Andrea Bennett - Two Cousins of Azov

‘She… and he? Tolya was in there, after all! That’s it!’ He pulled away from her to pace the room.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘The tapping, woman! The moths! Maybe… Tolya remembered? But of course he remembered!’ He whirled away from her, addressing the window and the leaves heaving through the autumn air. ‘Albina told me he was praying to Stalin. And why would he do that? Because he’d remembered – remembered the scary things! The tapping and moth boy! The fire!’ He turned to face her. ‘I wasn’t going mad! There is no supernatural!’

‘I don’t understand.’ She shook her head till her cheeks wobbled. ‘Not a thing do I understand. Gor—’

‘Akh, we don’t have time. It’s an old story, and a tragedy – my family tragedy. They came together—’

‘You didn’t tell Madame Zoya of any tragedy!’ Sveta’s eyes and mouth scrunched with disapproval.

‘Pah, Madame Zoya! They already knew, these blackguards! And they used that knowledge – to get at me!’

‘How?’

‘At the séance, at home! It all fits! They knew about the tapping! We used to do it, you understand – when we were boys! We scared each other.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘I thought I was going mad. But it was them… they tried to drive me mad!’

‘But why, Gor? Polly and Vlad – why?’

‘Why?’ He stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen floor, black eyes wide. ‘Because they hate me, of course!’

‘Akh! Why would they hate you?’ Sveta jumped up from her stool. ‘They don’t even know you.’ They stared into each other’s eyes, face-to-face across the kitchen table. Sveta raised her chin. ‘Unless… Oh yes, it’s clear, really.’ She nodded energetically. ‘Oh yes! Gor, everyone who doesn’t know you, knows you are a millionaire… with jewels under the pillow and gold in the cistern. They don’t hate you. They wanted to rob you!’

The great black eyes opened and his head tipped back. ‘You think? You really think?’

‘Don’t you? They are young, stupid…’

‘The gold in the cistern? You think they believed… Hang on!’

They jumped up as one, Gor dashing before Sveta into the hall and through the bathroom door.

‘I don’t believe it! You’re right! Come and see!’

He stood like the Grim Reaper, bony finger pointing to the lemon-yellow toilet as he panted. Sveta saw, and nodded, lips pursed: the lid of the cistern was crooked, clearly replaced by an inexpert hand, and on the floor tiles, dotted around its foot, were splashes of water, muddy boot marks pressed into them.

‘Gold in the cistern,’ said Sveta quietly. ‘She didn’t even put on slippers: wasn’t here long enough.’

‘Akh! Greed and gossip!’

He dashed to the bedroom, searching with fresh eyes.

‘Yes, yes – I see it now! The drawers are crooked, and the pillows! Look with the right eyes, and all is clear. She was searching for treasure! But she got nothing!’

‘She got Albina!’

‘Well, yes.’

‘We must find her!’

‘And the police?’ Gor frowned.

‘You heard what she said.’

‘So we must do it ourselves. But how?’

‘Vlad?’

‘Vlad.’ Gor nodded.

Vlad was easy to locate. A phone call to the Vim found him on a week’s study leave, so Sveta tried Valya, who informed her with quick pride that he was performing community volunteer work – at Madame Zoya’s apartment.

‘She’s not answering her phone though: I’ve already tried twice. I need to know when he’s coming home for tea. I’ve made a vanilla sponge, specially, since it’s Tuesday.’

‘We’ll take the car,’ said Gor, as Sveta dropped the receiver.

Madame Zoya hovered unwelcomingly behind her door, spectre-like in a grey gown, the outline of her scrawny limbs clearly visible.

‘We are busy,’ she grumbled, ‘you cannot come in. I have done with you! I helped you as far as I could. Do you want blood?’

‘Cut the drama, Madame Zoya. We know Vlad is with you,’ said Sveta firmly. ‘Our business is with him, not you.’

‘Please, Madame!’ added Gor. ‘This is urgent. We believe a child may be in danger!’

The door creaked inwards, and Zoya curled her lip below her sharp, beaky nose.

The interior was lit by a spotlight, its beam trained on a naked body reclining on a pile of Uzbek cushions scattered on the floor. The light threw shadows across biceps, a pair of broad shoulders and the tightest stomach muscles Sveta had ever seen. She averted her gaze to a stuffed woodpecker.

‘I’m sorry, Vlad, we must end our session. I have guests… well, you do.’ Zoya trailed her fingers across the polished-concrete of his shoulder as she went to collect her pencils from the easel. He stood, stretched lazily and reached out for a robe.

‘I do?’

‘You do,’ said Sveta, raising her eyes from the woodpecker to his chest.

‘Sveta! You are all recovered?’ He smiled and bowed. ‘And Papasyan!’ His face fell. ‘This is unexpected.’

He threw on the robe and headed for the sofa, bare feet slapping on the floor. ‘What’s up?’

Sveta and Gor stood in the spotlight, their faces stark in its beam.

‘You know very well! You’re in this together! You… you criminal!’ Gor pointed a long, accusatory finger.

‘Criminal? I’ve done nothing criminal, as far as I know.’ He attempted nonchalance, issuing a bored sneer in Gor’s direction over the mound of his raised knee. ‘I was helping a friend, nothing more. There’s no harm done.’

‘Helping a friend? No harm done? My daughter’s been kidnapped!’ Sveta’s voice echoed off the walls.

‘What?’

Madame Zoya turned to him, blinking. ‘What is this, Vovka?’

‘I don’t know!’ The nonchalance was gone.

‘Tell us where Polly is!’ demanded Sveta. ‘We must find her, and quick.’

‘How should I know where she is?’

‘You are her beau.’

‘Not any more.’ Vlad shone a sad half-smile on Sveta, and then Zoya.

‘Poor boy,’ muttered Zoya, a hand on his arm. ‘They had a falling-out.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since Saturday,’ said Vlad. ‘You haven’t heard? You must be the only people in Azov.’

‘We do not gossip!’ said Gor acidly.

‘And I have been unwell,’ added Sveta.

‘Yes, I—’

‘You were in cahoots though?’ she interrupted him.

‘I don’t know what “cahoots” are, forgive me? We were going out together. She’s a… a strange girl. She asked for my help with a… a project. But tell me: what exactly do you think she’s done?’ Vlad looked from Sveta to Gor.

Sveta jumped forward clutching her brown handbag to her chest. ‘We don’t think , we know! She’s kidnapped my daughter!’

‘But when? How? Why?’ His face was incredulous, a laugh lurking in the back of his throat.

‘She thinks I have gold… like half the town. She’s been trying to scare me out of my flat, make me go mad, so that she can break in there and steal it. Don’t pretend you don’t know! You’ve been in on it with her! Plotting!’

‘No! But, really? This is… incredible. She was after your money? She believed all the gossip?’ The laugh was bubbling in Vlad’s throat. ‘I never knew that! That’s ridiculous—’

‘This is no laughing matter. If you don’t stop, I will slap you.’ Sveta stepped forward, her hand outstretched. The laugh subsided and he grabbed the crimson velvet cushion next to him, hugging it to his chest with a puff of dust.

‘I knew nothing of this,’ he said.

‘Then do your duty, and tell us anything you can – quickly.’ Sveta hopped over a floor cushion to kneel before him. ‘We will treat anything you say in the strictest confidence.’