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Page 231
room off the kitchen, blinking sleepily at the light.
"Qué pasa, señora?" Rosa asked.
"Nothing for you to worry about, Rosa. I'm making a pot of tea, that's all. Go back to sleep." Charlotte smiled at her reassuringly.
A look of profound relief passed over Rosa's face. "Gracias, señora," she said, and closed the door before her employer could change her mind.
Charlotte filled the teakettle with water and put it on the stove. She rummaged in the cupboard for the tin of dark, strong tea, brought back from a trip to Moscow in the spring. She hoped it would help her to put Olga Vetsayeva at ease at once. Nathan Abramov's messenger must be received with warmth and attention.
When the doorbell rang, Olga Vetsayeva stood at her door, escorted closely by Otis Washington. "Thank you, Offs," Charlotte said, smiling at his doubtful expression as she escorted her latenight visitor inside.
Olga was young, blonde, broad-faced, and gray eyed, a Great Russian. She wore a cheap but stylish belted black raincoat over a gray-taupe skirt and blouse, severely tailored, probably the outfit she wore at work. The black fights that covered her sturdy legs blended imperceptibly into black running shoes. Olga would be very hard to spot on a dark, rainy street at night. Charlotte resisted the impulse to go to the window to check if someone were standing on the street below, watching her apartment. That only happens in B movies, she thought uneasily.
"Madame Conroy, I am happy to see you again, but I am sorry to disturb you at so late hour. Ambassador Abramov assured me you would forgive." Olga's voice was low and pleasant, but it betrayed her extreme nervousness.
"Yes, my dear. Come sit down. Take off your coat. I am making us some tea."
Olga did as she was bid. She eyed the deep-cushioned velvet sofa longingly, but instead chose the straight chair at the Hep-

 
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