on the upholstered banquette. She noticed that he had unusually small ears and a liver spot on his chin. Anna sat on the wooden chair across from him.
“The band’s behind you if you sit there,” he said, trying to change her mind.
She looked over her shoulder. The little stage was empty. “How did you get my telephone number?”
He laughed. “The hotel in Dubna keeps complete lists of its guests. There was only one house painter in your delegation. Riddle solved.”
Although a glass of wine was in front of him, Anna got a whiff of stronger liquor. She spread her napkin on her lap.
“It’s wild game week in this restaurant. They have Manchurian venison. Or would you prefer capercaillie, or maybe some hazel grouse?”
“What are you having?” she asked, ignoring his display of esoteric culinary information.
“We could start with snipes’ eggs. The red wine is outstanding.”
She consented to the wine but wanted no appetizer. There was noise behind her as the musicians came back from their break and took up their places. Their stage was a semicircular platform thrusting out from the back wall and festooned with flower garlands. Above the stage hung a chandelier.
“Tell me about your father,” Lyushin said, opening the conversation. “What’s he writing at the moment?”
“How do you know who my father is?” Anna had been happy to learn about the hotel guest list, because it meant that Alexey had nothing to do with Lyushin’s information, but now mistrust was reawakened.
“You gave yourself away!” Lyushin plucked happily at the corner of the tablecloth. “Your name was on the delegation’s list as Anna Tsazukhina. Even in Moscow, Tsazukhin’s a rare name. Can we expect a new volume of verse from your father soon?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the music, which began as he was speaking.
The band launched into a lively tune, and the sudden volume of sound put an end to the conversation. The waiter came and took their order, bending down and bringing his ear close to Lyushin’s mouth. “We’ll have Manchurian venison,” the physicist said. Then, addressing Anna again, he asked, “Did you by any chance watch The Open Ear the other afternoon?”
They discussed the broadcast and the interview until the waiter brought a new carafe of wine and filled their glasses.
“You have a perfect neck,” Lyushin said. As he leaned forward, she smelled the alcohol on his breath again. “I’m glad you came.”
She drew away from his touch and asked, “What brings you to Moscow?”
“I have an appointment with the Minister tomorrow,” he answered. His casual tone failed to mask his desire to impress her.
“Are you going to meet Bulyagkov, too?” Now that Lyushin had brought up the Ministry, Anna was certain that Alexey knew he was in the capital.
“Of course. Without your friend, no research project gets off the ground.” He clinked glasses with Anna and drank.
“Will the Ministry give you the resources you need?” she asked, daring to probe a little deeper.
“I like to think about our afternoon in Dubna. When you were wearing nothing but a woolen blanket.” His hand played with Anna’s knife. “You were a joy to behold. For those of us who live in barren isolation, such sights are rare.” Seeking an excuse not to look at him, she turned around and faced the bandstand, where the portly fiddler was beginning a passionate solo. “What shall we do afterward?” Lyushin asked. “Will you show me Moscow?”
“I work the early shift tomorrow.” Even though Anna hadn’t expected anything different, she was disappointed at the predictable course the encounter was taking. How nice it would be to be cuddled up with Petya in their sleeping nook right now, listening to Viktor Ipalyevich’s sardonic commentary on the television offerings. She drank some of the heavy wine and let her eyes wander over the room, where every table was occupied.
“Is this your first time in the Ukraina?” Lyushin asked, interrupting her gazing. “Frightfully baronial, but still impressive, don’t you think?”
All of a sudden, the situation appeared so grotesque to her that she stood up and excused herself. On the way to the ladies’ room, she crossed paths with the waiter, who was bringing Lyushin’s order of snipes’ eggs. She hurried past the band and up some stairs; the female washroom attendant eyed her, calculating what sort of tip she might be likely to give. Anna leaned on a sink, stared at her reflection in the mirror, and washed her face with cold water.