The Hidden Man - Charles Cumming [99]
‘Then I am very relieved.’ Tamarov swayed back and removed his hand from Mark’s shoulder. ‘This has been a burden for me tonight, and for Juris also. As I was saying to you, your father’s tragedy came as a surprise to all of us in the organization.’
‘Juris also works for Mr Kukushkin?’ Mark asked, because he had to.
‘He is an associate,’ Tamarov replied after a pause. Both men glanced backat the table. Ben, Mark was pleased to see, was now talking to Ayesha in the corner. That would keep him out of trouble. Macklin, Raquel, Duchev and Philippe were laughing amongst themselves in a separate conversation.
‘And your brother?’ Tamarov asked. ‘What does he think?’
‘Ben?’
‘Yes. Ben.’
‘Oh, all brother cares about is paintings.’
Tamarov’smouth dipped.
‘I like him very much,’ he said. ‘Benjamin is good person. It is not easy for him to live with everything that has happened. I also lose my father, when I was seventeen year old.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘A car crash outside Moscow. He was killed with a friend, coming backfrom a day of fishing in the country. My mother was very sickand I had to inform my younger sister and brother of this news. They are twins, only ten years old at the time. When I tell them what has happened they are screaming, like animals on the floor.’
‘That’s terrible. I’m really sorry.’
Two girls approached them at a gentle sway but Tamarov waved them off.
‘I remember afterwards, going through his…’ he searched for the word ‘… his possessions. My mother was ill for some time and it was left to me, only a young man in Soviet Russia, to arrange the funeral. This was an intimate thing, you understand, for a boy to go through his own father’s books, his clothes.
Later I read an American author. He says: “There is nothing more terrible than to face the objects of a dead man.” I always remember this.’
‘I had to do the same thing,’ Mark said, and for a moment he was out of the role, alone in Keen’s flat that first time: finding a razor lying beside the bath, clogged with his father’s hair; suits and ties in cupboards, never to be worn again; a Bible in a drawer just a stretch away from his pillow; even an unopened packet of condoms gathering dust under the bed.
‘So we have something in common,’ Tamarov announced.
‘Yes we do.’ And for no better reason than that he was unsettled and short of ideas, Mark picked up his drinkand proposed a toast.
‘To the future,’ he said.
Tamarov looked pleasantly surprised.
‘Yes, to the future,’ he responded, and smiled. He appeared to be on the point of adding more when Duchev approached. Acknowledging Mark with a granite nod, he said something quickly to Tamarov in a language which was not Russian.
‘Es atnacu uzzinat ka klajas. Nu, ka iet?’
‘Vies iet labi,’ Tamarov replied. ‘Esmu parliecinats ka bracli neka nezina.’
Latvian, Mark assumed, and attempted to commit certain phrases to memory. Tamarov had used the word labi, which he knew meant ‘fine’ or ‘good’, but he would struggle to remember anything useful for Randall.
‘Juris is wondering where we get to,’ Tamarov said. ‘I was just telling him that we come backand sit down.’
Again the pair spoke briefly in Latvian, this time with distinct names emerging from the flow of language. Philip. Toms. Something about piedzerussies. Mark noticed that Tamarov dealt with Duchev as a young, successful executive might speakto his foreman or chauffeur: with an authority checked by respect for the older man’s experience and loyalty.
‘What’s happening over at the table?’ he asked. Duchev seemed to wait for permission to speak. Air conditioning had rendered the club almost odourless, but Mark could pickout the strong smell of his sweat.
‘We find out,’ he said.
Together they returned to the group and found Macklin holding court at the table, spittles of champagne now staining his electric blue suit. Raquel, Ayesha, Philippe and Ben were listening with rapt attention to a high-volume monologue about prostitution.
‘Thing about hookers,’ Macklin