instantly at ease in your company, it was suddenly so obvious that what she needs, especially at this juncture in her life, is a mother’s touch, a mother’s way, a mother’s—”
But Marina cut him off. And from the bottom of her heart, she said:
“Do not ask that of me, Alexander Ilyich. Ask it of yourself.”
I can do this, said the Count to himself as he skipped up the stairs to the Boyarsky. After all, it was really just a matter of making some minor adjustments—a rearranging of some furniture and a shifting of some habits. Since Sofia was too young to be left alone, he would eventually need to find someone who could sit with her while he was at work. For tonight, he would simply request an evening off, suggesting that his tables be divided between Denis and Dmitry.
But in an extraordinary example of a friend anticipating the needs of a friend, when the Count arrived at the meeting of the Triumvirate a few minutes late, Andrey said:
“There you are, Alexander. Emile and I were just discussing that Denis and Dmitry can share your tables tonight.”
Collapsing into his chair, the Count let out a sigh of relief.
“Perfect,” he said. “By tomorrow, I shall have come up with a longer-term solution.”
The chef and the maître d’ looked at the Count in confusion.
“A longer-term solution?”
“Weren’t you splitting my tables so that I could be free for the evening?”
“Free for the evening!” gasped Andrey.
Emile guffawed.
“Alexander, my friend, it’s the third Saturday of the month. You’ll be expected in the Yellow Room at ten. . . .”
Mein Gott, thought the Count. He had completely forgotten.
“. . . What’s more, the GAZ dinner is in the Red Room at half past seven.”
The director of Gorkovsky Avtomobilny Zavod, the state’s leading automotive manufacturing agency, was hosting a formal dinner to commemorate their fifth anniversary. In addition to key staff members, the event was to be attended by the Commissar of Heavy Industry, and three representatives of the Ford Motor Company—who didn’t speak a word of Russian.
“I shall see to it personally,” said the Count.
“Good,” said the maître d’. “Dmitry has already set up the room.”
Then he slid two envelopes across the table to the Count.
In accordance with Bolshevik custom, the tables in the Red Room had been laid out in the shape of a long U with chairs arranged on the outer perimeter—such that all the men seated could watch the head of the table without craning their necks. Satisfied that the settings were in order, the Count turned his attention to the envelopes that Andrey had given him. Unsealing the smaller of the two, he removed the seating chart, which had presumably been prepared in some office in the Kremlin. Then he opened the larger envelope, spilled out the place cards, and began positioning them accordingly. Having circled the table a second time in order to double-check the precision of his own execution, the Count stuffed the two envelopes into the pocket of his pants—only to discover another envelope. . . .
Removing the third envelope, the Count considered it with a furrowed brow. That is, until he turned it over and saw the willowy script.
“Great Scott!”
According to the clock on the wall, it was already 3:15.
The Count dashed out of the Red Room, down the hall, and up a flight of stairs. Finding the door to suite 311 ajar, he slipped inside, closed the door, and crossed the grand salon. In the bedroom, a silhouette turned from the window as her dress fell to the floor with a delicate whoosh.
The Count replied with a slight cough.
“Anna, my love . . .”
Noting the expression on the Count’s face, the actress pulled her dress back up toward her shoulders.
“I’m terribly sorry, but due to a confluence of unexpected events, I am not going to be able to keep our appointment today. In fact, for related reasons, I may need to ask a small favor. . . .”
In the fifteen years that they had known each other, the Count had only asked Anna for one favor, and that had weighed less than two ounces.
“Of course, Alexander,” she replied. “What is it?”
“How many suitcases do you travel with?”
A few minutes later, the Count was hurrying down the staff stairwell—two Parisian traveling cases in hand. With renewed respect, he thought of Grisha and Genya and all their predecessors. For though Anna’s cases had been fashioned from the finest materials, they seemed to have been designed without the slightest consideration