Gleb awoke late the next morning to the sound of knocking. Before he could do more than mumble "come if I know you" the door opened to reveal Elena holding a tray.
"Oh, sorry! Did I wake you up?" she asked as she pushed the door closed with her foot.
Gleb started to reply, but whatever he was going to say was lost in a huge yawn. He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.
"Maybe you did, but I don't mind," he said at last. "What have you got there?"
Elena smiled, but there was a shadow of worry in her eyes.
"I thought I'd make you breakfast in bed today," she said. "You haven't had the luxury in a few weeks, monsieur."
Gleb cocked an eyebrow and his lips twitched into a half smile.
"Monsieur?" he asked. "Vous êtes très officielle aujourd'hui, mademoiselle."
Elena laughed as she set down his tray on the bedside table.
"Quelquefois, j'oublie que tu peux parler en français!" she cried. "Mais tu as parlé en français quand tu as aidé avec les clients hier. Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec moi?"
"Peut-être tu oublies parce que je ne parle pas bien en français?" Gleb suggested.
Grinning, Elena sat down on the edge of his bed.
"Non, c'est parce que je suis vieille et oublieuse," she replied, making him laugh too.
"Première, tu es pas vieille ou oublieuse. Second, so much French is making my brain hurt. What's for breakfast?"
Elena smiled, glad to see that he was in a tolerably good mood considering what had happened last night.
"Well there is bacon for a start, need I say anything else?" she asked teasingly.
Gleb shook his head, a grin breaking out over his face.
"Just give me the plate already!" he dove for the tray, causing the dishes to rattle together dangerously.
"Careful! You'll upset the coffee!" Elena cried, grabbing his hands and forcing him back. "Sit still you big naughty and I'll give you your breakfast."
Gleb pouted good-humoredly, but did as he was told.
He and Elena chatted while he ate, talking of nothing in particular: the weather, Gleb's foot, Jean's antics, and Marianne's latest breakfast time riddle. Gleb had proved very good with those riddles during the past two weeks and Marianne had been hard put to it to come up with any hard enough to foil him.
Gleb had just drained the last of his coffee with a comfortable sigh and set down the cup, when he noticed that Elena had fallen silent and was studying her clasped hands with feigned interest.
"What is it?" he asked.
She sighed, not meeting his eyes.
"I'm just thinking," she said evasively.
Gleb frowned and studied her face. He knew her well enough to see that something important was on her mind. He guessed that it probably involved what had happened the night before.
"If you're worried about me, don't be," he said at last. "I'll be alright, you know."
Elena looked up at that.
"Don't flatter yourself. It's just…" her voice lost its teasing tone and she shrugged uncomfortably, "what will you do now, after everything that's happened? Will you…stay?"
Gleb lay back and frowned at the wall. That exact thought had been pricking in the back of his mind last night as he lay, trying vainly to fall asleep. How could he stay here when it had become clear that L'Auberge du Miroir no longer offered a safe haven? He had come so close, so close to being discovered last night. If he had been recognized, he would almost undoubtedly be dead right now, or at the very least would be on his way back to Russia, a speedy trial, and an inevitable sentence. No cover story that he could come up with would have been good enough to convince those two of his innocence and if he had managed to dupe them into believing that he was innocent, it wouldn't have lasted long. But if he did leave where would he go? The inn had become something of a second home for him now and the thought of leaving it and the Dassins, especially Mme. Dassin and Elena, caused his already aching heart to bleed. He felt like a little sapling that had put out roots, cautious and uncertain at first and then growing more and more sure, and now was completely uprooted once again. The sense of safety that he had finally found here was almost completely dashed, but at the same time, leaving this quiet little corner of France would mean leaving behind the only place he had felt safe since he was a boy. He sighed and shook his head.
"I really don't know," he said slowly. "The logical part of my brain is telling me to go, that I've stayed in one place too long and that I'm not far enough away from Russia to be safe. The fact that Le Miroir is an inn makes it worse, of course. Anyone can come here as we've seen. But I'm…well I'm happy here and I don't want to leave."
"Then don't!" He turned in surprise at Elena's abruptly spoken words and saw that she was leaning forward earnestly in her chair. "Gleb when was the last time you were happy before you came here? Really happy?"
Gleb sighed and looked down at his lap.
"I don't know," he said. "I thought I was happy back in Leningrad, supporting a cause I believed in and leading the way to a better future as I saw it. I was the Deputy Commissioner and had good reason to hope for a future promotion to an even higher office. I had power and responsibility and respect, but I was lonely, Elena. I didn't realize how lonely I truly was until I met…Anya and then, well…" he sighed, "it all happened so fast, and now I'm here. I found a new home and I wasn't lonely anymore. I met you and your parents and siblings and they gave me the big family I never had. If I'm perfectly honest with myself, the thought of being cast adrift again is absolutely terrifying, like losing my home and family all over again. "
Elena sat silent, trying to gather her thoughts.
"You know, Gleb," she said at last, "that was only the second time that Russian people have ever come here as far as I know. The first time, it was just a young couple who were trying to get to America. Le Miroir is safer than you might think. If you were to leave, you wouldn't have anyone that you could trust and the chances of you being recognized or caught would be much greater if you were traveling. Here at least we can hide you if anyone comes and I can help you come up with a cover story if you need one. Besides, Gleb, we need you! You're the best bartender this inn has seen in years and French isn't even your first language! Your Russian cocktails are house favorites! And…and we'd miss you. You are the best friend I've ever had."
Elena stood up and walked to the window, looking out as if she could find better arguments outside.
"We'd really miss you," she repeated after a moment. "Henri told me just the other day how nice it was to have an extra pair of hands. Papa is not as young as he used to be."
Gleb groaned softly, rubbing his temples.
"I know," he replied, "and like I said before, I love it here. I just…oh I don't know."
He slumped back against the wall dejectedly. Suddenly he straightened.
"Elena, can you bring my bag over?" he asked.
Elena went over to the desk and picked up Gleb's traveling bag which was now stored next to it. She brought it over to the bed. Gleb sat up and swung his legs over the edge, patting the spot beside him.
Elena sat down as he opened the bag and pushed aside the neatly folded shirt on top. She flinched a little. There inside lay the green-gray uniform that she remembered so well. Gleb took it out and ran his hand over the fabric thoughtfully, almost lovingly. Then he shook his head and put it down on the bed beside him. To Elena's eyes, the bag was now completely empty and she was just going to ask what he was doing, when he reached down and pushed on three different parts of the bag bottom at the same time. There was a noise like a latch opening and the outline of a small door appeared in the bottom. Elena gasped.
"Gleb Vaganov, do you mean to tell me that you have a hidden compartment in your travel bag?"
Gleb glanced at her and gave a slightly smug smile.
"Well you know," he said shrugging nonchalantly, "I was incognito. Some of the things I have in this bag wouldn't…go over too well if they were found."
He reached down and pulled up the door. Elena's mouth dropped open. There lying in the concealed bottom of the bag was a small assortment of items, but the one that held her eye was the pistol. It was small and almost delicate-looking, but deadly for all that. Nearby lay a small box of bullets, Gleb's real passport, and what appeared to be an official written version of his assignment. Underneath everything lay an unaddressed envelope. Gleb pulled it out and opened it, taking out a letter.
"Read this," he said quietly. "I need your advice on something."
With hands that trembled a little, Elena unfolded the letter. Her eyes widened as she realized that this was a private communication to the Commissioner of Leningrad from his deputy. Upon thorough examination of the case… by my authority as Deputy Commissioner of Leningrad, cleared the woman in question, Anya, of the charges of impersonation of royalty that where laid against her… It will be difficult or impossible for me to return in the near future… Respectfully, Deputy Commissioner of Leningrad Gleb Vaganov. To Elena, reading the words that Gleb had written back in Paris, it seemed that she could see him in his uniform, standing at attention or walking along on a patrol, cold and lofty. She glanced over at Gleb, thinking how different that image was from the man she knew, and saw he was watching her anxiously.
She met his eyes and sighed.
"What is it that you need my advice on?" she asked.
"Should I send it? Do you think it would take them off my trail?"
Elena frowned and gazed back down at the letter, reading and re-reading the phrases written in Gleb's neat, proper script. She realized that this was the first time she had ever seen his handwriting.
"No," she said at last, slowly. "Don't send it. It will only confirm that you are still alive. As far as they know, you died in some accident or where discovered and thrown into prison. In the letter you say that you have 'cleared the woman in question, Anya, of the charges of impersonation of royalty that where laid against her.' That implies that you didn't kill her. What were your orders if she turned out to be innocent?"
Gleb sighed heavily.
"I was to bring her back to Russia so an example could be made of her," he said quietly. "Killing her would have probably been kinder, even if she had turned out to be innocent."
"Well you obviously did neither," Elena replied. "That phrase is particular is an obvious clue. It might set them on Anya's case too. No, I don't think you should send it."
Gleb nodded slowly.
"Very well," he said. "Then we should destroy it and the assignment. Probably my passport too."
Without another word, he reached down into the bag and pulled out the remaining documents, handing them to Elena.
"Put them in the stove when you go back to the kitchen," he said.
"What about that?" Elena pointed to the gun and ammunition in its obviously Russian box.
Gleb picked up the weapon with an easy familiarity, tipping it so the light ran up and down the barrel.
"I'll hide it," he said.
Picking up the ammunition box and his uniform, he pushed himself upright, grabbed his crutches, and hobbled over to the dresser. He had given up keeping everything in his bag for some time now. Opening one of the drawers, he took out a pair of socks. Into one of these he poured the bullets and knotted the top. He slipped the other over the gun and buried both the socks and his uniform in the back of the drawer under various items of underclothing. He closed the drawer and turned back to Elena with a slightly wry smile.
"I doubt anyone would go looking in there. They should be safe enough. You can burn this box along with the rest."
Elena laughed a little.
"Quite a challenge you've set for me," she said. "Trying to smuggle all that downstairs and slip it into the stove with no one noticing."
He shrugged.
"You managed to get me downstairs without incident before I learned how to walk down with my crutches" he pointed out. "Those papers and things are smaller than me, not to mention quieter."
Elena grinned and acknowledged that it was probably true.
"I'll head down now and let you dress," she added. "You can come down afterwards if you want, the men left early this morning and I heard them talking about catching a train so they're probably far away by now."
Gleb frowned thoughtfully.
"I'll come down," he said, "but I'd like to stick to kitchen duty for a few days."
"I could probably arrange that," she hid Gleb's papers and the pasteboard bullet box under the napkin, picked up the tray and headed for the door.
"Wait a moment," at the sound of Gleb's voice, she turned back to face him.
"Yes?"
"I want to thank you. You have helped me more than you know. The contents of that compartment have been haunting me since I arrived. I've clung to them, I suppose; the last link I had to my past when I was trying to figure out who I had become. You have given me a new life here in France. I owe it all to you, Lena."
Elena smiled.
"It's been a joy," she replied.
She opened the door with one hand, balancing the tray in the other. She turned back before Gleb could close it again, raising an impudent eyebrow.
"Lena?" she queried.
Gleb shrugged, grinning a trifle bashfully.
"If I'm going to stay here, I might as well have a nickname for you."
"Well what can I call you then? Leb?"
Gleb laughed, grimacing.
"My name's too short to shorten any farther," he protested.
"What about…Glebko?"
"That sounds like some kind of exotic fruit!"
"Oh whatever! You can stay Gleb for now, but be warned! I will come up with something!"
Gleb stuck out his tongue childishly and closed the door.
Elena stood for a moment in the corridor, still grinning to herself. She felt light as a feather with relief. Gleb was staying! He had finally chosen to leave the past in the past and move on with his new life, a life he claimed she had given him.
xxxx
That evening as she lay in bed, Elena though once more of their conversation that morning. She had managed to burn all the papers without incident and Gleb had been decidedly cheerful, whistling or humming as he worked although he had steered well away from the dining room and bar. Elena sighed. She suddenly realized that Gleb had brought a bright spot into their lives; into her life and they had almost lost him. She shivered involuntarily, imagining the inn without Gleb: their cheerful morning banters, the expression on his face when she got his coffee just right, the help and company, he provided. When she had called Gleb the best friend she ever had, she had meant it.
Elena sat up in the dark hugging her knees. Only now did she see how important it was to her, how important he was to her. Gleb Vaganov, Bolshevik officer, assassin, coffee connoisseur, prankster, jokester, chess and card opponent, bartender, kitchen boy, caring friend. All these things made up the man she had grown to know so well and to care about so much.
For most of Elena's life, she had secretly harbored a deep regard for one Gérard Monet when they were both been students at the local school. To Elena, he had always been the dashing older boy: far away, out of her reach, and very much taken. Artistic from young age, Gérard had become a painter and two years ago, had married his sweetheart Lise and moved to Paris in search of work opportunities, leaving a brokenhearted Elena behind. Now, sitting alone in the darkness, she realized that Gleb filled her heart in a way that Gérard never had.
She lay down again hurriedly. This was not acceptable! Gleb still cared deeply for Anya. Elena had seen how much it hurt him when she left. It would take him quite a while to get over something like that and even then there was no reason to suppose that he would ever see her as more than a friend.
"You have given me a new life here in France. I owe it all to you, Lena." She could still hear his deep voice speaking the words, his handsome face wearing the earnest expression that it always did when he was being serious. Elena groaned and rolled over.
"You have no business making my heart act like this, Gleb Vaganov," she muttered to the ceiling.
Two chapters in less than a month? WHAT IS HAPPENING!
French Translation:
~ Vous êtes très officielle aujourd'hui, mademoiselle - You are very formal/official today, miss.
~ Quelquefois, j'oublie que tu peux parler en français mais tu as parlé en français quand tu as aidé avec les clients hier. Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec moi? -Sometimes, I forget that you can speak French! But you spoke French yesterday when you were helping with the customers. What's wrong with me?
~ Peut-être tu oublies parce que je ne parle pas bien en français? - Maybe you forget because I don't speak French very well?
~ Non, c'est parce que je suis vieille et oublieuse. - No, it's because I am old and forgetful.
~ Première, tu es ni vieille ni oublieuse. - First, you are neither old nor forgetful.