by Lucy Gordon
It seemed strange to think that she could have gone all her life without experiencing a mother’s embrace, and everything had changed because of a woman she had known such a little time.
Perhaps Leonid also understood the feeling growing between them because he often left them alone together. His excuse was always that he must go online to attend to his business, but as the two women sat in the garden she would see him standing in the window, watching them.
Once he saw her looking and placed a finger over his lips, asking her to say nothing. She nodded, but when she looked back she found that Varushka had also noticed Leonid, and was pleased.
‘He has told me how you met,’ she said. ‘You were at his brother’s wedding.’
‘In Paris, yes.’
‘And the two of you were instantly attracted?’
‘Well, he was certainly one of the most handsome men there.’
Varushka laughed. ‘He was handsome even as a child,’ she said. ‘Everyone said so. Wait, there’s something I must show you. Come inside.’
Taking Perdita’s hand, she led her indoors and went to a cupboard, from which she drew out a large book. It was a photo album, overflowing with pictures. Perdita studied it, fascinated by this new glimpse of Leonid.
There was the young Varushka with her baby in her arms, looking down at him with adoration. There were several similar pictures showing mother and child. In some of them little Leonid had grown from a baby into a toddler and was looking back at her, also adoring. Sometimes his arms were reaching out towards her.
One photograph showed the child Leonid sitting on the lap of a heavily built man, who had his arms around him and was looking at him with pride.
‘That was my husband,’ Varushka said. ‘I dare say Leonid has told you the truth about our family.’
‘He has done me the honour of confiding in me,’ Perdita said. ‘He knew I would understand.’
‘Of course. And you know that his real father is Amos Falcon. We met when I was already married, and instantly fell in love. I regretted being unfaithful to my husband, but I had never been in love with him. My parents pressured me into the marriage. I did my best to be a good wife, but when I met Amos we knew at once that we were destined for each other. Sometimes love can be like that, overwhelming you before you have time to think. And then, all in a moment, it’s too late.
‘It was like that with Amos and me. We were meant to be together, even though we both had other commitments. I had a husband, he had a wife.
But we knew what was happening between us, and one day he asked me how to say “I love you” in Russian. I told him it was Ya tebya lyublyu. Then he said it to me and I said it to him. And we knew it would always be true.’
‘How beautiful!’ Perdita said. Softly she repeated, ‘Ya tebya lyublyu’
‘One day you will say it,’ Varushka observed. ‘Perhaps soon.’
Perdita blushed. ‘Perhaps. We can never tell.’
‘Oh, I think we can tell sometimes,’ Varushka said, patting her hand. ‘When it’s real, you know by instinct, deep in your heart.’
She turned back to the album.
‘For a little while we indulged our love, but then he had to return to his own country. In time Leonid was born, and Dmitri, my husband, was so glad that I didn’t know what to do. I hesitated about telling him the child wasn’t his, and so time passed. I tried to write to Amos, but my letters never seemed to reach him. I think someone was blocking them. It was a long time before he knew he had a son, and by then Dmitri had grown close to Leonid.’
She reached down for another album, which she laid open before Perdita. It was full of pictures of Dmitri with the little boy he had loved. They were heartbreaking, Perdita thought. There was the child Leonid, with a fresh innocent face: the face of someone who had never known hurt or deception. One picture showed him holding up something that looked like a medal.
‘He won that at school,’ Varushka said. ‘He came top in an English exam. I encouraged him to learn English as soon as possible, so that when he met his true father they could talk.’
Yet the man bursting with pride was Dmitri, Perdita thought, with no idea of the cruel truth he would soon learn. In picture after picture his love shone towards the little boy he believed was his, and Leonid’s face was radiant as he gazed at the man he adored as a father.
‘He was a decent man.’ Varushka sighed. ‘I didn’t want to hurt him, but when Amos returned to claim me Dmitri learned the truth, and that broke up our marriage.’
‘He came—to claim you?’ Perdita asked carefully.
‘He’d have liked to take me back to England with him, but we knew he couldn’t. He had responsibilities, his wife—’
But was it the same wife? Perdita wondered. Or was he even married? By now she’d learned enough of Amos’s activities to know how he casually swapped one woman for another, always to suit his own convenience.
‘He’s an honourable man and he had to do his duty.’ Varushka sighed. ‘But we swore our eternal love, and he said he would always support me, and Leonid. And that’s what he’s done ever since.
‘Oh, my dear! If I could only tell you how wonderful it is to be loved by such a man, so generous. We are forced to love at a distance, but because our love is great it can survive anything. He writes me such beautiful letters, and gives them to Leonid to bring to me. I cry when I read them because his heart and soul are there, and it’s as though he too is with me. Of course, in a way he’s with me all the time, but the feeling is more intense when I read his wonderful words.’
‘You’re very lucky,’ Perdita said. ‘I know he’s a very powerful businessman. You don’t expect such men to be able to write sensitive letters.’
‘Oh yes, you’re right. Let me show you some of them. I’d love another woman to see him through my eyes, know how marvellous he is.’
The letters confirmed her worst fears. There were very few, because Amos wrote only when Leonid insisted. The emotion was stilted, and the only mention of love was at the end, when he wrote ‘love, Amos’ as convention demanded.
As she was going through them, wondering what she could say, she sensed a shadow in the doorway and looked up to find Leonid watching.
‘I was just showing dear Perdita the lovely letters your father writes me,’ Varushka told him.
‘They’re very nice,’ Perdita said, glancing over them.
But then she paused as she realised the letter in her hand was the one she had advised Leonid about when they’d first met in Paris. It was all there, the memories of their stroll through Taganrog, Tchaikovsky’s house.
‘Do you see what he says?’ Varushka urged. She quoted, ‘“That memory has lived in my heart ever since. And it will always live, because it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.”’
‘When I read that I was so happy that I wept tears of joy. It will always live in his heart as it will always live in mine, until the time when we are finally together.’ She turned to Leonid. ‘It’s a beautiful letter, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Mamma, it’s beautiful.’
‘I’m the luckiest woman in the world to be loved by a man who can open his heart like that.’
‘Indeed you are, Mamma,’ Leonid said. ‘And we never know what beautiful good fortune could be waiting for us around the next corner.’
He was looking at Perdita as he spoke. She glanced back, and neither of them saw Varushka regarding them with pleasure.
‘You see what he says about Tchaikovsky,’ she said, taking up the letter again. ‘I told him that the evening we wandered through Taganrog, and we saw the house. I must take you to see it.’
The next day they all travelled to Taganrog and Perdita was able to see the house where the great composer had visited. There were other great names associated with the town, like Chekhov, the playwright. In fact the whole town struck her as fascinating, and on the journey home she listened to Varushka’s gossip with real interest.
Varushka
spent the evening immersed in the books Perdita had given her, as eager as a child.
‘When are you going to write books?’ she demanded.
‘In a way I’ve already started.’
She described her ghost writing arrangement. Varushka was aghast.
‘So you do all the work and this Lily Folles takes the credit? Everyone will think she wrote it? Shocking!’
‘Well, I will get a little credit, buried deep inside the book.’ Perdita chuckled. ‘But her name will appear in big letters on the cover, and that’s good because if people think she wrote it more of them will buy it.’
‘But you can’t just do this. You must write your own books too, with your name on them in big letters. Your book will not be like your family’s, serious and learned. Perdita will produce works that are fun and fascinating. They will become best-sellers, and Leonid and I will boast that we know you.’
Which nobody else had ever wanted to do, Perdita thought, loving Varushka for her childlike eagerness and her all-embracing generosity.
The visit came to an end all too soon. Next day she began to understand what Leonid had meant about how easily Varushka grew weary. After a couple of days she was nodding off every few minutes.
‘We should go,’ Leonid murmured. ‘I don’t want to tire her any more.’
On the day of their departure Varushka hugged Perdita fiercely.
‘You will come again,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t bear never to see you again.’
‘She will come again, Mamma,’ Leonid promised.
‘Thank you for everything,’ Perdita said. ‘Thank you. Spasibo.’
‘Already you speak Russian!’ Varushka cried.
‘Well, I learned the word for thank you. Spasibo.’
‘Spasibo, spasibo,’ Varushka echoed. ‘Until we meet again, dear daughter.’
Perdita wondered if Leonid had heard those last words. He was embracing his mother vigorously, saying goodbye.
As the plane rose she looked out of the window at the receding land.
‘We can’t see the house,’ Leonid told her. ‘We’re travelling in the other direction.’
‘I know. I just wanted a last look at the land, to fix it in my mind.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry to leave too. It all went so well. But we’ll have a few days alone together in Moscow.’
‘Alone together,’ she murmured. ‘Yes, please.’
She saw the understanding in his eyes, and knew that he too could hardly bear to wait until they landed. After that, everything seemed to happen too slowly. The baggage carousel, the journey to his home filled them with maddening impatience. As soon as they arrived he disconnected the telephone and came towards her with a look of purpose in his eyes. She knew that look. It matched her own.
Their loving was swift, urgent and impatient, full of the silent messages that had danced between them for the last few days. He wanted her, needed her, was desperate without her, and she loved him back with all the passion in her.
When it was over they dozed, but only for a few minutes. Then they awoke and studied each other.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Do you need anything?’
‘I have everything I need, right here,’ she assured him with a luxurious sigh.
She looked at him with her head on one side, a smile of contentment touching her lips. Leonid drew a shaky breath.
‘Stay there,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t move. Just let me look at you.’
He was watching her as if transfixed. A man under a magic spell might have looked as he did, motionless, unable to escape, yet filled with a mysterious peace.
For a long time they regarded each other in silence, because no words could be adequate now. At last he stretched out his hand, a question in his eyes, and she moved forward to take it, so that he could draw her closer.
It was she who kissed him first, brushing his lips with her own, feeling him return the caress, pressing closer so that he could feel her rising desire as she could feel his.
‘Don’t stop,’ he murmured.
His hands were moving over her, drawing the sheet away, tossing it to the floor. Now there was nothing between him and her bare skin, and he gently caressed her.
She gave a long, trembling sigh.
‘Don’t stop!’ she echoed him urgently.
Nothing could have stopped him now. Far from exhausting their desire their previous loving seemed only to have inflamed it. She closed her eyes because she no longer needed to see him. She knew him now. He was part of her as she was part of him. When the moment came she felt the world disappear, and understood that she was part of a new universe, one that she had been born for.
Afterwards they slept again. She awoke first, rose from the bed and went to the window, looking out onto the street, wondering at herself. Leonid’s embrace could thrill her, which she loved. But his effect on her was far more than that. There was also the sweet contentment which cast a new, glowing light over the whole world. Excitement came and went, but the warmth and peace that only he could give illuminated her whole life.
Softly she crept back to the bed and lay down beside him, her face close to his. He was lying on his side, his face turned towards her, as tranquil and innocent as a child’s.
Why do I love you? she wondered. Why you and nobody else?
But she knew the answer. It was because he reached out to her, not only with his heart but with his need. For the first time in her life she felt vitally necessary to someone, and everything in her responded with joyful eagerness.
She edged carefully towards him on the pillow and planted a soft kiss on his face, careful not to awaken him. His lips moved and he seemed to whisper soft words, but she couldn’t make them out.
‘Hush,’ she murmured. ‘I’m here. I’ll be here as long as you need me. Sleep well, my darling.’
He whispered again, then seemed to sink further into sleep, as though a new peace had descended on him. Perdita slid down the bed so that she could lie beside him, holding him in her arms.
The future was still full of uncertainties. If they were to make a life together they must decide where to live. In his country or hers? So many questions to answer, but none of them mattered beside the glorious feeling that she had come home.
*
For a couple of days it was pure holiday. Leonid showed her around his city like a guide showing a tourist, and she enjoyed it, fascinated by the dramatic history.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked as they sat over coffee at a restaurant one evening.
‘I was just wondering when you’re going to start taking notes.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘You’re a writer. Your impressions might make a wonderful travel book. Who knows what might come out of it?’
‘That’s true,’ she agreed. ‘Of course, I’d have to spend a lot of time here.’
‘I suppose you would,’ he said, as though the idea had never occurred to him. ‘I’m sure something could be arranged. Waiter!’
That was his way, she thought. Having dropped the hint he turned his attention elsewhere, leaving her to muse. He wanted her to come back to Moscow, not just for a short visit, but to stay there, at least for a while.
And then?
Then things would work out one way or another. He’d sent her several signals, including that he accepted her present work as a writer. The day was coming when she would be able to tell him the truth about her past career. And when there were no more secrets between them they would have achieved the ultimate union, would be closer even than they were in each other’s arms at night.
Nothing was ever quite so simple. She already knew that, but rediscovered it that evening when they returned home. As they left the elevator and approached Leonid’s front door they found two men waiting for them. The sight made Leonid give a violent exclamation under his breath.
‘When we get inside, go straight into the bedroom,’ he told her. ‘I’ll get rid of them.’
>
‘They look dangerous,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry. They’re more afraid of me than I am of them.’
And she could sense that it was true. The men regarded him with eyes that were hostile yet nervous. Once inside the apartment she did as he wanted and vanished, but she could hear the voices raised in argument.
‘Pazhalsta,’ one of the men was saying.
Among the words she’d learned from Varushka was pazhalsta, which meant please. This man was crying it out as though his life depended on it.
‘Pazhalsta! Pazhalsta!’
There followed the sound of something crashing to the floor. Worried for Leonid’s safety, she opened the door a crack and saw him standing. She drew in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. It was hard, cold, implacable. The men were begging him for something he refused to give. There was no yielding in that face, no kindness or sympathy, but something that came close to cruelty. She backed into the room, quietly closing the door.
He came for her a few minutes later. His cold rage had faded and his face was once more the one she knew.
‘Sorry about that. You can come out now.’
‘What did those men want?’
‘I used to do business with them. They tried to cheat me so I ended the contract. Now they’re trying to crawl back in, giving me sob stories. But I don’t deal with cheats. They’re finished. I need to make some calls. I’ll join you later.’
‘Actually I’m rather tired. I think I’ll have an early night. Don’t wake me when you come in.’
‘All right.’
He hugged her and came as far as her door. She slipped inside quickly and closed it firmly against him. She needed time alone to think.
She didn’t go to sleep but lay listening to his voice through the wall. He was on the phone to someone. From the hard note in his voice she guessed he was describing the evening’s events.
She tried to blank out the memory of his face. If those men had tried to cheat him he had every right to drive them off with steely anger. Anyone would have done the same.
