Foreword
Foreword
I had always dreamed of leaving my backwater hometown, lost somewhere in the vastness of Russia — or better yet, leaving the country altogether. I was irresistibly drawn to the shores of Foggy Albion, to the land of Shakespeare and Byron, where everything breathed history and grandeur. That is why, at school, I worked hard, throwing myself into English with such zeal as if my whole life depended on it. I graduated with a silver medal and with a good, solid command of British English. This helped me get into and graduate from the London School of Economics and Business. Five years flew by like a single moment. I had several tempting offers to stay in Great Britain and work for financial companies. But over those years, having gotten to know the country and the locals more closely, I rather unexpectedly found myself disillusioned with it — and I no longer wanted to stay on that big but so prim island. When I received an offer to work in the Moscow office of a major international firm, I agreed joyfully, without a moment’s hesitation.
Moscow met me not at all as I had imagined. Not with crystal towers and Kremlin stars, but with endless concrete jungles, gray panel high-rises, and irritated faces of people in the subway. But I did not complain — it was my choice, my step into a new life.
In Moscow, I was given a large, bright studio in a new development on the outskirts of the capital. It served not only as housing but also as a place to work. Basically, I was supposed to handle translations of financial documents from English into Russian and back. For that, I did not need an office — just a laptop and fast internet for remote work. This arrangement suited me perfectly: finish the work — and you are free to go. A dream job, and with a decent, more than comfortable salary. I thought about getting a car, but to begin with, so as not to get stuck in Moscow traffic jams, I bought a nimble motor scooter. In Moscow, I had no one to socialize with yet — no friends, no acquaintances, no work colleagues, all of whom were older than me and married. In my free time, I zipped around the capital and its picturesque outskirts, enjoying freedom and speed.
Sometimes, returning home after such rides, I caught myself thinking that loneliness is not the absence of people around you, but the absence of someone to whom you are ready to open up. In London, I had casual flings, fleeting affairs, but none of them left a mark. And here I was — in a city of millions, among thousands of unfamiliar faces — and I felt more alone than ever.
One day, during another visit to the office, my boss summoned me. Maxim Ivanovich, a distinguished man with gray at his temples, gestured me to a chair.
“Daniil!” he said, adjusting his glasses. “How do you like working at our firm? Everything satisfactory? Nothing pinching?”
“Thank you, Maxim Ivanovich, everything is fine, everything is completely satisfactory!” I replied, slightly puzzled as to where this conversation was heading.
“And the salary?” he squinted slyly. “Wouldn’t you like a raise for some extra work?”
“Of course, I am ready to take on extra work!” I rejoiced, feeling my heart skip in anticipation. “And what exactly needs to be done?”
“The extra work is not with our firm,” he explained. “An old friend of mine approached me — a highly respected man. His daughter is planning to apply to an English university, and he is looking for a tutor who can really drill her in the language and set her pronunciation right. He is a very wealthy businessman, lives on Rublyovka, and is willing to pay whatever top rate you name. Interested?”
“Yes!” I answered, briefly but with enthusiasm.
“Excellent! Here, take this business card for his secretary — he is in the loop and expects your call.”
I left the office with the business card in my hand and a strange premonition. It seemed to me that this conversation was not just a coincidence. Something told me that this side job would change more than just my schedule.
