A. Zander - Moscow City

“They are giving you only one-on-ones to start with. Just conversation.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. And all adults. It won’t be too difficult, as long as you like to talk. Do you like to talk?”

“I think I can manage talking.”

Anya took some papers from her bag and handed them to Harper. “I think the best thing is if you read these and come back to me with any questions. There are some ideas in there about how to structure the lessons and keep things interesting. Don’t feel like you have to use them, you can use your own techniques if you like.”

“Thanks,” said Harper, putting them into his own bag. “Your English is really great, you know that.”

Anya looked at him and blushed slightly. “Thank you. I worry about it sometimes. The students can sometimes complain if they don’t get a native teacher.”

“Well, I’m not complaining.”

“Then you are very kind.” Harper noticed a light redness on her neck. She handed him a small list of Russian names and contact details. “So, the best thing to do is email each student beforehand and see if they have anything they want to talk about. They usually do.”

Harper looked down the list for Nastya Katuseva’s name, but it wasn’t there. “Will I be teaching the girl who came round to the flat yesterday?” he said.

“Nastya? Well, not unless Pavel wants to give her up. To tell you the truth, she told me that she is getting a little bored with him, but please don’t mention this, he can be quite sensitive.”

“Sure.”

“You know, she is having a birthday party this weekend. She has invited all the teachers from the school. You should come.”

“Isn’t she the daughter of some oligarch?”

“Her father is Andre Katusev. Have you been to many oligarch parties Ryan?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Well, this can be your first. You know their family is very well-known here in Russia. Do you have a big family Ryan?”

“What?” Harper rubbed the part of his finger where his wedding ring used to be. “Family? No. Not really.”

“Our marriage is over Matt, get that into your head.”

Harper didn’t try to stop her as she walked into the flat and began throwing the remainder of her belongings into a cardboard box. He wanted to say something, but there was nothing left to say. Anything he said now would just sound limp and pathetic. She had a new haircut and was wearing more make-up than usual. She looked good to him now she was leaving.

“Where are you living?” he said, trying not to sound too intrusive.

“That’s none of your business.”

“I just want to know you’re okay. You know, for money and everything.”

“It’s not your concern now Matt.”

Harper walked into the bedroom and picked up some of her books from the shelf. “Did you want these?” She took them from him without saying a word.

“Look, I’m sorry, about everything.”

“Sorry? I don’t care if you’re sorry.”

“Well I am.”

“Sorry for what Matt? Sorry for leaving me alone in this flat for weeks at a time? Sorry for cheating on me? Sorry for giving me an STD after you fucked one of your little sluts? Fuck you Matt. Fuck you and your sorry. I’m not interested.”

He followed her back to the door. As she opened it, a man stood on the other side and took the box from her. He looked at Harper, but said nothing.

“Who’s this?”

“This is Dan. He’s helping me.”

“Helping you?”

“Yeah, helping me. You know, when someone does something for someone else. You might want to try it sometime.”

“So you’ve replaced me already?”

“Replaced you? Have you not been listening to me? There was nothing left to replace. I was married to a bloody ghost.”

Harper stepped outside the flat as she called the lift. “You know I can change if you want me to change.” The lift arrived and the doors opened. Dan stepped inside and left the two of them in the corridor.

“You’ve already changed too much. The man I married was loving and caring and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But this person standing in front of me. This paranoid, deceitful egomaniac. I don’t know who this person is.”

He watched as the lift doors closed and it trundled down to the ground floor reception. The anger bubbled up inside of him as he thought about Dan and her together. If he could just explain more, tell her about the pressures. Maybe she would change her mind. But he knew it was over. He walked back inside the flat and slammed the door behind him. Forget it. It’s over.

“How much of Kent does he own?” said Russell.

“It’s probably best not to think about it,” replied Cohen, as he finally turned onto the long road leading up to the front of Stanmore Hall.

“It must have taken us nearly ten minutes to get here from the front gates,” said Russell.

Morton looked out of his window at the vast estate. A small herd of deer watched their car warily before disappearing into the confines of some nearby woods. “You know what pisses these guys off most when they buy somewhere like this? They get told that some footpath or other goes straight across their land and there’s nothing they can do about it unless they get down to the local village and negotiate with a group of old timers on the parish council.”

Russell laughed. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that meeting.”

Cohen stopped the car on a gravel drive at the bottom of a large stairway. They got out of the car, watched closely by figures in dark suits from the windows on the upper levels.

“He uses ex-French foreign legionnaires as his personal bodyguard,” said Morton. “There was a bit of an incident last year when someone approached him in a restaurant in Kensington and got their arm dislocated. They don’t mess about these boys, so probably best to keep sudden movements to a minimum.”

Cohen looked more closely at one of the guards. The distinctive outline of an AK-47 assault rifle flashed momentarily into view before disappearing behind the man’s back. As they walked up the steps, a butler emerged to meet them.

“Welcome gentlemen. My name is Foreman. If you’d like to follow me.”

They followed Foreman straight ahead and up some stairs onto the first floor. There were subtly placed security cameras attached to the ceiling and other hints of modernity were dotted around the corridors. The only sign of Russian influence was a landscape painting of St Petersburg hanging on one of the walls. Foreman showed them into a large oval office and left the room.

“Seems like the guy’s pretty big on security,” said Russell. “Doesn’t seem like he sleeps easy at night from the look of this place.”

“If anyone wanted to get at him, they’d need some kind of army to take on his private bodyguard,” said Cohen.

After a few seconds, a separate door swung open and Katusev came striding into the room. The tension from the interview in Moscow had evaporated as he greeted them all warmly and invited them to take a seat in front of his desk. He wore white cotton trousers and cream loafers with no socks. His black jumper was stretched tightly over a chiseled physique.

“Apologies if I kept you gents waiting,” he said. “I have just had a new gymnasium installed in the basement and my trainer was keen that we try out some of the equipment.”

“No problem at all,” said Morton. “In fact, we just got here.”

“You are Scottish DCI Morton?” said Katusev, pulling his chair closer to the desk.

“Aye, that’s right.”

“You must come and join me on my next Highlands hunting trip. Are you a hunting man?”