Chapter Thirty-one (translated from Russian)

He was still fighting with himself as he bounded through the doors of the Hotel National.  He headed up the stairs in the foyer when Dmitry called out to him.

“Mr. Ovechkin, is there something wrong?”

Alex considered ignoring him, but hesitated long enough to say, “I need to see Ms. Simmons.”

He started back up the steps and was halted by Dmitry once more.

“But, Sir, she is not there.”

Alex turned back to him, crossing the room quickly, “Where then?”

Dmitry’s face fell. Alexander Ovechkin was a very imposing man and it seemed this news might not be something he wanted to hear. 

“She is gone, Sir,” he said, as matter of fact as he could manage under Mr. Ovechkin’s piercing glare.

“Gone? Where?”

“She has left already for Budapest.”

“Her flight wasn’t until this afternoon. Why has she left already?”  Alex’s voice held a note of panic that was not lost on the concierge.

“Sir, she called down earlier this morning and asked for my help in getting an earlier flight,” he said as gently as he could.

“Earlier? WHY?”

Dmitry hesitated, reflecting on the conversation.  The girl had been quiet sad. She was a very kind woman and despite himself, Dmitry had found himself looking forward to her smile and the kind word that she would have for him each day. She never failed to say good morning to him and call him by name after he had insisted upon it the first day.  She had never demanded anything. When there was something that she had needed, she always asked with gentleness, as if he would be doing a favor for her. She was the kindest American that he had ever come in contact with. When she had asked for his help in getting an earlier flight, he had been happy to help her.  When she had come down, she had thanked him for making her stay so comfortable.

I will miss Moscow very much. It is so beautiful here, she had said and he could see the tears brimming in her eyes.  She had taken a deep breath and waved at him before she stepped into the taxi. He found himself being quite sad for her, knowing that the city was not what she was going to miss most.

“She said she needed to go. She was ready, but her flight was not for hours. She said she wanted to get to Budapest earlier, if possible.”

“When did she leave?” Alex asked, his tone still hopeful.

Dmitry looked at the clock on the wall behind him and sighed.

“Sir, her flight would have left over an hour ago,” he said slowly. “I am sorry.”

Alex let out a defeated sigh.  He walked slowly back out to his car.  The sunshine mocked the gloom inside him. 

She was gone.