by Joanna Rees
‘I know he is. But Gorsky said he was just following orders. Whose? Who would order someone to do such terrible things?’
Yana shook her head. ‘Oh, Miss Gold.’
‘Please, Yana. Please. Just ask her.’
‘What is she saying?’ Peaches asked, desperate to know, as Yana stopped talking in Russian.
‘Irena says this: “He took my baby, my health, my sight, my dignity. My life is over now. I will die soon. But at least I found you. Now I will die happy knowing you are alive . . .”’
Irena reached out and touched Peaches’ face again. Peaches closed her eyes and held her mother’s hand against her cheek. Right then, Peaches knew that if there was something she wanted to give her mother even more than protection, it was justice. It was getting whichever bastard had torn the two of them apart.
Once Peaches found whoever was responsible, she’d do her damnedest to find whatever was the most precious thing to them.
And then she’d rip it away.
Rip it away for ever.
Because she couldn’t live with herself knowing that some bastard was out there who’d done this to them both. Sitting here, right now, Peaches knew in her heart that she wouldn’t rest until she had justice.
‘Who is he?’ Peaches said. ‘Who is she talking about? Who was Gorsky working for?’
Yana talked to Irena. Peaches could hear her voice laden with emotion.
‘She says . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘She says . . .’ Yana’s expression twitched with disbelief. ‘No, it can’t be. I can’t believe it.’
Peaches sat on the edge of her seat. ‘What, Yana? Tell me? Please. Tell me now!’
‘She says that Gorsky was working for your . . . for your father.’
‘My father?’
Peaches felt sick. She hadn’t even considered who her father might be. And now this. Now this revelation of cruelty beyond her wildest imaginings . . . by her father?
Her own father . . .
He was the one who’d done this to her mother. Who’d sold Peaches like a slave.
Irena gripped Peaches’ hand tightly. Her voice shook as she spoke with fury and pain.
‘Yana?’ Peaches asked when Irena had stopped talking.
Yana took a deep breath. Her eyes closed for a second as she steeled herself for what she had to say next.
‘Irena says that your father is responsible for everything. Everything evil that happened to her and to you. He is to blame. He ruined her life. And he tried to ruin yours even before it started. He was the one who burnt you, branding that scar on your back. He was the one who wanted to torture Irena by sending you away. But . . .’
‘But what?’ Peaches could hardly speak.
‘But . . . she says that he is untouchable now.’
Peaches took a deep breath. So her father was still alive? Whoever this man – her father – was, he was still out there somewhere, when Irena was in here? Suffering like this?
Peaches felt hot anger run through her. Her mother might think it, but no man was untouchable. Not from Peaches Gold.
‘Yana, tell her to tell me his name,’ Peaches demanded, raising her voice for the first time. ‘Tell me who my father is. And I swear – whatever it takes – I will find him and make him pay.’
Peaches didn’t need Yana to translate the next two words her mother said.
She sat back in her seat. Silent. Stunned.
She’d heard her father’s name before.
And Peaches realized, her resolve hardening, that she knew just how to get to him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Frankie could no longer imagine how her life had been as a stewardess. After just one week with Alex, feeling manicured, massaged, wearing the finest make-up and designer clothes seemed – well – normal.
But all those things hardly mattered. She was so happy, she barely had time to contemplate the immensity of what was happening to her.
They were constantly on the go. Alex was like a little boy, wanting to show off his toys. He insisted on introducing her to everyone he knew in Marrakech. They ate out in the evenings at all the restaurants he liked. And wherever they went, people fell over themselves to be charming and give them good service.
He seemed just as at home in the small family-run cafés in the medina as he was in the finest restaurants, making Frankie be guest of honour at the snake-charming and the belly-dancing shows and introducing her to all his favourite foods. Everywhere they went, Alex was the star attraction and Frankie shone too, just by being with him.
Could it really be possible that she’d filled the gap in his life? As he said himself, without anyone to share all this with, it didn’t mean much. But still she didn’t tell him how she felt, even though she knew it was radiating from her.
Did he feel the same way as her? She longed to find out.
He’d certainly spoilt her like she’d never been spoilt. The designer wardrobe Sylvie had donated was just the start. Alex couldn’t stop buying her things. He plied her with gifts, from simple handbags and shoes to the most astonishing pale sapphire necklace and earrings, which he insisted matched her eyes.
She bought a camera and made him take photos of them both, wanting to cherish and savour every moment. Part of her was desperate to capture and record it all, in case it didn’t last.
But the best parts for Frankie were when they were alone in the riad. Wandering around naked, lounging in the pool, showering together, listening to music, playing backgammon. And most of their time was spent exploring each other’s bodies. It seemed that the more they made love, the more they needed to make love. It was like an addiction.
‘I want you to be completely honest,’ Alex had said on the first day. ‘About everything. I want you to show me exactly what turns you on.’
And so she had shown him. In the process, she’d discovered things about her own body she’d never realized herself. He’d told her that no one had ever turned him on so much or satisfied him like she could.
Frankie couldn’t get enough of him – his taste, his smell. He excited her in a way that she hadn’t known was possible. She’d never felt more uninhibited, or free. Every time she had a climax, she wanted to run up to the top of the tower and shout out how amazing she felt, so that all the world could hear.
The only tiny thing that niggled Frankie was that every time Alex’s phone rang, he jumped, breaking their dream-like intimacy. Most of the time, he just looked at the caller ID and didn’t answer.
But whenever it was Yuri Khordinsky, Alex left her and took the call.
Mysterious Yuri.
Frankie burnt with questions about Alex’s mentor, but somehow she didn’t dare ask them. Especially not after the first enquiry she’d made and his initially over-defensive response.
She was determined to be cool. And it was OK to keep secrets from one another, wasn’t it? Like her not telling him the real reason she’d left South Africa, for example. Or how she’d sneaked on Eugene and Dieter to Sonny Wiseman on Alex’s yacht.
Or, at least, it had felt OK at first to keep these things to herself. Only the more emotionally tangled she became with Alex, the more Frankie needed to come clean. She ached to tell him everything and learn everything about him in return.
She didn’t know what Alex expected of her, but she couldn’t pretend to be some kind of trophy girlfriend, who looked manicured and wore nice clothes and would make polite chit-chat if required. It wasn’t enough. Frankie might have Alex’s body, but she wouldn’t be satisfied until she had his mind too.
She longed to know what he was thinking about when those worry lines appeared on his brow – especially after calls from Yuri. She wanted him to trust her and to respect her enough to be able to talk his worries through. Or ask her for advice, like when he’d asked her about Sylvie’s hotel.
But since then and that tiny glimpse into his business life, he’d kept everything separate from her. And she ached with questions.
&nbs
p; What exactly were the companies he ran? And how involved was Yuri? Just what did Yuri want when he called Alex? She couldn’t help wondering whether he even knew that she was here in Marrakech with Alex. And if he did, then why did he keep interrupting them? Did he disapprove? Or not deem the relationship of sufficient importance to merit any respect?
More worrying still was just how much influence Yuri had over Alex. And did that influence, as it did between some guys she’d known, extend to Alex’s choice of partner?
She hoped that Alex had told Yuri how wonderfully happy he was. But somehow she doubted it. And as the days passed, she started to feel like one of the fish in the courtyard pond. In the shadows, protected from the sun. For Alex’s eyes only. An exotic and secret pet.
She told herself she was just being paranoid. Each time Alex kissed her, every time he smiled, she told herself to quit worrying and just enjoy the moment.
But she did worry, because she so desperately wanted this to be more than a fleeting episode in her life. She wanted this to be real, ongoing, a gateway through which she and Alex could walk hand in hand into the rest of their life together.
A week after they’d first arrived, Frankie could bear this angst no more. They were in the bedroom and she’d just got changed into the fine white linen dress Sylvie had given her and the chunky silver necklace Alex had bought her, when his phone rang again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s Yuri. I think I’ll be a while.’
Frankie smiled and squeezed his hand as he walked away from her. ‘Do you mind if I use the computer?’ she asked suddenly. ‘To check my email?’
‘Go ahead,’ Alex said distractedly, holding his hand over the voice piece of his phone. ‘Use the one in the library.’
Frankie knew that she really should contact Uncle Brody and tell him everything that had happened. What if he’d tried to contact her at Pushkin for any reason and found out that she wasn’t there? It was only then that it occurred to her that nobody knew where she was. Which only made her feel even more like Alex’s little secret than before.
She sat down at the computer in the library and quickly booted up a search engine. She checked over her shoulder, even though Alex had said he would be a while, before typing in the words ‘Yuri Khordinsky’.
Immediately, she felt guilty, as if she was cheating. Betraying Alex’s trust. But she had to find out more.
There were fewer references to Khordinsky than she’d imagined there would be for someone so astoundingly wealthy. Lots of them were in Russian, but there were quite a few articles listed. She clicked open the one in the New York Times and then the Guardian.
It made absorbing reading. As far as she could make out, Yuri Khordinsky had as many supporters as haters. Many of his associates had gone to jail in Russia, but Yuri himself had never been arrested, or held to account. He was just there, lurking in the background. Super wealthy. Super stealthy. There weren’t even any photos of him to download.
Alex was mentioned a few times, listed as his associate, even his protégé, but his profile was low too.
The more Frankie read, the more she realized that she knew very little of the world Alex operated in. He made it all sound so accessible, so normal, and yet some of the articles she’d seen boldly stated that Khordinsky was an out-and-out crook.
All this terrified Frankie because, while she couldn’t believe that Alex was dishonest and corrupt – not after the kind things Sylvie had said about him, and what she knew in her heart of his goodness – she could believe that Khordinsky might lead him astray. Alex thought so much of Khordinsky: what if Khordinsky was taking advantage of that trust?
As she read the article in the Guardian by some undercover journalists, she shivered with alarm. After months secretly tracking his activities, they had concluded that Khordinsky was power-hungry and utterly ruthless. That he had spies all over Russia, corrupt politicians who would do his bidding for fear of their lives. They had a whole list of people who had gone missing, or who’d been killed, all of them somehow linked to Khordinsky. And they had interviewed Government officials who spoke of poison plots, midnight stabbings, mysterious suicides. Frankie read on. Was Khordinsky really as dangerous as they were making out? Or was this just some kind of smear campaign, orchestrated by his jealous business rivals, or the Russian authorities, angry and embarrassed by Khordinsky’s enormous success?
Quickly, she hit a link to another article from only a few days ago about the suspected murder of a Russian politician and associate of Khordinsky’s, one Boris Nazin. Did Khordinsky have anything to do with his death, as the article insinuated?
And if any of this were true, then what did that mean for Alex? Frankie couldn’t imagine that Alex could be involved in anything shady. He was so open, so honest. What if Khordinsky was involving him in illegal activities? Activities that could have disastrous consequences for Alex? For her? For them both?
‘What are you doing?’ Alex asked, coming into the library.
She had been so absorbed that she hadn’t heard him and she jumped. She quickly closed down the search screen. ‘Just checking my emails,’ she said, hating herself for lying as she stood up to face him.
She immediately regretted what she’d done. She felt sullied by what she’d read. And by lying to Alex, she felt she’d ruined something too. Should she just confront him? she wondered. Ask him straight out if these articles about Khordinsky were true?
But if she did that, she’d be admitting that she’d been checking up on him. And that in itself was an admission that she didn’t trust him.
No, she’d keep her mouth shut. Just because something was in the newspapers didn’t make it true. Why should she trust these journalists, these people she didn’t know, who were all going on hearsay and speculation just to get a cheap headline?
Surely she should trust Alex, who she did know. Who was standing in front of her. It would be crazy to risk blowing their relationship by making accusations about his boss. If she wanted to know more about Khordinsky, if she wanted to satisfy her doubts, then she was going to need to be more subtle than that. And more mature.
‘How was Yuri?’ she asked.
Alex looked distracted for a second. ‘Fine.’
‘I was thinking . . . I’d so like to meet him. You know, don’t you think it’s better that we get our relationship out in the open with him?’
‘What do you mean?’ Alex looked confused.
‘Well . . . does he know about us?’
Alex laughed. ‘Frankie, Yuri knows about everything. Do you think that I wouldn’t tell him something as important as this?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ Frankie said, feeling foolish, relief washing over her. So Alex had discussed her with Khordinsky. Well, that was something at least. She felt even more of a heel for lying to him about her snooping now.
‘Why are you worrying about Yuri?’ he asked, coming over to her and holding her shoulders. He looked into her face, and she wondered whether he could see her for the liar she was.
‘I’m just . . . you know . . . nervous. I know how important he is to you,’ she mumbled.
‘Well, don’t be nervous. Listen, you two will get on perfectly. Anyway, I forgot to tell you, Yuri’s throwing a party for me. He’ll be there, so you’ll see for yourself.’
‘A party? Where?’
‘On board Pushkin. It’s gone back to Cannes for the festival.’
Just thinking about Pushkin . . . Richard, Roz, all those people . . . made her stomach churn. She’d hoped they’d be in her past but now she realized she’d have to face them.
‘Actually, I was meaning to discuss this with you,’ Alex continued. ‘I think the best thing is if you hang out here for a few more days and then go back to the yacht and wait for me there.’
Frankie scanned his face. She felt panic racing through her. ‘Wait for you? Why? Where are you going?’
Alex sighed. ‘I wish I could stay here with you for ever but I’ve got loads I shou
ld have been taking care of. I’ve got to go to Paris, Geneva. Yuri needs me to go to some meetings. I can’t put him off any longer.’
Frankie felt disappointment so overwhelming that she had to sit down on the arm of the sofa. It wasn’t fair. Just when everything was perfect, it had to end.
She’d been so stupid. So caught up in her holiday romance. She hadn’t even thought about how many sacrifices Alex had made to be with her, to make this week so special. There she’d been, annoyed about him taking phone calls from Yuri, when all the time he was probably putting off a million business meetings, just so that he could spend time with her.
But if Alex went, where did that leave her?
‘Can’t I come with you?’ Frankie sounded pathetic, even to herself.
Alex smiled tenderly. ‘It’ll be boring. Just business.’
‘But it’s not boring. I want to be involved. I want to see what you do,’ she blurted out. ‘I don’t want to go back to Pushkin without you.’
Alex laughed and, pulling her up from the chair, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. ‘Oh my darling, don’t look like that! I’m not telling you to go back to your old job.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No way! You’re with me now and I want everyone to know it.’
‘You do?’
‘Of course. They’re going to wait on you from now on.’
He touched the end of her nose and Frankie giggled, amazed that he’d read her thoughts. But at the same time she couldn’t imagine staying in the master suite with Alex, and Roz and Simone having to clear up after her. It didn’t feel right. In fact, it would be so awkward, the thought of it made her cringe. It was all very well her seeing the boss, but rubbing everyone else’s nose in it . . . well, she knew she just wasn’t the gloating kind.
‘That’s going to be a bit weird,’ she said.
‘Well, you’re going to have to get used to it,’ Alex said. ‘We’re a couple now. Together. And I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Anyone at all. This is about you and me. Agreed?’
From the tone of his voice and his determined expression, it didn’t look as if she had a choice. She didn’t want him to think she was chickening out now. After all the sacrifices he’d made recently to be with her, she reasoned, maybe it was time she made a few to be with him. And who knew? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. With a bit of effort, she might be able to handle the transition from staff to guest without upsetting anyone too much. She’d keep a low profile and be dignified about it. She’d make it work – for Alex. And for herself. To prove that she could.
