The Mistress

by Danielle Steel

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  Vladimir and Natasha had left the boat and gone back to London in late August, after drifting from port to port all summer. His security concerns had finally relaxed again, and he no longer surrounded Natasha with a ring of bodyguards every time she went out. The people who had caused the problem were gone, and he never discussed it with Natasha again. And she stopped worrying about it when she saw that he was no longer worried either. It had been a strange interlude but it was over.

  They had dinner at Harry’s Bar one night, and he told her he had a surprise for her.

  “I’m going to build another boat,” he said happily, “even bigger than Marina. And I’m going to name the next one after you.” He looked proud as he said it, and she was touched. She knew how important his boats were to him, and how much he loved them. And it was a huge compliment that he wanted to name one after her.

  “How long will it take?” she asked with interest. He looked excited about it.

  “If everything goes smoothly, three or four years. Maybe longer. I’m going to have to go to Italy a lot, for meetings with the builders, to work on the plans and watch the construction, and to make changes as the work progresses. And there’s the whole interior to design too. And all the materials to be selected. You remember what it was like when I built Princess Marina.” He had just been finishing her when he brought Natasha into his life, and her launch had been an extraordinary event, and the president’s wife had christened her. It was exciting to think of his doing it again. It had been five years since Princess Marina was launched.

  They toasted the new boat with champagne, and then he looked at Natasha. “That’s only half of the surprise. I don’t want you to be bored when I go to Italy to oversee the boat, so I want you to have a project of your own. I want you to find an apartment in Paris, somewhere around four or five hundred square meters. You can decorate it however you want. And we’ll have a place to stay when we go to Paris.” He knew she liked it there, and she went to the haute couture and ready-to-wear shows four times a year, and they always stayed at the George V. Now they would have a home of their own. Her eyes lit up when he said it, and he was pleased.

  “Are you serious? You’d let me do that?” She looked like a child at Christmas.

  “Of course. The Paris apartment will be your boat, and it will be finished a lot faster. You can start looking right away. I’m going to Italy for the first meetings next week.” They were both thrilled, and she could hardly wait to call a realtor and start seeing apartments in Paris. Five hundred square meters was a big apartment, and there would be lots for her to do. “You can look for a house if you prefer it, but I think it will be easier and more comfortable in an apartment.” And she agreed. Houses were so much more work. They had a big staff in London that they had to take care of, and the house needed constant repairs. She didn’t want to have to oversee it. She was more interested in the decorating, and he was giving her carte blanche to do whatever she wanted.

  “When are you going to Italy for the meetings?” she asked, as she put her arms around him and kissed him. He was happy that she was pleased.

  “Next Tuesday. I’ll be there till the end of the week.”

  “I’ll start calling real estate agents tomorrow.”

  She called a realtor she knew in London to get names of Paris real estate agents, and by the following afternoon she had started to call them. Two days later she had six apartments to see, and had appointments for the following week. Two of the apartments were in the sixteenth arrondissement, and one was in the eighth, which didn’t sound as interesting. There was another on the Left Bank, on the quais, overlooking the Seine, and there were two on Avenue Montaigne, which sounded perfect.

  “Do you want to see them with me?” she asked him that night over dinner, and he shook his head with a broad smile. “This is your project. Your ‘boat.’ I’ll see the one you want me to buy. You have to do the legwork before that.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said, ecstatic, and insisted on showing him the photographs on the Internet anyway. He agreed with her—he thought the two on Avenue Montaigne looked like the most interesting and luxurious so far.

  “Don’t rush into it,” he advised her. “Find one that you really love. It will be fun to spend some time in Paris.”

  Vladimir had the plane take her to Paris on Monday, so it would be back in London for him when he flew to Italy on Tuesday. And his secretary had booked their usual suite for her at the George V. She ordered room service that night, as she always did when she was there without him. And she was excited to get started with the realtor the next day. They were planning to see an apartment on Avenue Foch first, on the sunny side of the street, the realtor had told her. And there was another one farther up, but she said it might be dark.

  When Natasha met her at the first address at ten o’clock the next morning, the apartment was disappointing. It was sunny but in poor condition, large and rambling, and needed a lot of work, although as the realtor pointed out, the ceilings were high, and the tall windows were lovely. But it was too old-fashioned and Natasha didn’t love it, and she liked the next one even less. And the apartment overlooking the Seine on the Left Bank was much too small, although it was lovely. But they were used to more space, and in spite of the view and balcony, it felt cramped.

  She met with a different realtor after lunch, and the apartment in the eighth arrondissement was not right for them at all, and Vladimir would have hated it. They had told her about a listing at the Palais Royal too, which was considered highly desirable, but it was tiny, with one very small bedroom, a small bathroom, and no closets. And she was seeing the two apartments on Avenue Montaigne last, with a different realtor. It was a wide avenue where all the best shops were, Dior, Chanel, Prada, and a dozen others, and both apartments had supposedly been recently redone. One was a modern penthouse, and the other was a duplex in an older building. She was beginning to get discouraged before her last appointment. Nothing she had seen was even close to what they wanted, or to what she thought Vladimir would like, although he had told her to pick the one she wanted, but she wanted him to love it too, since he was paying for it.

  When she met with the last realtor, the penthouse was pretty but very cold. Everything was either black granite or white marble, and she couldn’t imagine feeling cozy there. It was more of a showplace than a home. And she wanted something that felt warm.

  And when they got to the last apartment, the moment the realtor opened the door, she knew she was home. It had been redone and restored, but nothing interfered with its original beauty. It had modern systems embedded invisibly throughout, for music and computers, even air conditioning, which was unusual in Paris, and it had beautiful boiseries and moldings, high ceilings, lovely French windows, and spectacular antique parquet floors. It looked like a smaller version of Versailles, and all she would have to do was find furniture for it, and have curtains made for every room. It had four bedrooms upstairs, a dressing room for each of them, a study for Vladimir, and a small sitting room off their bedroom. And downstairs a huge double living room, a large dining room, a modern kitchen, and a cozy den. And each room had a fireplace, even the bathrooms, which had been redone too. It was exactly the size he had wanted. At five hundred square meters, it felt more like a house than an apartment. And the apartment was beautiful. It came with four maids’ rooms on the top floor of the building, where they could put their bodyguards, when they brought them, which they didn’t always do. And she could have a maid sleep there, to take care of the apartment. It had everything she wanted. It was her dream apartment, and she nearly fainted when she heard the price. It had been standing empty for a year while it had been redone, and it now had a very high price. And she wondered what Vladimir would say when she told him. She had never bought an apartment before, although she knew he was planning to spend half a billion dollars on his new boat, which sounded unimaginable to her, and was even more than Princess Marina had cost.

  She told
the realtor she would call her, and went back to the hotel in a daze. She didn’t know what to say to Vladimir, if she should even tell him what they were asking for the apartment, or look for something else. She felt guilty having him spend that much money on a “project” for her, although he would live there too. But it would certainly be cheaper if they continued to stay at the hotel. He didn’t usually care how much he spent, but she felt a responsibility to him, since it wasn’t her money.

  She waited to hear from him after his meetings, and was having room service for dinner when he called. She never went to restaurants without him. She didn’t like eating alone, and although he had never said so, she had the feeling that he wouldn’t like her going to restaurants on her own. She lived in a bubble he provided, where she felt secure.

  “So how did it go today?” he asked her, after he told her his boat meetings had gone well.

  “It was interesting. The first five apartments were very disappointing. Some of them were old and needed a lot of work. The penthouse on Avenue Montaigne was ice cold, everything was marble.” She hesitated for a beat then, and he knew her well.

  “And the sixth?”

  “Was unbelievably expensive. I don’t know if we should spend that much for an apartment.” She felt awkward talking to him about it.

  “Did you love it?” he asked, sounding almost fatherly.

  “Yes,” she admitted, feeling breathless. “It was gorgeous.” And feeling her stomach turn over, she told him the price. He laughed when she said it.

  “My darling, that won’t pay for the dining room furniture they’re going to make for the new boat.” He was planning to spare nothing for his new yacht, which was going to be more of a ship than a boat, and the most luxurious vessel on the water. And he had told the interior designer he had hired that he wanted to order a sable bedspread for their bedroom. “Do you love that apartment?” he asked again.

  “I really do. I was just afraid it was too expensive. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage. I could be happy with something a lot smaller.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t.” She told him all about it then, and the many high-tech features it had, which he liked. And they didn’t need to do any work. Everything had been done. “I want you to buy it. It sounds perfect, and I trust your judgment and your taste. I’ll call them tomorrow.” He wanted a quick closing, and was planning to pay for it in cash, which was how he did everything. He could have the money wired into the owner’s account immediately. He didn’t want to wait months for a slow closing. “Do they have any technical reports on it, to prove that all the work was done?”

  “The realtor says they do.” She couldn’t believe how simple he made it all seem, despite the expense.

  “I’ll take care of all the details. You can start planning how you want to decorate it. Unless you want a decorator.” He had used one for the house in London, but Natasha thought it would be more fun to do it herself, since this was her “project,” and Vladimir was willing to let her.

  “I don’t know what to say to you. It’s so beautiful, Vladimir, I love it. When can you come to see it?”

  “I’ll meet you in Paris on Friday. I have to go to Moscow the next day, for a week or two. You could stay in Paris if you want to, and get started on the decorating.” Natasha was thrilled at how much fun this was going to be. He had had all his homes before she joined him. This was the first home she was going to decorate for them.

  She lay awake that night, thinking about it, and all the things she had to do. She finally fell asleep at four A.M., and the one thing she knew was that she was the luckiest woman in the world, and Vladimir was the most generous man. For all the risks that she took being with him, like the scare in Sardinia in June, and the isolated life she lived, they seemed like small sacrifices in the face of his generosity to her, and the golden life he shared with her. She had nothing to complain about, for all the comfort and security he gave her, she knew she had been blessed the day she met him. Her life with him seemed perfect to her. Compared to the orphanage and the factories, and the terrible people she had known who had been unkind to her, and the mother who had abandoned her, being with Vladimir was an incredible gift. She was grateful for it every day. And now they had a beautiful apartment in Paris. She was a very, very lucky girl. Of that, she was absolutely sure.

  Chapter 7

  As he had promised her he would, Vladimir flew from Italy to Paris on Friday afternoon, and arrived just in time to see the apartment before nightfall and the realtor left for the weekend. He had already had the money wired to an account in Switzerland earlier in the week. The owner did not want to be paid in France, and had moved to Switzerland the year before. They were giving up the apartment so they no longer had a residence in France, and had become tax refugees. They were anxious to sell, and couldn’t believe their good fortune when Vladimir offered to pay them all cash immediately. And he was able to get a better price from them by doing so. And the realtor was pleased too. The deal was done and sealed, and Vladimir had told Natasha that the apartment was theirs the day before. It was the fastest transaction the realtor had ever done, although she had done business with Russians before, and knew how quickly it could move with the right ones. They had plenty of cash available and were easy to do business with. They made up their minds, knew what they wanted, and were very straightforward.

  She met them at the building, and Natasha held her breath when Vladimir walked in. She was suddenly panicked—what if he hated it, didn’t like the wood paneling, the windows, or the antique floors? He looked serious as he examined everything and walked around, and then after they’d been through the last room, he put his arms around her with a broad smile.

  “It’s perfect, Natasha. You found us a spectacular apartment. We’re going to love being here.” She almost cried, she was so thrilled that he was pleased. She showed him all the little details then, and it was fully two hours before they left and went to the hotel. She was going to be spending a lot of time there while she shopped for the apartment, and even the George V was starting to feel like home.

  He made love to her almost as soon as they walked into their suite, and they took a bath together and dressed for dinner. He was taking her to La Tour d’Argent, one of the fanciest restaurants in Paris, to celebrate their new home. And she couldn’t stop thanking him all through the meal.

  “I wish I didn’t have to leave you tomorrow,” he said over dinner. He had ordered caviar and champagne for both of them, and a shot of vodka for him. “But you’ll be busy here.” She knew she would, but she missed him when he was gone for that long. He had a lot to do in Russia now, with his new involvement in the mineral business. And she had overheard him talking about buying more oilfields, and they were drilling in the Baltic Sea. His empire was still expanding by leaps and bounds. It was hard to imagine that it could get any bigger, but it had in the last six months, and he was still fighting to acquire more. While other economies were failing, Vladimir was making bigger and bigger deals every day. He was insatiable in what he wanted to run and own.

  They went back to the hotel after dinner, and she lay in his arms again, as he slowly began making love to her. He had missed her all week, and hated it when she wasn’t nearby, but he rarely took her to Moscow with him. He had too much to do there, she was only a distraction, and he knew that it wasn’t a happy place for her. She had too many bad memories there, and preferred waiting for him in London or on the boat, and now she would have the Paris apartment as another home. It was perfect for her, and she tried to meet his every fantasy and need as he made love to her, to show him how grateful she was for all he did for her. Their relationship was a trade-off of sorts, she gave him all she had to give of herself in exchange for all the material bounty he bestowed on her.

  Her life with him made her think of her mother at times, and she wondered if she was anything like her. Her mother had traded her body, and sex, for money, as a prostitute. And Natasha couldn’t help asking herself if th
at was what she was doing, giving Vladimir her body and her freedom, her life and dedication to him, in exchange for the golden existence she led with him, and the gifts he showered on her. Or was this more like marriage, where a woman cares for a man, gives him her body, and has his babies, while he provides for her? Was it respectable or shameful? Sometimes she couldn’t decide and wasn’t sure. He was always kind and generous with her. There were no babies involved, and he didn’t want any, but she gave him every other part of her, and all she could give.

  He lay spent and sated in her arms after they made love. He had roared as he always did, and was sometimes rough with her, but she knew that sometimes it was what he needed, as a release from the pressures he lived with every day. She was the escape he used to free himself from the tension he dealt with, some of which she never even knew about. But she welcomed him into her body whenever he chose. And it didn’t seem wrong to her, given all he did for her.

  He was up at six the next morning, and she ordered breakfast for them. He left the hotel at seven and looked at her longingly for a moment. Her beauty never ceased to amaze him, and she had only gotten lovelier and more delicate looking in the past seven years.

  “Start shopping for the apartment,” he said with a smile as he kissed her. She was standing naked in his arms, with the scent of their lovemaking on her, and he wished he could stay. But they had to be in the air on their way to Moscow by eight, and it would take him half an hour to get to Le Bourget.