Heads You Win Read online

  “The question was addressed to Mrs. Karpenko, not you,” the officer said equally firmly.

  “The KGB killed my husband,” said Elena, unable to hold back the tears.

  “Why?” demanded the officer. “Was he a criminal?”

  “No!” said Elena, raising her head in defiance. “Konstantin was a good man. He was the works supervisor at the Leningrad docks, and they killed him when he tried to set up a trade union.”

  “They kill you for that in the Soviet Union?” said the officer in disbelief.

  “Yes,” said Elena, bowing her head once again.

  “How did you and your son manage to escape?”

  “My brother, who also worked on the docks, helped smuggle us onto a ship bound for America.”

  “With the help of your cousin, no doubt,” said the officer, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” said Dimitri. “Her brother, Kolya, is a brave man, and with God’s help we will get him out as well, because he hates the communists every bit as much as we do.”

  The mention of God’s help and hatred of the communists brought a smile to the officer’s face. He filled in several more boxes.

  “Are you willing to act as a sponsor for Mrs. Karpenko and her son?” the officer asked Dimitri.

  “Yes, sir,” responded Dimitri without hesitation. “They will live at my home in Brighton Beach, and as Elena is an excellent cook it shouldn’t be too difficult for her to find a job.”

  “And the boy?”

  “I want him to continue his education,” said Elena.

  “Good,” said the officer, who finally turned his attention to Alex. “What is your name?”

  “Alexander Konstantinovitch Karpenko,” he announced proudly.

  “And have you been working hard at school?”

  “Yes, sir, I was top of the class.”

  “Then you will be able to tell me the name of the President of the United States.”

  Elena and Dimitri looked anxious. “Lyndon B. Johnson,” said Alex without hesitation. How could he forget the name of the man Vladimir had described as the Soviet Union’s greatest enemy, which only made Alex assume he must be a good man?

  The officer nodded, filled in the final box, and added his signature to the bottom of the form. He looked up, smiled at the boy, and said, “I have a feeling, Alex, you’ll do well in America.”

  8

  SASHA

  En route to London

  Sasha was sitting in the corner of the railway carriage when the 3:35 shunted out of Southampton station on its way to London. He stared out of the window but didn’t speak, because his mind was far away in his homeland. He was beginning to wonder if they’d made a terrible mistake.

  He hadn’t said a word since they’d climbed on board, while Elena didn’t stop chatting to Mr. Moretti about his restaurant as the train rattled through the countryside toward the capital.

  Sasha couldn’t be sure how much time had passed before they eventually began to slow down and the train pulled into a station called Waterloo. Sasha immediately thought of Wellington, and wondered if there was a Trafalgar station. When they came to a halt, Sasha took Mr. Moretti’s bags off the rack, and followed his mother onto the platform.

  The first thing Sasha noticed was how many men were wearing hats: flat caps, homburgs, and bowlers, which his teacher back home had claimed simply reminded everyone of their position in society. He was also struck by how many women were strolling along the platform unaccompanied. Only loose women were unaccompanied in Leningrad, he’d once heard his mother say. He’d had to later ask his father what a loose woman was.

  Mr. Moretti handed over three tickets at the barrier, before leading his charges out of the station where they joined the back of a long queue. Something else the British were renowned for. Sasha’s mouth opened wide when he caught sight of his first red double-decker bus. He ran up the spiral stairs to the top deck, and took a seat at the front before Mr. Moretti could stop him. He was captivated by the panoramic view that stretched as far as the eye could see. So many cars of different shapes, sizes, and colors that stopped whenever a traffic light turned red. There weren’t many traffic lights in Leningrad, but then there weren’t many cars.

  The bus stopped again and again to allow passengers on and off, but it was still several more stops before Mr. Moretti stood up and headed back down the spiral staircase. Once they were on the pavement Sasha kept stopping every few moments to gaze inside shop windows. A tobacconist that sold so many different brands of cigarettes and cigars, as well as pipes, which brought back memories of his father. In another, a man was sitting in a large leather chair having his hair cut. Sasha’s mother always cut his hair. Didn’t this man have a mother? A cake shop where he would have liked to take a closer look, but he had to keep up with Mr. Moretti. Another shop that displayed only watches. Why would anyone need a watch when there were so many church clocks all around them? A women’s boutique, where Sasha stood mesmerized when he saw his first miniskirt. Elena grabbed him firmly by the arm and pulled him away. He didn’t have time to stop again until he saw a sign swaying in the breeze, proclaiming MORETTI’S.

  This time it was Elena who peered inside to admire the neatly laid tables with their spotless red and white checked tablecloths, folded napkins, and fine bone china. Waiters in smart white jackets bustled around, attentively serving their customers. But Moretti continued walking until he reached a side door, which he unlocked, and beckoned them to follow. They climbed a dimly lit staircase to the first floor, where Moretti opened another door.

  “The flat is very small,” he admitted, standing aside to let them in. “My wife and I lived here when we were first married.”

  Elena didn’t mention that it was larger than their unit in Leningrad, and far better furnished. She walked into a front room that overlooked the main road just as a motorbike revved by. She’d never experienced traffic noise or congestion before. She inspected the little kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. Sasha immediately inhabited the smaller one. He collapsed onto the bed, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

  “Time for you to meet the chef,” whispered Moretti.

  The two of them left Sasha sleeping and returned downstairs. Moretti walked into the restaurant and took her through to the kitchen. Elena thought she’d arrived in heaven. Everything she’d requested when she was in Leningrad, and so much more, was there before her.

  Moretti introduced her to the chef, and explained how he’d met Elena while on the return journey to England. The chef listened attentively to his boss but didn’t look convinced.

  “Why don’t you take a couple of days finding out how we do things here, Mrs. Karpenko,” the chef suggested, “before I decide where you might fit in.”

  It only took Elena a couple of hours before she was assisting the sous-chef, and long before the last customer had departed the chef’s expression of condescension had turned to one of respect for the lady from Leningrad.

  Elena returned to her flat just after midnight, utterly exhausted. She looked in on Sasha, who was still lying on his bed, fully dressed and fast asleep. She took off his shoes and pulled a blanket over him. The first thing she must do in the morning was find the right school for him.

  Mr. Moretti even had ideas on that subject.

  * * *

  Elena tried to focus, and not think about what was going on in the dining room, even though Sasha’s future could well depend on it. She set about preparing Mr. Quilter’s favorite dish long before he arrived.

  Mr. Moretti guided the gentleman and his wife to a corner table usually reserved for regulars or important customers.

  Mr. and Mrs. Quilter were not regulars. They fell into the category of anniversaries and special occasions. However, Mr. Moretti had instructed his staff to treat them as VIPs.

  He handed them both a menu. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked Mr. Quilter.

  “Just a glass of water for now. I’ll choose a bottle of wine once we’ve decided what we�