Rosa and the Veil of Gold (14 page)

“I know you’re there!” a man called, and he sounded desperate and angry. “Leave her alone! She’s mine!”

Rosa recognised the voice as Ilya’s, and stepped out of hiding. “Ilya? It’s me, Rosa.” She could see him in the distance, near the edge of the wood. She waved and he waved back slowly. She hurried over to join him.

“Hi,” she said, catching her breath.

“What are you doing out here?”

She looked around and shrugged. “Oh, forbidden things.”

He frowned. “What forbidden things?”

“Smoking cigarettes, mainly.” She pulled out her packet and offered him one.

“I don’t smoke.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve come a long way from the front gate for a cigarette.”

She lit one and took a long, slow drag. “I guess I have.” She tilted her head to the side, pouted and expelled the smoke in a lazy stream directly over his head. “Who did you think I was, Ilya?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said, ‘leave her alone’. Who were you talking to?”

“It’s a private matter. A family matter.”

“Who did you want him to leave alone? Elizavetta?”

“I must get back to the farm,” he mumbled, turning his shoulder to her. “It’s cold. It’s late.”

“Not that late. You look like you don’t sleep until dawn anyway. Worrying about your wife?”

“Of course I’m worried. She’s sick.”

Rosa took his arm, crushing her unfinished cigarette under her shoe. “Ilya, come back to the guesthouse with me. I’ve got a jar of stale coffee and an old kettle down there. We can talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” he said softly.

“How do you know that? Perhaps we do. Come on.” She led him away firmly, through the gate and around the garden. He didn’t resist. Grey shadows collected around the house, and a night bird called far off. In the guesthouse, she stripped off her coat and plugged in the electric heater. Ilya took the armchair while she made coffee.

“I can’t offer you sugar or milk,” she said.

“I don’t mind.”

She handed him a cup and perched on the edge of her bed. “Anatoly has a possession of mine, a silver charm bracelet, and I’d like to get it back. Do you have any idea where he might have hidden it?”

“Perhaps you should ask Anatoly.”

“He doesn’t want me to have it.”

“Then you’ll never find it. He can hide things so you’ll never see them again.”

Rosa thought about the button in the ant hill and knew this was right.

“There’s more to you, isn’t there?” Ilya said, nursing his cup between his strong fingers. “I knew it when I met you.”

Rosa eased off her shoes and folded her legs under her. “There’s no point in denying it, but Anatoly thinks it’s a secret,” she said. “I need to learn magic, and quickly. Anatoly’s helping me.”

“Is that why you were in the woods?”

“Yes. There is a veil out there, between this world and the next. Someone I love has slipped through, and I intend to go after him.” She lifted her cup to her lips, watching Ilya over the rim. His oddly-matched eyes were turned down, and she took the opportunity to admire his smooth olive skin and his wide mouth. He was very still, and Rosa sensed a great unhappiness in him. “What about you? Is there more to you? What part do you play in Anatoly’s secret world?”

A smile broke through the serious expression. “I play no part in secrets.”

“Nothing mysterious about you, then?”

He shook his head. “No. I do what I can to help with the bees, but I don’t feel or see anything extraordinary.”

“You can see Anatoly’s two shadows, though?”

“Oh, yes, anyone can. When we’re in town together, I have to walk next to him to block the light. It requires some pretty fancy footwork.”

They laughed, and Rosa felt him soften towards her. She pushed her advantage. “So, Ilya, who were you looking for out there in the woods?”

The goodwill evaporated. “It’s private.”

“I’ve seen someone out there, you know. A dark-haired man. I saw him just this evening.”

“Then you should be careful, because he is dangerous.”

“Not to me,” she said. “I think he was looking for someone else.”

Ilya stood and handed her his untouched coffee. “Goodnight, Rosa,” he said.

“Yes, you’d better get to bed,” she said, still digging for information. “Elizavetta will notice you’re gone.”

“I share a room with Makhar,” he said. “Elizavetta’s sleep is too easily disturbed.”

She saw him to the door, his mournful expression stilling her next question. “I’m sorry. Sleep well,” she said.

He took a breath as though to say something, then thought better of it and merely nodded once before disappearing into the dark garden.

Buzzing woke her. Late-morning sunshine was slanting through the high window. That, combined with the electric heater she had left on, and the layers of blankets, made her uncomfortably sticky.

Still, it took her a moment to move. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Weariness weighed down her arms. She checked her watch. Nine hours’ sleep and she had woken up tired. It probably had something to do with the intense mental and physical effort at the veil the previous night.

Her eyes went up. A bee was knocking itself against the timber boards of the ceiling. She stood on the bed and opened the window, hoping the bee would find its way out. Then she lay down on her back, and watched it for a while.

Bees were such clever creatures: they built colonies, made wax and honey, were masters of teamwork. But a bee’s only defence was her sting, which pulled her guts out with it. Rosa yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She hadn’t had a chance to try Anatoly’s bee-control incantation; perhaps she could persuade this bee to leave with magic.

“Summer breeze, I call on you; Tsar air, hear me.” She launched into Anatoly’s zagovor, felt the warmth of magic in her elbows and fingers, then demanded that the bee leave.

Nothing happened.

Rosa frowned. Had she forgotten some aspect of the spell?

She was too tired to think about it. There was no doubt her magic was growing, but it would take time. She picked up a book and shooed the bee out the window, closing it firmly and wondering where the insects were finding their way in.

Rosa went up to the house to shower and dress, then asked Ludmilla for directions to town.

Ludmilla drew her a map, then said, “Why are you going to town?”

“I have to phone my Uncle Vasily back in St Petersburg,” she said.

“You can use the phone here.”

Rosa shook her head. She had things to ask Vasily which she didn’t want Anatoly to overhear. “I’d like to get out, see the town, look in the shops.”

“Good luck,” Ludmilla sniffed. “There’s a petrol station, a tavern and a general store. You’ll find a phone box in the car park.” She picked Anatoly’s wallet up off the kitchen bench and handed Rosa a few notes. “I need some groceries. Will you pick them up for me? It will save me a trip.”

“Sure.”

The phone started ringing, and Ludmilla tossed the wallet on the bench. “I must get that. Check the day book for the shopping list. Make sure you staple the receipt in when you get home.” She pointed to a household diary in the hutch, where all the daily tasks had to be enumerated and checked off. This was how the Chenchikovs kept their farm running on such short staff.

Ludmilla dashed off and Rosa found the right date. The list was in Ludmilla’s neat hand: two dozen eggs, a pound of butter, a jar of instant coffee. Rosa smiled, thinking that maybe Anatoly’s wife didn’t hate her after all. At the top of the page were some scribbled notes, a different handwriting. Anatoly, maybe? Rosa tried to read it, but couldn’t. The language was foreign to her, even though it was written in Russian letters.

Rosa pocketed the money and Ludmilla’s hastily drawn map. “See you this afternoon,” she called.

As the sun moved overhead, the day grew warmer and Rosa shed her light jacket and rolled up her sleeves. The air was humid, and the sun felt good on her bare arms. The blue Ford was where
she had left it, and she wondered who it belonged to and whether they were looking for it. It started first time and she backed out and turned the car around, pointing it towards the main road.

The drive was longer than she’d expected—a little over an hour—and the town much smaller. She pulled into a potholed car park behind the tavern and saw the phone box Ludmilla had spoken of. A scrappily handwritten sign across the front read, “broken”.

Rosa sighed, picked up her bag and let herself out of the car. She would have to try her luck in the tavern.

Inside, the ceilings were low and the lights were dim. The echoing cool was a pleasant contrast to the sunny warmth outside. The decor was at least fifty years old, but the picture of Stalin over the bar was too prominent and too dust-free to be a relic of another time. The smell of cooking reminded her that she’d skipped breakfast and it was already lunchtime. Two wiry drunkards held up the bar, the clink of their glasses loud in the emptiness. The long orange towels arranged across it were soaked and stank of vodka. Rosa approached the bartender, a fortyish man with a defeated expression.

“I need to use your phone,” she said.

“Long-distance or local?”

“Long-distance. St Petersburg.”

“Five hundred roubles for ten minutes only,” he said.

Rosa shook her head. “That’s too much. Did you break the phone box yourself?”

“You could always drive to the next town.”

Rosa found the money in her purse and gave it to him. “I’ll have a bowl of pelmeny also. Some rye bread on the side.”

He reached behind himself and handed her the telephone, still anchored to the back wall.

“You don’t have something more private?”

The bartender glanced at the two men on the other end of the bar. “They aren’t listening and I don’t care.”

Rosa shrugged, and dialled Vasily’s number.

It rang four times before he answered, giving her time to brace herself against the hysterics which she suspected might ensue.

“Hello, Vasily Beletsky.”

“Uncle Vasily. It’s me.”

“Roshka?” His voice was immediately frantic. “Where are you? What has happened?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m staying with a family about a hundred miles north-west of Oksovsky.”

“I thought you were in Arkhangelsk! Where’s the bear?”

“I’m still trying to find it.”

His voice grew soft. “Ah, Roshka, I don’t care about the bear. Just come home. I’ve been so worried.”

“You’re not to worry, I’m perfectly well.”

“Do you have anything to do with the missing American woman?”

“Which woman?”

“It’s been on the news. A television reporter and her assistant. They went missing on the way to Arkhangelsk. They were booked into the same hotel as you, and there was talk that they’d come with a strange artifact. Did you give the bear to television people?”

“I don’t know who you mean,” she lied. Better that Vasily knew nothing, just in case investigators came to ask him questions. She would certainly have to rid herself of the car very soon. “Look, I can’t expect you to believe anything that has happened to me, so it’s best if I don’t tell you.”

“But, Rosa—”

“Is there anything else of Mama’s at your place? Any of her magical things?”

Vasily was silent for a few moments, and Rosa knew he was suppressing a thousand questions. “I think there are some old books,” he said at last, “but they aren’t here, they’re in storage.”

“Can you send them up for me?”

“I can. It may take a day or two.”

“As soon as you can, Uncle Vasily.” She gave him the address and the phone number at the Chenchikovs’ farm, and warned him against speaking of her mother to whoever answered the phone if he called.

“I’m hardly going to unburden my heart to strangers,” he said.

“Sorry, Uncle Vasily. Just in case, don’t mention the books you’re sending me. Anatoly Chenchikov is a volkhv.” Rosa was aware that the bartender had just glanced up, and cursed herself for not
speaking more quietly. She turned her back. “He doesn’t want me to bring any of Mama’s magic into the house, but I need it.”

“Rosa, forget the bear—”

“It’s not the bear I care about,” she said. “It’s the boy who went with it.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Rosa.”

“I’m not responsible for your heart, Uncle Vasily. I’m sorry.”

“When will you be home?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks maybe. You’re not to worry. You managed perfectly well without me before I arrived in St Petersburg, and I wouldn’t have stayed forever anyway.” Her meal landed at her elbow, and she surveyed it warily. Pale meat dumplings floating in broth with a chunk of antiquated sour cream on top. The yellow cast of the cream and the overripe smell of the meat told her that she’d regret eating it. “I have to go, Vasily,” she said, even though her ten minutes wasn’t up. “Someone’s waiting for the phone.”

“I love you, Roshka,” he said.

“I love you too. Goodbye.”

“Thank you,” she said to the bartender, hanging up and turning to leave.

“You didn’t eat your lunch.”

Rosa shook her head. “I wasn’t hungry once I saw it.”

“Are you staying with Anatoly Chenchikov?” he asked.

“Does it matter to you?”

“It matters to me if a pretty girl gets herself in trouble with a devil.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Will you?”

Rosa didn’t answer, pulling open the door and walking out into the bright sunshine.

Dying for a cigarette at eleven p.m., Rosa kicked off the blankets. She had been trying to sleep for an hour and she was tired enough, despite her late morning sleep-in. But her mind was full of thoughts which would not lie down and be quiet, so neither could she.

Ludmilla’s rule about not smoking inside the walls of the farm was starting to annoy her. Rosa pulled on her coat and shoes, leaving her warm pyjamas underneath, and shoved a packet of
cigarettes and lighter in her pocket. She braced herself against the cold clear night, and left the guesthouse.

One light on at the cottage, deep inside. The kitchen was dark, no flicker from the television.

She followed the stone fence around and approached the gate, slowed and hung back when she heard Anatoly outside. She pressed her back against the cool stone and inched along to listen. It sounded as though he was at the edge of the woods; the wind picked up his voice and carried it back to her.