The Stylist. Александра Маринина
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else did they say?”
“That I’ll have to drive, be able to cook decently, not drink, and be precise and careful with your work. To do what I’m told and not forget anything.”
“And do you think you can manage that?”
“I hope so. My mother says I should have been born a girl.” Andrei’s eyeglasses lent him a serious and businesslike air. Solovyov thought that he had no choice anyway. So now the new assistant had been with him two weeks. There had been no problems as yet, but Solovyov, taught by experience, did not let up his vigilance. Andrei had gone into town that morning to buy food for the birthday party. He should have been back, Solovyov thought irritably, it was getting dark. He was afraid of being alone in the dark.
The sound of a car came through the window, the car door slammed, and the front door opened. Solovyov was in his study on the first floor and could hear his assistant’s every footstep. Would he start unloading the car first or have the sense to come in and report?
Andrei had the sense to report, and Solovyov’s irritation subsided.
“Good evening. I’m sorry for the delay.”
Ah, so he realizes he’s late. That was good.
“What happened?” Solovyov asked as indifferently as he could. He didn’t want the boy to see that he had been upset.
“They didn’t have some of the hors-d’oeuvres you had ordered, and I had to wait while they made them up.”
“What, they made them specially for you?”
“No, specially for you,” Andrei replied with a smile. “I gave the department director your book and explained that it was your birthday. Her husband is a big fan of Eastern Best Seller, and she gladly took care of the order.”
“Where did you get the book? From my shelves?”
“No, I bought it along the way.”
“What for?”
“Just in case. And it did come in handy.”
The fellow had brains. And he wasn’t pushy, he bought the book himself, even though he could have asked Solovyov for a copy, he wouldn’t have refused.
“In any case, I managed to get everything you wanted. Food and drink. I’ll unload the car and then we’ll have dinner. Or would you rather eat first?”
“No, no. Go ahead. I’m not very hungry.”
Andrei left, and Solovyov returned to his translation. The book was due in two weeks, in mid-April, and he was right on schedule, but Solovyov did not like leaving things for the last minute and preferred to finish earlier than the publisher’s deadline, to have time to go over the manuscript one last time for the final touches.
After dinner, Solovyov settled down in the living room in front of the television set.
“Andrei!” he exclaimed. “I forgot to remind you this morning about the masseur. ”
“I called him,” the assistant replied. “You had told me about it two days ago. He’ll be here tomorrow morning at ten.” “Thanks,” Solovyov mumbled in relief.
The masseur came every other day at the same time, five p.m. But that might not be a good time tomorrow, since guests might have arrived by then. Solovyov had not invited anyone for a specific time, and anyone who wanted to come would be dropping in at any hour during the day. He did not want to miss his massage, because he felt like a new man afterward. Well, well, the boy was not forgetful, another point for him.
That night he had trouble falling asleep. For some reason he was worried about tomorrow. But why? There was nothing special, a day like any other. It wasn’t the first or last birthday he’d ever have. So why so upset? As if he were expecting disaster.
His bedroom was on the first floor, and Andrei’s room was on the second, right above him. Solovyov could see the light coming from Andrei’s window. The assistant was not asleep and that was upsetting, too. It was after one a.m., why wasn’t the lad sleepy? If he was what he tried to appear to be, not ambitious and without any other interests or occupation besides his work for Solovyov, he should sleep soundly at night. Or did he suffer from insomnia too? Why? Guilty conscience? Spiritual suffering? Lord, he was getting ridiculous!
The light went out on the second floor at last, and Solovyov calmed down. He had drifted off when he heard footsteps. Someone was carefully going down the ramp from the second floor. Someone! Why, who else could it be but Andrei? Solovyov opened his eyes, but there was no light coming from the window. Why didn’t he put on the light if he needed to go downstairs? Why was he walking around in the dark? His heart was thudding and his ears rang.
The steps got closer and, even though they were very cautious and quiet, Solovyov could hear them. They thundered in his ears. He couldn’t stand it.
“Andrei!” he called out, turning on the lamp over his head-board.
The door was flung open instantly. Andrei was on the doorstep wearing only his shorts. Solovyov noticed that his assistant was barefoot.
“Excuse me for disturbing you,” he said, embarrassed. “I thought you were asleep and I tried not to make any noise.”
“I’m not asleep,” Solovyov said dryly. “What happened? Why are you wandering around the house?”
“You know, I was falling asleep when I remembered that I hadn’t put the butter in the fridge. Was I really making so much noise?”
“No, but my hearing is very good,” Solovyov grumbled. “Put away the butter and go to bed.”
He put out the light and curled up under the covers. He was ashamed of himself. Like a baby, honestly, afraid of the slightest sound. He had to stop. He decided once and for all that there was nothing to be afraid of, there was nothing of value in the house and robbers wouldn’t come here. It was ridiculous being such a coward. He had to get hold of himself.
Contrary to his expectation, he woke up in a marvelous mood. The sun was shining and it was his birthday. He didn’t care that he was an invalid. It was holiday and he would celebrate.
Solovyov decided not to get up until the masseur came, since he would have to get undressed and get back into bed anyway. The masseur came at ten on the dot, as promised, and forty minutes later Solovyov felt his skin tingling and his weakened back muscles feeling stronger. After the massage, he had a bath and shampoo, shaved, put on a gray silk shirt with a beautiful dark gray pullover, and went to breakfast.
The first thing he saw was a huge bouquet in the middle of the table. Andrei was smiling, and Solovyov saw that he was holding a large gift.
“Happy birthday, Mr. Solovyov!” his assistant said, handing him the present. “I wish you all the best and hope that you spend the day so that you’ll enjoy looking back on it the whole year.”
Solovyov’s spirits soared, he felt so easy and happy, the night fears forgotten and gone, it seemed, forever. He was glad that Andrei shared his mood and was ready to celebrate.
He untied the package and almost gasped in amazement. It was lovely landscape, stylized in the traditional manner of Japanese prints. Solovyov had never considered himself an art connoisseur and always evaluated art on the simple test of whether or not he liked it. He liked this painting at first sight. He simply fell in love with it.
“Thank you, Andrei,” he said warmly. “Thank you so much. It’s a wonderful gift and a wonderful painting. Where do you think it would look best? I’d like to hang it in the study, since I spend most of my time in there, and it will give me pleasure to look at it.”
“All right,” Andrei said. “We’ll hang the painting in your study after breakfast. But now, a surprise.”
“Another one?”
“Since it’s already eleven thirty, instead of a light breakfast, we’ll have a real European lunch.”
And with those words the assistant took out a huge pizza from the oven and put it on the table. Just