Moonlight on the Thames

by Lauren Westwood

  ‘I understand.’ He sighed. ‘All too well. It is going to be difficult for me to tell my story, too.’

  She opened her eyes and took his hand. His skin was warm as she traced his fingers with hers. ‘You don’t have to do it.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ He shifted underneath her. ‘Look—’

  Nicola raised her head as he pointed out the window of the train. A few large flakes of snow had begun to fall, dancing on the wind and settling to earth.

  ‘Snow!’ she said, excitedly. ‘A white Christmas!’

  The train pulled into the station and they got off. Dmitri led her by the hand through the streets and across The Green. The snow was falling harder, thick and fast. As they neared the house, Nicola stopped.

  ‘What the—?’

  The doors on either side of her house were trimmed with their wreaths. But in the middle, her house was a riot of light. Tiny twinkling fairy lights around the door, icicle lights around the windows. A beautiful evergreen wreath with white lights and a red bow. And just above the door, a large sprig of mistletoe.

  ‘You didn’t!’ she said.

  He gave her that teasing look, his eyes glowing amber. ‘Maybe it is the magic power of Christmas.’ He shrugged. ‘Or maybe I’ve just got to know your neighbours.’

  ‘My neighbours!’ Standing against the door, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to her. The snow settled on their hair and clothing, as he tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her deeply.

  ‘The snow reminds me of that night on the London Eye,’ she said, breathlessly when they came apart.

  ‘Yes.’ His cheeks flushed in the cold. ‘I wanted you so badly.’

  ‘Did you?’ she teased. ‘Could have fooled me.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said, his warm breath close to her ear. ‘You have no idea.’

  She unlocked the door, and they went inside. ‘And did you have any other Christmas treats in mind that I don’t know about?’ she said, brushing the snow from his jacket.

  ‘I think this Christmas, it is all about making new memories.’

  ‘Oh? Like what?’

  His eyes turned dark and mischievous and he took something out of his bag, then leaned close and whispered in her ear.

  And Nicola laughed as the Santa hat made a reappearance.

  He put it on his head, swinging the tassel over his shoulder. ‘Now, shall we see who’s been naughty or nice?’

  He lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom.

  Part VI

  ‘…Happily ever after.’

  – ‘The Firebird’, The Anthology of Russian Tales

  42

  1st July – 6 months later

  Nicola was aware of the people in the room staring at her as she left the conference room. She smiled to herself and tucked the cheque into her portfolio. Her new business partner, Alan, gave her a sideways look.

  ‘What’s that they say about ice and Eskimos?’ he said when they were out of the room. ‘I’ve been trying for two years and never got a cent out of that lot.’

  ‘Well, I guess it’s all about presentation,’ Nicola said. Yes, the well-produced video, with before and after stories of people aided by the charity, helped. But her well-fitting suit and high heels probably hadn’t hurt either. Whether it was for shares in a company or a six-figure donation to a charity, if there was one thing Nicola felt confident of, it was her ability to walk into a room full of men and get them to shell out money. Some things never changed, but at least now it was for a good cause. ‘Now,’ she added, ‘do you want to call Care and give them the good news, or should I?’

  ‘You do the honours,’ Alan said.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some more calls to make anyway.’

  They gave their temporary passes in at reception and walked out of the office tower. As they entered Canada Square, Nicola felt a rush of nostalgia. The last time she’d been here, it had been decorated for Christmas, with an ice rink, Christmas tree and the great swooping birds and golden apples that were straight out of a fairy tale. Now, it was summer, the sky a deep blue above the grey concrete and glass. Office workers: men in shirtsleeves and women in business casual summer dresses, were basking in the sun on benches or sitting at outdoor tables. Had she ever been one of them? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  ‘Do you have time for a coffee?’ Alan asked. Since setting up their business as independent charity consultants in April, they’d been too busy to look for office space. Kolya was the one who had introduced her to Alan Franklin, a semi-retired financial advisor in his mid-sixties. They’d met up early in the New Year, gone over her questions about the Care accounts, got to talking and one thing had led to another. Now, they already had five charities as clients, hiring them to advise on fundraising, presentation and financial management. It had been a steep learning curve, but so far so good.

  ‘Actually,’ Nicola said, ‘I’m supposed to meet Chrissie, my former PA. Since we’re here. We’ve been meaning to meet up, but this is the first time we’ve actually made it happen.’

  ‘OK,’ Alan said. ‘In that case, I’ll give you a call later on. And see you at the concert. If not before.’

  ‘Thanks Alan.’ They shook hands and Alan went off to get the Tube.

  Nicola sent a quick text to Chrissie. She went to the café where they’d agreed to meet and found a table. While she waited, she checked her voicemails: one from Bill Campbell, Dmitri’s agent, one from Tanya and one from Jules.

  She listened to Jules’ message first. At thirty-eight weeks pregnant, Nicola knew that Jules could go into labour at any time. Listening to the message, she breathed out a sigh of relief. Jules was only calling to finalise a date for the christening and double-check the guest list. So like her sister!

  Bill Campbell’s message was in a similar vein; he was calling to see how many tickets she needed for next week’s concert. Dmitri was making his London debut at the summer proms, and she’d invited everyone she knew. Nicola liked Bill Campbell and had to admit that he was earning his (generous) cut of Dmitri’s earnings. From their very first meeting, Campbell had begun to make things happen. The plan was simple. Get Dmitri into the studio to make some recordings, and then get his name and his story out there to sell them.

  In truth, neither of them had been prepared for what was to come – that Dmitri would cause such a fervour in the classical music world. But as soon as the story was out – about a talented prodigy whose career was stolen from him by a cruel act of violence – social media went viral. At first, Dmitri had refused to name his father as the perpetrator. It was Tanya who had taken it upon herself to fill in the gaps. It had taken a lot of effort and ‘ends justify the means’ speeches by Kolya to smooth things over between brother and sister. Nicola had warmed to Tanya over the whole thing, and now considered her a friend.

  Nicola remembered how overwhelming those early days had been. She’d spent hours hanging around studios making sure Dmitri ate and drank. She’d helped him prepare for interviews, attended meetings with concert promoters, conductors and sponsors, checked over all the financial details. She’d helped him get past the occasional black mood, when he questioned what he had done, and whether he was good enough (and she still wasn’t sure if the long hours he spent with Mikhail Aslanov were a help or hindrance in that regard). And, of course, she’d attended all of his performances – sitting white-knuckled in the audience, praying that it all went well.

  The first ones had been small, regional affairs. Just enough to make sure that Dmitri was the real thing and up to performing on a stage. He was. With his poise, good looks and piano playing that was described in the press as ‘joyous, free and whimsical’, he’d been an instant success. In late April, he’d had his big break: the chance to step in for a pianist (a much bigger star in Bill Campbell’s stable) who had been taken ill, and perform the Grieg piano concerto with the Liverpool Philharmonic. The performance had been a triumph and paved the way for the concert
next week.

  Nicola left a message with Bill’s PA about the tickets. While she was on the phone, a new message arrived from Charles at the charity shop, asking if she could cover a shift at the weekend. After Christmas, it had taken her a month before braving going back to the shop and filling out the form to volunteer.

  On her first day, she’d come in with a roll of bin bags and a marking pen and gone through the entire shop, getting rid of unsaleable tat and repricing anything that was fit to sell. Charles let her unofficially take over on the days she was there. She’d even had him close down for a few days to repaint, get proper shelves and shop fittings put in and then restock. The shop had tripled its turnover since Christmas. But being in the trenches only made her think harder about the idea she’d chatted through with Brian. The shop revenues were a drop in the ocean compared to the resources needed by Care and other charities. From the moment she’d begun to dabble in the business of helping people in need, she’d tried to think of ways to do it in a more efficient and cost-effective manner. To find a way to apply the same financial strategies she used to catapult fashion brands into the stratosphere to the not-for-profit sector. Meeting Alan, who had the right contacts and practical knowledge, had been the final missing piece.

  She sent a quick text to Charles, and one to Tanya, just as Chrissie arrived. Chrissie was dressed for summer in a sleeveless flowered top and white linen skirt. She’d had her hair coloured and her face had a touch of sun. Seeing her, Nicola had to swallow back a rogue tear. Chrissie had always done her best to support her and try to be a friend. It was only now that Nicola had left – that she had changed – that she was finally able to appreciate it.

  ‘Hello!’ Nicola said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Hi, Nicola. It’s so great to see you.’

  ‘Thanks. You too.’ Nicola grinned. ‘You’re looking well. Working for someone else definitely suits you.’

  ‘Ah, now you know that’s not true.’ Chrissie laughed.

  They ordered drinks, and Chrissie filled her in on the latest gossip – that Ollie was leaving the firm too to spend more time with his family.

  ‘That’s good,’ Nicola said without missing a beat. ‘I’m glad they patched things up.’

  ‘Yes, it seems so. Best for the kids and all that.’

  Nicola agreed. She rarely thought of those grey, lifeless days now, when all she had to look forward to was a stolen moment with someone else’s husband. The time before she met Dmitri Orlov and became caught up in his gravitational pull. Their lives had collided like two dark stars; her world had exploded with light. His energy and kindness – his love – had made her into the different person she was today.

  ‘But how are you, Nicola?’ Chrissie asked as their drinks arrived. ‘You look great – as always. Things are good with Dmitri?’

  ‘Yes.’ Chrissie’s sly look made Nicola blush. ‘Very good. I mean, we’re both busy, as you can imagine.’

  ‘I can imagine. Just think – performing at the proms! How exciting. Your man is a celebrity.’

  ‘Yes, well, it is exciting. But it’s all been pretty overwhelming too. I don’t know how he does it – he’s so focused and dedicated. He spends so many hours practising. But he loves to perform. He’s in his element when he’s up there on stage.’

  ‘You’re glowing – do you know that?’

  ‘No. I…’

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you so happy.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Nicola said. ‘I think I am. I mean then there’s my new business. I’ve told you about that. And Jules is at thirty-eight weeks already – can you believe it? And Dmitri’s sister Tanya’s wedding is in a fortnight… In fact, maybe you can help me. I still need to buy gifts…’

  Chrissie put on her best prim schoolmistress face. ‘I see you still haven’t paused to take a breath, have you?’

  ‘I guess not.’ Nicola smiled. Chrissie always could see right through her. It was easier to keep busy, just like she always had. Too busy to focus on the one thing that was still a blot on her new-found happiness, like a cloud threatening to swallow the moon.

  The phone rang. She glanced quickly down at the screen and silenced the call, hiding a little grimace.

  It was Elsie, the counsellor at the therapy group Kolya had bullied her into attending. Calling, no doubt, because Nicola had cancelled their last two sessions. Though Dmitri encouraged her to go, and had been there for her every time she came out, she had begun to worry that Kolya was wrong – that she would never be free of the past. The sessions brought out too many things. Not only about the rape, but also her anger at her mum, and her dad – for giving up the way he had. After nearly six months of working on her ‘recovery’, she still felt powerless. She hadn’t come any closer to letting go of the anger she felt towards Kevin Galsworthy. Anger at what he’d done, and the fact that she’d let it shape her for so long. That day by the river, she’d told Kolya that she didn’t expect justice. She wanted it, though.

  ‘Are you OK, Nicola? Do you need to take that call?’

  Nicola looked up. She’d been so busy ruminating that she’d almost forgotten Chrissie was there. Now though, the older woman was giving her the familiar look of concern from when they’d worked together.

  ‘No, but…’ She took a breath. ‘Do you remember when you said you hoped that someday I’d tell you why things… were like they were?’

  ‘Yes,’ Chrissie said, sounding wary.

  ‘Well, can I tell you something – get your advice?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s kind of a long story…’

  *

  Late that night, Nicola picked up the phone. After having coffee with Chrissie, she’d come home; tried to focus on the million things she had to do. But the conversation, which had left Chrissie in tears, weighed so heavily on her that she couldn’t focus on anything else. They’d talked through the options. Agreed that it would probably come to nothing. Maybe even make things worse. And yet, Nicola felt that this was something she had to do.

  Her hand trembled as she checked the number and prepared to dial it. She had a story ready – a lost cell phone in a taxi – in case a PA picked up. Or she could just put down the phone and stop this right now. Go to Dmitri who was practising on his fancy new Yamaha piano in the spare bedroom. Bring him a cup of tea, or a sandwich. Kiss him, touch him, tease him into coming to bed. Be happy – forget about this stupid plan.

  She took a breath and punched in the numbers of the investment bank in New York. The ringing went on and on. It was after hours. Had she plucked up her courage for nothing—?

  ‘Hello?’ a voice answered. That voice. Kevin Galsworthy had picked up himself, just like she was expecting. Just like she would have done.

  ‘Kevin,’ she swallowed hard, ‘it’s Nicola Taylor.’

  There was a long pause. Nicola stared at the face of the man on the bank’s website. He’d aged – but then again, who hadn’t? And the smile. A wave of bile rose in her throat. The smile was still the same.

  ‘Nicola,’ he said. Another pause. On the other side of the Atlantic, a door shut.

  ‘You know it’s been—’ She broke off unable to continue. Whatever she had been planning on saying – whatever she had rehearsed in her mind – it was all gone as soon as he’d picked up the phone.

  The silence was heavy and uncomfortable. For a second, she panicked. He would put the phone down, and she hadn’t said… anything.

  She heard him take a breath. Then, he began to speak. ‘Why are you calling me, Nicola?’

  ‘You… you know why.’

  ‘I have nothing to say.’

  ‘Nothing?’ She choked out the word.

  ‘There’s nothing I can say.’

  ‘But…’ she swallowed, ‘I have something that I want to say to you.’

  He sighed. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘You raped me, Kevin,’ Nicola said, finding the words. ‘You followed me, then held me down on an icy pavement and did… that.
And I have to live with it every day of my life. For years I’ve let it eat away at me. It’s affected my whole life.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said “yes”, Nicola. Is that what you want? For me to admit it? Is that going to help somehow?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t know either. Because to be honest… well…’

  Nicola waited, unable to speak.

  ‘Here’s how it is,’ he said after a long pause. ‘I’ve got a daughter. She’s seven. And sometimes, when I look at her, I think about what I did. And how, if someone did that to her—’ He broke off, a strangled sound coming from his throat.

  Nicola bit her lip. She’d imagined him over the years: a wife and family, a big house in the suburbs. Skiing holidays, a summer house on Cape Cod, a mistress in the office. Congratulating himself on everything he’d achieved, and the fact that, many years earlier, his dad had bought off his youthful ‘mistake’. But, over time, she’d changed. Was it possible that he had too?

  ‘I’m sorry, Nicola,’ he said finally. ‘For what I did.’

  She didn’t answer. Now that she’d heard it – now that he’d finally confessed – apologised – what else did she want him to say? What could he say?

  ‘I—’ her pulse thundered in her head, ‘need to know if you hurt anyone else, Kevin. If there are others out there. Or was I the only one?’

  He answered without pause. ‘I don’t know if it makes it better or worse, but you were the only one. I was drunk – it happened. And afterwards, I felt awful for what I did. Well, maybe not immediately…’

  ‘No, obviously not immediately.’ The sarcasm sounded hollow and flat.

  ‘I didn’t know what to do when you went to the police. I got Ashley to give me an alibi. Got my father to make it go away.’ He sighed. ‘But it never has gone away, I guess.’

  ‘No. It hasn’t.’

  In a single second, Nicola relived it all over again – the fear, the footsteps, the smile… the pain… Her eyes filled with tears. But this time, it was different somehow. Instead of the anger and the panic – the clawing sense of powerlessness – a strange sense of calm swept through her.