(i)

It was an unseasonably chilly September. We were sitting on his porch on large, comfortable wicker chairs, separated by a small table on which the butler had set a silver tray with two glasses and a decorative cut crystal decanter of vodka. We had changed into casual clothing from our riding outfits, jodhpurs and tall boots, after an early morning outing through the pristine woodlands surrounding his dacha; the stable boy taking charge of our two splendid Arabian stallions on our return. A maid solicitously placed over each of our shoulders a warm mantle. I looked up into a serene and cloudless sky as a flock of wild geese arrowed their way south. “Another year going down the toilet,” I remarked, and he chuckled in courteous response, not necessarily out of agreement.  more...