Chapter Text
Florence hadn’t been too happy to hear about Anatoly’s wife being in Bangkok. Maybe the only person who was less excited was Anatoly. Anatoly doesn’t seem happy about anything at all, really. She understands the situation is less than ideal, but there are things to be done. She’s hardly seen him during this match. It’s frustrating as a girlfriend, sure, but even more frustrating as a second. She understands that he sees seconds much differently than Freddie did, and she has no problem with that, but he’s losing. He needs her help. So she asked him to dinner, promising they wouldn’t mention chess. Then, once dinner was over, and he was in a better mood, they would talk strategy in the hotel.
That was the plan, at least. But here she is, sitting at the table, no Anatoly in sight. There are endless possible explanations. Maybe he’s still coming. It’s only been a half hour, after all. Maybe there’s been some sort of emergency. Maybe there’s been a freak accident and he’s been killed. She finds that preferable to the far more plausible idea that he’s hiding out in their hotel room, having decided that even going out for dinner is too risky . She hates that that’s probably what happened. It reminds her of Freddie.
It’s for all of these unfortunate reasons that she finds herself sitting across from, not Anatoly, but one Svetlana Sergievskaya.
Svetlana had come in with two men Florence doesn’t recognize. Those men have sat down at a table with two chairs. There was never any intention for Svetlana to sit with them. Florence had spotted them immediately. Well, she spotted Svetlana, who’s wearing the same dress she wore in the video they played on TV last week. A nice touch. Maybe it’s a mercy that Anatoly isn't here.
Svetlana knew right away that tonight would be a fruitless endeavor. She gave Florence an apologetic smile when she sat down across from her. At least the free seat gives Svetlana a place to sit. No doubt the plan was to have her harass Anatoly and then leave. Florence looks around. She doesn’t see any cameras. Not to say there isn’t any, but if the goal was to get footage of Anatoly and Svetlana arguing in public, they probably wouldn’t have felt the need to be discreet about it. She feels confident that their intentions were to upset Anatoly and nothing else. And, with no Anatoly, there’s nothing left to do but have a completely painful dinner with each other.
Florence decides very quickly that she can’t stand this. The sight of her, the silence, the constant glances from the men at the other table, this . She stands up. “I’m going to get some air.”
Svetlana follows suit, looking nearly as desperate. “Me as well.”
Florence smiles. She feels like she’d rather be beating Anatoly with a bat right now for indirectly putting her in this position. “Sure.”
So they go out onto the terrace together. It’s one of those restaurants with a million flights of stairs and no signs telling you where they lead. It’s evident that Svetlana is just following Florence when they go down one hallway that leads to the bathrooms by mistake. For a moment, they lock eyes, waiting for the other to go into the bathroom and pretend they meant to go this way all along. Neither do. It’s a good idea to not split up when lost. It doesn’t matter much. The next obscure door they find takes them outside.
Florence takes the far corner of the terrace. She hopes that Svetlana gets the message. She almost does, and steps up to the railing a few feet away.
After a few moments, Svetlana speaks up. “What do you think you’ll have for dinner?” She says it very loudly. It makes Florence Suddenly aware that they’re alone.
Florence feels the need to respond, even if she wishes Svetlana would just be quiet. “I’m considering the fish.”
“Ah, good choice. I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu, but I saw it when I was coming in. It looks wonderful.”
“Good. That makes me confident.” Florence gives her a little smile. A show of peace, if anything, considering how on edge Svetlana seems.
Florence pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her purse and lights one. Svetlana’s expression changes in a way that Florence can’t put her finger on when she does that. She’s probably judging her. She can hear it now, the “ oh, I just don’t like the smell ”, even though what she really thinks is that it’s ugly and unfeminine. Svetlana keeps staring at her. It feels like it’s eating away at her skin, like the sun when she forgets to put sunscreen on and can’t stay outside for more than a few minutes at a time. She feels like her time’s running out, and she’s about to burn, so she takes another drag and then puts it out, half the cigarette still there.
When she goes to get rid of it, Svetlana makes this little noise like she wants to say something, but can’t think of the words in time, so she just makes some meaningless sound that stops Florence in her tracks. Florence looks over at her, about to put the cigarette down, and sees Svetlana making a face like a puppy begging to be fed from the table.
Florence lifts the cigarette up. “Do you want this…?”
Svetlana nods and approaches her, eliminating the small amount of distance Florence was able to gain. Svetlana takes the cigarette and puts it in her mouth, getting as far as inhaling before remembering that it was already put out. Florence fumbles with her bag to find her lighter, which has somehow already made its way to the very bottom. She fishes it out and lights the cigarette while it’s still in Svetlana’s mouth. It’s only when she gets that far that she realizes it would have been more polite to give Svetlana an unused cigarette, but they’re well past that now, and Svetlana seems very content with the used one.
They’re standing close to each other now. Florence takes the opportunity of Svetlana’s mouth being busy to address the elephant in the room. “...I’m sorry you have to be here. You know, Anatoly didn’t tell me he had a family until the paperwork was finalized. I mean that. He signed his name and then immediately brought you up.”
Svetlana thinks about it for a moment. “Well, I suppose it’s harder to change your mind once the paperwork is finished.” She says it like it should be funny. Florence doesn’t quite get it.
“I suppose,” Florence shrugs. “What I mean to say is that I never intended to ruin what you had. I’m not a homewrecker by trade, you know.”
“Apologizing for making me come here and apologizing for taking my husband off my hands are two very different things. And you are not at all guilty for the former. You had no idea this would happen.”
“Even so, I’d imagine the latter is bad enough.”
“Why are you so intent on apologizing? He told you nothing. Even if you left him then and there, he would have still been in England. He would not have been home. My opinion is that you have not done any intentional harm to me. So don’t apologize.”
Florence leans back against the railing. The idea is puzzling to her. Were she in Svetlana’s place, she would be raining fury down on the person who stole her husband away. But then, she isn’t Svetlana. And she’s never been married. And getting angry about the idea of a hypothetical man being taken from her is a lot easier than getting angry about the idea of Anatoly being taken from her.
Content to acknowledge that this is a more peaceful situation than she initially thought, Florence decides she’s going to relax one way or another. She stretches. “I’m getting a drink. Want one?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“What kind?”
Svetlana smiles. “Anything.”