Moscow Rules

something Elena hadn’t considered. “I don’t know how you managed to sleep through all that thunder and lightning.”
     
     
    “I wasn’t feeling well.”
     
     
    “You look well this morning.”
     
     
    “I’m a bit better, thank you.”
     
     
    “Aren’t you going to call her?”
     
     
    “Who?”
     
     
    “Your mother.”
     
     
    Ivan was a veteran of such games and far too quick for her. Elena felt a sudden need for time and space. She slipped past him and carried the phone back to bed.
     
     
    “What are you doing?”
     
     
    She held up the phone. “Calling my mother.”
     
     
    “But you should be getting dressed. Everyone’s meeting us in the Old Port at twelve-thirty.”
     
     
    “For what?” she asked, feigning ignorance.
     
     
    “We’re spending the afternoon on the boat. I told you yesterday.”
     
     
    “I’m sorry, Ivan. It must have slipped my mind.”
     
     
    “So what are you doing back in bed? We have to leave in a few minutes.”
     
     
    “Who have you invited?”
     
     
    He rattled off a few names, all Russian, all male.
     
     
    “I’m not sure I’m up to it, Ivan. If it’s all right with you, I’ll stay with the children. Besides, you and your friends will have more fun if I’m not there.”
     
     
    He didn’t bother to protest. Instead, he consulted his gold wristwatch, as if checking to see if there was still time to reach Yekatarina. Elena resisted the impulse to inform him that she was eagerly awaiting his call.
     
     
    “What are you going to do with yourself all day?” he inquired casually, as if her answer didn’t much concern him.
     
     
    “I’m going to lie in bed and read the newspapers. Then, if I’m feeling well enough, I’ll take the children into town. It’s market day, Ivan. You know how much the children love the market.”
     
     
    The market: Ivan’s vision of hell on earth. He made one final indifferent attempt to change her mind before retiring to his private bathroom suite to shave and shower. Ten minutes later, freshly clothed and scented, he headed downstairs. Elena, still in bed, switched on the television and scrolled through the channels to the closed-circuit shot from the security cameras at the front gate. Ivan must have been anticipating a dangerous day on the waters off the Côte d’Azur because he was carrying his full package of security: a driver and two bodyguards in his own car, plus a second car filled with four other men. Elena glimpsed him one final time as he climbed into the back of his car. He was talking on his mobile phone and wearing the smile he reserved for Yekatarina.
     
     
    She switched off the television and, using her last perfidious vision as motivation, swung her feet to the floor. Don’t stop now, she told herself. If you stop, you’ll never find the courage to start again. And whatever you do, don’t look back. You’re never alone. Those final words were not her own. They had been spoken by the man she knew as Mikhail. The man who would soon become her lover.
     
     
    Elena heard his instructions now, soft but assured, as she took the final banal steps toward betrayal. She bathed in her swimming pool- sized Jacuzzi tub, singing softly to herself, something she normally did not do. She took great care applying her makeup and appeared to struggle finding a hairstyle she deemed suitable. Her wardrobe seemed to be the source of similar vacillation, for she tried on and discarded a half-dozen outfits before settling on a simple cream-colored Dior dress that Ivan had purchased out of guilt during his last trip to Paris. The rejects she flung onto the bed, just as Michael had instructed. Evidence of romantic indecision, he had called it. Visible proof of her desire to look attractive for her lover.
     
     
    Finally, at one o’clock, Elena informed Sonia and the children that she would be going to town for a few hours. Then she ordered Oleg to prepare a car and security detail. The traffic on the way into Saint-Tropez was deplorable as usual; she occupied her time by telephoning her mother in Moscow. Oleg, who was seated next to her in the backseat, made no attempt to conceal the fact he was eavesdropping, and Elena made no effort to modulate the volume of her voice. When the call was over, she switched off the phone and dropped it into her handbag. As she climbed out of the car on the Avenue du Marechal, she hung the bag over her left shoulder, just as she had been told to do.