Not a chance, he smirked.
Alexandra took off her headphones, switched the phone to airplane mode, leaned back and closed her eyes. He was glancing at her nearly always voluntarily.
3. Habit
[Great Britain, London, Heathrow Airport]
The neighbor next to the porthole didnt once get up during the flight, while Alexandra asked to be let out into the passage often and Richard pretended that he was dozing off so she would have to carefully touch his forearm.
She was the sort to opt to kick someone to wake them up, or smack them with the red notebook and Richard knees were, seemingly, everywhere by now, appeared a shame to waste the opportunity.
For a part of the flight, Alexandra sat with her eyes closed but wasnt even napping, just enjoying the idleness for a part of it, she listened to music, wrote something down in the notebook.
She wasnt bored with just herself as company, she didnt need an interlocutor to get through the four hours of the journey. Richard, too, was able to turn off the thought grinder, to value every opportunity of rest and recuperation, he didnt rush the events he simply observed.
After they safely landed, when they were leaving the plane cabin, he helped her get her things from the carry-on luggage compartment. She had a small mint suitcase as heavy as Richard himself, who came in at around two hundred pounds.
He didnt betray his surprise but Alexandra smirked a brief smirk that hed already had time to get used to.
Is anyone meeting you?
Alexandra pulled out the handle of the suitcase, squeezed the red notebook under her arm and turned in the passage. Richard was a head taller than her, she had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye.
Yes.
Id love to see you again. We could get coffee or take a walk or
I wont make any promises. I dont even know how long Ill stay here.
She was smiling, but her eyes were serious.
I understand, Richard nodded and pretended to be interested in other passengers slowly making their way along the rows of seats to the exit. It doesnt have to be London. Youll be back in Moscow eventually.
He didnt say who he was and she didnt ask. Alexandra raised an eyebrow.
Text me on social media, well figure something out, she said finally.
Of course.
He didnt pester her with questions anymore, he fell behind when they said a short goodbye in the airport building and merely observed the silhouette from afar, black jumpsuit and white sneakers.
There were triangular fabric ears on the jumpsuits hood like a cats. Alexandras gait was dancing, slightly nervous, she didnt put her phone down and kept calling someone, the recipient kept not picking up.
They crossed paths again at the entrance to the building with glass panels that reflected the setting sun, Alexandra was squinting from the golden light, Richard approached her so that she would have time to notice his presence.
We can take a cab together, he said.
Everythings fine, she shook her head. Ill call a taxi if anything goes wrong.
Alright.
He wasnt going to leave until a car came up. He was sure she would agree to go with him if for some reason something didnt go according to plan.
No luggage?
She gave him a short glance and continued scrutinizing the cars fussing around in the parking lot.
Yes, Richard spread his arms. Habit. London is my hometown, no need to overpack.
I see. Good habit.
His cab was already waiting afield, but he pretended not to notice. The key thing is to not overdo it and to not inspire rejection with his intrusive presence, but at the same time catch the opportunity to learn who was to meet her.
In the meantime, a Rolls-Royce leisurely strolled along the vehicular accesses of terminals, its polished black sides shone in the rays of the setting sun, Alexandra patiently watched its movement. When the car drew up with them, the drivers door on the right side opened. The man who exited was smiling guiltily, Alexandra was curving her lips into a smile, too.
Im sorry!
You dolt!
The old man held me up!
You could have at least picked up the phone!
They were speaking English and immediately forgot about Richard. The man was her age, in a black suit with no tie and a white shirt the appearance of a typical driver, with an appropriate amount of polish and servility.
He embraced her, squeezing her into a hug, lifting her off the ground, then let her go, leaned down and took the suitcase. It was only then he directed his gaze at Richard.
Remy, Richard, Alexandra remembered suddenly, pointing with the notebook that she clutched in her hand first at one man, then at another. Richard, Remy.
Charmed, Remy nodded, extending his free hand.
Richard responded with a handshake. Right after that, the driver deprived him of his attention and headed to the car, opened the trunk.
Goodbye, Richard, said Alexandra, in English.
See you.
He followed them with his gaze until the car disappeared from view. A bit later in the taxi he will find out that the Rolls-Royce is from the fleet of a famous historian and religious scholar, a knight of the Order of the British Empire, Sir Leigh McKellen, and the young man that was late to the airport is his personal driver, Remy Adan.
McKellen is certainly from the Poets society considering his field of work, his specialization in cults of female deities. McKellen has a mansion in the London suburbs and they certainly went there, not to the hotel, as Richard had initially assumed.
He didnt have a habit of trying to fill the blanks in prematurely but he had a habit of picking up on every detail.
She never let go of her red notebook obviously theres something important in it.
4. Rules of the Genre
[Great Britain, London, City of London]
Of course not! What kind of a detective story doesnt have a dead body! Alexandra laughed, leaning on the tall table next to the street view window. Theres always a crime, theres always a criminal.
It was crowded in Rosslyn Coffee at Queen Victoria, the scent of freshly made Colombian Arabica filled the space, Richard was already done with the breakfast coffee and a striped crunchy croissant and was trying not to miss a second.
He texted her on one of her social medias, from a cover account of an actor Richard North with very believable photos from his theatrical work, made-up past relationships and buddies though she didnt reply right away, only in the evening.
She said that the morning is the most productive time of the day, and therefore its better to meet for breakfast. Ante meridiem London was lively on weekdays, life was bubbling over, on City of Londons narrow streets cars lined up in rows in front of streetlights, pedestrians rushed to work, picking up coffee to-go on the run.
The point of a detective is in narrating the sequence of solving a mystery, murder here is both the crime and the disruption of balance between good and evil, continued Alexandra. Its the rule of the genre. The structural elements of the system define it. Theres always a conflict and a task, and the more developed the detective story is, the more believable it is because it becomes more stable.
Richard nodded, licked his lips. Alexandra had barely gotten through half of her breakfast busy with the conversation, with a habit of not rushing her meals.
Well, you understand it all yourself, its the same thing in acting. The more you understand the character, his motivation and his essence, the more indistinguishable from reality he will be.
He did understand. All of his life was spent under false names, in foreign countries, all his life was spent on edge, parting lies from truth wrapped in tapestries of lines of mystification and artificially made set-dressings.