— I’m afraid to know the truth. Because if this child is Igor’s, what should I do then?
Pavel placed a hand on her shoulder.
— That is your choice, and yours alone. But I will say one thing: the child is not to blame for what happened. And this Gypsy woman, apparently, is not a fraud. Otherwise, why would she have warned me? She saved Viktor’s life by making me check the tests. Maybe it’s worth listening to her?
Victoria thought for a moment, then slowly nodded:
— You’re right. I need to talk to her. And Igor too. But how can we find her?
— I’ll try, — Pavel said. — I have a few ideas.
They returned to the operating room, where Igor and Viktor were still sitting side by side, talking quietly. The brothers had clearly begun the path to reconciliation, and that was a good thing. Anatoly Borisovich approached Pavel:
— The cardiologist and geneticist are on their way. We will conduct a full examination of Viktor. As for Igor, the operation is postponed indefinitely until we sort out all these circumstances.
Pavel nodded:
— Agreed. I need to step out for a bit. If there are any questions, call me.
He changed into his regular clothes and left the clinic. It was already noon, the sun breaking through the clouds. Pavel took out his phone and called his old friend Maxim, who worked in the migration service.
— Max, hello. I need your help. I need to find a Gypsy woman. Her name is Zara, she’s about thirty, with an infant. Most likely without registration, but maybe there’s some data.
Maxim laughed:
— Pasha, are you crazy? Do you know how many Gypsy women named Zara there are in the capital? Give me some clues.
Pavel thought for a moment.
— She knew about my patient, about the operation. So she’s somehow connected to him or was watching him. My patient is Igor Belov, owner of a chain of jewelry stores. They had an affair a year ago, maybe she worked or told fortunes near his office. The office is on Tsentralnaya Street. The jewelry stores are ‘Belov & Co’.
— I know them. Alright, I’ll ask around. If she was working there, the local patrols should know. Wait for my call.
Pavel thanked him and hung up. Then he looked at the sky and suddenly laughed—from exhaustion, from the absurdity of the situation, from everything. He, a respected surgeon, was chasing after a Gypsy woman to uncover his patient’s family drama. It would have been funny if it weren’t so serious.
Two hours later, Maxim called back:
— Found her. Zara Petrova, 28 years old, a citizen, but from a Romani camp. She has a registration, registered in the region, in the village of Ivanovskoye. She worked as a fortune-teller near various office buildings in the center, including your Belov’s. She has a daughter, Maria, 6 months old, father not listed on the birth certificate. Nothing criminal on her record, she’s clean. I’ll send you the address to your email.
— Thanks, Max. I owe you one.
— You owe me a bottle of good cognac and the story of why you need a Gypsy woman, — Maxim laughed.
Pavel promised and hung up. The address arrived a minute later. The village of Ivanovskoye was thirty kilometers from the capital. Pavel looked at his watch—it was already three in the afternoon. If he left now, he would be back by evening.
He returned to the clinic, went to Anatoly Borisovich, and explained the situation. The chief physician nodded:
— Go. We’ll manage here. The Belov brothers aren’t going anywhere: Viktor is under examination, Igor is waiting for the results. Victoria is sitting with them. Everything is under control.
Pavel took Alina aside and said quietly:
— If anything happens, call me immediately.
The girl nodded, curiosity burning in her green eyes, but she didn’t ask any questions.
Pavel got in his car and drove to the region. The village of Ivanovskoye turned out to be small, with private houses and narrow streets. Pavel found the right address—an old wooden house with a crooked fence and an overgrown garden. Laundry was drying on a line in the yard, and an elderly Gypsy woman in bright clothes was sitting on the porch, smoking a pipe. Seeing Pavel, she stood up and squinted at him unfriendly.
— Who are you?
— My name is Pavel Romanov, I’m a doctor. I’m looking for Zara Petrova.
— What do you want with her? — The old woman didn’t move from her spot, blocking the entrance.
— She came to my hospital yesterday. She warned me about something important. I want to thank her and talk to her.
The old woman looked at him with a long, appraising gaze, then shouted into the house:
— Zara! The doctor is here.
A minute later, the same young Gypsy woman appeared in the doorway. She was dressed more simply than yesterday: a long skirt and a simple blouse, her hair braided. In her arms, she held the infant, who was peacefully dozing. Seeing Pavel, Zara stopped, then slowly came out onto the porch.
— Doctor Romanov. I didn’t expect to see you here.
— I had to find you, — Pavel said. — What you told me yesterday turned out to be true. Thanks to you, we discovered the mix-up with the tests and saved a man’s life.
Zara nodded as if she already knew.
— I saw it. The cards don’t lie.
— The cards?
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