The Pavilion Man Read online

  “I don’t know what we’ll do without you,” said Yelena.

  “I’ll be back quickly; I love you both,” said Mikhail, kissing her and his baby daughter Marina as he left.

  A security guard was waiting outside the workshop door when Mikhail arrived.

  “Thank you for coming. My cousin, Yuri, will be here soon,” said Mikhail. “He’ll be looking after my shop while I am away.”

  “Don’t worry, sir. Mr Zaslavsky has briefed me on the situation. I will protect your property for as long as you need me to and I want to thank you,” said the security guard.

  “Thank me? For what?” asked Mikhail.

  “For being brave. I admire what you did the other day on the TV. The day has come for these criminals in the service to be exposed,” replied the security guard.

  “I’m not sure I did the right thing for my family.”

  “Let me tell you that you have. I too have worked in the same field as you. I saw the corruption but went along with it because I was a coward. I lost my family and my self-respect because of it. It was Mr Zaslavsky that saved me from ending my life.”

  Mikhail’s cousin arrived at the workshop and interrupted them.

  “Sorry I’m late, Mikhail. I know how much you hate lateness, but the train broke down,” said Yuri.

  “Don’t worry, Yuri. I’m a different man today, grateful to you for coming,” said Mikhail.

  “It seems like being a TV celebrity has changed you, cousin. I like this new you,” said Yuri.

  “I am not a TV celebrity, Yuri, just a simple man who wants to live an honest life. Thank you both for helping me out. Yuri, here are the keys to the workshop. I have to go, but I’ll be in touch soon,” said Mikhail.

  Mikhail walked away from the workshop deliberately willing himself not to look back as he found it too painful having to leave like this. Dashing up the stairs to his apartment he saw that the front door ajar so rushed in, and shouted, “Yelena! Why did you leave the door open?” There was no reply. His whole body froze when he went to the kitchen and saw Yelena lying on the floor with her head bashed and bloody. Mikhail knew instantly she was dead. Frantic, he ran into their bedroom towards his daughter’s cot and found Marina sleeping peacefully. Picking up Yelena's pillow, he fell to the floor near the bed weeping uncontrollably. The sound of his cries were muffled as he pressed his face deeper into the pillow, not wanting to wake his daughter.

  Chapter 4

  “We’ll send the police and ambulance straight away,” said a police operator after Mikhail reported Yelena’s death.

  “Have you been physically hurt yourself in any way?” asked the operator.

  “No, I have a broken heart that’s all,” replied Mikhail.

  “Is there anybody else in the apartment with you apart from your wife?” said the operator.

  “I’m here with my baby daughter.”

  “We will be with you soon to help.”

  Mikhail waited for what seemed like an eternity for the police and ambulance to arrive. Twenty-five minutes had gone by since he spoke to the police operator, but there was still no sign of them. After picking up his sleeping baby daughter and wrapping her in a warm blanket, Mikhail took a lace bedsheet from a wardrobe and carried his daughter into the kitchen with him where Yelena lay dead. Holding his wife’s hand he spoke to her.

  “Forgive me, my love; we have to leave you now. I can’t trust that it will be the real police that arrive first. We’ll never forget you, I’ll make sure of that,” said Mikhail as he covered his wife’s body with the lace bedsheet.

  Mikhail drove to his mother’s home in the country with his baby in a carrycot beside him in the front seat. He saw every passing car and light shining through his rear-view mirror as a threat. He drove through red lights and diverted his route many times for fear of being followed. When he was near to his mother’s farm, he saw a parked car ahead of him. Still suspicious, he swerved so fast to turn around that his daughter’s cot nearly fell to the floor. Quickly taking one hand off the wheel, he was able to save her from tumbling over.

  When he arrived at his mother’s house, he called Igor to tell him about Yelena and that he was staying at his mother’s farm in the Veliky Novgorod region, south of St Petersburg.

  “I am at my country house this weekend. Why don’t you come and see me? It’s not far from you. I’ll get one of my men to pick you up,” said Igor.

  “No, don’t worry. I’ll drive to you myself; it won’t take me long,” said Mikhail.

  “I look forward to our meeting again,” said Igor. “I am sad it is under these circumstances.”

  The weekend arrived quicker than he expected. Mikhail drove to Igor’s house in the country and stopped outside elaborately designed iron gates at the entrance of his country mansion. He parked his car just outside the gates, for a moment admiring every detail at of its design and thought about his skill as a blacksmith and how this was the type of work he always aspired to do.

  Driving through the gates, on a long winding road shaded by trees, it took ten minutes to arrive after passing two checkpoints manned by Igor’s security guards before he got to the mansion. He parked his old beaten-up car next to the most expensive cars he had ever seen in one place. He stepped out of his car, walked around a collection of Mercedes, a Bentley, and a Ferrari. And approached the mansion, a butler opened the door and led him into Igor’s living room. There was a massive chandelier hanging above him, a choice of several large sofas covered in gold fabric furnishing, a Persian carpet, and paintings on the wall that looked familiar that he was sure he had seen in newspapers or magazines before. All around were large windows that gave you a magnificent view of the surrounding landscaped garden. The whole place felt to Mikhail as if he was standing in the most expensive private curated museum rather than a home.

  Igor walked into the room with two bodyguards who went to stand at either side of the room.

  “You were right to leave your apartment in St Petersburg,” said Igor.

  “I couldn’t take the risk that someone in the police would alert the people who murdered my wife.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear about your wife. No young mother should die like that.”

  “It’s my fault. I should have listened to my wife and not gone on TV to say those things. I’m not sure if it was my ego that made me do this.”

  “There is no blood on your hands, don’t blame yourself. It is not you that murdered your wife.”

  “But I lost my beautiful Yelena; I wish I could turn the clock back and still be a blacksmith.”

  “You did the right thing speaking out. We had the highest ratings ever for your interview, a lot of people have written to the TV station in support of you,” said Igor.

  “Being popular means nothing to me without my family.”

  “I feel the same, but you have to think of your daughter now.”

  “Yes, she means everything to me. When I get hold of Sergei Bogdanov and Viktor Novikov, I will kill them myself.”

  “So, it is them who wanted to break into my home. Don't worry. We will find these men, they cannot hide,” said Igor.

  “How they thought they could break into your country home with all this security, I do not know.” Mikhail shook his head at the thought of it.

  “Mikhail, I’m grateful for warning me as you did. I know it’s cost you a lot of pain; now I need to warn you. I’ve heard from my contacts that the police in St Petersburg are planning to arrest you for the murder of your wife,” said Igor.

  “I can prove I did not do it; I was at the workshop at the time.”

  “They found a candlestick holder with your wife’s blood and your fingerprints on it.”

  “That candlestick I crafted myself as a memento of our love until I could afford to buy Yelena a better wedding ring.”

  “I will help you prove you are innocent but until I can do that you need to leave Russia as the police will soon be on their way to your mother’s house hoping to arrest y
ou.”

  “How did they know where I was?”

  “Russia is a vast country, but you know some secrets are easy to find by those who know how.”

  “I can’t leave my daughter in danger to murderers, and I have to arrange Yelena’s funeral.”

  “Don’t worry, I will take care of the burial for you and no one will touch a baby with her grandmother.”

  “No, I can’t leave my daughter and Russia. I made one mistake; I don’t want to make another,” said Mikhail.

  “If the police arrest you I will be powerless to help as they may take you somewhere no one can find you. Leave Russia for a while, and when things are safe, you can come back.”

  “Go where? I have never been out of Russia before,” said Mikhail.

  “I have a business associate in England; you will be safe there until I am ready to call you back. My friend will look after you,” said Igor.

  “I’ll do as you say, Igor, and leave Russia. When do you think I should go?” said Mikhail.

  “You need to be quick as the police may ask TV stations to circulate your picture.”

  “But I am not able to pay for a ticket.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it all for you.”

  “Thank you, Igor, for your generosity.”

  “I’m grateful to you for telling me what Sergei and Viktor were planning.”

  True to his word within days of their meeting Igor arranged for Mikhail to board a plane to England. Fearing that someone would recognise him if his picture were in the newspapers or on TV, he spoke to no other passengers on the flight and instead pretended to be asleep when flight attendants came around to ask him what he wanted to eat and drink.

  When the plane arrived at Heathrow airport in London, it was a shock to him how much smaller the roads and buildings were to St Petersburg. He went straight to the office address Igor gave him of his friend and business associate Johnny Murray. Igor had told him that Johnny would give him a place to live and provide finances as a retainer until he was ready to go back home to Russia. Walking into a prestigious office building in Mayfair, Mikhail went to the receptionist and asked with the little English he knew for Johnny Murray.

  “Excuse me please, madam. I come to see Johnny Murray.”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr Murray is on holiday,” said the receptionist.

  “How long he back?” said Mikhail.

  “I don’t know, sir,” replied the receptionist.

  “Please, it is very important. I have a letter for him.”

  “I can take the letter from you, sir, and give it to his assistant.”

  “Thank you. I be back tomorrow to find out what she say,” said Mikhail.

  “It’s best you come back after the weekend, sir. Monday or Tuesday next week,” advised the receptionist.

  “OK, next week I come back.” Mikhail was surprised how well he understood the English language and was able to speak it although he had never spoken English to anyone except to Russians teaching it. He thought back to his intelligence service training and how it served him well. It taught him everything needed to survive both physically and mentally. And now in a country strange to him, he was grateful to his old profession.

  With the little money he had, Mikhail found a hotel to stay until he could see Johnny Murray to get the help Igor promised. He went back to the Mayfair office early on Monday to speak to the receptionist he had given the letter of introduction to but when he arrived Mikhail was told she had left the job as she was a temp for the day. Nobody knew where his letter had gone and Johnny Murray’s assistant seemed never to be available. Mikhail had been in London three weeks. Daily he would go to the Mayfair office enquiring about Johnny Murray, each time he went, there was a different receptionist. Many times Mikhail called Igor's office in Russia but was told Igor was either in a meeting or had travelled. He left countless messages for Igor with his assistant, but he received no reply from him.

  Within a couple of weeks Mikhail’s money ran out, and he had to leave the hotel he was staying. He ended up on the streets of London, sleeping in doorways and looking for leftover food discarded by shoppers near bins. His hair now reached shoulder length, tied in a ponytail behind him. The once well-groomed beard became messy. He wore the same clothes as he had arrived in, a red checked shirt that was now dirty, a blue pullover, grey trousers, and a long thick grey coat which made him hot in May. He pulled a small travel case with all that he possessed.

  Hoping to get to meet Johnny Murray, he kept going back to the office in Mayfair. As the weeks rolled by he began to look more and more unkempt and his clothes got dirty from sleeping on the streets. Each time he went to reception, they would turn him away saying ‘Mr Murray is in a business meeting’ or ‘He’s just left the building’. The last time he went to the Mayfair office, as usual, there was a new receptionist at the desk. When he went towards her, she stood up and said snappily, “These are offices.”

  “Yes I know. I have business here with Johnny Murry,” said, Mikhail.

  “We have no one of that name,” replied the receptionist.

  “You lie, I come here for weeks,” shouted Mikhail.

  The receptionist picked up the phone and called a security guard to remove him from the building.

  “You need to leave now,’ said the security guard.

  “But you know me, I come to speak to Mr Johnny Murray,” said Mikhail as the security guard led him out of the building.

  “Yes, I’ve seen you around, but you’ve got to go, or I’ll have to call the police.”

  “Please, you don’t understand. I need to see Mr Murray, I left letter for him weeks ago.”

  “I’m just doing my job. Try and get some help for yourself,” said the security guard.

  “I’m here for help. If you see Mr Murray you tell him, Igor Zaslavsky sent me. My name is Mikhail Andrei Raspopov. I give the letter to a lady at desk many weeks ago.”

  “Here, take this,” said the security guard as he gave Mikhail the coins from his pocket and a five-pound note. “I shouldn’t, but you looked a decent man a few weeks ago.”

  “Thank you for money. I come back in few days’ time.”

  “No, don’t come back, or I’ll have to call the police to take you away.”

  Chapter 5

  Not knowing what he was going to do Mikhail just kept walking until he reached Hyde Park. Sitting on the grass he fell asleep under a chestnut tree and was woken up in the late afternoon by people shouting, “Me! Me! Me!” There were a group of people gathered around a man in his thirties wearing a white T-shirt, navy bomber jacket and baseball cap handing out sandwiches from a box he had in his hand.

  “Who wants cheese and onion, smoked ham and mustard, prawn and mayonnaise? Only the best around here.” They were homeless people, one or two Mikhail had seen before sleeping a couple of shop doors away from him.

  “And make sure you throw away your rubbish in the bins when you finish,” shouted the man as people with their sandwiches walked away. Mikhail watched as the man went to sit on a park bench opposite him, put the box beside him on the bench and took out a sandwich and opened it to eat. He looked towards Mikhail and said, “If you’re hungry, I’ve plenty to share.”

  Mikhail nodded to the man and went over to sit next to him as the man took out an egg and watercress sandwich and handed it to him.

  “Thank you for the food.”

  “How long have you been homeless?”

  “It feels long time for me,” said Mikhail.

  “I’m Joshua. I have been on the streets for a year now.”

  “My name is Mikhail. You don’t look homeless.”

  “Well, Mick, I keep myself clean because I don’t what this to be my life,” said Joshua, as he handed Mikhail a bottle of water.

  “How you become homeless?” said Mikhail.

  “I lost my job as an accountant because the company I was working for wanted me to put through false transactions but I refused. They sacked me, an
d I couldn’t afford to pay rent.”

  “I left Russia because of corruption,” said Mikhail.

  “Are you here alone?”

  “Yes, I don’t know anyone in England.”

  “It’s not a good idea to be sleeping on the streets alone; you’ve more chance of being attacked.”

  “I can look after myself,” replied Mikhail.

  “That’s what I thought until one night I was sleeping and this happened to me. I nearly died," said Joshua pulling up his clothing to show a long scar from his left towards his belly button.

  “They want to steal from you?” asked Mikhail

  “I don’t know but if you want I can show you a safe place to sleep, where you can clean up and get food.”

  “I happy to come with you,” said Mikhail.

  Joshua took Mikhail to Waterloo Bridge under the arches where there was a community of people, sleeping on cardboard boxes, and wooden crates. He introduced Mikhail to his fiancée Sally. She was twenty-five and had been homeless for two years, but you would not have guessed she was homeless by the clothes she was wearing and her make-up. Sally was an interpreter, speaking four languages but not Russian, so she was glad to meet Mikhail, always asking him to teach her new words.

  During the day Sally worked as an interpreter while Joshua had a job for few hours as a dishwasher for a hotel. At night Joshua took Mikhail with him to restaurants and cafeteria, other eating places and shops in central London asking for food they were throwing away or to the back of supermarkets to look in the bins. They would distribute any food they could not eat to other homeless people. Each time Joshua would insist anyone getting food from him to clean up his or her rubbish. When it was too cold and wet to sleep on the street at night, the three of them would go to Blackfriars station and ride the train to Bedford station as it was a 24-hour service. Three months after Mikhail went to Waterloo Bridge, Joshua got himself a full-time job as an accountant again, found a place to live and left with Sally.

  One autumn evening in October, Mikhail got up late and didn’t eat all day. Walking towards Paddington station to look for food thrown away in one of the supermarket bins Joshua had shown him, it was too late and the rubbish containers were empty. As he passed a pizza restaurant he couldn’t resist looking through the window at a couple sitting inside holding hands and engrossed in conversation. He put his face close up to the window watching them as the waiter put on the table a large freshly baked pizza topped with pepperoni, mushrooms, and peppers. Unable to contain his hunger any longer, Mikhail ran through the door of the restaurant towards the couple’s table and grabbed the plate of pizza.