Falling for the Rebel Falcon

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘I suppose…that’s true,’ he said softly. ‘I never thought of it like that.’

  ‘Well, you should. She’s a lucky woman because she has a son who loves her and worries about her.’

  ‘But it torments me that I can’t really help her. I want her to be happy. I want to make him treat her properly, but—’ He made a helpless gesture. ‘What can I do? What can I do?’

  ‘There’s always his letter to her. That could say things that will make her happy.’

  ‘If I can get him to write it. Why won’t he even take that little bit of trouble?’

  ‘Probably because he can’t think what to say,’ Perdita mused. ‘From what little I’ve seen of him, I don’t think he’s a man to whom emotions come easily.’

  ‘I sometimes think they don’t come at all,’ Leonid growled. ‘Except when it suits him.’

  ‘Then you must help him, for your mother’s sake.’

  ‘What makes you think he’d let me tell him what to write?’ Leonid asked, carefully.

  ‘He might actually prefer you to tell him, because it would save him having to work it out himself.’

  Leonid’s eyes were fixed on her with a look of wonder, like a man seeing a magic spell come to life.

  ‘Yes, of course he would,’ he murmured.

  ‘Tell him to say that he’s always thinking of her, especially when he sees you. The two of you can talk about her and that brings him happiness.’

  ‘Wait,’ Leonid said urgently, reaching into his pocket for a small notebook and pencil. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He should say how proud he is of you and what it means to him to see how well she’s raised his son. Do you look at all like her?’

  ‘I believe I’ve got her eyes, so they tell me.’

  ‘Good. He likes your eyes because they remind him of her. And what about the place where she lives? Didn’t you say that was where they met?’

  ‘Yes, Rostov. It’s by the Don River. They used to stroll by the water in the evening.’

  ‘Then it means a lot to him to know that she’s still there. He remembers the river and pictures her walking there, thinking about him. Has he ever told you anything he specially recalls about those walks?’

  He screwed up his eyes in a desperate attempt to recall something.

  ‘I don’t think—no, but she has. I remember now. While he was there they visited Taganrog, another town nearby. She showed it to him and talked about the famous people who’d once lived there, or visited—Tchaikovsky and Chekhov. Later he told her that he’d barely heard her. He was just thinking how beautiful her eyes were.’

  ‘Has he ever mentioned that in any letter to her?’

  ‘Never. I don’t think he remembers any of it. She told me. But he’s going to remember now. I’ll get him to put this in his own handwriting, and she’ll be so happy. Thank you. Thank you!’

  Before she knew what he meant to do he’d seized her shoulders and planted a fierce kiss on her mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said hurriedly, ‘I shouldn’t have done that—after what you’ve done for me—to force myself on you—’

  ‘Don’t worry. I forgive you,’ she said lightly. ‘Now hurry back inside so that you can corner your father. Don’t wait for me. I can manage if I walk slowly.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Get going. I’ll see you later.’

  He turned and fled. She watched him vanish into the dusk, glad that he hadn’t lingered long enough to sense the way her heart had started to thunder as he kissed her. Despite its power, it had been a kiss of gratitude. And she didn’t wanted him to know how it had affected her.

  Not yet anyway.

  Voices seemed to clamour in her mind. Hortense called Leonid ‘hard as nails’. Janine had called him a ‘grim character’, which was unfair, given the concern for her feelings that he’d shown by not handing over the letter in her presence.

  Neither of you know him, Perdita thought. He’s not hard. He’s so vulnerable that he scares himself. That grim face is like a metal visor.

  She eased her way back to the hotel and slipped in quietly, careful not to be noticed by those of the family who were still celebrating. In the corridor upstairs she paused by Amos’s room. From inside, she could just hear his voice and tensed, listening and hoping to hear another voice.

  Then it came. Leonid was there with his father, making use of the tool she’d given him to achieve his heart’s desire. His voice grew closer, as though he was approaching the door, and she moved fast, hurrying to her own room. He must not find her here.

  Once there she poured herself a glass of wine, knowing that the next hour would be the most difficult she had ever known.

  At last came the knock on her door. Opening it, she saw a man with the most gentle face she had ever seen. She took his hand and drew him inside, certain that now he would take her in his arms. But he only stood looking down at her with an expression that was strangely confused.

  ‘What I owe you cannot be put into words,’ he said softly.

  ‘Did it go well?’

  ‘Well?’ he echoed in wonder. ‘You have given me such a gift that no thanks will ever be enough. You were right about my father. He needed someone to tell him what to say, and with your help he wrote a letter that will make my mother happy.’

  ‘Your help, not mine,’ she suggested.

  ‘No, I could never have done it alone. But I must admit that when he said he was glad of my suggestions, I didn’t tell him about you. I should have done but I’m afraid I took all the credit.’

  ‘Good!’ she said urgently. ‘If you’d mentioned me it would have spoiled everything. You must never tell him.’

  ‘If I don’t—isn’t that a little dishonest?’

  ‘Yes, and you should make the most of it. Too much honesty can be a big mistake. Sometimes the best and kindest thing is to let people believe what they want to believe, whether it’s true or not. But you do that all the time with your mother.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘I’ll do whatever you say.’

  She smiled at him, full of tenderness. ‘Don’t let your employees hear you say a thing like that. Your reputation would never recover.’

  He nodded. ‘They wouldn’t understand, because they don’t know you; how kind and sweet you are.’ He pulled out an envelope. ‘Without you, this could never have been written. Would you like to read it?’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly, backing away. ‘That’s private. I have no right to read it.’

  ‘How can you say that after the way you inspired it?’

  ‘Leonid, that’s his letter to her.’ She took his face between her hands and spoke urgently. ‘Nobody else had anything to do with it. You must keep telling yourself that. Whatever he said, she’ll long to believe it came from him. You must never, never let her think otherwise.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said slowly.

  ‘It would ruin it for her if she ever suspected the truth.’

  ‘Then I can’t even tell her that you were so kind and helpful?’

  ‘She doesn’t want my kindness. She wants his kindness. Besides, she doesn’t know me. I’d just be a meaningless name to her. Tomorrow we’ll each go our own way, and she need never hear of me.’

  ‘Each go our own way,’ he echoed slowly. ‘You speak as though we’ll never see each other again.’

  ‘Perhaps we won’t. I live in London and you in Moscow.’

  ‘But we must meet again. Next month is the awards ceremony in Los Angeles. I shall be there, and you—?’

  ‘Yes, I shall be there.’

  ‘We’ll have time to talk and…and see what happens.’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes.’

  He reached out and drew her towards him as gently as if he feared she would break. His lips touched hers lightly, and she waited for his grip to tighten, his embrace to become passionate. Now she knew that this was what she wanted with all her heart. Nothing else mattered but to be in his arms, feeling his passion rise
to meet her own.

  But then he became still and drew back from her, breathing hard. She could feel him trembling. Or perhaps it was her own trembling she could feel. She couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Darling,’ he said in a shaking voice. ‘You know what I want?’

  Her heart leapt. ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘But you have given me so much. I won’t…I can’t ask for more. At least not tonight—’

  ‘You don’t have to ask,’ she whispered. ‘Neither of us has to ask anything from the other. Leonid, what’s troubling you?’

  ‘I want you too much.’

  ‘Can there be too much?’

  He released her, taking a step back.

  ‘Yes, if we…if I…no, I don’t mean that. You couldn’t understand, because even I don’t understand…about you…about me—about everything. I can’t do this. I can’t.’

  The next moment the door had slammed and she was alone, hearing his footsteps vanish down the corridor as though he couldn’t get far enough away from her.

  It was a strange night that followed. Perdita spent it sitting by the window, wondering at the contradictory feelings that stormed through her.

  Both her emotions and her body had reached out to Leonid, wanting him completely. And he’d backed away, escaping her as fast as he could.

  Logically, I should feel horribly rejected, she mused.

  But then a soft smile came over her face.

  To hell with logic. Logic can take a running jump.

  Every instinct told her that Leonid wanted her as much as she wanted him; wanted her more than his super-controlled nature could cope with. It wasn’t her he’d fled, but himself.

  But I won’t let you go. We’ll have a little time tomorrow before we say goodbye, and next month we’ll meet again in Los Angeles.

  Or perhaps he would return tonight.

  One thing was sure. The time had come when she must tell him the truth. Tomorrow, before they parted, she would admit that she’d come here with a secret purpose, but it hadn’t lasted. Their meeting had changed everything, and she’d abandoned that purpose.

  Perhaps he would doubt her honesty at first, but her heart told her that in the end all would be well. The mysterious feeling that had grown between them was powerful enough to fight the problems.

  And then? she wondered. What did the future hold?

  Down below was the River Seine, dark and mysterious or glittering with lights. The lights would fade, she thought, looking down, but the mystery would always be there. She could see the tall figure of a man. He was too far away for her to see who he was, but she felt that she knew.

  Sometimes he glanced up at her window. Suppose she leaned out and waved to him? Would he come up to her?

  But then he turned aside and hurried away into the night. And she knew that he wouldn’t come to her tonight.

  *

  The knock on her door came next morning just as she finished dressing. By now she could manage to walk more easily.

  ‘You’re getting there,’ he said, delighted.

  ‘Yes, I’m much better.’

  ‘About last night—I’m sorry. You must think I’m mad. It’s what I think about myself.’

  She shook her head, feeling again the tender protectiveness that he could inspire in her so easily.

  ‘No, I don’t. Things converged on us and we didn’t have time to know how we felt.’

  He nodded eagerly. ‘I knew you’d understand, because you understand everything. Look, do you have to return to England today?’

  ‘No, I have some free time.’

  ‘So have I, just one day. I can postpone my flight until tomorrow, and we could spend today here together. The others will be gone and we can be alone.’

  She nodded, thrilled. There was nothing she wanted more.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, drawing her close.

  She was ready for his kiss, eager for it, reaching for him as he did for her. Every touch, every caress told her the strength of his desire, equal to her own. They would spend today together as he had said, getting to know each other in every way. And then—?

  A sharp ringing filled the room.

  ‘Damn!’ he groaned, reaching into his pocket for a cellphone. ‘I’ll get rid of them quickly.’

  But she knew that wouldn’t happen as soon as she saw the change in his face and heard the edgy note in his voice as he exclaimed, ‘Nina!’

  After that he spoke Russian. She didn’t understand the words but she knew their beautiful day was over before it had begun. Leonid was asking questions in a voice full of anxiety. Once he paused briefly to say to her, ‘Nina looks after my mother. She seems to be in a bad way. Mamma!’

  Again she couldn’t follow the words, but she didn’t need to. The tone of his voice told her everything. Now he was speaking to someone that he loved tenderly, offering her kindness and reassurance through the note in his voice. No need for words. When he hung up Perdita was sadly certain what he was going to say.

  ‘I have to hurry back,’ he said. ‘It seems my mother misunderstood the day I was supposed to be going home to her. She thought it would be today and she’s deeply distressed. Nina has tried to comfort her, but without success.’

  ‘Then you must get home quickly,’ Perdita said. ‘She needs you.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry about. You owe me nothing and her everything.’

  ‘Bless you for that. Bless you for your sweet understanding. But we’ll see each other again next month.’

  ‘Of course we will.’

  ‘I don’t know how I’ll endure the wait. You will be there, won’t you? You must say yes, because if you don’t I’ll come and fetch you.’

  ‘You don’t have to give me orders,’ she told him, amused.

  ‘Sorry, sorry—it’s just that I—’

  It was just that he was used to laying down the law, she thought; except to the sad woman on the end of the phone.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she reassured him. ‘I’ll be there.’

  The change in his face was astonishing, and moving. One moment he was ‘the master’, insisting on his way and no other. Next moment he was a grateful supplicant, full of touching relief.

  ‘You won’t be sorry, I promise you,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a wonderful time together, and perhaps this time you’ll let me buy you a present—’

  ‘I have the pearls.’

  ‘I mean a proper present.’

  ‘You don’t need to. I’m not out to make a profit from you.’

  ‘I know that. If only I could…well, we’ll talk and really get to know each other.’

  ‘That’s what I want too.’

  ‘Now I must dash to the airport. I would give anything for this not to have happened. I wanted to be with you so much today but—you understand—I must do what I can for her.’

  ‘Our time will come,’ she promised.

  Even through the depths of her disappointment she loved him for his kindness to the pathetic woman who depended on him.

  They travelled to the airport together, and clasped each other in a final fond embrace. Throughout the flight home Perdita sat in a happy daze. A new road was opening ahead of her, and though it was too soon to say for certain where it led, her heart told her that happiness lay in wait. It was illogical, unreasonable, irrational. But these things had never troubled her before. And she wasn’t going to let them trouble her now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ALL THE WAY home Leonid had dreaded the meeting with his mother. He knew how her eyes would brighten with hope at the first sight of him, then darken again when she saw he was alone. Worse still was his confusion about the letter. Should he give it to her? It would surely be wisest not to.

  His mother was waiting in the garden, looking eagerly hopeful then sad, just as he’d feared. He embraced her vigorously, doing everything in his power to cheer her up, longing for some miracle to give her th
e happiness that he couldn’t.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mamma,’ he said when they were seated. ‘Father had to dash off to an important meeting, otherwise he’d have loved to see you again.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose there was bound to be something. He’s such a busy and important man. It’s strange when you consider how old he is, and how much more time he must have these days than in the past.’

  ‘Men like Father don’t really retire,’ he said. ‘There’s always some business to absorb them.’

  Secretly he knew she was right. What business arrangements Amos had these days weren’t enough to stop him doing anything he wanted. But, as always, he reassured her with a gentle fiction.

  Too much honesty can be a big mistake.

  The voice, whispering in his mind, made him tense and look around him uneasily.

  ‘What is it, my dear?’ Varushka asked.

  ‘Nothing, Mamma.’

  ‘You jumped as if something had startled you.’

  ‘No—everything’s all right.’

  ‘Did Amos send me a letter?’

  He’d wrestled with himself, thinking it might be better not to give it to her. But now he knew that he had no choice.

  He watched her face as she read it, saw her gasp and cover her mouth as the tears started.

  ‘Mamma—’

  ‘He remembered—after all this time he still remembers.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The time we met, when we went walking through the streets of Taganrog.’ She began to read. ‘“You told me about the town, and the famous people who’d been there, but I only half listened. I was watching you, entranced by how beautiful you were, how gentle your voice. At last I told you that, but I don’t think you believed me. You should have done. How could I be interested in Tchaikovsky and Chekhov when I was with you?”’

  She laid down the letter. ‘I thought he must have forgotten long ago. I was sure I was the only one who remembered that night. It was such a precious memory. I’ve never told anyone else.’

  ‘But Mamma—’

  He checked himself. He’d been about to remind her that she’d told him about that first evening, but just in time a warning shrieked in his brain and held him silent.