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In the morning, Anya took her mother to the Gum department store on Red Square to find something for the medal ceremony. The shops would have seemed familiar to anyone from Europe or America. All of the big brand names in women's clothes could be found here. After an hour of wandering through the shops, Yulia still hadn't seen anything she liked.
Anya looked at her watch. They needed to be back at the apartment by eleven at the latest. It was already after ten.
"I don't know, Anya," Yulia said. "Nothing feels right."
Anya stood looking at a mannequin wearing a brown dress.
"That would look great on you."
"I don't like it."
Anya had long experience of her mother's moods. It would do no good to argue with her. She would get emotional and difficult, if she thought she was being pushed to do something she didn't want to do. The fact that she was going to meet Tarasov in a few hours didn't make anything easier. Then Anya had an inspiration.
"Come on, mother. There's another place we can go. I'm sure we can find something there."
Outside the store she hailed a taxi and told the driver to take them to the Tsvetnoy Market. For once, traffic was light. It wasn't long before they entered the enormous mall. Anya wished they could have lunch at one of the restaurants on the top floors, but there wasn't time.
"Where are we going?" Yulia asked. "My feet are getting tired."
"Right here," Anya said. "They have nice clothes in this shop, mother. I'm sure we'll find something you like."
Twenty minutes later, Yulia stepped out of the dressing room wearing an ankle length creation in dark green. She was smiling.
"You look fabulous, mother. That dress is perfect for you."
"You think so?"
"Perfect. And it's made right here in Russia. Very patriotic. I'm sure the president will notice."
"Then I'll take it," Yulia said.
Anya paid, a bit shocked at the price, but it was worth it to keep her mother calm. Besides, she really did look good in the dress.
The medal ceremony was scheduled for two o'clock in the president's office. Anya and her mother had toured the public areas of the Kremlin in the past, admiring the treasures in the museums. They'd toured the great domed chamber of the Senate building, but they'd never been inside the president's office.
General Stepanov met them outside the entrance. He was wearing his Class A uniform. An impressive array of ribbons covered the left side of his jacket.
"Good afternoon, sir," she said. "Mother, this is First Deputy Defense Minister Stepanov. He is the man I work for."
Stepanov reached out and took Yulia's hand in his.
"It is a great pleasure to meet you," Stepanov said. "Your daughter is one of my most valued officers."
Flustered, Yulia looked to Anya, then back at Stepanov.
"I have always tried to do my best with her," she said.
Stepanov smiled. "You have succeeded. Come, the president is expecting us."
Two armed guards in full dress Guards’ uniform stood at attention on either side of tall double doors leading to Tarasov's office. As the trio approached, they moved in synchronized motion to open the doors and returned to attention.
Inside the room, Tarasov, General Kerensky, a major she didn't recognize, and a crowd of photographers waited for them. Anya hadn't expected to see Kerensky there.
"Oh, my," Yulia said.
Tarasov had the politician's gift of charm. He used it now, coming forward and smiling. He took Yulia's hand in both of his.
"You are Grigori's mother," he said. "I knew your husband, years ago. I am only sorry I have to meet you under these circumstances. It is an honor to take the hand of the mother of a hero of the Motherland."
"Comrade President, I... I don't know what to say."
"Yulia. May I call you Yulia?"
Without waiting for an answer, Tarasov turned to the two men standing near his desk.
"Yulia, may I present Chief of Staff General Kerensky and Major Gorky? General Kerensky insisted on being here today to honor your son. Major Gorky was your son's commander. He was with him in the field and witnessed his heroic actions. Gentlemen, this is Captain Volkov's mother and his sister, Colonel Anya Volkova."
The next ten minutes were a blur of murmured platitudes and flashing camera lights. Major Gorky praised Gregori's actions. Tarasov presented the medal, a single gold star hanging from a ribbon bearing the white, blue and red colors of the Russian Federation flag. A second medal for bravery in combat was presented to Major Gorky. More pictures were taken of the entire group standing together.
Then it was over.
A limousine drove them back to their apartment. Yulia held the medal in her lap, silently staring out the window at the city passing by. Anya would have liked more time to talk with Major Gorky, but there'd been no opportunity for that. He'd seemed sincere in his words praising Grigori's courage, unlike Kerensky and Tarasov. If there was a medal for acting, they both deserved it.
The more she saw of Tarasov, the more she didn't like him. It made sense that he'd known her father. In some ways, Tarasov reminded her of him. It was no recommendation.
Anya wasn't looking forward to tomorrow.
Tomorrow she would be back at work. The photographs were sure to be displayed prominently in Izvestia. There would be more whispers and looks, more envious comments behind her back.
It wasn't work she was worried about; it was what would come after.
Tomorrow evening she was having dinner with Stepanov.