The Senility of Vladimir P Read Online Free PDF Page B

every day.’
    â€˜Thank goodness,’ murmured Sheremetev.
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜They didn’t exactly like each other.’
    â€˜Really? What did they — no you can’t tell me, can you?’
    â€˜Let’s just say a few choice words were exchanged.’
    â€˜You mean words you wouldn’t use with your mother?’
    Sheremetev nodded.
    The cook laughed.
    â€˜Vladimir Vladimirovich gave back as good as he got.’
    Stepanin roared. ‘What fuckery! Two presidents swearing?’
    Sheremetev was laughing as well now. ‘Like Cossacks!’
    Stepanin had tears in his eyes. He wiped at them and took a deep breath, trying to control his laughter. ‘Why not?’ he said eventually. ‘They’re just men, after all.’
    The cook sat musing on it, shaking his head and grinning. Then he got up and opened the door to the kitchen to yell at one of the potwashers. He came back and poured himself another vodka. ‘You want one?’ he said to Sheremetev.
    Sheremetev shook his head.
    â€˜You should drink more, Kolya.’ Stepanin threw back his vodka. He put the glass down with a thud, grimacing, and sat quietly for a moment.
    â€˜I had another chat with the new housekeeper today,’ he said eventually, his tone more restrained, even sombre.
    â€˜How was it?’
    Stepanin shrugged. He picked up a pork scratching and threw it into his mouth. ‘Have you spoken with her?’
    Sheremetev nodded.
    â€˜What do you think of her?’
    â€˜She seems okay.’
    â€˜Some of them, you know, they start like that, and then the claws come out.’
    Sheremetev, who had had little to do with housekeepers, couldn’t say if Stepanin was right or wrong.
    Stepanin rolled his empty vodka glass between his fingers, a troubled frown on his brow. Sheremetev wondered what was worrying him. The cook sighed, then looked up and grinned. ‘They really fought, did they, Lebedev and the boss?’ He laughed again. ‘What fuckery!’
    The dacha was thirty-five kilometres southwest of Moscow, in a birch forest near the town of Odintsovo. Set in eight hectares of land, and built as a Soviet government retreat for senior party dignitaries, it had undergone extensive enlargement and modernisation over the previous twenty years. The original building had two storeys, the lower of which consisted of several reception, dining and sitting rooms as well as a kitchen and staff quarters, while upstairs were a number of bedroom suites. To this had been added an enlarged staff accommodation bloc connected to the original staff quarters on the ground floor, and a basement had been excavated which housed a cinema, gym, sauna and swimming pool. Elsewhere in the grounds were a gardener’s lodge and a garage that could accommodate a small fleet of cars, with an apartment above it for the drivers. About a third of the grounds was covered by native birch woodland, while the remainder of the estate was occupied by a series of recently constructed greenhouses in the form of long, sausage-shaped tunnels covered by clear plastic.
    Originally state property, the dacha had been appropriated by Vladimir as one of his many residences during his long succession of presidencies. Like so much else in Russia – like the country itself, perhaps – no one could say who owned it now, or perhaps it was more accurate to say that the letter of its ownership did not necessarily coincide with the reality.
    Vladimir’s suite consisted of a bedroom, sitting room, dressing room and bathroom. Other than Sheremetev, who slept in a small bedroom nearby, he was the only resident of the upper floor of the dacha, but to look after him the staff quarters housed a small army. Four maids, three male house attendants, and a general handyman who could manage plumbing and electrical problems took care of domestic duties, while a complement of three gardeners and a dozen labourers managed the