Andrea Bennett - Two Cousins of Azov

He sighed and rubbed the soles of his feet together.

‘I’ll tell you what I know… Just one moment. I must collect my thoughts.’

‘Collect your lies, more like!’ Gor muttered.

‘Come, come, old man, that’s rather harsh. After all, you’re the biggest liar here!’ Vlad’s words came out in a bellow. The accusation hung in the air.

‘What do you mean, Vlad?’ asked Sveta.

‘He told Madame Zoya there had been no tragedy in his life. That wasn’t true, was it?’

Gor’s face shone like a yellow skull in the beam of the light. ‘I don’t know what—’

‘Polly told me everything.’

‘What are you talking about, dear heart?’ Madame Zoya gripped his arm.

‘About him—’

‘We are here to find Polly—’

‘—and how he destroyed her family—’

‘Polly has Albina—’ Gor’s voice faltered.

‘Refused them a loan, kicked them out of their workshop—’

‘What?’ The haunted black eyes came up, confused.

Vlad leapt from the sofa and faced the old man. ‘They ended up on the streets, her mama in an asylum!’ His chest heaved. ‘Yes, she wanted revenge. Yes, she wanted to scare you. To repay you for ruining her life! And I thought, why not? You’re a bastard, Papasyan! And you deserved it.’

Madame Zoya’s spidery hands reached out to clutch his fingers.

‘Vlad, petuchka , I think—’ she cocked her head, ‘you are confused.’

‘He may not look evil, Madame Zoya, but…’

‘Vlad,’ she jumped up next to him, tiny but insistent, reaching up to turn his face to hers. ‘Dearest, listen a moment. Polly’s mama is not in an asylum. She is in Florida. With her little brother. She has been for a year now. She married a Yank, you see: an investment banker. Met him in a hotel in Yalta… Polly was left behind, with Alla to watch over her. Alla told me the whole story the other day. By all accounts, the mother lives on a fancy yacht.’

Vlad blinked his beautiful grey eyes.

‘But that can’t be! What about her papa – Papasyan kicked him out of the bank, spat at him in the street! He became an alcoholic! She told me!’

‘He works on a rig, malysh , in the Caspian Sea. Always has done. It seems our Polly has spun you a line.’

She squeezed his huge hands. His firm, sensuous lips flapped uselessly as a rich guttural sound escaped them.

‘Oh Vlad!’ Sveta’s fingers tugged at her face. ‘Oh no! You terrorised Gor, set up a bogus séance, all for that – for a lie!’

‘Phoning me up, tapping on the windows, leaving dead animals?’

‘I didn’t know!’ Vlad’s face was pale.

‘I never kicked anyone out of my bank! Or denied them means to make a living! I may not be perfect, but I am a human being!’

Madame Zoya guided Vlad back to the sofa, where he sat dejectedly, his head in his hands.

‘She used me! That’s all she did: used me!’

‘There, there, don’t upset yourself! Cuddle up with me and we’ll have a vodka. All will be well.’

‘All the time… she lied. And just because she believed some stupid gossip about gold!’ He started to pull on underpants over the firm, creamy legs. ‘Those stories about how hard her life was! Her struggle!’ He tugged on trousers. ‘Reminding me how she’d suffered whenever I disagreed with her, making out how much she needed me—’

‘And you were very ready to believe!’ ground out Gor from the corner. ‘With not a jot of proof!’

‘She said I was the only one.’

‘It was a despicable thing to do.’ Sveta stood before him, hands on hips. He looked up into her eyes.

‘But I thought I loved her. I did love her!’

‘No excuse.’ Sveta wagged her finger.

‘I wanted to make her happy!’ Vlad spoke to her receding back. ‘It seemed to make her happy!’

‘Twisted!’ Gor muttered to a stuffed badger.

One shoe was on. With surprising agility, Madame Zoya knelt on the floor beside him and gently ushered his foot into the remaining shoe. ‘There now.’ Her fingers remained on his ankle, softly rubbing the wool mix of his sock as she sat back on her heels.

‘So, now you know what Polly is, and what she has done, will you tell us where she is?’ Sveta raised an eyebrow from the doorway.

‘Well… she shares a room in the student hostel on the edge of town.’

‘Try harder,’ said Gor from the shadows. ‘She’s in Rostov.’

‘Rostov?’ He sat open-mouthed for a second. ‘I suppose…’ he began sheepishly, ‘I suppose she could be at Anatoly Borisovich’s flat.’

‘What?’ Sveta’s cheeks wobbled violently.

‘Well, erm… She knew he had an apartment there: she talked about us using it, if you must know. We didn’t! But… She had a key. She’s been there.’

‘Akh!’ Gor hissed, striding into the light. ‘Your job was to help my cousin, and instead—’

‘How could you?’ Sveta’s face crumpled.

‘I told her it was wrong! But… she threatened me, she was going to make things really difficult for me, if I didn’t do as she wanted.’

‘Oh dear, Vovka!’ Madame Zoya flopped onto the sofa and took a sniff of her smelling salts. ‘You have been a silly boy.’

‘Rostov!’ said Gor, jumping the mound of cushions in the middle of the floor.

‘Rostov!’ echoed Sveta, as she opened the door.

‘I’m sorry!’ cried Vlad, as it slammed. ‘It wasn’t me, Madame Zoya!’ He turned to her, grey eyes pleading. ‘I didn’t know what she was going to do! I thought she just wanted to scare him a little.’

‘I believe you, Vlad,’ said Zoya, grasping his fingers and looking into his face. ‘I believe you. She led you astray, and she lied to you. She is clearly… unbalanced. Now, what about a little vodka, for medicinal purposes?’

‘No, Madame! I can’t stay. I have to help – to try and sort all this out! She’s kidnapped Albina, for heaven’s sake! And I know what she’s like… She can get… carried away!’

‘Ah, me, yes, I suppose perhaps you should go. I am sure all will be well, though. The spirits would have alerted me, if something too catastrophic was going to occur.’

He was half-way to the door, striding over the cushions.

‘ Bon chance, mon brave! ’ She blew a wobbly kiss across the room. ‘Come back soon though – the portrait is only half done, and I haven’t paid you yet!’

‘I’m out of yoghurt, Olga.’ Albina lay on the couch and burped into her cupped hand. Her stomach didn’t feel good, maybe because of the yoghurt, maybe because of the strange mixture of boredom and anxiety within the flat. She looked up at the other girl, the ‘Olga’ girl. She didn’t seem much like Gor.

‘Stop calling me Olga.’

She was standing at the window, looking out into the courtyard and the mass of skinny birch trees huddled there: so many you couldn’t see the other side of the yard, could hardly make out the neighbours’ windows reflecting the fire of the setting sun. There was only the darkness of the trees, their shadows knitting into a perfect stony grey. Every so often she muttered to herself.

‘Olga, no more yoghurt!’

Albina rubbed her feet against the armrest of the sofa and picked at the split ends in her hair. The clock on the wall, shaped like Sputnik 1, gently tocked towards four.

Still the girl scowled into the courtyard.

‘Olga, you didn’t buy enough! I’m starving!’

‘You can’t be hungry! You’ve just eaten.’ She turned on Albina. ‘And you’re fat.’

Albina’s mouth stretched into an offended ‘O’.

‘You said this would be a party, Olga. This is a rubbish party. And where is my mama?’