He introduced them to Dimka. The redhead was called Nina, and she made no reference to their earlier encounter, though she still seemed reserved. The blonde was Anna, and she was obviously the outgoing one, smiling and pushing her hair back with a graceful gesture.

Dimka and Valentin had brought with them one iron saucepan in which they planned to do all the cooking, and Dimka had filled it with water to boil the eggs; but the girls were better equipped, and Nina took the eggs from him to make blinis.

Things were looking up, Dimka thought.

Dimka studied Nina while they ate. Her narrow nose, small mouth, and daintily protruding chin gave her a guarded look, as if she were perpetually weighing things up. But she was voluptuous, and when Dimka realized he might see her in a swimsuit, his throat went dry.

Valentin said: “Dimka and I are going to take a boat and row across to the other side of the lake.” This was the first Dimka had heard of such a plan, but he said nothing. “Why don’t the four of us go together?” Valentin went on. “We could take a picnic lunch.”

It could not possibly be that easy, Dimka thought. They had only just met!

The girls looked at one another for a telepathic moment, then Nina said briskly: “We’ll see. Let’s clear away.” She began to pick up plates and cutlery.

That was disappointing, but perhaps not the end of the matter.

Dimka volunteered to carry the dirty dishes to the bathroom block.

“Where did you get those shorts?” Nina asked while they were walking.

“My mother sewed them.”

She laughed. “Sweet.”

Dimka asked himself what his sister would have implied by calling a man sweet, and he decided it meant he was kind but not attractive.

A concrete blockhouse contained toilets, showers, and large communal sinks. Dimka watched while Nina washed the dishes. He tried to think of things to say, but nothing came. If she had asked him about the crisis in Berlin he could have talked all day. But he had no gift for the mildly amusing nonsense that Valentin produced in an effortless stream. Eventually he managed: “Have you and Anna been friends long?”

“We work together,” she said. “We’re both administrators at the steel union headquarters in Moscow. I got divorced a year ago, and Anna was looking for someone to share her apartment, so now we live together.”

Divorced, Dimka thought; that meant she was sexually experienced. He felt intimidated. “What was your husband like?”

“He’s a shit,” said Nina. “I don’t like talking about him.”

“Okay.” Dimka searched desperately for something bland to say. “Anna seems like a really nice person,” he tried.

“She’s well connected.”

That seemed an odd remark to make about your friend. “How so?”

“Her father got us this holiday. He’s Moscow district secretary of the union.” Nina seemed proud of this.

Dimka carried the clean dishes back to the tents. When they arrived, Valentin said cheerily: “We’ve made sandwiches—ham and cheese.” Anna looked at Nina and made a gesture of helplessness, as if to say that she had been unable to halt the Valentin steamroller; but it was clear to Dimka that she had not really wanted to. Nina shrugged, and so it was settled that they would picnic.