The Art of Deception by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9781788630238
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2017-12-11T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

They went for a walk in Richmond Park, about as far towards the countryside that Julian was prepared to go. The day was fine; they had had an amusing lunch and she began the walk through the park cheerfully, linking her arm in his. So it was all the more strange that things went badly wrong between them so quickly.

Igor, relaxed by a day with Julian entirely to himself, was unguarded enough to make some criticism of Anatoli.

‘Anatoli plays at being the gentleman banker, like the others here. They take on the manners of the aristocrats they’re not.’

‘Give it a rest, Igor. Go back to Moscow and join the Communist party. Why shouldn’t he enjoy the money he’s earned in any way he likes and in any company he likes. You don’t have to spend your time here if you don’t want to.’

Igor seized her arm. ‘I don’t mind how Anatoli spends his time, his money, his life. I just don’t like him to kid himself, or you, that he gets his money like anyone else.’

‘He works for it, like anyone else.’

She turned away from him to end the conversation, to continue the walk, but she was held back by Igor’s thin hand gripping her upper arm so tightly that his thumb nail seemed to pierce the muscle through her soft jacket.

‘Anatoli isn’t one of these people; he’s busy corrupting them. You should know what he is doing. He is pretending to be one of them, OK, but he fools himself and you, too, when all the time…’

Julian pulled away and raced down the hill. Soon she was out of control, slithering on the soft earth, with Igor pounding behind her.

‘Stop, Julian. You’ll break an ankle.’ As she reached the turn in the track, Igor caught up with her. He grabbed her hair, holding it in a tail at the nape of her neck, so that her chin jerked up.

‘Who do you think they are, the business associates that Anatoli brings to your dinner table? Do you ever ask yourself about our Latin American friends? Do you think they’re exporters of baby food via Vladivostok?’

If Julian wanted to know and not to know, Igor wanted to tell and not to tell. He had worked himself sufficiently into a rage to speak and then caution got the better of him. He released her hair and gave her a little push. Without looking back at him, she walked ahead down the path. She could see a dog, a black English cocker, foolishly chasing some birds; a child threw a stick for it. When Igor rejoined her, she knew nothing more would be said that day.

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