I made sure that my path crossed Grigor’s on the slopes, at a restaurant in the mountains, and walking through town, each time with a nod and a casual American “hiya.” I got no response. Except from Boris One. He was about 6 foot 3, with shoulders wide enough for 1.7 normal people and quite capable of making up for his lack of refined skiing skills with muscle and athleticism. The area over his left eye was thick from scarring and his nose had a lumpy look to it. Boxing or some other kind of battering. His eyeballs ran up and down me like they had a built-in scanning device for evaluating threat levels. I calculated that a pushier approach would be counterproductive.

Boris Two had a more pleasant and less pugilistic demeanor. He was Leo’s keeper. He either liked kids or felt it was his duty to act as if he did. Leo usually only skied half a day. If he did more, he would sometimes fall asleep on the chairlift or even standing on skis, not when he was in motion, just if he had to be still for some reason. If I’d been close with the family, I would have recommended he go into a group with other kids. Kittens like to play with kittens, puppies with puppies, and kids with kids. But I was not close and it was none of my business.

Virtue has its limits. Its borders are best marked by opportunity. Grigor was not assigning a younger, fitter, handsomer man to keep his radiantly beautiful wife company. He’d assigned the Borisova to be her watchdog. She had a pleasant smile. I noticed the ski instructor that went with them treated Kaylee with a certain formality. I could see it in his posture and in those few moments, like waiting for a lift, that I got close enough to overhear them. It was odd and slightly comic. I guessed it was because when Borisova dropped her smile she looked like she carried a Makarov in her pocket and a razor in her shoe.

So it went for three days.