Nadya lies awake, listening for her son, Peter, to come home. It’s late, and she knows she will probably fall asleep from sheer exhaustion before she hears him come stumbling in, after a few too many beers with his Russian friends. But tonight, despite being weary from her job, her mind is active. She keeps thinking about the man who came to the Westcotts’ earlier today and asked her those strange questions. He had implied that her employers had done something wrong on that boat.
She’d struggled with whether to tell her employers or not. She didn’t want to have that conversation. But she feared keeping it a secret from them even more. What if they found out? She would be dismissed without a reference, and she feared that most of all. If she were dismissed her other wealthy clients might hear of it and let her go too. She can’t afford to lose her reputation. She needs her clients. In the end, she’d decided to stay a bit later and wait for one of them to get home. She did not feel comfortable having this conversation on the telephone.
It was Mrs Westcott who’d arrived home first. She was clearlystartled to see Nadya waiting for her in the front hall. ‘You’re still here?’ she asked.
Nadya could detect the mild annoyance in her voice, despite the bright smile. Nadya was annoyed too. She had stayed late to do what she thought was right. But she was just the hired help to them, nothing more.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Westcott,’ she said, ‘but there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘Come into the kitchen, then,’ Mrs Westcott said, and started walking down the hall.
Nadya followed, noting that she was not invited to sit in the front room, like other people.
They sat at the kitchen table instead. ‘What is it?’ her employer asked.
‘A man came here today,’ Nadya said. She pulled his card out of her pocket and showed it. ‘Special Agent Ramirez of the US Coast Guard.’
Her employer was suddenly more alert. ‘What did he want?’
‘He wanted to ask me some questions.’
‘I hope you sent him away,’ she said sharply.
Nadya froze. She hadn’t really thought that was an option. ‘No.’
‘Why the hell not?’
Nadya was angry then, although she was careful not to show it. ‘You never told me that someone might come and ask questions and not to let them in. I didn’t know I had a choice.’ She added, ‘In Russia, when they come and ask questions, you answer.’
‘Go on then, what did he say?’
She continued nervously. ‘He asked if I had ever overheard you and Mr Westcott talking about your financial situation.’ Her employer’s eyes seemed to grow larger. ‘But I told him you are never home when I am here.’
‘Did he say anything else?’ Mrs Westcott asked tightly.
Nadya looked down at the table, embarrassed. ‘He asked if I knew that you and Mr Westcott are having financial problems.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ her employer said crisply. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘I said I knew nothing about anything.’ Uncomfortable, she added, ‘I just thought you would want to know.’
‘What else did he say?’
Nadya shook her head. ‘That’s all. He was here for a very short time.’
‘Thank you, Nadya. You can go.’ As Nadya rose to leave, Mrs Westcott had added, ‘Don’t speak about this to anyone.’
And she’d come home, an hour later than usual, looked around at her shabby rental– a small run-down house in the south part of Sunnyside, Queens, a long shlep by subway from Brooklyn Heights– and wondered what the hell she was doing with her life.
Now she lies awake, staring into the dark, listening for her no-good son, and thinking there’s got to be more to life than this.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE FOLLOWING DAY,at work, Ted becomes aware of the rumours and speculation about his brother’s estate. He knows his co-workers are talking about it, but they stop when he comes around. He’s aware that people will assume that he’ll inherit, as the only surviving relative. Even some news outlets are speculating that Ted is to get his brother’s vast fortune. It was bound to happen, sooner or later, and Ted finds he doesn’t mind. He rather likes people thinking that he’s getting Greg’s money. When he’s alone, or at home with his wife, he can hardly wipe the smile off his face.
At the office, however, he has been subdued, appropriately solemn. It’s taken all his willpower not to smirk around that arrogant son of a bitch Jamie Pollard. His colleagues have been sympathetic about Greg. But they are also sending inquisitive looks his way. There’s curiosity, and jealousy too. Ted pretends not to notice, doesn’t talk about it, and starts thinking about when he can quit his job. Mustn’t look too celebratory.
But now he wonders if there is really any good reason for him to stay on for weeks or months more. Why punish himself? Why shouldn’t he give notice– today, even? It would be a nicefuck youto Jamie Pollard and that bunch, and they could draw the obvious conclusion. Ted doesn’t need the money, not now. They will get a short-term mortgage to get enough cash to pay off the loan shark and tide them over in style; it will be temporary, until the estate is settled. He doesn’t enjoy the work. It wouldn’t look too inappropriate, would it? Wouldn’t it just seem reasonable, in the circumstances?