Doctor Gavrilov by Maggie Hamand Read Free Book Online

disposed persons.’
    There was a sudden loud noise from upstairs as a door slammed. Tim started and looked up; he heard heavy footsteps, Katie’s husband’s, he assumed, on the floor above. He listened for a moment, but there was nothing more; he turned back to the essay.
    â€˜Some who were suspected of succeeding had to disguise themselves and flee under false names. Hence they coded the records of their work to make them incomprehensible to others. So in this way there became the confusion between the spiritual alchemy and the practical alchemy.’
    Tim put his pen through some of the redundant ‘thes’ and sighed deeply. He really didn’t feel he could wade through any more of this. He realised he was hungry and wandered round the kitchen, but the contents of the fridge did not inspire him. He could hear muffled footsteps now, in the flat upstairs; he found himself musing, somewhat vaguely, about his assignment. Of course, he thought suddenly, Katie’s husband was a Russian with a scientific background; maybe he would have something interesting to say on the subject. He might have some insights into the current situation in Russia which would be helpful.
    He glanced at his watch. Quarter to ten wasn’t too late, was it? He could hear that they were still up. Ingrid was sloshing around in the bath, so on impulse he ran up the stairs and knocked on the door to the upper part of the house.
    Katie opened the door and smiled when she saw him; she asked him in at once. She said they had just eaten, were having coffee, and would he like to join them? He followed her into the living room. The television was on and he just caught the end of the news headlines which he’d been working on earlier – a campaign speech by John Major and the UN Security Council resolution giving Libya fifteen days to hand over the Lockerbie suspects or face a worldwide ban on air travel and arms sales.
    As he walked in, Katie’s husband looked up from the table, stood up, and turned off the news. He held out his hand and Tim shook it. He was very tall, well over six feet, with a large frame, and had slightly receding hair worn a little too long in the manner of some Russian intellectuals Tim had met. But it wasn’t just his size that seemed to dominate the room; there was something about the way he looked at Tim that made him instantly feel small, awkward and out of place.
    Katie ran a hand through her hair and brushed the long strands back from her forehead. ‘Tim, this is Mitya… please, sit down.’
    Tim sat at the other side of the table and watched Katie pour him a cup of coffee. She looked up at him and asked brightly, ‘Is it all right? The flat?’
    â€˜Oh, yes… fine.’
    â€˜I saw Ingrid yesterday. She seems very nice.’
    â€˜Oh, Ingrid… yes.’ Tim found himself uncharacteristically at a loss. Part of the reason for his unease was that Gavrilov, who said nothing, kept on looking at him, and neither smiled nor made any move to make him welcome. To fill the silence, Tim asked if they’d seen his piece on Channel Four news the other evening and Katie said no, she hadn’t. Tim explained about his report from Vienna and said that they were now planning to look at the nuclear smuggling issue in more depth and that he was going to Russia shortly.
    Tim now felt that Gavrilov’s blue eyes were unquestionably cold and hostile, and bored into him with a ruthlessness which, in an English person, would have been considered unpardonably rude. Perhaps in his culture this wasn’t so; Tim tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He turned to face him, and said, ‘Katie told me you had a scientific background. I was wondering if you could help me, actually, if you knew who I could speak to in Moscow…’
    The atmosphere was suddenly very strange. Katie turned round and looked at her husband; he looked back at her, an expression Tim