, locking the car and pocketing the keys. “Let’s go.”

  They walked off the road, down a shallow gully, and into the trees. The undergrowth was tough and moist, the trees very close together. Em led the way, ducking spider webs and hoping they wouldn’t tumble off the top of a ridge.

  “Shit,” Em said, kicking her toe on a jutting rock.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just kicked my toe.” She carefully made her way forward, eyes on the woodland floor for other hazards. Not that she could see much in the dark. If only the sky wasn’t clouded over. Even the palest wash of starlight would help her see. All around was the tang of pine and a slightly sour smell of old puddles and rotting layers.

  When they had been walking for a few minutes, she lifted her eyes to look for the light. It had been extinguished.

  “Oh no,” she groaned. “It’s gone out.”