And more sightseeing. They went to the Pushkin Art Museum and Lenin’s Mausoleum and the Detsky Mir, Moscow’s enchanting children’s shop.
They were taken to places of whose existence most Russians were unaware. Granovsko Street, crowded with chauffeur-driven Chaikas and Volgas. Inside, behind a simple door marked “Office of Special Passes,” they were ushered into a store crammed with imported luxury foodstuffs from all over the world. This was where the “Nachalstvo,” the Russian elite, were privileged to shop.
They went to a luxurious dacha, where foreign films were run in the private screening room for the privileged few. It was a fascinating insight into the People’s State.
On the afternoon of the day Toby was to give his final performance, the Temples were getting ready to go out shopping. Toby said, “Why don’t you go alone, baby? I think I’ll sack out for a while.”
She studied him for a moment. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Great. I’m just a little tired. You go buy out Moscow.”
Jill hesitated. Toby looked pale. When this tour was over, she would see to it that Toby had a long rest before he began his new television show. “All right,” she agreed. “Take a nap.”
Jill was walking through the lobby toward the exit when she heard a man’s voice call, “Josephine,” and even as she turned, she knew who it was, and in a split second the magic happened again.
David Kenyon was moving toward her, smiling and saying, “I’m so glad to see you,” and she felt as though her heart would stop. He’s the only man who has ever been able to do this to me, Jill thought.
“Will you have a drink with me?” David asked.
“Yes,” she said.
The hotel bar was large and crowded, but they found a comparatively quiet table in a corner where they could talk.
“What are you doing in Moscow?” Jill asked.
“Our government asked me to come over. We’re trying to work out an oil deal.”
A bored waiter strolled over to the table and took their order for drinks.
“How’s Cissy?”
David looked at her a moment, then said, “We got a divorce a few years ago.” He deliberately changed the subject. “I’ve followed everything that’s been happening to you. I’ve been a fan of Toby Temple’s since I was a kid.” Somehow, it made Toby sound very old. “I’m glad he’s well again. When I read about his stroke, I was concerned about you.” There was a look in his eyes that Jill remembered from long ago, a wanting, a needing.
“I thought Toby was great in Hollywood and London,” David was saying.
“Were you there?” Jill asked, in surprise.
“Yes.” Then he added quickly, “I had some business there.”
“Why didn’t you come backstage?”
He hesitated. “I didn’t want to intrude on you. I didn’t know if you would want to see me.”
Their drinks arrived in heavy, squat glasses.
“To you and Toby,” David said. And there was something in the way he said it, an undercurrent of sadness, a hunger…
“Do you always stay at the Metropole?” Jill asked.
“No. As a matter of fact, I had a hell of a time getting—” He saw the trap too late. He smiled wryly. “I knew you’d be there. I was supposed to have left Moscow five days ago. I’ve been waiting, hoping to run into you.”
“Why, David?”
It was a long time before he replied. When he spoke, he said, “It’s all too late now, but I want to tell you anyway, because I think you have a right to know.”
And he told her about his marriage to Cissy, how she had tricked him, about her attempted suicide, and about the night when he had asked Jill to meet him at the lake. It all came out in an outpouring of emotion that left Jill shaken.
“I’ve always been in love with you.”
She sat listening, a feeling of happiness flowing through her body like a warm wine. It was like a lovely dream come true, it was everything she had wanted, wished for. Jill studied the man sitting across from her, and she remembered his strong hands on her, and his hard demanding body, and she felt a stirring within herself. But Toby had become a part of her, he was her own flesh; and David…
A voice at her elbow said, “Mrs. Temple! We have been looking everywhere for you!” It was General Romanovitch.
Jill looked at David. “Call me in the morning.”
Toby’s last performance in the Bolshoi Theatre was more exciting than anything that had been seen there before. The spectators threw flowers and cheered and stamped their feet and refused to leave. It was a fitting climax to Toby’s other triumphs. A large party was scheduled for after the show, but Toby said to Jill, “I’m beat, goddess. Why don’t you go? I’ll return to the hotel and get some shut-eye.”
Jill went to the party alone, but it was as through David were at her side every moment. She carried on conversations with her hosts and danced and acknowledged the tributes they were paying to her, but all the time her mind was reliving her meeting with David. I married the wrong girl. Cissy and I are divorced. I’ve never stopped loving you.
At two o’clock in the morning, Jill’s escort dropped her at her hotel suite. She went inside and found Toby lying on the floor in the middle of the room, unconscious, his right hand stretched out toward the telephone.
Toby Temple was rushed in an ambulance to the Diplomatic Polyclinic at 3 Sverchkov Prospekt. Three top specialists were summoned in the middle of the night to examine him. Everyone was sympathetic toward Jill. The chief of the hospital escorted her to a private office, where she waited for news. It’s like a rerun, Jill thought. All this had happened before. It had a vague, unreal quality.