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After dinner, Robert made a few inquiries at the desk, and meandered over to Lenkomsomol Square. Kiev was a surprise to him. One of the oldest cities in Russia, it was an attractive, European-looking city, situated on the Dnieper River, with green parks and tree-lined streets. Churches were everywhere and they were spectacular examples of religious architecture: there were the Churches of St Vladimir’s and St Andrew’s and St Sophia’s, the last completed in 1037, pure white with its soaring blue bell tower, and the Pechersk Monastery, the tallest structure in the city. Susan would have loved all this, Robert thought. She had never been to Russia. He wondered if she had returned from Brazil yet. On an impulse, when he returned to his hotel room, he telephoned her, and to his surprise the call was put through almost immediately.

“Hello?” That throaty, sexy voice.

“Hi. How was Brazil?”

“Robert! I tried to telephone you several times. There was no answer.”

“I’m not home.”

“Oh.” She had been trained too well to ask where he was. “Are you feeling well?”

For a eunuch, I’m in wonderful shape. “Sure. Great. How’s Money … Monte?”

“He’s fine. Robert, we’re leaving for Gibraltar tomorrow.” On Moneybags’ fucking yacht, of course. What was the name of it? Ah, yes. The Halcyon. “The yacht?”

“Yes. You can call me on it. Do you remember the call letters?”

He remembered. WS337. What did the WS stand for? Wonderful Susan … Why separate … Wife stealer?

“Robert?”

“Yes, I remember. Whiskey Sugar 337.”

“Will you call? Just to let me know you’re all right.”

“Sure. I miss you, baby.”

A long, painful silence. He waited. What did he expect her to say? Come rescue me from this charming man who looks like Paul Newman and forces me to go on his 250-foot yacht and live in our squalid little palaces in Monte Carlo, and Morocco, and Paris, and London, and God alone knew where else. Like an idiot, he found himself half hoping she would say it.

“I miss you, too, Robert. Take care of yourself.” And the connection was broken. He was in Russia, alone.

Day Twelve

Early the following morning, ten minutes after the library opened, Robert walked into the huge, gloomy building and approached the reception desk.

“Good morning,” Robert said.

The woman behind the desk looked up. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m looking for a woman who I believe works here, Olga …”

“Olga? Yes, yes.” She pointed to another room. “She will be in there.”

“Thank you.”

It had been as easy as that. Robert walked into the other room, past groups of students solemnly studying at long tables, preparing for what kind of future? Robert wondered. He reached a smaller reading room and walked inside. A woman was busily stacking books.

“Excuse me,” Robert said.

She turned. “Yes?”

“Olga?”

“I am Olga. What do you wish with me?”

Robert smiled disarmingly. “I’m writing a newspaper article on perestroika and how it affects the average Russian. Has it made much difference in your life?”

The woman shrugged. “Before Gorbachev, we were afraid to open our mouths. Now we can open our mouths, but we have nothing to put in them.”

Robert tried another tactic. “Surely, there are some changes for the better. For instance, you are able to travel now.”

“You must be joking. With a husband and six children, who can afford to travel?”

Robert ploughed on. “Still, you went to Switzerland, and …”

“Switzerland? I have never been to Switzerland in my life.”

Robert said slowly, “You’ve never been to Switzerland?”

“I just told you.” She nodded toward a dark-haired woman who was collecting books from the table. “She’s the lucky one who got to go to Switzerland.”

Robert took a quick look. “What’s her name?”

“Olga. The same as mine.”

He sighed. “Thank you.”

A minute later, Robert was in conversation with the second Olga.

“Excuse me,” Robert said. “I’m writing a newspaper article on perestroika and the effect that it’s had on Russian lives.”

She looked at him warily. “Yes?”

“What’s your name?”

“Olga. Olga Romanchanko.”

“Tell me, Olga, has perestroika made any difference to you?”

Six years earlier, Olga Romanchanko would have been afraid to speak to a foreigner, but now it was allowed. “Not really,” she said carefully. “Everything is much the same.”

The stranger was persistent. “Nothing at all has changed in your life?”

She shook her head. “No.” And then added patriotically, “Of course we can travel outside the country now.”

He seemed interested. “And have you travelled outside the country?”

“Oh, yes,” she said proudly. “I have just returned from Switzerland. Is a very beautiful country.”

“I agree,” he said. “Did you get a chance to meet anyone on the trip?”

“I met many people. I took a bus and we went through high mountains. The Alps.” Suddenly Olga realized she shouldn’t have said that because the stranger might ask her about the spaceship, and she did not want to talk about that. It could only get her into trouble.

“Really?” asked Robert. “Tell me about the people on the bus.”