Trinity: The Koldun Code (Book 1)

by Sophie Masson

  As he spoke, she felt as though her feet were slipping out from under her, as though the very earth itself had tilted and turned traitor. She looked at Simon and saw a stranger, she looked at herself and saw a stranger. She had no words or feelings or thoughts for what was happening to her. She had no idea how she pushed past Simon, got out of the house and onto the bus that brought her shaking and speechless to her mother’s door.

  Yes, her mother had known most of that. Not what Simon had said, though. And not how it had felt. Helen hadn’t been able to express it. Not out loud. Until now.

  Her mother clearly knew what an important moment this was. When Helen finished, she put an arm around her daughter and said, gently, “You know, when I went to collect your things that week, Simon followed me around the apartment telling me that you’d ‘overreacted’ because of losing your job but that you knew your relationship was on the rocks anyway. He acted all concerned and smarmy, said he hoped you would be all right but that it was better if he didn’t see you again. I didn’t believe a word of his excuses but I was so relieved that he’d no longer be in your life that I didn’t question him at all. Which suited that slimy little creep just fine.”

  “You never liked him, did you Mam?” Helen said, affectionately.

  “No. He was much too pleased with himself. It set my teeth on edge. And I hated the way he was always correcting you. Putting you down. Lecturing you, as if you weren’t good enough, when you were worth twenty of him. And he was trying to turn you into someone you weren’t. Cutting you off from your old friends, trying to drive a wedge between us too, forcing you to be one of his shallow set.”

  “It wasn’t just his fault,” said Helen. “I didn’t have to do as he said. Thing is, I wanted to make myself into someone else because I was scared to be me. I was scared I’d never fit in if I didn’t. And so you see when he – when he said those things to me, it was as though a veil had been ripped from reality, as though I had been stripped bare. I knew then I’d been wrong about just about everything. About the job, about him, about myself. But I had no idea who I was, any longer. I had got lost, and I didn’t know how to find my way back.”

  “Oh, darling,” said her mother, softly, and there was the shine of tears in her eyes. “I – it hurt so, to see you suffering. I’ve felt so damned helpless at times, so useless.” She bit her lip. “And once or twice – I’ve even been afraid that – I’d lose you, like I’d lost your father.”

  Helen hugged her mother, tightly. Her mother had never admitted it out loud, and that was an important moment, too. “I know,” she said, gently. “And you did understand, Mam. In the best way possible. You were there for me. And that’s what helped me get over it. And now – it feels like it’s really over.” She paused. Took a deep breath. “You like Alexey, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes. Who could help liking him? He seems like such a genuine person. And so vital and intelligent, not to speak of drop-dead handsome. It’s easy to see why you’re attracted …” She hesitated. “But …”

  “Please don’t but, Mam. It’s making me happy – he’s making me happy.”

  “I can see that,” said her mother softly. “And I’m glad.” She paused. “And – I’m glad you could talk about it with me. I really am.”

  Helen smiled. “I know.” They hugged. Then Helen said, cheerfully, “But I never asked you about your day. Did you get much work done?”

  “Quite a bit. Then Sergey turned up about three – I’d asked him to drop in to discuss plans for tomorrow, we’re going to Rostov you know – anyway he ended up staying a good hour or more, we had quite a chat.”

  “Did he tell you any more gossip?”

  “Actually, no. We talked about his family, his sister, his niece – he’s proud of her, she’s studying at Moscow University. And we talked about books. Quite a lot about books. It was very interesting, actually.”

  Helen smiled. “Uh, uh.”

  “Don’t be silly, darling. It was just a chat. By the way,” her mother added, hastily, ignoring Helen’s raised eyebrow, “Irina called. Said she’d be stuck in St Petersburg for a few more days. She was concerned we’d be put out. I assured her we were getting on just fine on our own. Told her you’d even gone out to lunch with the local celebrity.”

  “What did she say?” said Helen, successfully distracted.

  “Nothing much. Just sighed and asked if you knew it was a small town, and gossip would be running wild by now.”

  Helen laughed. “Let them wag their tongues off if it makes them happy.”

  *

  That night, she found it hard to sleep. She lay in bed tossing and turning, remembering every detail of the day. She was in such a whirl of feelings: astonished, afraid, content yet frantic with longing to see him again. She wished she was with him right now, in his arms, kissing him, over and over, or talking dushi-dusha, as he’d called it, soul to soul, laughing, just being together.

  Every part of her was coming to life again, every dormant nerve and feeling sending out tendrils like green shoots in the spring. He is my spring made flesh, she thought, laughing at herself for not being in the least embarrassed anymore by something that only a few short weeks ago she would have labelled, by sheer force of learned habit, “extreme”. How shallow, how stupid that felt now! She felt free for the first time in her life, free to choose the life she really wanted, and the rush of it buzzed wildly in her veins.

  It was ages before she managed to doze off. And then she was woken from a jerky, disconnected dream with the sensation that something was wrong. Someone was in the room with her. So strong was the impression that her heart was pounding with fear when she opened her eyes onto bright moonlight and an empty room. The sensation must have been in her dream. But the shock of it had woken her properly. She looked at her phone. The time read 1.30 am. She got up, padded to the kitchen, got a glass of water, went back to her room and stood at the window, looking out into the silent lane and the silver birch shining with an otherworldly glow in the light of the moon. She gave a little shiver. The scene outside suddenly felt like a still moment in a movie, just before something bad happens. She glanced up into the branches of the tree, half-expecting to see the magpie perched there. But there was nothing.

  It was then she saw the car, coming slowly down the road. It was one of those boxy old Russian cars, like Sergey’s taxi. Only it wasn’t his. This car wasn’t blue, it was white.

  It was probably someone who lived in the lane, returning home late from a party or shift work. But even as the reassuring thoughts flashed through her mind, she felt the hairs prickle at the back of her neck.

  The car came quietly to a stop, right outside Irina’s house. The door opened and a figure got out. It was a man wearing dark trousers and a bomber jacket. He was as burly as Slava and Oleg, but taller even than Alexey, a giant figure of a man with short dark hair. She only caught a brief glimpse of his face: tough, coarse features, with a bushy moustache under a crooked nose, though she couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, or anything much else. She’d never seen him before, but he made her skin creep. Maybe it was because, despite his bulk, he moved with a light-footed grace that suddenly made her think of a forest predator. Not a wolf. A bear. She remembered what Volkovsky had said about the dark forces arrayed against Alexey. What if this man was part of them? What if he was here because he’d seen her with Alexey and …

  Now he was locking the car door and heading toward the woods. Soon, he had plunged down the track and disappeared from sight. Helen’s breath returned. She got a grip on herself. She’d been in a strange state after that dream, and had turned a perfectly ordinary incident into some kind of menacing scenario. She shrugged, went back to bed, and when she woke again, it was to a cloudy morning and the smell of toast wafting up the stairs. When she glanced out of the window, she saw the white car had gone.

  Not long after breakfast, Alexey turned up, on foot this time, with the stolid Slava in tow, a few paces behind. Sergey had just arrived too
and was having a cup of tea in the kitchen with her mother before they set off for Rostov. It was amusing to see Sergey’s reaction to Alexey’s arrival. It wasn’t that he looked surprised, exactly. Clearly, Helen thought, just as Irina had said, the gossip grapevine was humming, and he, like everyone else in Uglich probably, knew that the Trinity heir and the young foreigner had hit it off. The feelings that flitted over Sergey’s expressive face as Alexey extended a hand for him to shake were a conflicted mixture of social unease and natural curiosity. But when he caught sight of Slava, his face became expressionless, shut down. It was quite striking.

  She said as much to Alexey, on the way to his house, the bodyguard still plodding behind. “He has that effect on a lot of people,” Alexey said. “I guess that’s the point.”

  “I can’t say I feel comfortable around him either,” she whispered.

  He laughed and took her hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll give him the slip later on, okay? Like I did the other day when I went out on my bike. Can’t do it while Kolya’s around though or I’ll get a lecture about security precautions.”

  “Alexey, he told me about those people who made offers to buy Trinity, and how they’re likely to be angry that you.”

  Alexey shrugged. “That’s their lookout.”

  “But Nikolai told me about what happened. The calls. The break-in.”

  He sighed. “He shouldn’t have told you. It was nothing. Only an attempted break-in. And they didn’t get anywhere.”

  “But do you have any idea who’s behind it?”

  “There’s this guy in Petersburg called Boris Repin – Kolya suspects he’s behind one of the takeover offers. This Repin’s got quite a reputation.”

  “He’s a gangster?”

  “In the papers they call him a businessman. But there’s no proof it’s him. Could be anyone, really.” He saw her expression and said, “Relax, Helen. The way I see it, whoever it is that’s playing funny buggers is hardly going to try and kill me. What good would that do them? Trinity still wouldn’t belong to them.”

  He took it so lightly, but she couldn’t. The unease crept into her as she said, “But they could put pressure on you. Try to frighten you into …”

  “I’m not frightened,” said Alexey, simply, and looking at him, she knew he was speaking the truth. “Besides, unless you count the stupid calls – and they were put through to Kolya, not me – no one’s made a move against me, personally. To get Kolya off my back, I’ve accepted Slava and Oleg and the dogs, at least temporarily. But I’m damned if I’m going to spend my life looking over my shoulder. Okay?”

  His tone was almost fierce, and Helen winced. “Okay. Sorry.”

  He was instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean to bark at you. It’s just I’m used to hearing it from Kolya. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m not the little boy he used to bounce on his knee.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, Helen. I’m not such a pushover – did I tell you I used to do judo, back in Oz?”

  “No,” she said, smiling. “You didn’t.”

  “Well, it so happens I’m a black belt, Miss Clement, so what do you think of that?” He looked at her with a teasing expression in his eyes.

  “I think I’d better be extra careful around you, Mr. Makarov,” she said, demurely, looking up at him under her eyelashes.

  Their eyes met. He laughed, huskily. “If you keep looking at me like that,” he said, quietly, “I can’t answer for what I’ll do.”

  She breathed, “Can’t we lose Slava right now? Can’t we run away somewhere totally private?”

  “I’m working on it,” he said, and his grip on her hand was so tight it almost hurt.

  *

  But when they arrived at the house, Nikolai Volkovsky was there to greet them, and in no mood to let them sneak away. “How very nice to see you again, Helen,” he said, firmly ushering them in. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to have to claim Lyosha again for a little while.” Turning to a crestfallen Alexey, he spoke to him briefly in Russian.

  “Sorry, Helen,” Alexey said. “A guy called Lebedev – who we hope might have some information for us – has turned up unexpectedly. I’ve really got to have a word with him. I’ll try not to be long.”

  “I can wait,” she said, with a little sidelong smile. Their eyes spoke to each other.

  “Have you had breakfast, Helen?” Volkovsky said, discreetly. “Katya can bring you some if not.”

  She dragged her glance away from Alexey’s. “Thank you, Nikolai,” she said, formally. “I’m fine. I’ll find something to do. Go for a walk in the garden or something. If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” said Volkovsky. “Make yourself at home.”

  “See you very soon,” said Alexey, flashing her a rueful smile, and the two men walked off, leaving Helen alone.

  She felt restless so she headed out of the front door again, down a path to the back of the house and a big sweep of garden that was like a cross between a small park and an overgrown orchard, with fruit trees in blossom mixed in with birch, aspen, linden and other trees she didn’t know, long grass growing in among them, and clumps of flowers dotted here and there. She found a tree to sit under, the air was bright and fresh, the sun had come out properly now, and she was dreaming of Alexey, when all at once the peaceful air was shattered by the furious barking of dogs and the Dobermans bounded into the garden. She scrambled to her feet and kept dead still, totally silent, pressed against the tree trunk, knowing instinctively she must not move, must not try to run.

  The dogs circled her, not barking now but growling deeply in their throats, their gleaming eyes fixed on her. Quite what would have happened if Oleg hadn’t appeared just then she did not know. He whistled to the dogs, and yelled something. The dogs ran to him, and he clipped leashes to them and tied them up. But Helen still couldn’t move. She felt sick, her palms were prickly, her knees shaking.

  Oleg hurried to Helen, babbling away in Russian. Though she didn’t understand the words, she knew from his stricken expression that he was frantically apologizing. Maybe he thinks he’ll get the sack if Alexey finds out, she thought, so she forced herself to smile and say, “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

  He gestured, miming that he’d escort her back to the house. She nodded and followed him, avoiding looking at the tied-up dogs. No harm done, she was cool about it now. She wouldn’t say anything to anyone, she didn’t want Oleg to get into trouble. She’d just make damn sure next time that the dogs were tied up.

  Back inside, Oleg said something whose meaning she half-caught, something about Katya and coffee. She nodded, and seeing he still looked anxious, said, “It’s okay,” and put a finger to her lips. His expression cleared. He said, “Spasiba, spasiba bolshoi,” thank you, thank you very much, and then he insisted on taking her to the living-room and fussed around settling her on the sofa. Finally he left her in peace and she sat back and took a deep breath.

  She’d coped. She’d managed. Even if Oleg hadn’t come at that moment, it would have been okay, as long as she’d kept her nerve. Take another deep breath. You did it, girl.

  The door opened, and Katya came in, carrying a tray with coffee and also a shot glass filled with pale golden liquid. She said, nervously, “Honey pepper vodka – good medicine, yes?”

  Helen couldn’t help laughing. Taking the glass, she downed it in one gulp. As the sweet, piquant warmth of it rushed down her throat, she said, “Thanks. It’s very good.”

  Katya beamed. She poured out some coffee. “Oleg very sorry for you.”

  “I know,” said Helen. She felt a little light-headed now, but pleasantly so. “Tell him not to worry. I won’t tell anyone. Not even Alexey.”

  Katya nodded. She said, solemnly, “Thank you. It not happen again.” And she flashed the other girl a grateful glance and went out.

  Had she been right to promise not to tell Alexey? Well, it was done now, and she couldn’t take it back, so she might as well stop thinking about it. Sipping on the hot, st
rong coffee, she got up and opened one of the drawers of the entertainment unit, expecting to see CDs or DVDs. Instead, there was a large photo album of the lavish old-fashioned kind, with a shiny black cover, the photos held in with corners on thick paper sheets, and translucent dividers between each sheet. She took it back to the sofa to have a look.

  The first photo showed a severe-looking elderly woman, holding a smiling, curly-haired little girl in her lap. Underneath something was written in Cyrillic script, so Helen couldn’t read it. But the date read 1970. Perhaps this was Alexey’s mother and her grandmother.

  She turned the page. This time, the photo was of a sturdy boy of about ten or eleven, standing almost at attention next to what must be his parents. The mother was looking directly at the camera, but the father’s face was turned away, as if he’d seen something. But there was something about this man’s profile that made her catch her breath. He looked so like Alexey. Or Alexey looked like him. Or was that just a trick of the way the light fell on his half-turned face? The child definitely wasn’t Alexey, couldn’t be Alexey, because of the date: 1973. But still, the boy’s features were vaguely familiar, and in a moment she realized why as she turned the page and came on the next photo, of a young man with a defiant chin and a steady gaze, smoking a cigarette, and posing against the background of Red Square. She’d seen exactly that gaze in a newspaper photo. This was Ivan Makarov. Alexey’s father. She flipped back to the childhood photo. Yes, no question about it. The boy and the young man were one and the same.

  “So, you found the family photos,” Alexey said behind her, and she jumped. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He sat next to her.