by Latham, D
"You seem happy?" She enquired.
"Had my offer accepted on an apartment. This calls for a celebration I think. Are you free for lunch?" We ended up in the bistro, enjoying a lovely lunch, and toasting my new apartment with prosecco.
"Have you thought about how you'll do it up?" Laura asked.
I shook my head, "I only saw it last night. There's so many things I'll need to get. I live in rented at the moment, so I don't own a stick of furniture. There's a lot built in, but I need sofas, table and chairs, a bed, everything."
"That's so exciting, being able to buy everything from scratch. You'll be able to have it just as you want. Are you going modern, or traditional?"
"Modern. I want sectional sofas, the kitchen is open plan, and is glossy white, so I think pale, soft shades of cream, grey and taupe will work best. It's so exciting, I've never bought furniture before." My home in Welling had been furnished with mainly hand me downs from neighbours, and even a junk shop find was a big purchase. I thought of the two hundred thousand in my knicker drawer, and shivered with excitement.
Back in my office, I scanned through furniture websites, drooling over the myriad designs of settees available, when my phone rang. It was Oscar, and he sounded serious. "Elle, we have a problem. Someone from Barclays has told the press that they were manipulating the LIBOR rates, said they were pressured into it by their superiors. All hell's breaking loose. This could have massive implications for the banking system. Can you speak to Carey, and find out what the position is regarding actions that the Bank of England can take please?"
"Will do. I'll call you back in a bit." I trotted along the corridor to Mr Carey's office, and told him the problem. His eyes widened.
"This could have enormous consequences for the banks which are caught. They could be fined vast sums, or forced to pay compensation for the difference between what the rate was, and what it should have been. Depends how big a deal the press make of this really. He switched on the news. Straightaway, we saw reporters outside Barclays head office, hounding the CEO as he left the building. It was being portrayed that the banks had colluded to rip off the British people even more than they had over the bailout.
"Goldings didn't take a bailout during the crash did they?" I said.
"No. They had enough cash reserves to weather the storm, plus they didn't merge with any competitors which may have brought problems, like the Lloyds/HBOS debacle. I hope that publishing their figures every day exonerates them and deflects this problem quickly." Mr Carey called Oscar, and spoke to him, explaining the risks, and advising him what to do. I listened, impressed by what a wily old fox Mr Carey was.
They drafted a press release, stressing that Goldings operated under strict policies of integrity, honesty, and prudence. They released their calculation of the rate every day on their website, alongside the official LIBOR rate, and were confident that all their procedures would stand up to the closest scrutiny. As a bank, they were in good shape, hadn't needed a taxpayer funded bailout, and operated the highest standards of corporate governance, overseen by independent lawyers.
After the call, I went back to my office. I checked the Reuters, and saw immediately that the CEOs of Barclays, Natwest, and Lloyds were under pressure. Goldings hadn't been mentioned.
There were reporters outside the tower as I left that evening, and even some outside our flats. I made sure they couldn't see my code and gain access to the building, and hoped the other residents did the same. James had the telly on when I got home. He made a coffee as I watched various bank CEOs get hounded outside their premises. "This is a huge story, the press appear to be baying for blood," said James.
"I just hope it doesn't affect Oscar. It shouldn't, but who knows how these things are going to play out." I quickly called Oscar to let him know there were reporters outside. He groaned.
"This seems to be the press' latest plaything. They're like a dog with a bone. I released that press statement, and they don't seem to be baying for my blood at the moment. The other banks are having a much rougher ride than we are, mainly because of the anger over their bailouts."
"I'm home this evening if you need me. I'd suggest you don't give a comment if you're accosted."
"Poor Oscar, looks like he's going to have a rough few days," said James, nodding at the TV after I'd finished my call. The BBC commentator was calling for the banks to compensate their customers, sack their senior management, and basically nationalise the lot of them. James dished up some casserole, and I watched as Oscar was pounced on as he left the tower.
"What's it feel like to be the only honest banker in Britain?" Yelled a reporter.
"Are you disappointed in the behaviour of the other banks?" Shouted another.
"Will you be taking legal action against the other banks for rate fixing?"
I could see the astonishment on Oscar's face. They were not the questions he was expecting. "Gentlemen, I can't possibly comment until all the facts are known, and I trust the Bank of England to take any action that's appropriate. It's not my place to comment on other companies. I can only assure you that there has been no price fixing or manipulation at Goldings. Our integrity and honesty in our dealings are extremely important to both us, and our clients."
He strode away, presumably heading home. Ten minutes later he called me. "Was that on the news?"
"Yep. It came across very well. You looked and sounded sincere."
"I wasn't expecting all that 'most honest banker' stuff. Where did that come from?"
"Maybe the other banks tried to conceal, or refused to acknowledge the press anger. By being upfront, you may have diffused, or deflected it. I wouldn't relax yet though, a lot can happen over the next few days. On a happier note, my offer of 4.5 mil was accepted today."
"Well, that's a bit of good news isn't it? I put 5 mil in your account this afternoon, so you're good to go. I'm going to lay low, and keep quiet if I can over the next few days. Let all this blow over."
"Very wise. It really doesn't sound as though they're gunning for you at this stage, so let’s just hope it stays that way." I finished the call, and turned to James. "Where's Janine?"
"Out with a friend, she'll be back later. What was you on about when you said your offer of 4.5 mil was accepted?"
"I put an offer in on an apartment today, and it was accepted. It's about five minutes from here, on St Saviours dock. It's lovely."
"I'm pleased for you." You don't look it.
With no work to do that evening, I decided to start working my way through all the clothes, trying them on, and separating them into piles for cleaning, alterations or taking into work. I started on the nearest box, pulling everything out onto my bed, and checking everything for stains and loose hems as I went. Most of the garments were still in dry cleaning covers, and looked pristine. There were some beautiful items, and I grudgingly admitted that the cow had good taste. The trousers seemed to fit me perfectly, and I deduced that, although she'd been taller, proportionally she must have had short legs. My alteration pile seemed to only contain long dresses, which were only about two inches too long. I was a bit ashamed that there were only two items in the 'take into work' pile, mainly because they were a bit big for me. I resolved to be a bit less greedy with the next box.
I heard a knock at the front door, and assumed it was Janine returning, so let James get it. I was standing in my room in my bra and knickers when Ivan walked in. Instinctively I tried to cover myself. "Don't bother, I've seen it all before," he snapped. I pulled on my robe.
"Hello Ivan, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Your phone. You're not answering. Yet again." I rummaged round in my bag, frowning.
"I hasn't rung this evening.." I pulled it out, and saw that it was on silent, and that I had ten missed calls from Ivan. "It was on silent," I muttered, "what did you want?"
"I wanted to discuss Natalya."
I sat down on the bed, "ok, go ahead."
"It wasn't how it looked. She's a private inv
estigator. I commissioned her to do a job for me in Russia. She needed to see me urgently with some news."
"I see."
"I asked her to look into the circumstances of my parent's deaths, and a rumour that I heard as a child."
"And that made her all flirty with you?"
"She was just reacting the same as all women do, except you that is. She came to take a sample of my DNA, and tell me her findings so far."
"Which was?"
"Vlad's henchmen killed my parents Elle, I always wondered why the bastards didn't kill me as well, they could have done. Apparently they were under strict orders to ensure nothing happened to me."
I frowned, "why did Vlad do that, if he really was behind the murder of your parents?"
"That question has bugged me, well, at the time I didn't know Vlad was behind it, but I always wondered why I was spared. The man who took them away said dad was not my father."
"Right..."
"It looks like Vlad was my father, which means Dascha was my half sister, and he wanted us to marry."
"That's sick. Imagine if you'd had kids?"
Ivan shuddered, "I feel sick knowing I had a relationship with my own half sister, that's bad enough, but having a psychopath like Vlad as a father is horrific. I just hope it's not hereditary."
"No wonder he helped you so much, setting up."
"Yeah, he covered that by telling me it was for Dascha. A hospital in Moscow gave Natalya a sample of his DNA from a biopsy they did for him. In a few days, I'll know the truth." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I was friendly with the man who killed my mother."
"Why were they killed?"
"Vlad basically stole the factory where my father worked. I didn't know until recently who 'the businessman' was. My parents were activists in the protest movement, as all the workers were thrown into even more poverty than under the communist regime. We could barely afford to eat, and it was getting worse. Vlad's men stamped out all dissent quickly and mercilessly. I gave the workers a pay rise, and better working conditions when I was in Moscow the other week, and discovered that the factory was part of Vlad's estate. They were so grateful, it was pitiful."
"Why didn't you tell me all this before?" I asked softly.
He stared out of the window for a while. "You don't like me seeing where you're from, I'm the same. I'm from peasant stock, from the grottiest slums of Moscow. Those people are still there, dying young from the conditions they work in, and the poverty they endure. It so easily could have been me, and if my parents hadn't been murdered, it probably would've been."
"You don't know that, all this could have happened regardless."
He shook his head. "No, I know I would have stayed. I was a bit of a mummy's boy. I watched them dragged out of our tenement, and saw my father executed in the street in front of everyone." Tears were streaming down his face as he relived the horror. He swiped them away. "I prayed so hard that they'd let my mum go, but they took her and some other woman to the gates of the factory, and killed them there. I heard the shots, and I knew it was her. They left her body there as a warning to the other workers not to get above their position, or cause trouble. I didn't know what to do. I had no other family, or money for a burial. I couldn't even arrange a grave. All the other neighbours were too scared to help me, so I had to dig two paupers graves on some scrubland to bury them. Then I ran away."
"So he killed the woman he had a relationship with?"
Ivan nodded. "I don't know if my father ever knew there was a chance I wasn't his. Bear in mind, I was born long before Vlad became successful. I don't know if it was an affair, rape, or anything."
"Baby I'm sorry, this must be so hard for you." I hugged him, holding him tight. "Regardless of who your father is, you're still the same person, that won't change. Neither us are the product of our parents."
"There's only one bright spot. If Vlad was my father, proven by DNA, I'll get my 13% inheritance tax back."
"True, but you still won't have any living family. I wish I had siblings or cousins. I wouldn't feel so alone."
"I don't care about having any family. I've been on my own since I was fifteen. I hate to think you feel alone. You have me."
"Do I? I bought a flat today. You don't know where, what it's like, anything. You don't know my favourite colour, the music I like, the books I read. I don't 'have' you Ivan. I have the tiny bit of you that you choose to share with me. Is it any wonder we fall out so much when you're so secretive?"
"I wish I was a good boyfriend, and knew how to make you feel loved and cherished. It's like there's a secret that I'm not privy to, you know, how to make a woman happy."
"You are pretty rubbish at it," I teased, "unbelievably stingy with the flowers too." I paused, "I need to tell you, I'm not going away with James and Janine now. I'm going to Tuscany with Oscar. He invited me, and I need a break. I did ask you to come on holiday first though," I added hastily. I cringed, expecting an eruption.
"And I said no, that I booked August, and didn't invite you..." Ivan trailed off. I nodded. "I meant to ask you, but you were so intent on not sleeping with me, I just..." I looked at him expectantly. "Ok, I'm a tosser."
I made us both coffee, and Ivan sat on my bed while I carried on sorting through the clothes. I told him about my new flat, and my ideas for the furniture. He offered to hire an interior designer to help me, which I accepted gracefully. He yes or no'd each outfit I tried on, showing a surprisingly good sense of style. The pile to be taken into work grew quite a bit. "Which dress are you wearing on Saturday night? He asked.
"The tickets said it was white tie, so I thought I'd wear the strapless champagne one that you bought me. I've been waiting for an event to wear it to."
"I'm going to make it my mission to take you out more. Show you off to the world. You're too young and lovely to stay home as much as we do."
"Smooth, Ivan. You're turning into a bit of a charmer."
"It's a shame I'm not taking you Saturday. Your friend's going isn't she?"
"Yes, you've met Lucy. I need to speak to her about timings. We have to be in the city by seven at the latest."
"I'll lend you the Bentley, and Roger. The two of you can arrive in style, and be seen safely home afterwards."
"Thanks."
He pulled me onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around me. "When can I make love to you? I've been so patient, and I can see your nipples through your bra. It's been driving me crazy all evening." He nuzzled my neck, pressing little kisses over my shoulder. I could feel him hardening underneath me, which seemed to ignite my slumbering libido. "Can I at least take your bra off, and feel your tits?" he murmured against my shoulder. He reached round, and unclipped my bra, before pulling it off, and letting it drop to the floor. "I've missed your breasts. You have the best nipples I've ever seen." He was using his 'phone sex' voice. I melted into a hormonal mush.
He captured a nipple in his lips, and sucked hard, causing me to arch into him, while he rolled and pinched the other with his fingers. "Please tell me when I can make love to you. I can barely control myself," he murmured against my breast. I stroked his erection through his shorts, causing him to groan. "Please let me make love to you. I'll beg if you want." He sounded needy and desperate. He lifted his face to mine, and kissed me, pressing his tongue into my mouth, in a show of barely restrained animal passion.
"Yes, make love to me now." No sooner were the words out of my mouth, than Ivan had my knickers yanked down, his shorts kicked off, and I was laying on my back on the bed. He crawled up my body, kissing and licking my heated skin.
"I need to fuck you hard first. I won't last long, I'm too turned on." He pressed inside me, stretching and filling me with his thick, solid erection. He fucked me at a hard, primal pace, completely dominating my body. I could barely move as he pinned me to the bed, taking me as he wanted. Just the sheer sexual power of the man, and his desperation for me, turned me on beyond belief. As he pounded me, I felt the familiar quickening of an i
mpending orgasm. He kissed me as I called out, swallowing my cries of passion. As I pulsed around him, he stilled, and let go, resting his forehead against mine. "I've missed you so much baby, please don't let's fall out again."
I stretched like a cat underneath him, boneless and languid after my orgasm. "Don't fall asleep, please, I'm looking forward to round two," Ivan said, looking a little alarmed.
"I'm not going to sleep, not when I've got your big dick to play with," I purred. He rolled off, and lay on his back. I licked and sucked his nipples, each in turn, and stroked the silky skin of his torso. I loved how sensitive his nipples were. He practically arched off the bed in pleasure as I rolled them between my fingers. I kissed my way down to the tip of his cock, which was back to a full strength erection, and leaking pre-cum. Settling myself between his legs, I massaged his anus as I licked his balls, and pressed tiny kisses up his inner thighs. He sighed loudly, giving in to the sensual pleasure I was inflicting on him. Boring in bed? I don't think so..
I slowly licked my way up the shaft of his cock, avoiding the sensitive tip, until I had nudged my finger into his anus. He gasped as I massaged his prostrate at the same time as I sucked his cock, swirling my tongue repeatedly over the crest. "Oh god, oh god, don't stop, oh god that feels good," he garbled as I teased and played with him. "Oh no, no, I'm gonna come, stop, stop." I ignored him, and continued my sensual torture until he spurted hotly into my mouth.
"You proved your point, sexy girl. Your turn now, and I'm not gonna show you any mercy." He flipped me onto my back, and lifted my hips, pulling my knees up to my tummy, and pinning my legs open with his arms, so that I was totally open and exposed to him. He began with long, lush licks, before sucking my swollen clit. I groaned with the pleasure, feeling wanton and horny, as he lapped and sucked at the most intimate parts of me.
