what I’m having tell you!” Batushka nodded.
“And so?” asked the actor. “What’s that to do with our business, anyway?”
“What do you mean what?” the cook exploded. “He’ll immediately start digging everything up now, sniffing about the place, reorganising everything. It’s impossible! It’s…”
“Nonsense!” Chavdar broke in. “He hasn’t found his feet yet, he needs time to sort things out. Before he figures out what’s what, we’ll be done, isn’t that right, Batushka?”
Batushka nodded dryly.
“You can talk,” Kosta nodded. “But you haven’t met him. He’s insane. He just appears out of the blue. Anything could come into his head.”
“There, there, he has other things to do,” the actor calmed him. “He’ll not start his digging in the fridges.”
“You never know,” sighed the cook. “How can I put it? You better find yourself somewhere else.”
“You can’t pull out now, at the last minute!” Chavdar exploded. “We’ve already invested in this project! Isn’t that right, Batushka?”
“Hmm!” Batushka began to frown darkly.
“Batushka’s opinion is that is too late now to turn back,” continued the actor. “The whole thing’s already going at full tilt!”
Kosta scratched his neck sceptically, “You’re going to have to think of something. There are loads of other places.”
“What’s he be saying?” Batushka raised his voice.
“Nothing, nothing!” Chavdar sought a hurried translation. His forehead was shining with sweat and now really agitated, he turned to the cook, “Listen, Kosta, we’re going to be in deep shit! I’ve vouched for you and now you’re losing it!”
“They’ll send me back!” was Kosta’s curt comment.
“What?”
“If they catch us, they’re going to send me back to Bulgaria, on the first plane.”
“My God!” Chavdar cried out. “We’re risking our necks here, and he’s worried they’re going to send him back. What a fool. What do you say, Batushka? Send him back – that’s his worry!”
Batushka shook back his head and showed his straight white teeth. “Ho-ho-ho!” he laughed with his bass voice.
“Listen, you Pastry!” started Chavdar. “You have two possibilities here – to behave like a pussy or like a man. If you behave like a pussy, this one here – Batushka, will make sure you regret the moment you ever set foot in London! But, if you behave like a man you’re going to get your juicy part of the deal plus the advance payment and we’re all laughing. So, which do you choose?”
Silence fell around the table. The bottle was sweating. A random individual came down the stairs, looked around and sat at the other end of the hall.
“Only for one week,” Kosta sighed at last. “And a hundred pounds up front,” he reminded them.
Batushka placed his hand on his shoulder. “Molodets! You the man.”
8
A piercing howl welcomed him – in one of the corners of the office the grey belly of an enormous Hoover-monster loomed like a communist mausoleum. The hose twisting across the floor ended in the hands of some girl, her nose facing the carpet. Varadin knitted his brows: she really had picked the wrong moment to clean, the idiot! The idea of waiting outside until the noisy process was over did occur to him, but then he remembered the gang of employees shunting in at the entrance downstairs and quickly reaffirmed his intentions. He stepped in quietly and sat down in an armchair. He had heard people say that if you stare at someone for long enough, something started itching in their brain and they would turn around. This obviously did not apply to her, or maybe the howling instrument created some barrier that dispersed the fluids in question.
He continued to stare at her.
She was slender, with long legs. Her stray, ash-blond hair was falling to one side and covering her face. Below a light blue working dress, colourless tights and Nike trainers enhanced the muscles of her calves. Her movements betrayed her annoyance, although she was working very hard. She hoovered all the carpet around his desk and then turned off the ugly machine. Their eyes met.
“I’m sorry,” she said, confused. “I did not notice you there.”
He said nothing. In his ears the sound of the Hoover still echoed. The face of the girl seemed familiar to him and he stared at it more than decency allowed. She blushed and lowered her eyes. At the same moment a fickle smile appeared on her lips.
“You must be the new Ambassador?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Katerina, Katya for short,” the girl introduced herself, while she was coiling the cable of the Hoover. “I’ll be cleaning your office if you don’t object.”
He did not but said sternly, “I would be grateful if you don’t come during my office hours.”
“I’m very sorry for the inconvenience,” she started. “I had a paper to write. I’ve been reading all night. I didn’t think you’d be here. I’ll come to clean in the mornings or after six.”
“Agreed,” he nodded and unexpectedly asked “What are you studying?” Don’t go any deeper, his internal monitor pulled him up.
“Design,” she said, with a tone that bordered on the sleazy, while she put the hose over her shoulder and started dragging the Hoover to the door. Then she stopped and turned around. “Do you want me to dust?”
“No, there is no need.”
Katya, though, was not in a hurry to go now that her initial confusion was over. Her wide silver-grey eyes did not look very red.
“Mr. Ambassador, I have one problem,” she seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “Actually this is not only my problem, but one for everyone who cleans here in the Embassy.”
Varadin knitted his brows but let her speak.
“I am talking about this,” she pointed at the Hoover. “Simply, the time has come for its retirement. I wouldn’t take up your time with this, but some people cannot see this fact…”
“Which fact?”
“That it doesn’t suck anymore! What I want to say is it only sucks feebly. It’s a real chore to use…”
“It might be full,” he guessed with little enthusiasm. “Do you clean it often?”
“No it is not full,” she insisted brusquely. “It is old!”
“What do you want from me? A new Hoover?”
“Yes,” the girl nodded. “The
