Past imperfect. Aderin Bran

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СКАЧАТЬ she was. "Oh damn! I’m a mess" she thought. Other thoughts flashed through her mind: "earrings", "security cameras", "police". In alarm, Lera jumped out of bed.

      “Did you find out who brought the earrings?”

      “Pfff, I beg you!” The boss snorted. “Those ones who work in security offices are normal people too! They were drinking champagne yesterday, just like you, and they had no time to search for our oligarch Romeo.”

      Lera's face fell.

      "I'm calling you about something else," the boss said, and added sarcastically: "since your phone is working so well there on the pine tree".

      Lera pounded her fist on her forehead: "Damn it, damn it! She is calling about a job! She’ll make me work now! Definitely! That's what it is! Why didn't I throw this phone into the Tiber last night?!"

      “There's a job for you!” Irina Konstantinovna said happily.

      "That's great!” Lera thought. “And I can't refuse after the escort organised by her. It's rude… But it's worth a try."

      “Irina Konstantinova, I'm not sure…”

      “Come on, everything could be done on the phone. Hopefully it won't be for long if the client isn't an idiot.”

      “Which is very rare…” Lera muttered.

      “Hold it! Stand down! The client is your breadwinner, drink-winner and blessed mother! Respect and honour him right after your boss! I will pay double the rate! As we always agreed!” The boss quickly added, softening her tone.

      “Irina Konstantinovna, it's the morning of the first of January…”

      “So grab the client before he comes to his senses!”

      Lera sighed. The whole verbal pas de deux was meaningless. Irina Konstantinova, who smelt the scent of possible profit, and the great white shark who smelled blood behaved in the same way. Pushing ahead, with no chance of changing course. If the boss called, it wouldn't be possible to politely get away with a refusal, and Lera asked fateful:

      “What should I do?”

      “It's nothing difficult! To instil in an Italian a love for Russian speech.”

      “What?”

      “Gah, they're making a movie there.” Irina Konstantinovna said. “Something about bandits. Or about the police? Anyway, I don't know. No difference. So, the main character has to say a few phrases in Russian and now they only have access to Italian interpreters because the Russians are all on holiday! And they don't want their hero to say something stupid. In short, they need a native. Well, they asked us…”

      “I see. Do I need to teach someone how to speak some phrases on Russian without an accent?” Lera asked thoughtfully.

      "Yes, that's right. And that's all we have. For an hour a day until they finish some scenes. They say it’s for three or four days. On the phone." Irina Konstantinovna replied lightly.

      "Irina Konstantinova, it's going to be really hard to do it on the phone. He needs to watch our articulation…" Lera began.

      “Well, what can we do? We can't refuse!"

      “Of course not, Irina Konstantinovna! You will definitely not refuse them if they pay!" Lera grumbled to herself and asked: “Where are they working?”

      “Rome. Synesytta.”

      “Cinecitta” Lera corrected automatically.

      “Oh, what's the difference? So what? Will you take it?”

      Lera sighed resignedly and said, "Make the appointment… I'm in Rome."

      “What a middle of nowhere!” The boss laughed. “Agreed! I'll send the coordinates and time via message within half an hour. Payment as agreed. That's it! Get to work!”

      The phone went silent. Lera fell back onto the pillows with a groan. She allowed herself five minutes whining in self-pity, then got out of bed. Bulgakov’s Margarita looked at her from the mirror. Her fiery hair, tousled by the wind and felted on the pillow stood up in a mess. There were mystical dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Her face was pale and angry with the realisation that she needed to work on her vacation. When she tried to smile, she saw that a piece of burned paper was stuck on her front tooth.

      It was too much and Lera climbed into the shower. A quick shower had a beneficial effect on her smile and complexion, but it completely ruined her hairstyle. The hotel shampoo and hairdryer had turned an already abundant mass of hair into a perfect avant-garde style.

      Lera tried to call them for order, but she did not succeed. Her last trick was to do everything so everyone around believed that this was what she intended, which was what Lera did. She neglected her makeup, believing fresh air would still give her a blush.

      But the clothes could not be neglected. We’re represented by them. Taking out two dresses from her wardrobe, coral and light blue, she turned them this way and that before her eyes and chose the second one. She carefully put the coral dress back in the wardrobe. Gah! Too much honour to wear such beauty for an ordinary work meeting!

      The phone gurgled. A message flashed on the screen: "Marco Guerriero. Torre Argentina Square. Cafe on Vittorio Emanuele Avenue 2. At 11:00." Lera sighed. There was not much time left, but there was just enough time for a quick breakfast.

      After eating at the hotel, she headed to the meeting place on foot. It was not a long walk, just half an hour. The most important thing was not to get lost in the maze of small streets, so Lera decided to be careful. She walked along the banks of the Tiber to the Garibaldi Bridge and turned onto Arenula Street, which should lead her to her desired square.

      When she reached her destination, Lera came to a standstill. There, on the square, in the middle of the residential buildings, surrounded by honking cars and rushing people, stood the ruins of several ancient temples in the open air, without any tickets or fences.

      Lera used to visit Italy solely for work, and she never had time for sightseeing. That's why she felt like she was coming to this city for the first time. And today, as on the first day, she was stunned by the simplicity with which antiquity coexists with modernity here. Lera felt like a time traveller. It was easy to step off the busy highway of the twenty first century and get into the white-haired pre-Christian era.

      Cats roamed the ruins, and Lera, involuntarily, slowed down her pace as she stared at them. She will definitely, unavoidably approach the columns that had seen the change of so many generations! Absolutely! As soon as she gets rid of this Marco Guerriero, for whom it suddenly became necessary to speak like a Russian at this most inconvenient time.

      Her phone beeped, announcing it was eleven o'clock in Rome. Oh damn! She was gawping and now she was late! Lera ran towards the avenue like a hare, and definitely found the right café, it was only one there. It was quite large.

      Lera fell into it from a running start, like a stormtrooper into a bunker. The numbers "11:04" were on the clock behind the hostess counter. She turned to the receptionist, taking off her coat in the same movement.

      "I have an appointment with Signor Guerriero. Is he here? Can you show me?"

      The hostess nodded and motioned for Lera to follow her. She trotted after the receptionist, but when she took a СКАЧАТЬ