6

That night, Klim could not get to sleep. He kept remembering Nina standing next to her new husband, clear-eyed, gorgeous, and unattainable. He remembered how she had pounded with her palm on the window of the taxi, wanting, for some reason, to explain something to Klim.

What was there to explain? She had acted exactly as he might have expected—she had found the only millionaire in Moscow and married him. As for divorce, under Soviet law, a former spouse could be notified by post. All you had to do was pay the state tariff, send a letter recorded delivery, and you could consider yourself free.

That Christmas Eve, Klim had received a more valuable gift than a personal letter from Stalin. He had also got a clear reply to all the questions that had been plaguing him. He was afraid that Nina met her end in Moscow—and he had been right.

There was no point in going back to Shanghai. What sort of future could Kitty hope for there? The Europeans and Americans living in China regarded the Asian races as second class citizens, and in Chinese society, a woman was of about the same status as a piece of furniture.

There was only one way to overcome Kitty’s “unfortunate” parentage, and that was to give her a brilliant education. By fair means or foul, Klim had to get Kitty a place in a good European school, and to do so, he needed money and a residency permit. It would be good if he were transferred to London, but Klim knew he had not been with United Press for long enough yet to be in line for a position in a European office.

Well, now his future plan of action was clear. First, he had to get an interview with Stalin, and then he could get out of the country to Europe.

And Nina? As far as Klim was concerned, she no longer existed.

13. WIFE OF A SOVIET MILLIONAIRE

1

That night, when Nina had ended up in Oscar’s house, she had been faced with a choice. She could act like a rape victim, somebody who could be walked over, or like an artful courtesan who had deliberately seduced Mr. Reich.

She chose the latter course. Had she decided to play the part of victim, she would have had to go to the police, to give tearful explanations, and undergo humiliating medical examinations. As a courtesan, she could listen to Oscar’s passionate declarations of love with a knowing smile and accept his invitation to stay in his house for as long as she liked without any loss of dignity.

However, one thing led to another. Oscar began to pay court to Nina, buying her flowers and gifts and showering her with compliments.

“Once I’ve wrapped the business up here, you and I will go to New York,” he promised her. “It’s a marvelous city, and you’ll score a sensation over there.”

Naturally, Nina shared Reich’s bed. Having decided on this particular game, she was obliged to play by the rules. She consoled herself with the thought that this was not happening to her but to “Baroness Bremer,” and that she had made the right choice in a difficult situation. Reich was the only person who could help her: he had money, connections, and most of all, a secure position in Bolshevik society.

But as it turned out, her calculations were wrong.

One day, Oscar came in drunk with tears in his eyes and began to tell her his family history.

His father had been a penniless émigré from a little shtetl in the western part of Russian Empire. Thirty years ago, he had made his way to America through Hamburg. While there, he had had so little money that he had been forced to spend several nights sleeping rough in the entrance to the Reichsbank. He had gazed at all the beautiful and rich people around him and decided that he would adopt the surname “Reich” to bring him luck.

In New York, he had married and opened a pharmacy but still found difficulty making ends meet. In frustration, he had begun to fraternize with the American socialists. He had frequented the underground meetings to hear speakers who had come over from Europe, collected funds for the great cause, and dreamed of a revolution in the USA.

 At one of these meetings, Reich senior had met Leon Trotsky, and the two had quickly found common cause, discussing the Jewish question and social inequality.

In 1919, fortune had smiled on Reich at last. Prohibition had been introduced in the United States, and all products including alcohol had been withdrawn from sale except medicine. Tincture of ginger, which was used to treat indigestion, had not come under the ban, and so Reich had borrowed money and, together with his now grown-up son, brought up all the ginger available in the port of New York. The two had been the only legal traders of alcohol in the Bronx, and within a year, they had become millionaires. Soon after this, Trotsky had written to Oscar to suggest a business proposition in Russia.

“Nina,” Oscar cried, “I’m such a damn fool! The Bolsheviks won’t listen to anything I say anymore. As long as Trotsky was in charge, I could do what I liked, but now, they’re accusing me of taking currency out of the country illegally. And that was the deal in the first place!”

Nina’s heart sank. “But what about my exit papers? You told me you’d have no trouble getting hold of them for me.”

“There’s only one way I can take you out of the country,” said Oscar, looking mournfully at Nina. “You’ll have to marry me and sign a document giving me power of attorney. Then I can go to an American embassy somewhere in Europe on your behalf.”

Nina felt out of her depth. “But I can’t do that! I don’t have any papers.”

“We can sort out a Soviet passport for you,” Oscar promised. “I’ve arranged it already. The most important thing is to get an American visa and permission to leave the country from the OGPU.”

Nina asked Oscar to give her time to think.

In theory, she told herself, it would not be Nina Kupina who was getting married, but “Baroness Bremer.” And the marriage would not harm Shilo as it would not be legally binding for her. As for Klim, he would never find out. In any case, what was the point of tormenting herself over a marriage of convenience when she had already betrayed her real husband, and it was too late to do anything about it?

I’ll go back to Shanghai and start life afresh, Nina decided.

The next morning, she agreed to marry Reich and to sign over power of attorney to him.

2

It turned out that Klim had already left China for Moscow by the time Nina sent her telegrams, and that was why he had never answered any of them.

She could only imagine what he thought of her now. Klim could have forgiven her for just about anything—but not a marriage of convenience to another man.

After he had driven off, Nina had run back onto the platform to ask Oscar where he had met Klim, but Oscar did not remember.

“Take care!” he said, planting a kiss on Nina’s lips. “I’ll write to you soon.”

Nina returned to the deserted house on Petrovsky Lane and sank feebly onto the bench that stood in the hall by the front door.

What should she do now? How could she find Klim? Her head felt as if it was filled with wet sand.

She heard the flick of a light switch, and Theresa appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Oh, so you’re back already!” she said. “After you left, there was a call for Mr. Reich from Mr. Klim Rogov.”

Nina jumped to her feet. “Did he leave his number?”

Theresa went to where the telephone hung on the wall and picked up a large address book from the shelf beside it.

“Here you are, ma’am. Last time Mr. Rogov rang, he left his address and his telephone number.”

Her head spinning, Nina stared down at Theresa’s penciled scrawl. Klim lived in Chistye Prudy, only a fifteen minute drive away.

3

Nina took a cab to the building that housed the Moscow Savannah bookstore. She entered the small, inviting courtyard and mounted the porch, but seeing her shadow on the door, she froze.

Everything she was wearing, from her cloche hat to her extravagant fur coat, had been bought with Oscar’s money, and every bit of it was evidence of her crime. How could she appear before Klim in all this shameful finery?

Just then, the door flew open, and a red-haired man in an unbuttoned coat came out onto the porch.

“Is that you, Mrs. Reich?” he cried out delightedly. “Have you come to see me? Or is it Klim you’re after?”

“Have we met before?” asked Nina frowning.

“Of course. I’m Elkin. Don’t you remember me? I came to see your husband to discuss selling a car.”

Nina had no memory of Elkin. Oscar had always had a constant stream of visitors.

“I used to have a garage,” explained Elkin, “but I’ve packed it in now. I’m selling off all my stock.”

He reached into his pocket and fished out a torn visiting card. “Here’s my name and telephone number. Please, remember me to your husband!”

Nina nodded. “He’s abroad at the moment, but I’ll tell him when he comes back.”

She walked quickly past Elkin and made her way up the stairs to the story above.

There was a small landing, a round window, and a smart door with a brass handle in the shape of a comical giraffe.

Nina crossed herself quickly as if she were about to jump into a hole in the ice and pushed the doorbell.

After a few agonizing minutes, Klim appeared at the door. He was wearing a white shirt with the collar unbuttoned, a dark gray waistcoat, and trousers of the same color. His hair was shorter than Nina remembered it.

“Hello,” she said in a weak voice. “May I come in?”