“You really believe that?” he asked, curiously.
“But yes,” she answered, with wide-eyed fervour; “’ave you not seen in Moskawa alone the ’ouses ’ow they ’ave come down, and the factories ’ow they ’ave gone up? The Russian people no longer toil in slavery, it ees their turn to be the masters!”
For some time she talked on fervently and happily about the Five Year Plan — the tremendous difficulties with which Russia was faced through the bitter opposition of the capitalist countries, and the hopelessly inadequate supply of technical experts, but she assured him that they were making steady progress and would overcome every obstacle in time.
He was content to put in a word here and there, quietly enjoying the animation of his lovely guest, and gradually he found himself caught up by her faith and enthusiasm. It was true — all that she said. The capital, as a whole, presented an extraordinary spectacle of decrepitude and decay, rows of empty shops and houses that had not known paint and repair for almost a generation, yet, out of this apparent death fine buildings of steel and glass were everywhere springing up, and although the people in general seemed ill-clothed and underfed, the majority appeared busy and contented.
Was Russia really turning the corner, Simon wondered, after the terrible succession of upheavals that had rent the state from end to end during these last fifteen years? Was the iron rule of the Kommissars at last bearing amazing fruit? What would that mean to the world in, say, another ten years’ time? Simon’s busy brain began to translate goldmarks into sterling and sterling into pesos, and pesos into land, and land back again into millereis; but he did not allow Valeria Petrovna to imagine for one moment that his thoughts were not entirely concentrated upon her charming self!
“What ’ave you come to do in Russia?” she asked, suddenly; “do not say that you ’ave come all the way just to give me the luncheon — but you would not, I know you are not the liar — that, I think, is why I like you.”
It was a difficult question to answer. Simon had not forgotten the Duke’s warning — that the walls of the Hotel Metropole has as many ears as any Papal Palace in mediaeval Italy, so he said discreetly: “Well, it’s a long story, but as a matter of fact, I’ve been meaning to come to Russia for a long time now, wanted to see all these wonderful new factories. I’m interested in that sort of thing, you know!”
As he spoke he regarded her steadily with his sharp expressive eyes, and evidently she understood, for she smiled slightly.
“You must come and visit my apartment, it is quiet there. You can tell me all about yourself; I am interested in you, Mistaire Aron, you do not make stupid love, like all the other young men; yet you like me, do you not?” Her smile became bewitching.
“I’d love to come,” said Simon, simply, and the world of meaning in his voice was a sufficient answer to her question.