Page 41 of The Oligarch's Daughter

“I’m great, how about you?”

“You are surrounded by Galkins. Maybe you are bored or restless? Over your head?”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Maybe you feel like you’re auditioning for a part you’re not sure you want.”

Before Paul could reply—he didn’t know what to say—Arkady Galkin put a hand on his shoulder. “Has Tatyana shown you the egg?” he asked.

Paul could smell the liquor on Galkin’s breath. “Not yet.”

Tatyana said something in Russian, quickly, and her father said something back, and they both laughed. Then Galkin said, “Come.”

Paul nodded. He leaned over to Niko and quietly, in Russian, said, “Ya ponemayu.” I understand. Meaning: “I understood all your nasty comments in Russian.”

Niko’s slack-jawed look was worth whatever trouble Paul had just caused.

Then Paul got up, unsteadily, and followed Galkin out of the dining room.

26

Arkady Galkin led Paul to the built-in illuminated glass museum display case in the hallway that Paul had seen the last time he’d visited the town house. A spotlight shone on a large gold egg encrusted with sapphires and diamonds. The egg was being pulled by a chariot and an angel. Inside the open egg you could see a miniature clock.

“This,” Arkady said, tapping on the glass, “is most famous Fabergé egg.Cherub with Chariot. I buy from guy who buy it from industrialist Armand Hammer for a million bucks. Money went right to Kremlin. See, Fabergé made fifty jeweled eggs for last two czars of Romanov dynasty. All worth tens of millions of dollars now, at least. Eight of them once believed missing. But this is one of the eight. And I have it.” He smiled like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. “And people complain about price of eggs. They have no idea.” He laughed, and Paul smiled.

“Please come with me,” Galkin said, and he ushered Paul into his study and offered him a cigar.

Paul didn’t smoke, and he particularly didn’t smoke cigars, but he thought the right thing to do was to accept the offering and fake his way through it. So he took the cigar, clipped its end, and lit it using Arkady’s gold lighter. He sucked in, brought the cigar to life, and puffed out without inhaling.

He looked around the room. It was a two-story library with walls paneled in rich mahogany and lined with old books in Russian. Paul wondered if Arkady had actually read any of the books. The two men sat down in high-backed green tufted-leather easy chairs.

Wreathed in smoke, Arkady said, “So you are marrying my daughter. I am very happy for you both.”

“We’re both happy, too.”And relieved, Paul wanted to say. “Happy to join the family.”

On Arkady’s desk, atop a pile of papers, was a briefcase. It was made of elegant cinnamon burnished leather, with the manufacturer’s name, Berluti, on the brass clasp. Paul rarely noticed briefcases, but this was the most beautiful one he’d ever seen.

“You understand, please, that you will need to sign prenup.”

No surprise. Paul nodded, said nothing.

“You studied Russian in college?”

“Just for two years.”

“Enough to understand, I see. Please, pay no attention to my son. Everything will be okay.”

Paul nodded, smiled politely. Niko was going to be a problem, he knew.

“Tatyana tell me you are good investment adviser. She say you make two hundred million at work in one week. This is true?”

“Months ago,” Paul said, shaking his head. “And for the firm. Not for myself.”

Arkady emitted little smoke rings into the air. “But you get piece of this.”

“Sure. I mean, it gets figured into my bonus at the end of the year. You know . . .”

“You outperform benchmark all the time, yes?”

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