it because of the angels at the entrance?” Ruslan guessed. After all, the angels are from the Christian religion, which is not supported here. If they were Egyptian gods, the hospital would have gotten grants long ago. He chuckled at his own impressionability.
“It’s all because of old stories,” Valentina muttered.
“What stories do you mean?” Ruslan and Dima asked in unison.
“Those silly stories that go back to the serfdom era, when there was not wasteland here, but villages, hamlets, and some noble manor, which was destroyed during the revolution.”
Ruslan remembered from the stories of his ancestors that the estates were not destroyed, but taken away in favor of red commanders and party chairmen, but he kept silent. His family’s traumas did not concern Valentina Vladimirovna or Dima.
“What was going on here?” Ruslan asked for the sake of politeness.
“Well, I don’t know anything for sure, I’m not from here,” the oligarch’s wife began to justify herself. “I myself moved to St. Petersburg from the Rostov region at a young age, and later moved to Moscow. It is boring to live in the suburbs. I like noisy megacities, spas, restaurants, clubs, entertainment. From the very beginning, I was against building a house in the middle of nowhere.”
“So, what was going on in the middle of nowhere?” Ruslan interrupted her.
“Rumor has it, a lot of things. Are you interested in local superstitions?”
“I am just curious.”
Valentina crumpled, not wanting to speak, and then she blurted out in one breath:
“Allegedly, out of love for angels in this wilderness a lot of creepiness created.”
How strange it sounded! Ruslan instantly remembered the black-covered notebook he had found. There were notes about evil angels in it too.
“Did you find any broken angel figurines here?” He asked, focusing on the notes.
“I wasn’t looking for any!” Valentina was extremely surprised. “I’m not going through the garbage.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Ruslan objected hastily. How do you tell a woman you barely know that someone else’s notebook was thrown into his car, and instead of throwing it away, he started to read it like an idiot. Now he wants to check the information.
The oligarch’s wife was no longer listening to him, but was fixing her hair. A bob haircut with small snaking curls suited her very well.
“By the way, here’s my business card, in case you need anything,” Valentina rummaged in her purse and held out a thin rectangular card, filled in only on one side.
Ruslan accepted the card. He was already aware that if the name and contacts on the back of the card were not duplicated in English, it meant that the person had no international connections. All influential people have business cards on both sides: one side in the usual Russian, the other in English. Apparently, her husband keeps Valentina Vladimirovna in tight grip. He is the influential person here, not she. For some reason, the business card had Verbina’s last name on it, not Vereskovskaya. It was probably Valentina’s maiden name, but it was awkward to ask. Ruslan did not encourage those who lived in unregistered marriages and thought it was humiliating to talk about such topics aloud. If you ask about something, people will immediately have to justify to everyone why they consider a receipt in the Registry Office unnecessary. Many even call such a marriage civil, but this is a mistake. Although also do not want to explain to anyone that civil marriages are those that are registered, but not married. Otherwise you have to get into discussions with people. Ruslan didn’t like to argue or have someone point out his place.
It was likely that Valentina Vladimirovna’s surname was a well-known one, and the woman didn’t want to change it when she got married, but there was a one-in-a-hundred chance of that. Most married women prefer to take their husbands’ surnames so that the marriage can take place according to all the rules.
“And what will be on this pedestal?” Ruslan decided to check Dima’s assumption.
“Some Egyptian goddess,” Valentina Vladimirovna confirmed.
“Is it another one? It feels like the leading figure of the whole multinational pantheon should stand here.”
“This goddess is special. She’s more heavenly than Egyptian,” Valentina sounded so jealous that Ruslan stopped asking. Only a mad woman could be jealous of a statue. Or a completely desperate woman, completely deprived of male attention. Valentina Vladimirovna didn’t look like the latter. Her appearance was above all praise, but her manners left much to be desired.
“I’ll go!” Valentina Vladimirovna checked the time on the electronic clock in her iPhone. “I have a session at the massage parlor and then the gym. You should know how far it is to drive from here to the nearest fitness center.”
Ruslan wonder why she even came here. Was it to see the statues from all over the world? Or was she more interested in the empty pedestal? Valentina Vladimirovna seemed to be waiting not for a statue of a goddess, but for a rival.
“Are you driving yourself?” Ruslan asked reluctantly. The woman he was talking to gave the impression that she was not sober.
“No, I have a chauffeur. He’s waiting downstairs.”
That was to be expected. A rich man’s wife has no reason to get a driver’s license, and certainly she would never use public transportation. Ruslan was embarrassed that he had asked a stupid question, but the beautiful blonde was not offended by it. She looked absent-mindedly at the empty pedestal.
“Goodbye!” She said goodbye. But to the pedestal or to her companions?
In a minute Valentina’s heels were already tapping on the steps of the rotunda.
:She is a gorgeous woman!” Dima whistled.
“And her maintenance costs her husband, most likely, not cheaper than this palace,” Ruslan said pessimistically.
“Hush! Or she’ll hear you.”
But the guest had already left, and the pedestals and evil gods remained. As soon as the living interlocutor disappeared, Ruslan felt trapped in the company of pagan gods. It seemed as if the statues were watching him.
Fatalism
There was noise coming from the construction site. It was chaotic. Carts, wheelbarrows, cranes, all jumbled into a confused picture. What a mess to work in! Ruslan had a headache from having to rearrange other people’s drawings. It would have been better if he had been allowed to make his own, but then the rotunda would have to be destroyed and the foundation would have to be rebuilt. The employer won’t allow it.
Vereskovsky himself came to the construction site a week later to visit the new architects. The conversation with him was not the most pleasant. Vereskovsky had a lot of requirements that were difficult to fulfill. Everything had to follow his instructions stupidly, and he did not promise a bonus in case of successful completion of the construction.
Many of Vereskovsky’s conditions were extremely stupid. It seems that he is a fantasist. So the construction is going on like a bedlam. Ruslan was extremely happy to kick the oligarch out of the construction site.
“He ought to have been a serf while working in the fields,” complained Dima. “Next time you’ll meet him alone, and I’ll pretend that I’m too busy with urgent problems.”
“It’s not good to put everything on your friend’s shoulders!”
“I know, but I don’t want to feel like a slave!”
Dima muttered to himself for a long time something like that all the money he earned here would have to be spent on psychologists