The Stylist. Александра Маринина
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at last.
“It’s me,” Solovyov said hurriedly. “Forgive me for calling you, and at such a time.”
“It’s all right. Go ahead.”
“How are you about tomorrow’s plans?” he began cautiously.
“Fine, as we agreed. What’s the matter, has something changed for you?”
“No. I mean, yes, I mean… Listen, could you come today? It’s not late yet. We could have a lovely evening.”
“Do you have a problem with tomorrow?”
“No,” Solovyov lied. “It’s just that I miss you. I want to see you and I can’t wait until tomorrow.”
“I’m very sorry,” she replied, still very calmly. “I can’t come today. It’s out of the question. If you have a problem and we can’t meet tomorrow, then we’ll meet another day. But not today.” “Nastya, I really want to see you… You’re right, I do have a problem with tomorrow, but I don’t want to put off our meeting. Come over tonight, please. Will you?”
“No.”
“But we can’t sec each other tomorrow.”
“Then we won’t.”
“When, then?”
“I don’t know. But not today. It’s not open for discussion.”
“You can’t leave because of your husband?” Solovyov said finally.
“It has nothing to do with my husband,” she replied coldly. “I have work, and I have to do it. Today.”
“So you can do it tomorrow.” He didn’t know why he was making such an issue out of it. “If we don’t meet tomorrow, you’ll have half a day free.”
“I told you already, Solovyov, it is not possible. Out of the question. So, then I won’t come tomorrow?”
He was silent for a bit. Then he said angrily, “Come. I’ll be waiting for you.”
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