I’m blinking back tears as the song comes to an end and the children look to Andrei with their bright eager faces. He gives a great booming laugh, and claps his hand, his applause muffled by his big gloves. He says something in Russian, which makes the children smile, and I can tell he’s praising them. Then he makes another announcement as he pulls his gloves off, one that makes the children gasp and chatter excitedly. The middle-aged woman who greeted us at the door bustles forward and begins giving out loud instructions. Within a few minutes, the children are neatly seated on the floor, and Andrei is speaking to them. I can’t follow what he’s saying, but the children often pipe up with an answer to his questions, and he makes them laugh too. As he speaks, their faces get brighter and happier, and then they all make an ‘oooooh’ noise and turn to look at the front door. It opens at that moment, and in comes a huge Christmas tree, already decorated and being carefully carried in its tub by two men in overalls.
The children laugh and clap as it’s taken across the hall and put in a place of honour. A plug is inserted into a socket and the switch turned on, and the children sigh with delight as the lights spring into twinkling life. It looks beautiful, hung with baubles and chocolates, and topped with a golden star.
A chair is produced and Andrei sits down on it. Another workman appears carrying a huge sack and, under Maria’s direction, he puts it down next to Andrei. I sidle over to the wall, and find a chair where I can sit down and watch. It’s a beautiful hour to witness. Andrei calls out name after name and each time a child excitedly clambers to their feet, picks their way to the front and comes to Andrei to receive a gift from the sack. The room is soon split between those clutching a present and those waiting in tense desperation to have their name called. Every one, from the tiniest fat-kneed three-year-old to the skinniest ten-year-old, gets summoned for a quick word with Andrei and the presentation of a gift. The boy who had stared adoringly at Andrei during the singing can barely speak when it’s his turn, he’s so overcome, but Andrei shakes his hand in a manly way, claps him on the back and sends him back to his seat elated.
So that’s what he’s doing. He’s giving them a father figure. Someone to love. Someone to please.
I’ve never seen Andrei look like this before. He’s transfigured. He’s been smiling non-stop for over an hour now, which has to be a record. He’s blossoming in the company of these parentless children. He knows them, understands them, because he was one himself.
Maria is ticking off names and making further notes. The presentation is over. The children are sent back upstairs, perhaps to open their presents somewhere else. Then Andrei, Maria and I are led by the woman who must be the head of the orphanage to a comfortable sitting room warmed by a fire in the grate, and given hot sweet black tea in decorated glasses.
Other orphanage staff are there. People are perfectly nice to me, smiling when I catch their eyes, offering me more tea and peppery sweet biscuits from a plate, but I can’t understand the flowing conversation. I observe the goodwill towards Andrei though, and the genuine warmth and pleasure in his company, and I find I’m enjoying myself, despite everything. After a sociable thirty minutes or so, Andrei rises to his feet, and the whole room follows suit. The head of the orphanage makes a speech and then kisses Andrei on both cheeks. He says a few words of his own and then next moment, they are walking arm in arm to the front door, with Maria and me following and the rest of the staff behind us. It’s now pitch black outside. Stars are twinkling in the inky-black sky. The final farewells are said and I can smell that unmistakeable school-dinner smell wafting out of a kitchen somewhere. So it’s the same here in Russia as it is at home. I imagine all those children sitting down in their dining hall, waiting for their stew and dumplings or whatever they’re having, each one with a shiny new present upstairs. Then I follow Andrei back along the path to where the driver is waiting.
On the return journey, Maria sits in the front with the driver, separated from us by the glass partition.‘Well?’ asks Andrei as the car begins its smooth journey back to St Petersburg.
I smile at him. ‘That was lovely! All those children – you made them all so happy!’
‘I visit them when I can. It’s not often, I’m always on the move and don’t have the time.’
‘Were you giving them Christmas presents?’
‘Well, not exactly. Christmas is a little different here. It was as good as banned when I was young in the Soviet era, but even our government understood the value of a festival in the depths of winter, so celebrations moved to New Year instead. It’s when Grandfather Frost, our version of your Father Christmas, comes to hand out gifts and we decorate trees and so on. I told the children that we were having our New Year a little early, that’s all.’
‘So you don’t have Christmas on the 25th of December?’ I ask, surprised. I know there are different traditions all over the world, of course, but still, it’s hard to imagine Christmas not happening on that date.
‘We do,’ Andrei says with a smile, ‘it’s just that our 25th of December falls on your 7th of January because of the old calendar in the Orthodox Church.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I say, though I’m still slightly confused. Then I remember the look of joy on the little faces as they received their gifts. I say softly, ‘Those children owe you a lot.’
His blue eyes, less fiery than usual, slide over and lock on mine. ‘It’s the least I can do. I’ve got plenty of money and no children of my own. It’s right to give something to those children who, like me, are parentless.’
I feel a shiver of something like a sob in my throat. I can’t help thinking of my own warm, loving home, with it shambolic cosiness and the tumbled possessions of my two brothers and me. I can’t imagine life without my mother to turn to and my father’s support. I can’t imagine how I would feel or who I would be if I hadn’t had their unconditional love all my life. I can see the bright young faces of those children singing, candid and innocent, and can’t bear to think that none of them have a mother or father to tuck them in at night, to kiss their cheeks and tell them they’re loved. My nose starts burning and tingling and I can feel treacherous tears burst out, blurring my vision.
‘Are you all right?’ Andrei asks softly.
‘Yes.’ It comes out choked, and I hope he won’t keep questioning me or I might lose it completely. I feel his hand on mine and he squeezes it gently.
‘Don’t be upset,’ he says. ‘They’re happy really. I saw a lot of new faces today. That means lots of the children have been found families. That’s what we work towards – finding loving places for them to go, and providing them with a big, comfortable home in the meantime. They’re being educated and well provided for.’
His hand is huge and warm over mine. It’s astonishing how quickly and how constantly I have to revise my opinion of this man. This morning I thought he had shown me his true colours with his decision to blame Mark and me for the painting. Now I think I’ve seen the real Andrei, the little boy inside that grown man’s body. The kind-hearted soul who wants nothing more than to play Father Christmas for orphans and give something back.
‘Beth?’
I look up at him. In the gloom of the car’s interior, it’s hard to read his expression. His eyes are glittering at me and although he’s not smiling, his craggy features seem soft and almost kind.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m glad you were there today. I knew you’d understand.’
I don’t reply but turn to look back at the vast black landscape beyond the car window, out towards the far-off flickering lights of St Petersburg.
CHAPTER THREE
Back at the hotel, there’s only a short time to collect my things before we’re on our way to the airport.
Maria doesn’t reappear, so it’s just Andrei and me in the back seat of the car. I feel that this is my last opportunity to say something to him about the Fra Angelico, but I’m not sure how to broach it. I’m so grateful to be heading home that I don’t want to caus
e any trouble. Part of me thinks I should just keep quiet and let things unfold in their own way. But then I see Mark’s thin face, his eyes full of trust and confidence in me and in Andrei. I can’t bear for all that to be shattered.
While I’m dithering, we arrive at the airport and then everything starts happening. We’re taken to Andrei’s jet and within moments we’re boarding. It’s good to be back inside its luxurious interior and I realise with an inner laugh that the last three times I’ve travelled have been by private and very expensive plane.
Beth Villiers, you’re getting spoilt!
But I know that next time I’ll be back on a budget flight, crammed into a narrow seat and drinking bad coffee just like everyone else. I may as well enjoy this while I can.
I’m elated as the plane takes off. We’re going home. I long to be back there and away from the strange atmosphere between Andrei and me. I was worried when I arrived that Andrei would somehow attempt to approach me but he hasn’t done that. I suppose now that he’s so furious about the painting, that’s out of the question. He won’t want anything to do with me any more.
So why did he bother taking me to the orphanage? It was like he still wanted to impress me somehow. Maybe he just can’t help showing off and I was a captive audience.
I glance over at Andrei. He’s been taking calls on his mobile the whole way from the city to here and at last he’s put his phone down, switching it off for take-off. He’s staring right at me, his eyes hooded and unreadable. How long has he been doing that?
I know I have the unfortunate characteristic of showing whatever I’m thinking all over my face; inscrutability is not my strong point.
‘Are you all right, Beth?’ he asks. ‘Dinner will be served soon. In a few hours you’ll be back in London.’
‘And what happens then?’ I venture. ‘Once we’re back?’
‘What do you mean?’
I gaze at him, hardly knowing where to start. I don’t want to antagonise him – the whole idea is to soften his heart, not anger him. ‘It was amazing to watch you with those children today,’ I begin. ‘You were such a different person – I saw your goodness and kindness.’
Andrei lifts an eyebrow very slightly.
‘I don’t think many people get to see that,’ I add.
‘You’re right,’ he murmurs. ‘Not many at all.’
‘It made me remember you’re a man of compassion and that’s why I wanted to speak to you about Mark.’ I pause, swallow hard, and then go on quickly, not wanting to lose the moment. ‘I told you that Mark is ill and you were so kind about it – you wanted to get him the best consultants, pay for his treatment and do whatever you could.’
Andrei continues to stare at me and says nothing.
‘But I didn’t realise then how ill he was. I saw him before we came away and it’s obvious that he’s seriously sick. He hasn’t told me exactly what it is but I’m guessing it’s cancer of the throat or neck, as that’s where he’s having his lump removed. He went into hospital the day we came here.’
Still Andrei watches but doesn’t respond. I have no idea whether this is achieving anything at all. But I have to go on. I’ve started now. I remember the smiling, laughing Andrei at the orphanage. I have to believe that is the man I’m talking to right now. I take a deep breath.
‘I shouldn’t have shouted at you the way I did at the Winter Palace, and I’m sorry for that. Truly I am. But I can’t take back the truth of what I said: Mark has been your loyal employee for so many years, and you must know in your heart that he never wanted you to buy that painting. Please – I’m begging you – don’t blame him for this. It will destroy his reputation, the thing he’s built up and nurtured all these years, and the thing that matters most to him. His standing in the art world, and his reputation for integrity and knowledge, mean everything to him. If you cast aspersions on it, you’ll hurt him so deeply I don’t think he’ll ever recover from it.’
Andrei has been like a statue all this time, but now he leans towards me.
‘And you, Beth? What will it mean to you?’
I blink and hesitate. ‘Well . . .’ I gather my thoughts. ‘It won’t affect me in the same way. I’m just an assistant at the moment, but anything that hurts Mark will hurt me. And if his business fails, I could be without a job as well.’
‘You’re very fond of Mark, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. He’s a good man. He’s been kind to me.’
‘Who else are you fond of, Beth?’
‘What do you mean? My family?’
‘No. I’m sure you love your family like a good daughter. I mean . . . me. Are you fond of me? Have I been kind to you?’
I don’t know what to say. Is he setting some kind of trap? I think quickly and decide there’s only one reply I can make. ‘Yes, you’ve also been incredibly kind. I’ve had the opportunity to go places and see things I would never normally be able to. I’d like to thank you for that.’
He smiles just a little, so that his lips twitch upwards at the corners. ‘I accept your thanks. And – are you fond of me?’
He’s not letting me avoid his question. He wants an answer. There’s only one answer I can give.
‘Of course I am. We’ve been through a lot together.’
‘We certainly have.’ He looks at me hard, those blue eyes taking on the laser quality I know so well, the one that makes it feel as though he can see right inside me. ‘But the truth is that you’re still fond of Dominic, aren’t you?’
I draw in a breath, startled by his direct question, and begin to stammer out an answer. ‘I . . . well, I . . . it’s complicated, I . . .’
He leans back and knits his fingers together, resting his huge hands across his chest. ‘You don’t need to answer. I can see it on your face. Beth, you have to forget him. He’s no good for you and he’s betrayed me.’
That’s not true! I want to shout. Just like Mark, Dominic was your loyal lieutenant. Now he wants to strike out alone and make it by himself. That’s not a betrayal! But I say nothing. This is a delicate moment and I can’t antagonise him.
Andrei goes on. ‘Dominic is not a man; he’s a boy. He has a lot of growing up to do and he’s made a very unfortunate error by turning me from a friend to an enemy. He’ll discover that my sphere of influence is very much greater than he thought. I’m capable of destroying his business with a click of my fingers –’ Andrei lifts one hand, his thumb and middle finger pressed together, ready to snap ‘– but I haven’t decided whether I shall do that or not.’ He lowers his hand back to his chest. ‘We shall see. You’re better off without him, Beth, I’m serious. You don’t need a boy, you need a man.’ His voice drops to a caressing murmur and his eyes become even more hooded as he gazes at me. ‘I can sense possibilities in you, Beth. I always have, from the first time we met. I’ve never forgotten you that morning in the monastery when you walked into the room, so alive, so vibrant, setting the air around you shimmering with the power of your sensuality.’
I remember that morning too. Dominic had brought me to life in the night, setting my flesh on fire, awakening everything in me as he adored me with his body. Andrei had seen the reverberations, the aftershocks of that glorious night, and something about what they did to me had entranced him.
‘Ever since then, I’ve known we’re meant for one another.’ His voice is still soft, almost hypnotic. When he talks like this, I can’t stop myself becoming alert to his intense physicality: the broad-shouldered, muscled body, the magnetic charisma. ‘You would know it too, Beth, if you would just let yourself accept that Dominic isn’t the man for you.’
He is, he is, he is. My longing for Dominic is suddenly so intense I want to gasp. I long for the strength of his arms around me, the unbearably beautiful scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth as it takes possession of mine . . . the thought sends a wave of hard desire crashing through me.
Perhaps Andrei senses it. He leans towards me, his eyes burning with intensity, and says, ‘You should
let me make love to you. I promise you would forget your childish infatuation at once. You would know what it meant to be with a real man.’
I stare at him. He is implying that we have never made love before. And that means . . .
I speak in a rush. ‘The caves, the catacombs, that night at the party . . .’
He raises an eyebrow questioningly.
‘I need to ask you something. It sounds odd but I have to know. You . . . you haven’t ever tried to make love to me before, have you?’
There. I’ve said it. At last! I brace myself for his reply, my heart racing and my shoulders stiff with tension.
He frowns, and an amused look crosses his face. ‘I hope it would be the kind of thing you would remember, Beth.’
I don’t know what to say. I do remember it but I don’t know for sure who it was. ‘I was drugged by Anna,’ I say at last. ‘Remember I told you that on the plane on the way here? I’ve got some strange memories and I don’t know whether they’re true or not.’
‘Anna is certainly mischievous enough to do such a thing,’ remarks Andrei. ‘There are many things I won’t miss about her, but she did make life interesting.’ He smiles as if enjoying teasing me. ‘Well, well. You have a memory of the two of us. How interesting. I wish I knew what it was. I would love to share it with you.’
I’m still confused. Does that mean he has his own memories – or none? I’ve come so far. I have to know now. ‘Andrei, I have some confused images of that evening. I need to know if anything at all happened between us in the caves that night.’
Promises After Dark (After Dark Book 3) Page 3
