The Kremlin Games(82)
Vladimir looked around the room. “You have changed a few things, Branya. Not much, just a little. The home seems somehow more your own, now.”
“Just a little.” Brandy felt sad for a moment. “I loved my mother, but I never cared for that ‘country’ look she liked so much. So I sort of streamlined the room a bit.” A dinging sound came from the kitchen. “One thing about a house this size, you can hear the timer. Come on in. The table is ready and it sounds like dinner is, too.”
Brandy ushered Vladimir into the small dining area where she had used Donna’s best china and crystal to set the table. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
* * *
Brandy came back with a large platter of something. Noodles, Vladimir thought. He was fond of noodles. But what was covering them? It smelled wonderful, whatever it was.
Brandy set the platter on the table. “I’ve got no idea if this is really a Russian dish. But Cora said it was, so I tried it. I hope it’s good. I’m not really much of a cook. Mom tried, but I wasn’t very interested, to tell the truth.”
The smell had Vladimir salivating. “I don’t care if it’s Russian, Branya. It smells wonderful. Just wonderful.”
Brandy smiled widely and served Vladimir a portion of the dish, whatever it was. She poured wine for them both and indicated the salad and bread on the table. “Thank heaven for greenhouses. We always had lettuce back then. I’d miss it if we didn’t have it here, even if it isn’t the iceberg I’m used to.” Apparently noticing Vladimir’s hesitation, she urged, “Go ahead. Dig in.”
Vladimir did. The scent was marvelous and the taste even more so. It only needed one thing. “Is there, perhaps, some smetana?”
Brandy gave him a look and he grinned guiltily. Brandy had commented before about his liking for smetana. He put it in nearly everything he ate, including stew. “It has quite a bit in it already.” She passed him the dish full of sour cream. “But I knew you’d want more. Is it all right? Does it taste good?”
Vladimir nodded, busying himself with the dish. “Marvelous.” He added sour cream to his plate. “Marvelous. I’m afraid I’m ruined for Russian cooking, at least the cooking back in my Russia. Ruined. I may never wish to go back, just for the flavor of the food alone. What is this called?”
“Beef Stroganoff.”
Vladimir ate until Brandy was pretty sure he was about to explode.
“Marvelous,” he said. Several times. Well, it was, but that was only part of the reason he kept saying it. Vladimir was terrified.
* * *
After dinner, over coffee in the living room, Brandy began to feel a little awkward. What did you say now? How did you handle this kind of privacy when you didn’t have any intention of needing, well, this kind of privacy? Not yet, at any rate.
Vladimir solved the problem by beginning to speak. “Natasha tells me that the situation in Russia is quite tense. Czar Mikhail has vaguely suggested a constitution to replace the agreement he made on assuming the throne. Such a document would be binding not only on him, but on all future czars. Most importantly though, it would also be binding on the Boyar Duma and bureaus and replace the Zemsky Sobor with an elected legislature or perhaps turn the Assembly of the Land into such a congress.”
“Yes. Natasha mentioned it. I understand that the income tax and the business tax are meeting quite a bit of resistance.”
“That’s a diplomatic way of putting it.” Vladimir laughed. “I worked it out. It would cost my family several million of your dollars every year. While my family is quite well off, we’re not the richest nobles in Russia, not by any means. If that tax is done just a little bit wrong, it could ruin half the nobles in Russia. I sent my sister a description of your system of tax deductions for things like capital investment along with Cass and Bernie’s ‘Precious.’ Frankly, I don’t think it will happen unless Czar Mikhail can come up with something to sweeten the pot.”
“So, what can he give them?”
“For right now, I’m not sure.” Vladimir leaned back on the couch. “But in a few years, relief from having to have serfs might do it.”
“Don’t count on it, Vladimir.” Brandy shook her head. “The serfs could end up as factory workers and have even less freedom than they have now. ‘I owe my soul to the company store.’ If it could happen in America, where we—at least in theory—all had the same rights, think how much easier it could happen in Russia where serfs are already restricted in when they can quit.”