They had to stand in line an hour for a boat, but Muscovites were accustomed to queuing, and by late morning they were out on the clear cold water. Valentin and Dimka took turns rowing, and the girls soaked up the sun. No one seemed to feel the need for small talk.

On the far side of the lake they tied up the boat at a small beach. Valentin pulled off his shirt, and Dimka followed suit. Anna took off her blouse and pants. Underneath she was wearing a sky-blue two-piece swimsuit. Dimka knew it was called a bikini, and was fashionable in the West, but he had never actually seen one, and he was embarrassed by how aroused he felt. He could hardly take his eyes off her smooth flat stomach and her navel.

To his disappointment, Nina kept her clothes on.

They ate their sandwiches, and Valentin produced a bottle of vodka. No alcohol was sold in the camp store, Dimka knew. Valentin explained: “I bought it from the boat supervisor. He has a small capitalist enterprise going.” Dimka was not surprised: most things people really wanted were sold on the black market, from television sets to blue jeans.

They passed the bottle around, and both girls took a long swallow.

Nina wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “So, you two work together in the Parks Department?”

“No,” Valentin laughed. “Dimka’s too clever for that.”

Dimka said: “I work at the Kremlin.”

Nina was impressed. “What do you do?”

Dimka did not really like to say, because it sounded like boasting. “I’m an assistant to the first secretary.”

“You mean to Comrade Khrushchev!” Nina said in astonishment.

“Yes.”

“How the hell did you get a job like that?”

Valentin put in: “I told you, he’s smart. He was top of every class.”

“You don’t land a job like that just by getting top marks,” Nina said crisply. “Who do you know?”

“My grandfather, Grigori Peshkov, stormed the Winter Palace in the October Revolution.”

“That doesn’t get you a good job.”

“Well, my father was in the KGB—he died last year. My uncle is a general. And I’m smart.”

“Modest, too,” she said, but her sarcasm was genial. “What’s your uncle’s name?”

“Vladimir Peshkov. We call him Volodya.”

“I’ve heard of General Peshkov. So he’s your uncle. With a family like that, how come you wear homemade shorts?”

Dimka was confused now. She was interested in him for the first time, but he could not make out whether she was admiring or scornful. Perhaps it was just her manner.

Valentin stood up. “Come and explore with me,” he said to Anna. “We’ll leave these two here to discuss Dimka’s shorts.” He held out his hand. Anna took it and let him pull her to her feet. Then they walked off into the woods, holding hands.

“Your friend doesn’t like me,” said Nina.

“He likes Anna, though.”

“She’s pretty.”

Dimka said quietly: “You’re beautiful.” He had not planned to say it: it just came out. But he meant it.