Nina was impressed. ‘What do you do?’
Dimka did not really like to say, because it sounded like boasting. ‘I’m an assistant to the First Secretary.’
‘You mean to Comrade Khrushchev!’ Nina said in astonishment.
‘Yes.’
‘How the hell did you get a job like that?’
Valentin put in: ‘I told you, he’s smart. He was top of every class.’
‘You don’t land a job like that just by getting top marks,’ Nina said crisply. ‘Who do you know?’
‘My grandfather, Grigori Peshkov, stormed the Winter Palace in the October Revolution.’
‘That doesn’t get you a good job.’
‘Well, my father was in the KGB – he died last year. My uncle is a general. And I’m smart.’
‘Modest, too,’ she said, but her sarcasm was genial. ‘What’s your uncle’s name?’
‘Vladimir Peshkov. We call him Volodya.’
‘I’ve heard of General Peshkov. So he’s your uncle. With a family like that, how come you wear home-made shorts?’
Dimka was confused now. She was interested in him for the first time, but he could not make out whether she was admiring or scornful. Perhaps it was just her manner.
Valentin stood up. ‘Come and explore with me,’ he said to Anna. ‘We’ll leave these two here to discuss Dimka’s shorts.’ He held out his hand. Anna took it and let him pull her to her feet. Then they walked off into the woods, holding hands.
‘Your friend doesn’t like me,’ said Nina.
‘He likes Anna, though.’
‘She’s pretty.’
Dimka said quietly: ‘You’re beautiful.’ He had not planned to say it: it just came out. But he meant it.
Nina looked at him thoughtfully, as if reappraising him. Then she said: ‘Do you want to swim?’
Dimka did not care much for water, but he was keen to see her in her swimsuit. He pulled off his clothes: he was wearing swimming trunks under his shorts.
Nina had on a brown nylon one-piece, rather than a bikini, but she filled it out so well that Dimka was not disappointed. She was the opposite of slim Anna. Nina had deep breasts and wide hips, and there were freckles on her throat. She saw his gaze on her body, and she turned away and ran into the water.
Dimka followed.
It was bitingly cold despite the sun, yet Dimka enjoyed the sensual feel of the water all over his body. They both swam energetically to keep warm. They went out into the lake, then returned more slowly to the shore. They stopped short of the beach, and Dimka let his feet drift to the bottom. The water came to their waists. Dimka looked at Nina’s breasts. The cold water made her nipples stick out, showing through her swimsuit.
‘Stop staring,’ she said, and playfully splashed his face.
He splashed her back.
‘Right!’ she said, and grabbed his head, trying to duck him.
Dimka struggled and caught her around the waist. They wrestled in the water. Nina’s body was heavy but firm, and he relished its solidity. He got both arms around her and lifted her feet off the bottom. When she thrashed, laughing and trying to free herself, he pulled her more firmly to him, and felt her soft breasts pressing against his face.
‘I give in!’ she yelled.
Reluctantly he put her down. For a moment they looked at one another. In her eyes he saw a gleam of desire. Something had changed her attitude to him: the vodka, the realization that he was a high-powered apparatchik, the exhilaration of horseplay in the water, or perhaps all three. He hardly cared. He saw the invitation in her smile, and kissed her mouth.
She kissed him back with enthusiasm.
He forgot the cold water, lost in the sensations of her lips and tongue, but after a few minutes she shivered and said: ‘Let’s get out.’
He held her hand as they waded through the shallows on to dry ground. They lay on the grass side by side and started kissing again. Dimka touched her breasts, and began to wonder whether this was the day he would lose his virginity.
Then they were interrupted by a harsh voice speaking through a megaphone: ‘Return your boat to the dock! Your time is up!’
Nina murmured: ‘It’s the sex police.’
Dimka chuckled, despite his disappointment.
He looked up to see a small rubber dinghy with an outboard motor passing a hundred yards offshore.
He waved acknowledgement. They were supposed to keep the boat for two hours. He guessed that a bribe to the supervisor would have secured an extension but he had not thought of it. Indeed, he had hardly dreamed that his relationship with Nina would progress so fast.
‘We can’t go back without the others,’ Nina said; but a moment later Valentin and Anna emerged from the woods. They had been only just out of sight, Dimka guessed, and had heard the megaphone summons.
The boys moved a little apart from the girls and they all put on their outer clothes over their swimsuits. Dimka heard Nina and Anna talking in low voices, Anna speaking urgently and Nina giggling and nodding agreement.
Then Anna gave Valentin a meaningful look. It seemed to be a prearranged signal. Valentin nodded and turned to Dimka. Quietly he said: ‘The four of us are going to the folk dancing evening tonight. When we come back, Anna will come into our tent with me. You’re to go with Nina in their tent. Okay?’
It was more than okay, it was thrilling. Dimka said: ‘You’ve arranged it all with Anna?’
‘Yes, and Nina has just agreed.’
Dimka could hardly believe it. He would be able to spend all night embracing Nina’s firm body. ‘She likes me!’
‘Must be the shorts.’
They got into the boat and rowed back. The girls announced that they wanted to shower as soon as they returned. Dimka wondered how he could make the time pass quickly until the evening.
When they reached the dock, they saw a man in a black suit waiting.
Dimka knew instinctively that this was a messenger for him. I might have known, he thought regretfully; things were going too well.
They all got out of the boat. Nina looked at the man sweating in his suit and said: ‘Are we going to be arrested for keeping the boat too long?’ She was only half joking.
Dimka said: ‘Are you here for me? I’m Dmitriy Dvorkin.’
‘Yes, Dmitriy Ilich,’ the man said, respectfully using his patronymic. ‘I’m your driver. I’m here to take you to the airport.’
‘What’s the emergency?’
The driver shrugged. ‘The First Secretary wants you.’
‘I’ll get my bag,’ said Dimka regretfully.
By way of a small consolation, Nina looked awestruck.
*
The car took Dimka to Vnukovo airport, south-west of Moscow, where Vera Pletner was waiting with a large envelope and a ticket to Tbilisi, capital of the Georgian Soviet Socialist Republic.
Khrushchev was not in Moscow but at his dacha, or second home, in Pitsunda, a resort for top government officials on the Black Sea, and that was where Dimka was headed.
He had never flown before.
He was not the only aide whose holiday had been cut short. In the departure lounge, about to open the envelope, he was approached by Yevgeny Filipov, wearing a grey flannel shirt as usual, despite the summer weather. Filipov looked pleased, which had to be a bad sign.
‘Your strategy has failed,’ he said to Dimka with evident satisfaction.
‘What’s happened?’