Gorskaya is under the protection of higher powers. Evgenia Gorskaya is under the protection of higher powers. Evgenia GorskayaUnder the protection of higher powers

Tatyana Ustinova

The past haunts us relentlessly

How much does it take for the world to change? So that life can suddenly turn from monotonous and gray into bright and fiery?

One book is enough for me!

For us, readers, life with a new detective is qualitatively different from life without a new detective. The thought of him warms and gives strength. Just five minutes ago it seemed that the day was a complete failure, but now Evgenia Gorskaya’s new novel “Under the Protection of Higher Powers” is in her hands. Happiness and jubilation, there is something to read!

You also struggle with choosing a book for the night, right? When you rummage through the shelves of your home library, sorting through the spines of books you’ve already read and re-read, dreaming of an easy, exciting, interesting, moderately dangerous and - most importantly - new adventure. Here... so that everything is as we love, but only new!

That's why I always look forward to Evgenia Gorskaya's next book. I am confident in it in advance, and the detective story “Under the Protection of Higher Powers” more than lives up to all expectations.

A good book!.. There aren’t many people writing like this now, oh, how few! There was frighteningly nothing to read, despite the variety of covers in bookstores. Evgenia Gorskaya helps out - she writes excellent detective stories. Her texts are sparkling, precise, light and playful, and the intrigues are carefully thought out and carefully complicated - without the help of the author we would never figure it out! The novel is read quickly, in one gulp, in one breath: from the first pages it draws you into a wildly seething whirlpool of seemingly unrelated events and characteristic - funny and scary - characters.

Gorskaya once again makes us cling to her new book like a life preserver and rush headlong towards a new, exciting and paradoxical ending.

No matter how stunningly interesting and dashing the intrigue may be, we always need a minute to take a breath, distract ourselves, and realize what has happened. This rule works like a charm in literature and life. From time to time we need a short pause, after which we can run on. And Evgenia Gorskaya skillfully juggles plot lines, “switches” and makes us, her passionate and grateful readers, laugh. Our attention easily and imperceptibly switches from detective intrigue to love. Here we, together with the heroine Nastya, are at first perplexed as to where the gray Ford came from, from which the villains seem to be following her, although why follow her, she is an ordinary engineer, and we are immediately glad that Denis, the new boss and incomprehensible one, is nearby a person who comes to the rescue at the most needed moment.

You read “Under the Protection of Higher Powers” and you don’t believe until the very last page: can the heroes really be able to extricate themselves from this horror?! Who is plotting against unfortunate Nastya? Who does Denis really love? And why does a family heirloom - a carnelian elephant with ruby eyes - go to the wrong person for whom it was intended?..

What is hidden in the past, what terrible secrets, what skeletons are in the closet?.. And there is something to hide there, I assure you! What is there in these old dusty closets, what terrible incidents, unfinished deeds, unfulfilled loves! It’s not without reason that they say that the past relentlessly haunts us, and it’s good if it’s bright and joyful, but what if it’s shameful and scary? What should I do? There is only one way out - to live on here and now, and let those who committed them answer for the sins of the past, or then no one will answer. Life is too short and unpredictable to spend it paying other people's bills.

Of course, the world cannot be transformed in an instant, and, in fact, this is not necessary. But there is time to read, and this is not one moment, but, fortunately, more, much more!.. While you are reading this book, the world around you may not change, but certainly your own, personal, small world will become brighter, more voluminous and more interesting!

She hated Anastasia Bersenyeva so much that sometimes it really scared her. At times it seemed to her as if her whole life was focused on only one thing: the need to urgently, this minute, do something so that Bersenyeva would not only never come into her sight again, but so that she would not exist at all. So that she would get hit by a car, or die from a fleeting illness, or she would be killed for pitiful pennies by a stoned drug addict.

But these pictures did not please her either, she understood that Nastya’s death would not bring her relief, this was too low a price for the torment that she experienced because of Nastya’s very existence. Bersenyeva must not only die, she must die in agony. And it is imperative to know who brought her death and torment. She must cry, and beg for forgiveness, and repent, and crawl at her feet, and only after that the hatred, so deafening and acute, will subside, and then disappear completely, and she can finally live in peace. How I lived before meeting Bersenyeva.

The hatred was long-standing, and she was almost used to it and understood that she could not do anything with Nastya, and was only afraid that this feeling would corrode her own body from the inside, and because of the inevitable illnesses, she hated her even more.

She sighed, ran her hands over her face, and slowly reached for the phone.

“Nastyusha,” Borya said sadly, “I won’t come to you today.” I'll go to my mother. My throat hurts and I probably have a fever. I can't work at all. How are you?

“I’m fine,” Nastya reported.

- Well, thank God. When you come home, call.

- Necessarily.

She wanted to say that she could take care of him no worse than his mother, but she did not say. Boris always went to his mother when he was sick. So as not to infect her, Nastya.

“I don’t want you to get sick either,” Borya said sadly. - Be careful not to catch a cold.

For some reason he was not afraid of infecting his mother.

“Get well, Bor,” Nastya asked and added something completely unnecessary: “I’ll be waiting for you.”

He had no doubt at all that she would be waiting for him.

Nastya threw the phone into her bag and reached for a cigarette.

It’s high time for her to get used to the fact that Boris lives in two houses. Not even like that: he lives with his mother, and just comes to visit her, Nastya. Overnight.

It's time to get used to it, but she's not used to it. She needs to know whether he will arrive in the evening or not. And make plans for the weekend. But she didn’t make plans for a long time, because Boris could leave her alone at any moment.

“I need to go to my mother, Nastyusha,” he recalled on Saturday morning. – Aunt Tonya is coming, I haven’t seen her for a long time.

Or you need to go with your mother to the dacha. Or do something else much more important than being with her, Nastya.

He never invited her with him.

She wanted them to have a “family,” but they didn’t have a family.

Nastya took a cigarette out of the pack, twirled it and put her hand in her trousers pocket - the lighter was in place. She should have given up the bad habit of smoking a long time ago and be glad that she will have to go to an empty apartment, for example.

Nastya moved away from her desk in her chair, looked at the blank computer screen and went to the smoking room on the cold fire escape.

Rakitin could only think in absolute silence. Any sounds: music, conversations - irritated him, this made his thoughts confused, lost, and this caused even more irritation. He was alone in the smoking room and could think as much as he wanted.

He had something to think about. For the third day he held the respectable position of deputy director of a reputable design institute. It’s not that he really aspired to this position, but when quite recently the director of a related institute, whom he knew from countless meetings, invited him to become his deputy, he agreed immediately. Even before he had time to be surprised by the unexpected proposal.

Rakitin stared at the non-working internal surveillance camera and almost flinched when the heavy metal staircase door slammed loudly.

Evgenia Gorskaya

Under the protection of higher powers

Tatyana Ustinova

The past haunts us relentlessly

How much does it take for the world to change? So that life can suddenly turn from monotonous and gray into bright and fiery?

One book is enough for me!

Gorskaya once again makes us cling to her new book like a life preserver and rush headlong towards a new, exciting and paradoxical ending.

Denis Rakitin immediately drew attention to Nastya, a girl with sad eyes, looking like a revived antique statue, and thought: it’s time to part with Larisa. Their connection stretched back to school and successfully survived several of Lara’s marriages, but now for some reason she began to weigh on him. Denis tried to get thoughts about Nastya out of his head, until one evening he noticed how she was being chased by a black car... Nastya did not understand what the new boss was talking about: who needs her? Her quiet, modest life is completely focused on her lover Boris, although lately he has increasingly spent the night with her mother... And a few days later, someone attacked Nastya and almost strangled her! Borya couldn’t come, but Rakitin was nearby - he scared off the criminal by following her into the entrance. Denis was right: she is in serious danger!.. But Nastya has no enemies! Who hates her so much that he wants to kill her?

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Current page: 1 (book has 14 pages total) [available reading passage: 8 pages]

Evgenia Gorskaya
Under the protection of higher powers

Tatyana Ustinova

The past haunts us relentlessly

How much does it take for the world to change? So that life can suddenly turn from monotonous and gray into bright and fiery?

One book is enough for me!

Gorskaya once again makes us cling to her new book like a life preserver and rush headlong towards a new, exciting and paradoxical ending.

She sighed, ran her hands over her face, and slowly reached for the phone.

“Nastyusha,” Borya said sadly, “I won’t come to you today.” I'll go to my mother. My throat hurts and I probably have a fever. I can't work at all. How are you?

“I’m fine,” Nastya reported.

- Well, thank God. When you come home, call.

- Necessarily.

She wanted to say that she could take care of him no worse than his mother, but she did not say. Boris always went to his mother when he was sick. So as not to infect her, Nastya.

“I don’t want you to get sick either,” Borya said sadly. - Be careful not to catch a cold.

For some reason he was not afraid of infecting his mother.

“Get well, Bor,” Nastya asked and added something completely unnecessary: “I’ll be waiting for you.”

He had no doubt at all that she would be waiting for him.

Nastya threw the phone into her bag and reached for a cigarette.

It’s high time for her to get used to the fact that Boris lives in two houses. Not even like that: he lives with his mother, and just comes to visit her, Nastya. Overnight.

“I need to go to my mother, Nastyusha,” he recalled on Saturday morning. – Aunt Tonya is coming, I haven’t seen her for a long time.

Or you need to go with your mother to the dacha. Or do something else much more important than being with her, Nastya.

He never invited her with him.

She wanted them to have a “family,” but they didn’t have a family.

Nastya moved away from her desk in her chair, looked at the blank computer screen and went to the smoking room on the cold fire escape.

* * *

Rakitin stared at the non-working internal surveillance camera and almost flinched when the heavy metal staircase door slammed loudly.

Fortunately, the girl who appeared was alone, stood quietly and did not interfere with her thinking.

We need to find out why the camera isn’t working, Rakitin decided. And order it to be fixed. Then he mentally went through the long list of projects that needed to be completed by the new year, and only then did he realize that he was furtively looking at the pale profile of an unfamiliar girl. The profile was beautiful, unusual, but he could not understand why it was unusual. For some reason, Rakitin thought it looked like an ancient coin, although he had never held ancient coins in his hands, only seen them in pictures.

The girl turned to face him, throwing away the ashes, and he quickly turned away. Again, he mentally went through the list of projects, which he already knew by heart, and looked furtively at the girl. Now she stood half-turned to him and in the twilight seemed to him like an antique statue.

Beautiful, Rakitin could not help but admit, he resolutely put out his cigarette and quickly went down half a floor to his own, still unusual, office.

* * *

After Borya’s call, my mood completely deteriorated. I didn’t want to work, and I didn’t want to go home. What will she do alone all evening? She was sad alone. She dreamed of preparing dinner for Bori and telling him that neighbor Emma Vladimirovna, whom Nastya met at the entrance in the morning, had gotten a new dog of an unknown breed. The very small dog was scared of the big Nastya and hid behind its owner.

Or tell me something else, or just be silent, looking at the tired Borya.

Having difficulty concentrating on the project, Nastya forced herself to delve deeper into the next scheme and, raising her head to the sound of the opening door, above which the clock hung, was surprised that the working day had come to an end.

“We need to prepare a certificate for all current projects by tomorrow morning,” Tanya Samorukova, who entered, lazily ordered. Tatyana, having become the head of the department several months ago, always spoke lazily, drawing out her words a little. And it’s always just like that: “It needs to be done.” However, sometimes Tanya did not say “it needs to be done,” but “can you do this and that?”, and never “do it, please.” Probably to avoid saying “please.” Instead of saying “thank you,” she simply nodded.

Samorukova, entering the room where, besides Nastya, there were two more people, did not address anyone in particular, but everyone understood that Nastya would have to prepare a certificate. Vitya Toroshin, who had just graduated from college in the summer, and Inna Markovna, who should have been retired a long time ago, looked expectantly at the young boss, but Nastya didn’t even look at her.

She had been having a hard time putting up with Samorukova for a long time and now sadly thought that she would have to quit.

I didn't want to quit. Nastya liked her work, the people in the department too, it was convenient to get to the institute, and even the salary had recently become very decent.

- Nastya, can’t you hear me? – Tatyana asked.

- What a clever girl. So don't forget, by tomorrow morning.

Tatyana turned and silently disappeared through the door.

I'll have to quit, even though I don't want to.

She and Tatyana studied in the same group and came here to the institute at the same time for pre-graduation practice and stayed to work in the same department. Nastya, having immediately fallen under the leadership of the old and recognized designer Lev Vladimirovich Rossman, quickly began to work independently, rejoiced at the boss’s praises and the envelopes with money that he handed her more and more often, and felt sorry for Tatyana, who endlessly moved from one group to another and nothing happened. not learned.

Although it was her, Nastya, who should have been pitied. Because Samorukova did the most important thing throughout the seven years they spent at the institute: she showed up in the offices of her superiors. And she got to the point that, to the surprise and bewilderment of the employees, an order was issued to appoint her as acting. head of the department.

- What an absurdity! – Lev Vladimirovich was indignant. – Would you like me to go to the director, Nastenka? You are a much better candidate. I believe that you are the only worthy candidate for this position. I don’t care, I won’t retire today, tomorrow, and you don’t need to work under this nonsense.

“No, Lev Vladimirovich,” Nastya smiled at the “folly”; it was very strange to hear such an unflattering description from the lips of an impeccably mannered person. - Don't want. Appointed and appointed. I don’t know how to push with my elbows and I’m not going to learn it.

Very soon the department was firmly divided into those close to the young boss and everyone else, and Nastya, who did not aspire to be “close,” increasingly thought about quitting.

The certificate was ready when the institute was completely empty, and the dark and early November night was darkening outside.

I’ll have one last smoke, Nastya decided. She never expected to see anyone on the back stairs, but again she came across an unfamiliar man with whom she had been smoking during the day.

He was very tall and somehow... dapper, or something, in a dark gray suit and tie. At the institute, people dressed simply: jeans, a sweater. Only the bosses walked around in suits.

Tatyana also tried to introduce office suits into everyday life. Moreover, for women, men’s clothing for some reason did not interest her. Now those who wanted her approval could be seen by their clothes. Nastya's look, sweater and trousers, did not inspire approval.

Nastya returned to the room, re-read the certificate again, sent it to Tatyana’s email address and turned off the computer.

While getting dressed in the built-in closet, I looked at myself in the mirror and winced: a colorless, shabby aunt. “I’ll put on my makeup tomorrow. I’ll put on makeup and style my hair,” Nastya promised herself.

* * *

Rakitin had never expected to see her so late in an empty building and again quietly tried to look at her. Why should he look at the unfamiliar girl, he himself did not understand. He had no intention of caring for her, just like caring for anyone else; he had to sort out his personal life, but for some reason he wanted to look at her.

She looks like an antique statue, he finally decided, glancing sideways at her tightly compressed lips. A statue that came to life at the most inopportune time. However, he does not care about any statues, and he turned away.

The girl left, quietly slamming the door, and he, without knowing why, threw away the half-smoked cigarette and rushed to the office. Hastily pulled on his cloak, locked the door, pulled the handle for some reason, as if the lock could open, and headed towards the stairs.

The elevator coming from above stopped: apparently, someone called it, but did not wait or left on another one. In the opened doors stood a living statue, and he was afraid that she would think that he had called the cabin. As if he is not capable of walking down from the fourth floor, like a decrepit grandfather.

Rakitin quickly walked past the open cabin and ran down the stairs.

He was heading towards the parking lot, lingering in the dark, still unfamiliar courtyard, when she overtook him, walked through the gate of the metal fence surrounding the building, and for some reason he began to look after her.

She walked up to the tram stop, located just a few steps from the institute, looked to the left, looking for a tram, stood for a few moments and, having made up her mind, walked to the metro, putting her hands in her jacket pockets.

Then Rakitin was surprised that he noticed an inconspicuous car starting behind her. The girl walked slowly, and the car drove slowly. For some reason, Rakitin really didn’t like all this, and he himself didn’t realize why he went to the metro he didn’t need, without letting her out of sight.

It turned out that she only had to go, one stop.

He stood next to her in the half-empty carriage, but she didn’t notice him, and for some reason this hurt him.

The girl went upstairs with a sparse crowd of passengers when he, having made up his mind and scolding himself for it, caught up with her, carefully touched her sleeve and muttered:

- I'll accompany you.

Nastya saw a man from a while ago next to her and almost blurted out like a fool: “Hello.” Luckily, I stopped in time.

- For what? – she asked without a smile.

Nesmeyana, Rakitin thought. Once in childhood, his grandmother read him a fairy tale about Nesmeyana. He did not imagine that he would ever remember this forgotten word.

“It’s too late,” he explained. - It's dark. I'll accompany you.

“Thank you,” she refused. - I'm not far away. And I walk along the illuminated street.

“I’ll take you,” he repeated and began to look past her, waiting for her to move.

“W-well... thanks,” she finally gave in, shrugged her shoulders and, without looking back, walked down the really brightly lit street.

The girl did not deceive, she actually lived very close to the metro.

“I’ve come,” Nastya stopped and nodded towards the entrance door. - Thank you.

Nesmeyana. An animated statue.

The entrance turned out to be illuminated. Safe. Was there a dark car following her, or was he imagining it?

- I'll walk you to the door.

“Well, that’s too much,” she snapped. - Sorry. And thanks again.

Was there a car or was it his imagination?

– Do you... live alone? “She’ll think I’m crazy,” Rakitin was belatedly horrified.

“I have... a common-law husband,” she reported after some hesitation and, turning sharply, disappeared behind the dark door.

It was impossible to talk about a common-law husband, it sounded stupid and vulgar. However, what does she care about the unfamiliar guy from the smoking room? Let him think what he wants. Even that she is a complete fool.

Rakitin hated “civil” marriages. The marriage of his parents was considered civil; it was registered in the registry office and was not consecrated by the church, and Rakitin did not recognize any other “civil” marriages. But she clearly means something else.

He was irritated when a correct concept was replaced by an incorrect one. But now he felt irritated about something else: she was living with some man. However, what does it matter to him?

He stood still and went back to the metro, to the institute and to his own car.

The killer, following the dark figure with his gaze, rose from the wooden bench, looked for the last time at the victim’s newly lit windows, threw the cigarette butt into a nearby trash can and slowly walked along the long house. However, while he had not killed anyone yet, he was yet to become a killer.

In the meantime, he was the most ordinary person.

No, not ordinary. For some reason he almost didn’t remember about it and, when he remembered, he was surprised every time, as if he couldn’t fully believe what had happened to him.

Taking out another cigarette as he walked, he stopped, lighting it, and immediately walked on, noting that he was almost not nervous. As if he knows that everything will be fine.

As he approached his own car, he swore under his breath. There is no need to engage in introspection, you need to think about business.

About the fact that it hangs on the Customer’s hook so firmly that there is no way to break off this hook. And even if he does what is required of him, that is, gives this girl an accident, for himself it can only mean a delay.

He did not believe that the Customer would let him go on all four sides.

Of course he won't let go.

“Think,” he ordered himself. “Think and the solution will come.”

Nastya heard the phone ringing while still unlocking the door, and barely had time to grab the receiver.

- Nastyusha, why is it so late? – Borya sighed with relief. “I was already all nervous.”

“I was drawing up certificates for projects,” Nastya explained, struggling to pull off her jacket with one hand. – The certificate is needed by tomorrow morning.

- So what? – he was indignant. - Let someone else do it!

- There’s no one else, you know.

- This is not your headache. I had to refuse! There’s no point in hanging around the streets alone, it’s so dark.

“Okay, Bor,” Nastya finally took off her jacket and hung it on the hanger. “I’ve already come, what can I say now?”

“Next time, don’t be late,” he ordered. - How do you feel?

“It’s normal,” Nastya was surprised. - You are the patient here, not me.

“In this weather, it’s easy to catch a cold.”

- How are you, Bor? The temperature is?

“No temperature,” he sighed. - And I feel terrible. My head hurts and my throat is sore. Yes, you are still missing somewhere.

- Get better, Borenka.

“Well, I should have come,” she blurted out. – You can get sick here too.

“Na-astya,” he reproached sternly. - Well, what are you saying? Well, where will I go? I don't drag my feet.

- Get better, Borenka.

For some reason, it was unpleasant for her to hear about his helplessness. It seemed to her that the unfamiliar man who had walked her home for no reason would never have complained so desperately.

- I kiss you, dear.

- And I you.

I didn't want to cook. And I didn’t want to eat. Nastya turned on the kettle, changed into an old robe, as usual, thinking that it was high time to replace the robe, and went to the bookshelves. I wish I could find some long-forgotten detective story and read for the rest of the evening, and not think about Bor with his illnesses, or Tatyana Samorukova with her “what a smart girl.”

There was no suitable detective available. Nastya made tea and returned to the bookshelves.

And for some reason I shuddered in fear when the landline phone standing next to me rang.

“Great, Nastyukha,” they laughed on the phone. - As a young life?

“Hello, Igorek,” Nastya smiled. - Fine. And you?

- Me? I'm fine.

Igor was her only relative close in age. Igor cannot be called a relative in the full sense of the word. Uncle Lev, Nastya’s great-uncle, grandmother’s brother, married Aunt Lila, Igor’s mother, when he was already eight years old. Uncle Lev adopted the boy, loved him and considered him his own. The marriage was unsuccessful. Aunt Lilya, who was much younger than Uncle Leva, very soon abandoned him, and from then on Leva lived alone.

Nastya, when visiting him, often met Igor. He was noisy and cheerful, but for some reason Nastya was very tired of him. It was as if she was doing hard work while talking to him.

While still a student, Igor married his classmate, the daughter of a businessman, now he became a director in his father-in-law’s company, changed cars every six months, always demonstrating the next one to Nastya and explaining in detail the advantages of this model, which, in her opinion, was almost no different from the previous one. He wore breathtakingly expensive suits and exorbitantly expensive shoes and was always pleased with himself, his position and life.

- Why are you so late? I've already called you twice.

- Yes, yes. I stayed late at the institute.

- At University? Wow! Throw this service to hell. Beautiful women should not work, they should brighten men's lives.

“Okay, Igor, I’ll think about it,” Nastya grinned, immediately feeling the usual fatigue from talking with him.

– Do you know why I’m calling? Leo's birthday is coming soon. I would like to get some advice about a gift. What will you give him?

– I haven’t thought about it yet. More than a month until my birthday.

- She didn’t think! You need to think in advance, and not run around shopping in the last week. I'm asking for advice, maybe I should buy him a fireplace?

- Lord, Igor! Why a fireplace in an ordinary Moscow apartment?

- What do you mean why? For prestige.

- This is some kind of nonsense. That is, buy it if you really want it. He can then take him to the dacha. Although there is a stove at the dacha.

– So you don’t approve of the fireplace?

- Don't know. I definitely wouldn’t want a fireplace, but what about Uncle Lev... I don’t know.

- You doubt it, then?

- I doubt. How is Lena?

Nastya liked Lena, Igor’s wife. A quiet, calm woman, head over heels in love with her loud husband.

- Lenka? Lenka is fine. Okay, Nastyukha, be there. If I think of anything else about the gift, I'll call you.

Nastya hung up and suddenly realized that she was very tired.

I'm really tired. From life.

And from the conversation with Igor.

She was six years old when she first saw Igor.

At that time, Uncle Lev lived with his grandmother. Grandfather died when Nastya was very young, and grandmother moved in with her brother Leva. Nastya, as a rule, spent weekends with them and considered her grandmother’s apartment her second home.

That day, Aunt Lilya and her son Igor appeared. The adults were sitting at a table set as if for a holiday, and they paid almost no attention to the children.

“Let’s go outside,” Igor suggested to her, “you can show me the yard, and in general...

- Do not want. – Nastya didn’t feel like going for a walk at all. She didn’t know any of the children in her grandmother’s yard, because she wasn’t allowed to walk alone, and at home with her uncle and grandmother it was much more interesting than with the kids.

- Do not want? – Igor was surprised. - So what! I want it! Get dressed quickly and let's go.

Nastya probably remembered that day so well, because almost for the first time in her life she began to do something that she had not intended to do at all. And not because adults ordered it, but... God knows why.

She obediently got dressed and showed Igor the surrounding alleys, and really wanted to go home, and could barely wait for dad to come for her.

Until then, she had never rushed to her parents from her grandmother and uncle Leva...

Nastya returned to the kitchen, brewed tea and picked up a hot cup.

God, how tired she is.

I think it's called autumn depression.

Rakitin recognized her immediately. People approached the institute reluctantly. At nine, when the working day actually began, almost no one had arrived yet, except perhaps the cleaning ladies. Yesterday's girl appeared on the path in front of the main entrance at nine ten. Rakitin watched from the office window as she approached the steps of the porch, and only then did he remember that he had not yet turned on the computer, and he had so much to do that he could tear his hair out.

She disappeared under the canopy of the entrance, and he sat down at his new workplace. He turned on the computer, tapped his fingers on the table, waiting for it to boot, then stood up decisively and went to the smoking room. She just arrived and maybe she'll go out for a smoke.

The smoking room was empty. Rakitin took several drags, threw out the cigarette butt, returned to the office and finally got down to business.

At ten sharp there was a knock on the office door, and the head of the design department, Tatyana Yuryevna Samorukova, appeared at the door. It's good that he remembered her name.

“Denis Gennadievich,” Samorukova reminded, smiling timidly, “you asked for a certificate.” I brought.

– Hello, Tatyana Yuryevna. Why on paper? It would be better if they sent it by mail. I dictated the address to you yesterday.

“But...” Samorukova was confused, “I’m always... on paper.”

“Come on,” he sighed and caught himself: “Please sit down.”

“I don’t understand,” he looked up at her. Samorukova was good. A slightly plump blonde with regular facial features and straight, shoulder-length hair. That is, he would have previously thought that she was good until he saw the animated statue. The “statue” is good, that’s for sure. – Why does the eighth facility have an old version of the system? Everywhere is new, but on the eighth place is it old?

- I don't know. I’ll... give orders,” she was so openly frightened that he felt sorry for her.

– There is no need to give orders, you just explain to me.

After five minutes, it became clear that Samorukova understood nothing about the work of the department she headed. He would never have believed that this could happen if he had not seen it now with his own eyes. Miracles! Who nominated her to such a responsible position and why?

“Please invite leading developers to me,” he asked, “right now.”

– I’ll find out everything, Denis Gennadievich...

- There is no need to find out anything. Invite leading developers. “He didn’t like fools.” Moreover, the leaders are stupid.

How could he just recently think that she was beautiful? Now she seemed flawed to him.

Samorukova burst into the room, seething with rage. She always brought documents prepared by her subordinates to her superiors, smiled and received smiles in return. It never even occurred to her that someone could interrogate her like a student on an exam.

And why? Because the fool Bersenyeva could not draw up the stupid certificate properly.

– Nastya, you’re not even able to prepare a basic certificate! - Tatyana shouted. “You made me blush for half an hour at the management!” The department may be deprived of its bonus, do you understand that?

“We need to quit,” Nastya thought sadly, “we need to quit immediately.”

- Don’t you hear?

- I hear. - Lord, just don’t cry.

- Go to the new deputy!

- What - where? I said, to the new deputy!

“We don’t know where the new deputy, Tatyana Yuryevna, sits,” Vitya Toroshin smiled, looking up from the computer. – We work, we don’t have time to memorize the bosses’ offices.

“Toroshin,” Tatyana smiled, immediately calming down, “you still don’t know what the entries in the work book mean.” And I don’t recommend finding out. Nothing good will happen, believe me.

“Stop it, Vitya,” Nastya got up from the table and turned to the boss: “So where should we go?” You didn't say your office number.

Tatyana hesitated and, turning sharply, rushed towards the stairs to the fourth floor.

– Can’t you make it faster? – after taking a few steps, she turned to Nastya, who had lagged behind.

“You can,” Nastya quickened her pace.

The new deputy general director was sitting in office number 417.

Yesterday's man in a suit and tie. A dandy who for some reason went to see her off.

“Rakitin Denis Gennadievich,” he introduced himself, rising from the table.

“Bersenyeva Anastasia Alexandrovna,” Nastya reported gloomily.

- Can I call you Nastya? – He asked, looking at her closely.

“Tatyana Yuryevna, you are free,” he turned to the frozen Samorukova. - Thank you.

Tatyana flushed and wanted to say something, but under Rakitin’s gaze she sank and disappeared through the door.

You need to quit immediately.

- Sit down, Nastya. “He waited until she sat down and sat down himself. – Who manages projects in your department?

- Rossman. Lev Vladimirovich. – Nastya furtively looked around the office. It was her first time here. “But he’s been sick for a long time, so... I.”

The office was impressive. The massive dark wood furniture, comfortable chairs, even the ceilings seemed much higher than in their department, although this certainly could not be the case, since all floors of the building were designed exactly the same.

- And... Samorukova?

Nastya shrugged.

She glanced sideways at Rakitin’s tightly compressed lips. For some reason it seemed to her that he really understood everything.

– Why does the eighth facility have an old version of the system?

– We are making only part of the object. Partially the automated control system already exists, and the system is there. Old version. It is not advisable to put two. Expensive to maintain.

He asked, she answered.

She has a “common-law” husband. This means he has no chance.

Well, it is not necessary.

Nastya did not return to the department soon, after an hour and a half.

At Inna Markovna’s table sat the timekeeper Antonina Ivanovna, who, like Inna, should have been retired a long time ago. Antonina Ivanovna, wearing a new jacket in accordance with the now required style of clothing, told Inna the latest news. The jacket did not fit the short and shapeless Antonina well, and Nastya felt sorry for her in passing.

– Tanya is going on vacation. In Egypt. It’s nice there now, not hot,” Antonina said.

“So she was on vacation,” Inna was surprised. - In June.

“Then she only had two weeks off work.”

- Yes? But in my opinion, she took the entire vacation. We were in a real jam at the time, it was the end of the quarter, four projects were being handed over at the same time, we really needed extra hands, and Samorukova went on vacation.

Evgenia Gorskaya

Under the protection of higher powers

Tatyana Ustinova

The past haunts us relentlessly

How much does it take for the world to change? So that life can suddenly turn from monotonous and gray into bright and fiery?

One book is enough for me!

Gorskaya once again makes us cling to her new book like a life preserver and rush headlong towards a new, exciting and paradoxical ending.

She sighed, ran her hands over her face, and slowly reached for the phone.

“Nastyusha,” Borya said sadly, “I won’t come to you today.” I'll go to my mother. My throat hurts and I probably have a fever. I can't work at all. How are you?

“I’m fine,” Nastya reported.

- Well, thank God. When you come home, call.

- Necessarily.

She wanted to say that she could take care of him no worse than his mother, but she did not say. Boris always went to his mother when he was sick. So as not to infect her, Nastya.

“I don’t want you to get sick either,” Borya said sadly. - Be careful not to catch a cold.

For some reason he was not afraid of infecting his mother.

“Get well, Bor,” Nastya asked and added something completely unnecessary: “I’ll be waiting for you.”

He had no doubt at all that she would be waiting for him.

Nastya threw the phone into her bag and reached for a cigarette.

It’s high time for her to get used to the fact that Boris lives in two houses. Not even like that: he lives with his mother, and just comes to visit her, Nastya. Overnight.

“I need to go to my mother, Nastyusha,” he recalled on Saturday morning. – Aunt Tonya is coming, I haven’t seen her for a long time.

Or you need to go with your mother to the dacha. Or do something else much more important than being with her, Nastya.

He never invited her with him.

She wanted them to have a “family,” but they didn’t have a family.

Nastya moved away from her desk in her chair, looked at the blank computer screen and went to the smoking room on the cold fire escape.

* * *

Rakitin stared at the non-working internal surveillance camera and almost flinched when the heavy metal staircase door slammed loudly.

Fortunately, the girl who appeared was alone, stood quietly and did not interfere with her thinking.

Beautiful, Rakitin could not help but admit, he resolutely put out his cigarette and quickly went down half a floor to his own, still unusual, office.