by Helen Bright
If that does not scream corruption then my father may as well be a saint.
“Rashid, I know that your part in what we did tonight will lay heavy on your conscience—especially the religious aspect and taking him from a place of worship. If you need time away from your employment, I will be more than happy to grant that with full pay.”
He cleared his throat before replying, “Thanks, boss. I’m taking Julie and the kids away for a few days anyway so I’ll have time to process then.”
He looked directly at me, the glow from the vehicle’s interior light highlighting his glassy eyes. “This guy needed taking out. He and the imam are a disgrace to all that is true Islam. I don’t understand why the families of those boys didn’t want the imam to suffer. If he’d have touched my children I’d have ripped him apart with my bare hands.”
“Fear!” stated Jonesy as he placed his hand on Rashid’s shoulder. “Just as it was when all that came out about the Catholic priests. They feared repercussions from the church, the community and others who worshipped. And God Himself, of course. Those who’d prayed and devoted their lives to God, feared for the place they thought they’d secured in heaven.
“Religions wield power. People have gone to war over them. Places of worship were embossed with gold and other riches while ordinary folk around them suffered and starved. They are all the same, Rashid. They’ve been that way forever.”
“But you believe in God,” Rashid replied. “You wear a crucifix. How can you think that way and still call yourself a Catholic?”
“It’s like anything else, I suppose. You pick and choose what aspects of religion you want to believe in. Take the Bible, for instance. It’s there to teach us right from wrong with various stories and verses from a time when the Romans were conquering the world. Rashid, you and me, we like reading. Always have done. But if we sat down and talked about a book we’d both read, each of us could have taken something different from the story. The things that stand out for one of us might be the complete opposite of what stood out for the other. Yet we’d have both enjoyed the book in our own way. That’s how I see religion. You take something good that appeals to you about it and forget about the rest—the stuff you think is utter bullshit and has no bearing on your life or the world in the here and now.
“I believe in heaven. Not necessarily what everyone else believes in, but I like to think there’s a place I can go where I’ll see my mam again, along with all my other friends and family who’ve passed before me. I believe in love and kindness and respecting others. I believe in defending people who can’t, for whatever reason, defend themselves. That’s why I joined the army. And it’s what we’ve done tonight, though it’s on a smaller, more personal scale. That bastard out there in the marsh had raped and murdered young girls. He’d ruined the lives of so many and would have carried on doing so. And if I could get my hands on that so-called imam, I’d kill him too. The police seem to do fuck all, and the kids don’t have a chance of defending themselves if no one in authority will listen. So in the case of all the scumbags involved, we are the authority. We’ve listened and have taken appropriate action. Case closed.”
“Wow, Jonesy, I don’t know what to say. That was all very…profound,” Rashid declared with notes of awe and humour in his voice.
“I have my moments,” Jonesy replied with a smirk. “How long’s Franco going to be? I’m fucking starving.”
“How can you have an appetite after what’s just happened?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“We had nothing but fancy-cut sandwiches today, and tiny little cakes that would have left a midget hungry. Once we get out of Doncaster, send Rashid into a takeaway for kebab and chips,” he replied.
“We’ll have plenty of food waiting for us when we get to Moscow,” I told him.
“Boss, not being funny, but you Russians have a habit of pickling everything. Whatever dish I order, you can bet there’s pickled fucking cabbage on the side to spoil it.”
I laughed out loud, both at his words and the grimace he wore before replying, “Says the man who just requested kebab and chips.”
16
Tess
It had been twelve long days since I last saw Kolya in person. I’d spoken to him daily over the phone and we’d video called every other day. He appeared a little preoccupied with whatever work he was dealing with, and being around his father didn’t seem to help matters.
Kolya was always wary whenever his father asked to speak to me. I know how Roman Barinov makes a living, but honestly, the man has been nothing but charming and funny whenever I’ve spoken to him. I asked Kolya if it would be okay to accompany him the next time he travelled to Russia, but all he said was, “We’ll see.”
We had to go to an event at some posh place in Park Lane tonight, so Kolya had Ivan fly me to London to meet him at his hotel. He’d arranged for me to get my hair and make-up done at the spa, and last week Nan had taken me and Jean to the shop where I bought my wedding dress, to pick out a gown suitable for the event. I chose a long emerald-green strapless dress that had to be taken up to fit, though it still touched the floor even though I wore high heels. I had a black chiffon wrap that draped across my shoulders and a black and green clutch bag that cost almost as much as the dress. My days of scrimping and saving my pittance of an allowance seemed like another lifetime ago.
My hair and make-up were amazing. I looked older and kind of sophisticated, like I deserved to be on the arm of a man like Kolya. I couldn’t wait for him to see me. Danny and Franco were blown away when they saw my transformation, though Franco told me I always looked beautiful, whether I wore fancy clothes and make-up or not. Danny agreed, then took me in his arms and began to twirl me around before dancing around the room with me.
I was breathless and giggling by the time Kolya arrived, so I didn’t see him at first. But even before our eyes met I knew he was there. It’s like something happens to the air in the room when he enters. A strange kind of awareness takes over me. My heart seems to beat triple time and each of my senses seems sharper.
I turned to look at him, taking in his rumpled appearance which was most unlike the man I married. “Are you okay?” I asked as I walked towards him.
“It was a long flight,” he murmured before reaching out to touch my hair. He ran his hand along my collarbone, stopping at the scar the bullet left. I’d purposely left my hair down to cover it but as always, Kolya zeroed in on it with a frown.
“You can hardly see it, Kolya. What with the tan and my hair I’m sure no one will notice. I thought I looked nice. Everyone else seems to think so,” I said defensively.
“My darling, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I shall be the envy of every man in the building.” He carried on trailing his hand down my chest, over my breasts and down my arms until he came to my hands, which he lifted to his mouth. He proceeded to kiss each finger individually before turning my hand to cup his cheek.
“Kolya,” I whispered. My insides felt like jelly, a throbbing need building in my core. I licked my lips—my mouth felt dry even though I’d drunk a glass of water not five minutes before.
To my utter disappointment, Kolya let go of my hand and stepped away from me.
“I need to take a shower and get ready. The drive from the airport took longer than expected.”
“Do you need any help?” I asked, raising my eyebrows suggestively. I watched his eyes widen in surprise before he snapped, “No, that will not be necessary.” Then he turned and made his way to his room.
I lifted my gown, walked over to the sofa, then sat for a few minutes, wondering where the Kolya from twelve days ago had disappeared to. The one who’d kissed me so passionately and made me experience my first orgasm. The one who’d held me all night when I’d been angry and upset. The man who’d told me he loved me.
17
Kolya
With shaking hands I poured myself a brandy, hoping to calm the raging beast inside me: the one that wanted to bring my w
ife in here and take her up on what she offered.
She looked so incredibly beautiful. A goddess in green satin; the colour complementing those coppery curls that gleamed like silk under the light.
How did I not think she would affect me so after all this time?
I wanted to tear the dress from her body and take her hard against the wall. Virginity be damned. Tess is temptation itself. My very own Eve. Yet it is she who is the forbidden fruit I am not allowed to bite.
I undressed in haste, stepping into the shower to wash away the feelings of frustration that powered through my veins like some enhanced drug. Less than five minutes in her presence and I already knew the situation was hopeless. There were just three weeks left until her eighteenth birthday, that’s all. Surely it should be easier to maintain my self-imposed sexual abstinence than this? I am not some errant teenager ruled by rioting testosterone. I am a man in my prime with control over how and when I bed a woman.
Sighing heavily, I took hold of the throbbing erection that tapped against my belly button. Who was I kidding? I was no more in control around Tess than a pubescent teen experiencing his first wet dream.
As I brought myself to an unfulfilling climax, I knew the next few weeks would be hell on earth for me.
The short drive to the venue was uneventful. Tess seemed nervous; I took her hand in mine to stop her fidgeting. Not ten seconds later her foot began tapping repeatedly on the floor of the car, so I placed my free hand on her knee to quell the movement. She leaned into me and sighed before saying, “I really missed you. I wish we were at home watching Netflix right now.”
“Tess, tonight is very important for KOLCAT. Among the attendees is a French ambassador. He has significant influence in how speedily items can be brought to the table to be considered by the European Parliament. Monsieur Alleman is a member of the EU council and is already aware of my interests in purchasing land in the Czech Republic.”
“What does the European Parliament have to do with it?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “Surely you just need to buy the land from whoever’s selling it?”
“Usually, that is exactly what we would do, but the EU has the ability to waive some of the taxes and levies imposed in such a buy. If you are willing to bring a successful business to an EU country in need of economic regeneration, they make sure the rewards are financially beneficial.”
“So we have to do a bit of schmoozing tonight!” she stated with a smile.
“My darling, the only thing you have to do is be yourself. But yes, these types of events are all about the schmoozing, as you so eloquently put it. Informal conversations with powerful acquaintances—a few words in the right ear, so to speak. Successful ventures are often born of polite chat and vintage champagne.”
“So you look like you’re out to party yet you’re really out to work.”
“That’s exactly it, my love. Even in a tuxedo I am KOLCAT. Though I promise we will make time to dance and enjoy our evening.”
Jonesy and Franco exited the Range Rover in front of us and came to stand by our car when we stopped. Nate got out first and stood to the right side of the passenger door that Tess and I emerged from. Jonesy would be guarding me tonight while Nate minded Tess. I felt she would be more comfortable with Nate doing close protection detail. They seemed to have struck up an easy friendship and I trusted he would step in to act as both guard and advisor if we were separated for any reason. Franco will be positioned around the doorway of the great room and Lucas will remain in the Mercedes, ready to pick us up should we need to leave quickly.
Dave and Gordon were in the foyer of the venue: an old yet recently refurbished government building on Park Lane. I’d been here plenty of times over the years, in the guise of raising money for various charities. But even though those worthy causes benefitted from our gatherings, as with most philanthropic events, the real reason behind them was business. To some, just being seen amongst the powerful of our social elite was worth the substantial charitable donation expected of every attendee.
On entering the grand room we were met by Rupert Langley, the Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs, and Richard Havendale, Secretary of State for Defence. Both men were important to KOLCAT, and for that very reason I greeted them warmly, shaking their hands before introducing my wife. Tess’s reaction almost mimicked their own. She stood there open-mouthed, no doubt recognising both the government ministers from TV and newspapers.
After an awkward few seconds, Rupert Langley shook my hand again, congratulating me loudly, causing quite a few people to glance our way. He took Tess’s hand in his and kissed the back of it, declaring me a lucky man to have such a beautiful, young wife. With emphasis on the young. Something neither I nor his wife—who was standing just a few steps away—was happy to hear. Richard Havendale also took Tess’s hand, his lips lingering slightly longer than both Tess and I were comfortable with. I didn’t hear the congratulatory words he uttered, I was too busy fighting the urge to throat punch the bastard for his audacity.
I placed my hand on the small of Tess’s back possessively, giving as few details as possible about our wedding before politely excusing us so we could leave the lecherous male. His covetous stare boiled my blood. To make my feelings clear would be detrimental to tonight’s cause. I do not think he would appreciate my telling him I would like to place a well-aimed bullet between his eyes. Instead, I shall make a point of attaching his photograph to the targets I use in my gun range. I could print more than a dozen and make a morning of it, firing enough rounds into his image to obliterate his weasel-like features.
I took two glasses of champagne from the tray of a server and handed one to my wife. Tess had a couple of glasses of wine at our wedding but she rarely drank at home, even though there was always wine with our meal and a selection of spirits on display. She suffered with migraines regularly and said she didn’t want to do anything that could bring on any kind of headache. Still, she downed the champagne in one go, probably trying to give herself some Dutch courage—enough to deal with the room full of strangers she found herself facing.
“Take it easy with the champagne, my love. If you keep drinking it like that it will go straight to your head,” I remarked when a server replaced her empty glass with a full one.
“I think I need it, Kolya. I’ve seen those two blokes on the telly. They’re government ministers. And you are friends with them.”
“I wouldn’t call us friends, Tess. More like acquaintances. Langley I can tolerate, but Havendale is a—”
“Prick!” she stated before downing half her second glass of champagne with a grimace. “I thought it would taste better the more I drank, but it’s just...bitter.”
I smiled at her description. To the inexperienced palate, I could understand that the taste might take some getting used to.
“My darling, at around two hundred and fifty pounds per bottle, I doubt the hosts would appreciate you proclaiming it bitter,” I declared with a smirk.
“TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY QUID?” she exclaimed a little too loudly, garnering us a great deal of attention.
“Sshh,” I whispered. “Remember where we are, my love.”
“Sorry,” she said. The flush of embarrassment still so clear to see through her skilfully applied make-up. “You just shocked me, Kolya. Each of these servers seem to have a dozen glasses on each tray. How many bottles does that equate to? Will they keep serving it all night?”
“Of course. There’s also a bar through those double doors over there. It’s not really necessary—a server will bring you any liquor you request—but often men like to congregate around a bar as the evening progresses.”
“It all seems a bit much to me. I mean, there are so many homeless people sleeping rough on the streets of London, not knowing when they’ll be able to afford their next meal, then there’s all these people drinking fizzy, fermented grape juice at two hundred and fifty quid a pop. Can’t you see how wrong that is?”
She was
right, of course. Yet that was the way of the world I belonged to. Her world now. Whether she was comfortable with it or not.
“My darling, we can discuss the rights and wrongs of this event later,” I told her, while guiding her further into the room. “I must speak to Monsieur Alleman before he leaves. Let us find him so I can see how amenable he is to my proposal, then we can take advantage of the orchestra and dance the night away.”
18
Tess
I hated every minute I’d been in this place. Here I was, dressed to the nines, make-up and hair making me look like I belonged on a magazine cover, yet the confidence I thought my appearance would give me fled as soon as I got in the car. And now everyone was looking at me, judging me. Judging Kolya, too. The few conversations I’d had over the last hour hadn’t helped matters. Where did we meet? How long had we known each other? What did I do for a living? I could hardly tell them the truth, though the lies that rolled off my tongue became more elaborate with each glass of champagne that passed my lips. After three glasses of bubbly I’d turned into a veritable Barbara Cartland with Kolya as my dashing romantic hero.
When it came to the fourth glass of champagne, I realised that the taste had changed and I was beginning to enjoy it. It even quelled the hunger I’d begun to feel.
Kolya had been talking to the French fella for the last forty minutes and to be honest, I was bored out of my mind. I wish I’d gone to see Mamma Mia in the West End with Ivan.
I hadn’t realised that Kolya could speak French or that most of their conversation would be in French, either. I picked up the odd word here and there but they spoke so fast, and I was completely clueless as to how well it was going for my determined hubby.
