The Master Craftsman, page 21
“Can you help me?” Ava glanced at her watch. “I need to be downstairs in ten minutes.”
Carol pulled the makeup bag toward her and fished around, pulling out powder and blush, eye shadow and mascara, and finally, a tube of nude-colored lipstick.
“It’s been a while since you let me do your makeup,” she said with a smile.
When Ava was a child, she loved to sit cross-legged on Carol’s bed and let her mom do her makeup. Carol had worked part-time in the evenings back then as a beauty consultant behind a makeup counter in a department store, a necessary second job that helped her make ends meet until she finally got a promotion at work that allowed her to stay home in the after-school hours.
Ava had been her willing mannequin, sitting for hours as her mom tried new and different makeup techniques. The tradition had carried over long after Carol quit the department store job, and the two of them had spent many hours together playing with makeup and makeovers.
Sometime around Ava’s junior year of high school, which happened to coincide with the last visit she’d had with her father, she’d found the idea of “Makeovers with Mom” less appealing. Ava knew her mom not-so-affectionately referred to that time between the end of high school and college as “the dark years.”
“So, you’re playing Xander’s wife today then, huh?” Carol murmured, interrupting Ava’s thoughts. She tapped a makeup brush on the side of her hand, then gestured for Ava to close her eyes.
Ava sighed. “Yes. This wouldn’t be my first choice.”
“It’s not the worst assignment you’ve ever had, though, is it?” Carol gave her a little wink.
Ava pursed her lips. Carol put a few finishing touches on the makeup, then stepped back with a satisfied smile.
“There,” she said. “Now tell me that this look isn’t fantastic on you.”
Ava studied herself closely. Her mom had done a good job on the makeup application. It highlighted her cheekbones, made her eyes pop, and yet still looked completely natural.
“Not bad, Mom,” she said.
Carol tossed her arms up in a touchdown pose and turned around triumphantly. “Let it be known that on this day, my daughter conceded to not only let me make her look like a lady, but that she even liked my work!” She pumped her fist back and forth victoriously.
“Okay, well,” Ava said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. She kissed her mom on the cheek, then brushed past her, walked to the bedroom, and grabbed her room key and her satchel. She picked up the falsified passport that gave her new identity and glanced at it again.
She held the photo page up to her mom. “How the heck do you think Nick pulled this off?”
Carol leaned forward and studied the page carefully. “That’s amazing!”
Somehow, Nick had managed to get a photo of Ava with bob-length red hair into this fake passport.
“He must be some kind of wiz with Photoshop,” Ava murmured. “Also, check this out.” She turned to a back page in the passport and held up a very official-looking entry stamp. “They even drew a stamp for me.”
“It’s drawn?” Carol asked.
“Yeah,” Ava said. She held it closer for Carol to study. “If you look closely, you can tell this was colored on, not stamped. But it looks exactly like the real stamp! I just hope no one official asks to look at it.”
Carol crossed her arms. “I’m still not comfortable with all of this. You be very careful today.”
“I will, Mom. I promise.” She drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Guess I’d better head down and meet my husband.” She shook her head. “This is so weird.”
Carol smiled. “Love you, my little redhead,” she said with a wave.
Ava stepped out of their room and walked to the elevator, forcing herself to hold her head up high and walk with steps that exuded more confidence than she actually felt. She pushed the button for the elevator and turned to study herself in the mirror hanging on the wall opposite the elevators. She looked like such a different version of herself, but there was something that she enjoyed about it.
“Red hair,” she murmured. “Who would’ve thought.”
She stiffened as a man and woman rounded the corner and stopped at the elevator. Turning, Ava glanced at them quickly out of the corner of her eye. The man wore a sharp, black suit, tight over his paunchy frame. His red tie was tucked into the jacket, but Ava could tell that he’d dressed quickly, as she could see the tie bunched up at his midsection beneath his coat.
His hair was thin at the top, but thicker on the sides, and he’d slicked it over, dark black strands mixed with wiry silver ones all forced to lay down in submission by an overly generous helping of hair gel.
He clutched the hand of a woman who appeared to be half his age, and who looked less than interested in being his arm candy. She had platinum blond hair, the kind that had probably once been full and beautiful, but that had been chemically treated so often that it now looked fragile and brittle. Her clothes were fashionable, but shabby, like she’d worn them too often and for far too long.
As they waited awkwardly for the elevator to arrive, the man turned and said something to Ava in Russian, and her heart skipped a beat. She shrugged her shoulders, giving them an apologetic look.
“No Russian,” she said.
Mercifully, the elevator door dinged in front of them. The man gave her a smile that made her feel uncomfortable.
“You speak English,” he said in a heavy accent. The three of them stepped onto the elevator. “American?”
She punched the number 1 for the lobby and nodded again, hands sweating. She thought about Xander’s admonishment to stay invisible. She wished he would have given her suggestions for what to do if she wound up on the elevator with people.
“I live in America for little while,” the man continued, oblivious to Ava’s discomfort.
She glanced at the girl who still clutched his hand. Her eyes stayed trained on the ground.
“In New York,” he continued. “Very beautiful in America, but is better in Russia, yes?” He laughed, a low, sickly sound that gurgled in his throat. “What is your name?”
Ava panicked, completely forgetting her alias for the day. What was her name? She opened her mouth, then shut it as the elevators stopped and the doors slid open.
“Nice to meet you,” she murmured, stepping through the doors.
The man followed her, practically pulling the woman behind him.
“But we did not meet,” he said.
Ava looked up and saw Xander waiting for her in the lobby. She blinked as she took in the sight of him. He wore a wig today, which gave him a head full of blond curls. On anyone else, that would have looked completely ridiculous, but somehow it made him only look more handsome.
He wore dark skinny jeans and a fitted V-neck sweater. A brown leather jacket completed the look, as did the scarf that he held over his arm. He looked like a trendy millennial who absolutely belonged on the crowded streets of a bustling city. He caught sight of her followers. Ava widened her eyes in a silent cry for help as he rushed forward toward her.
“There you are,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, sending a jolt down her spine. He glanced at the man and woman who had stopped awkwardly behind them and gave a slight nod of the head.
Ava grabbed Xander’s hand and turned with him toward the door. “That guy is following me,” she hissed.
“Walk confidently,” he murmured, his hand clutching hers. “Look up at me and smile right now.”
Ava turned her head and looked at Xander, pushing her lips into a smile. He grinned back, squeezing her hand reassuringly. They walked briskly through the expansive lobby, morning light streaming through the windows, illuminating the space with a cheery, opulent glow. Xander’s polished shoes clacked on the marble floors as he and Ava made their way through the glass doors.
“Here,” Xander said. He put his scarf over her shoulders and wrapped it around her neck twice. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “He’s still watching us,” he whispered. “Don’t look.”
Ava pulled her eyes back to Xander’s face, completely at a loss for words with him hovering so near to her. She was going to have to pull herself together if she was going to make it through the day pretending to be his wife.
A black car pulled up in front of them and came to a stop. Xander yanked the back door open and gestured for Ava to get in. He slid in quickly behind her. Seconds later, they pulled away from the front of the hotel toward the bustling street. Ava let out a long sigh and collapsed back into the leather seat.
“What the heck was that?” she asked, turning to look at Xander.
“Well, Mrs. Andrews. You just shared an elevator with Evgeny Lazovsky.”
“You speak to Lazovsky?” Anatoly spoke from the front seat. He glanced at Xander in the mirror, eyebrows raised.
“Who is Evgeny Lazovsky?” Ava looked from Xander to Anatoly and back.
“He is bad man,” Anatoly answered after a brief pause. “You should . . . how do you say in English . . .” He looked at Xander and said a word in Russian.
Xander nodded. “We should avoid him.”
“He just ended up on the elevator with me,” Ava replied, feeling a little defensive.
“Of course,” Xander said. “You couldn’t prevent that. But we should be careful. When we get back today, we’ll stay together until we’ve reached the rooms.”
“And what happens when we end up wearing different disguises? What if he runs into us then?”
“This is why we’ll be careful.” Xander sat back against the seat and shook his head. “Lazovsky was staring at you like a piece of meat.”
“Who was that girl with him?” Ava asked.
“Probably his latest mistress,” Xander replied.
“Or call girl,” Anatoly said.
Ava sighed and leaned back. “Is it always this way?”
“What?”
“Hunting. Is it always so frustrating? Because I’ve seen the movies and read the books, and this is nothing like those. This is so . . . anticlimactic.”
Xander smiled. “This isn’t National Treasure, Ava. Nicholas Cage isn’t going to come strolling out with some bogus history that leads us on a wild, international goose chase.”
Ava raised her eyebrows. She looked around, gesturing her hand toward the window. “Bogus history. Wild, international goose chase.”
Xander laughed, shaking his head so that the blond curls of his wig bounced stiffly. “Touché. But it’s still not the same. This is real life, not some story in a book.”
“Feels like a story in a book,” Ava responded.
“Oh really?” Xander leaned over so that his face was closer to hers. He studied her eyes beneath the bangs of her red wig. “If this were a book, what part would I be playing?”
Ava’s heart thumped. She narrowed her eyes and forced herself to stare back at him. “You’d be the romantic interest turned bad guy in the end,” she said, her voice cracking as he continued to gaze at her so intently.
Xander smiled. “Romantic interest turned bad guy? And why, exactly, is that?”
Ava bit her lip and shook her head. “Come on,” she said. “You can’t look like . . . that”—she waved her hand in his face—“and not be the romantic lead. But the book would be boring without a bad guy, so if I were writing the story, I’d give you an ulterior motive to keep things interesting.”
Xander laughed. “And I guess you’d be playing the tortured damsel in distress?”
“No way! I’m no damsel, and I’m not in distress. I don’t need some macho romantic lead to rescue me.”
“Who’s your character then?”
“The tortured leading lady with daddy issues who overcomes, cracks the code, and solves one of the greatest mysteries in Soviet history. I’m the female Ethan Hunt.” She flashed him a proud smile.
“So, would the female Ethan Hunt make a connection with the dashing romantic interest in this book of yours?”
Ava shook her head. “Nah,” she said, forcing her voice to sound cool and even. “She’d be too busy trying to track down the treasure for romance. And besides, he turns into the bad guy. She would figure him out.”
Xander chuckled. He reached over and brushed the hair out of her eyes, a simple gesture that sent a shiver down her spine. “Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t writing the story now, isn’t it?”
Ava looked at him for a beat, then turned her head and stared out the window, watching as the streets of St. Petersburg bustled by, a tangle of cars and people, modern and historical, all of it locked together to form a chaotic picture of beauty.
“Oh, hey, Anatoly,” she said, in a not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject. “Nick asked us last night to have you give him a call. He said he wanted to catch up with you.”
Anatoly glanced at her in the rearview mirror, red-rimmed eyes surrounded by a puffy face. Ava thought about Xander’s comment that Anatoly worked best with a side of vodka, and she could see the effects of this in the sallow pallor of his skin.
“Yes, Mr. Xander tell me this,” Anatoly said. “I will call Nick soon. I am very busy man right now, so is difficult—”
“Ah, here we are, then,” Xander said. “Bolshaya Morskaya. Once a bustling business district for the rich and the bourgeoisie. In Fabergé’s day, this would have been the place where the wealthiest spent their time. Just down at the end of this street and around the corner is Nevsky Prospekt and, of course, the palace where Tsar Nicholas and his family spent most of their time.”
“It looks so ordinary now,” Ava said. She gazed at the busy street, cars weaving and snaking their way past a line of buildings that stretched as far as she could see.
Xander nodded. “It is. Now it’s a mixture of tourist shops, apartment buildings, and fancy Airbnbs. You’d hardly know that the top names in Russian history once called this home.”
“But you see buildings there?” Anatoly gestured at the buildings in front of them, each one designed in that unique style that made St. Petersburg so different from other Russian cities. “The architecture is very interesting.”
Ava liked the sound of his words, how he pronounced een-ter-est-ing, and the way he seemed to swallow his rs before he finished saying them.
“Was very modern back then, these buildings,” Anatoly said. “Very fancy.”
“I imagine it was.” Ava pointed as they rounded the corner. “What is that building there—the one with the glass globe on top?”
“Is old Singer building,” Anatoly said.
Xander nodded. “Yeah, you know Singer sewing machines?”
Ava stared up at the globe, marveling at its design.
“This used to be their manufacturing building. They had the glass and metal globe constructed as a symbol of the spread of their company throughout the world.”
“Interesting.” Ava took in the sights of Nevsky Prospekt. The sun was shining today, which lit up the city in a way that she could only describe as magnificent.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Xander asked.
Ava met his gaze. “This really is a spectacular city.”
Xander turned to look out the window. “That this city stands at all after both of the world wars is mind-boggling.”
Ava nodded. “It was under siege for nearly 900 days in World War Two. But the Nazis never did manage to get into the city. These buildings were preserved by the lives of tens of thousands of people who fought to protect it. It’s just . . .”
“Amazing,” Xander said.
Ava glanced at him. “Yeah.”
“You know an awful lot about the history of this city for never having been here.”
Ava shrugged. “I have a headful of useless knowledge and historical facts.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s useless,” Xander said. “History is one of our greatest assets. Knowing where we’ve been as a human race helps us navigate where we’re going.”
Ava cocked her head to the side.
“What? Do you find me shallow?”
“No! Of course not. I just didn’t . . . expect that from you.” She swallowed and tossed him a sheepish gaze.
“Yeah, well, don’t underestimate me.” Xander gave her a playful punch on the arm. “I’m more than just a pretty face.”
Ava rolled her eyes. “You did not just say that,” she said.
Xander laughed.
Anatoly slowed down and pulled to the side of the road. “You get out here. Number 24 is one more building down.” He gestured out the window in front of him. Xander leaned forward and murmured something to Anatoly in Russian while Ava looked out the window and studied her surroundings. She fiddled with her wig self-consciously, then turned as Xander leaned back.
“Alright, Mrs. Andrews,” he said with a crooked smile. “Shall we go look at the apartment?”
Ava offered him a tight-lipped smile, steeling herself against Xander’s charm. He opened his door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Ava slid across the seat and stepped out next to him, drawing in a deep breath as the frigid air slapped her in the face.
“What exactly are we going to do when we get in there?” Ava asked as they turned down the sidewalk.
“We’re going to ask to sit in the apartment for a little while and discuss whether or not we would like to rent it for an extended period. With any luck, the landlady will leave completely, at which point we’ll do a search.”
“A search?” Ava asked. “Surely you guys don’t think there’s any way something would be left behind in the apartment after all these years. The thought of it is absurd.”
“Totally absurd,” Xander said. “But there’s a singular line in Alma’s poem that I think needs to be explored, and Nick agrees.”
“What?” Ava stopped and looked at him.
“‘The secret beneath the boards,’” he said. “We need to figure out what that means. Was something hidden beneath the floorboards or behind a wall? This is our chance to at least make an attempt to look around.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think something as simple as that would have been discovered already?” Ava asked.
