Riding Icarus (14 page)

Masha frowned stubbornly. “No, it isn’t.”

Fyodor Ivanovich looked worried. But he just said, “I’ll be coming back past here in a couple of hours. I’ll look out for you, shall I?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be that long.” Masha watched as he went round the corner towards his sister’s. Then she set off to Igor’s house.

Extravagant superstitiousness wasn’t Igor’s only foible. He also hated animals. He even hated pictures of animals; Masha remembered how unpleasant he’d been about the tiger in her encyclopaedia. It was yet another reason why she loathed him, but it had its useful side – it meant he didn’t have a guard dog. As she walked past the other houses, Alsatians and Dobermanns bayed behind the walls and the stray dogs outside jumped up and ran away in stealthy silence. But the drive of Igor’s house, when she peeked through the side gate, was quiet and empty. There was no sign of the shining Mercedes or the supercilious driver. Surely that meant Igor wasn’t at home.

She stayed looking through the barred gate for a long time. Nothing moved behind the lace curtains at the windows. Finally she gave the gate a push – but it was locked.

She tried the main gates. Locked too.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She pushed again, and this time to her surprise the gates glided smoothly open under her fingers, silent as the thorn bushes parting at the touch of the hundred-year prince.

Too late, she realized why. The sudden heat on her legs, the low purring, told her. The black Mercedes came to a stop right at her heels. Its back window rolled down and Igor looked out.

“What a pleasant surprise. Move out of the way, there’s a good girl, or we’ll run you over.”

She thought she would have time to edge round the car and run away, but as soon as she was no longer in front of it the Mercedes rolled forward rapidly, grazing her side as it slid past. The gates swung shut behind it and locked.

Igor didn’t seem to be very at home in the kitchen. He rummaged impatiently through the cupboards and finally found a packet of biscuits, which he tipped clumsily onto a plate and placed in front of Masha, alongside a glass of juice. Then he lit one of his fat cigars and simply looked at her. There was a long silence.

“Well,” he said at last, “aren’t you hungry? Go on, eat.”

Masha shook her head. Her stomach was clenched with nervousness.

“I was going to come and fetch you later today. That remarkably stubborn old grandmother of yours has changed her mind after all. She’s decided to let you come and live here with me.”

“She hasn’t!”

“Didn’t she tell you?” Igor put on his hateful face of mock sadness. “She and that other woman – what’s her name? Ira or something – called this morning. They’ve realized how much better off you’ll be here with us. And it gets a tiresome little girl off their hands. They don’t want the bother of looking after you any longer. Your grandmother’s far too old, and Ira has that boy of hers to keep out of trouble.”

“It’s not true,” said Masha. She was trembling.

“Of course it’s true. Your grandmother’s going back to the village and wants to leave…” Igor trailed off as his eyes met Masha’s stunned gaze.

“How do you know that already?” she whispered.

“About your grandmother going to the village? Of course I know. She doesn’t want to take you with her, and I’m sure you don’t want to go.” His face creased into a grimace of disgust. “Awful, filthy place, full of hideous cows and things.”

“It’s not true,” Masha said again. It was all she could manage. Her mind seemed to have frozen up.

Igor reached over and took the telephone off the side. He placed it on the table in front of her. “Call and ask them. I’ll ignore your rudeness for the moment.” Masha didn’t move. “Go ahead. Call.”

Slowly Masha put out her hand towards the telephone. At that moment, it rang. She jumped. Igor seized her outstretched hand, gripping her painfully around the wrist. The phone rang again, insistently.

“Viktor!” Igor shouted. After another couple of rings, the phone fell silent.

Igor released her hand. “Anyway, you’ve come here by yourself. Why’s that, Masha? What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a funny reason to come here. Perhaps you wanted to tell me something. Is that it? Perhaps – where your mother is?”

“No!”

“I think it was. I think—”

There was a soft tap on the kitchen door. Igor hesitated, and then called irritably, “What?”

The door opened, and the driver slid into the room. He bent close to Igor’s ear. After a moment or two, Igor gave a nod. “All right. Five minutes.” The driver left as quietly as he had entered.

Igor smiled at her suddenly, his wolfish smile. “Never mind. You can tell me later. How about having a look at your new room? Where you’ll be living from now on.” He stood up and held out a hand to her.

“No, thank you,” Masha said.

“Oh, just a quick look, before I drop you off back at the flat to collect your things. Anya’s been making it all nice for you: toys, books; she’s had new wallpaper put up.” He took her hand, gently this time. “You’ll like it.” He drew her off the chair and towards the door.

“And then do you promise to take me back to the flat?” Masha demanded.

He looked down at her with a hurt expression. “Of course.”

The huge house was eerily silent. The thick carpet deadened their footsteps as they climbed the stairs. Masha was trying desperately to make up her mind. This might be her last chance to find out the truth. She walked with Igor past Anastasia’s room and down the long corridor, towards the back of the house. They came to a door at the end.

“Uncle Igor.”

Igor stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “What?”

Masha took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you where Mama is, if—”

“If what?”

At once Masha knew she’d been incredibly stupid. His face as he looked at her was utterly ruthless.

“I mean, I don’t know where she is,” she babbled. “But if I knew, I mean, when I know, when I find out, I’ll tell you, if—”

“If
what
, little girl?”

“If you tell me what she was doing in Turkey.”

Igor opened the door. Sunlight streamed onto the carpet. Dazzled by the brightness, Masha took a hesitant step inside.

“I don’t think you really want to know that, and I don’t think I’ll need you to tell me where she is after all,” said Igor. “But I’ll keep your offer in mind.” He closed the door, shutting her alone inside the room.

“Uncle Igor?” said Masha uncertainly. She heard the click of the key turning in the lock. “Uncle Igor?” There was silence.
“Uncle Igor?”

T
he room was lovely. It was papered in lemon yellow, and full of sunlight. There was a bed with cushions piled on its green and yellow bedspread, a desk with a lamp and a green-painted chair, and, sure enough, many beautiful toys and books, although they were mostly for a child much younger than Masha or Anastasia. Some of them didn’t seem to be entirely new either. But everything was clean, expensive, pretty or fun or interesting. Masha flopped down on the bed and stared. This could all be for me, she thought. She imagined having her very own toys like the ones Anastasia had, eating the kind of food that was always in their fridge. Being able to buy everything she wanted. Going to the cinema or the zoo or the fair whenever she liked. Cossack dancing classes. Holidays by the sea. Maybe she’d even be able to go to England to see Alice – why not? Igor had money enough for everything.

And Granny and Ira didn’t want her any more. They thought she should come and live here in the castle with the rich people, and forget all about her old friends. They were the same as her parents after all: her papa who had gone away and left her; her mama who’d liked Igor and his promises more than she’d wanted to stay with Masha. If Igor really wanted to know where Mama was, Masha only had to tell him. Then she could have Anya for a mother. Nice, gentle, sad Anya. And Anastasia for a sister.

Masha choked. She took a deep breath and shrieked again, “Help! Somebody help! I’m locked in!”

Her throat already hurt from screaming. She’d shaken and kicked at the door, pushed at the window so hard she had painful red and blue bruises on her hands. Nothing budged; nobody answered. The great silent house absorbed her cries; they sounded weak and pathetic. The room was almost intolerably warm in the sunshine, and the soft cushions seemed to swallow her up in luxurious comfort. It would be so easy to give in, to curl up on the bed like a pampered cat and fall asleep. She found herself smothering a huge yawn.

But my birthday! she told herself. She had to escape to look for her present. Everyone else had let her down, but there was still the little Cossack girl and the promise of her heart’s desire.

A sound came from downstairs. It was the click of a door closing. More soft noises reached her ears: a chair scraping, the thump of something dropped on the floor. Masha felt too scared to scream again. She sat frozen for several minutes before extricating herself from the nest of cushions and tiptoeing over to the door. The keyhole was blocked by the key in the other side, but there was a space beneath the door wide enough to fit her hand up to the wrist. Carefully she lay on the floor and put her eye to the gap. She caught a glimpse of a frilly dress and the end of a pink ribbon as someone entered a room further along the landing.

Masha drew in her breath and bawled, “Nastya!”

Anastasia backed out of her room. Masha couldn’t see her top half, just the frills of her skirt, her neat white socks and silver sandals with little flowers on them.

“Who’s there?” Anastasia quavered in a scared voice.

“It’s me, Masha. I’m locked in.”

“Masha?”
The silver sandals took a couple of hesitant steps in her direction.

“Is Uncle Igor here?”

“No. I’m on my own. Why are you in the house? Where are you?”

“In the room at the end.” Masha banged on the door with her fist. The feet came nearer. “Here. Look down.” She fluttered her fingers on the carpet.

“What are you doing in there?” Anastasia sounded outraged. Her knees appeared, then the bunched material of her dress and her long fair hair as she crouched down and peered under the door. Even from the slice of face visible through the gap, Masha could see she was furious. “You’ve no business being in there. Come out!”

“I can’t. I’m locked in. You’ve got to help me.”

Anastasia’s one visible eye narrowed. “What do you mean, you’re locked in? How did you get in there?”

“Please let me out,” Masha begged. “I didn’t want to come in here.
Please
unlock the door.”

Anastasia knelt up and Masha heard the rattle of the key as she put her hand on it. But she didn’t turn it. Instead she said, “You little nosy parker. You were snooping around, weren’t you? Serves you right if you got stuck.”

“I wasn’t snooping!” Now it was Masha’s turn to be outraged. “Uncle Igor brought me up to show me the room and then he locked me in—”

“Liar!” said Anastasia. “Papa would never show you this room. I knew you were a liar.”

“He did! He said it was going to be my room when I come and live here with you.”

Anastasia was silent. Then she said, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You aren’t going to live here and that room’s not for anybody.”

Masha didn’t know what to say. Finally she asked, “Didn’t he tell you? About me living here, and him looking for my mama and everything?”

“Who cares where your mama is? As if you could come and live with us.” Anastasia’s face appeared again in the gap. Her cheeks were red. “I bet you came here to – to steal something. You’re just jealous.”

“Why would I be jealous of having a father that hits my mother?” Masha snapped. She could have bitten her tongue out a moment later.

“At least I’ve
got
parents!” Anastasia cried. She jumped up and Masha snatched her fingers out of the way just in time as one of the silver sandals came stamping down. Then they stormed off along the corridor. A door slammed.

Masha rolled over onto her back. How she hated Anastasia, with her frilly dresses and her girly white socks and her boring princess games. She stared at the ceiling, and sighed. Hating her wasn’t going to help. It had been stupid to shout like that; now she’d never persuade the other girl to let her out.

“Nastya!” she called. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it. I should never have said that. Nastya!”

The door down the landing opened. Anastasia’s sing-song voice came out of it. “Stupid Masha’s locked in the ro–om. Stupid Masha’s locked in the ro–om…”

Masha stifled a scathing response. Instead she called again, “I’m sorry. Please let me out.”

“Bet she really needs the toilet. Bet she really needs the toilet…”

Masha scowled. It was true, and she didn’t want to be reminded of the fact. “
Please
. I’ll give you whatever you want, or do whatever you want.”

“What have you got?”

What could she possibly have that Anastasia didn’t have already, and miles better? “Rollerblades,” she offered at last. She had Gena’s in her backpack.