The Runaway In Love (The Runaway Trilogy Book 2)

by Helen Bright

  “Tess, Mr Barinov, I didn’t mean—”

  “Leave!” yelled a voice from behind me. I turned to find Jean glaring daggers at the social worker. If looks could kill, the woman would have been dead in an instant.

  “Jean, I swear to you, Tess had it all wrong. She misinterpreted what I’d said,” Andrea stammered.

  “I highly doubt that. Now do as I said and leave. You are not welcome here. You and your department let Sarah down right from the start. You’re a disgrace, the lot of you. If you need to be escorted out, this lovely young man will gladly show you the door,” Jean told her, gesturing towards Ivan. His face was like thunder; his arms folded across his chest; fierce blue eyes almost boring a hole in the blustering woman’s forehead.

  “There’s, erm, no need, erm… I’m sorry,” she said before dashing towards the door.

  “Are you all right, love?” Jean asked as she took Tess in her arms, hugging her tightly.

  “Yeah, I am now she’s gone. I was trying to keep my cool in here, but some of the things she said, and what she was insinuating… Honestly, Jean, I felt like punching the bitch,” Tess declared.

  My wife was shaking with anger and frustration. I needed to get her away from the place before anyone else made any sly remarks.

  “Jean, I thinks it’s time that Tess and I left. Lucas, Kevin, and Nate will take you home. Kevin would like to check that your new security system is performing as it should.”

  She nodded her head and placed a finger over Tess’s lips when she began to object.

  “Go home, Tess. Get some rest. You look a bit peaky, love. Nan says you’ve not been eating much.”

  “I haven’t felt like it, Jean. I’ve been so worried about today. Every time I try to eat something I start to feel sick. I kept thinking something would go wrong but I think we did well by Sarah, didn’t we?”

  “We did, love. She’d have been proud of you today. And I know I’ve said it before, but I’m so grateful to you for your generosity, Kolya. She went out like a princess. I can’t thank you enough.”

  Jean looked like she was going to cry again so I hugged both her and Tess together.

  “It was my pleasure, Jean. Sarah is family—whether she is here with us or not. And I make sure my family has the very best. Always.”

  Mr Hancock stopped us on the way out of the tea rooms. He’d taken some cuttings of the plants I’d been admiring in his garden when we’d stayed with Jean. He told me they were almost ready to be planted, so I arranged for Lucas to collect them before they left.

  I was touched by the man’s thoughtfulness. It had taken time and effort to do that for me. I thanked him profusely before promising to keep him updated on how they were doing.

  Ivan drove us back to Oxford. Franco occupied the front passenger seat while Jonesy sat in the rear with us. We’d been driving a few minutes before I remembered the gift that Yannis had left for Tess. I passed it to her and watched as she opened it.

  “It’s a mask,” Tess stated as she took out the opulent disguise. The bevelled wooden stick was finished in antique gold and held a Venetian Colombina mask that covered her eyes, cheeks, and bridge of her nose. Gold brocade lay over both antique cream and jewel colours in a diamond pattern. It was a quirky yet beautiful piece, and suited my wife so well. Beneath the mask was a note which Tess read aloud.

  “Though a woman as lovely as you should never hide her beauty, I thought you might like to wear this to the masquerade ball. With love, Yannis.”

  “The hoteliers’ ball is being held in Paris this year. I thought we’d take in the sights beforehand.” I’d forgotten to tell her about the ball, which was understandable with everything that had happened recently.

  “Will that Dawson woman be there?” she asked, her features full of distaste.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, Tess. If she is about you could always clobber her with the mask,” Jonesy quipped. We all erupted into laughter, including Tess.

  “You always find a way to lighten my mood, Jonesy,” she told him.

  “We could call for ice cream and chocolate, Tess, just to be on the safe side,” he joked.

  We all laughed again, though Tess’s expression turned into one of confusion, followed by sheer panic. She closed her eyes and muttered something under her breath before counting out the fingers and thumb of her right hand.

  “Oh, shit!” she whispered.

  “What is it, Tess? What’s wrong?” I asked.

  She opened her eyes and stared at me for a few seconds before saying, “I think we need to stop at a pharmacy before we get home.”

  30

  Tess

  eight and a half months later

  My back was bloody killing me, but it was my own fault. Maybe Ivan’s fault, too. After attending a couple of antenatal classes with me when Kolya was away, he’d struck up a conversation with a couple of women who’d used dance as a form of exercise in the late stages of pregnancy.

  One woman said she thought dancing to Tina Turner songs had helped her baby’s head engage. So Ivan put YouTube on the TV and joined me in nine minutes of Tina Turner-style dancing. We danced along to a concert performance of Proud Mary. Twice! Franco and Rashid had been howling with laughter but Ivan wasn’t bothered in the slightest. He’d embraced everything about this pregnancy as if he was the expectant parent.

  Our baby had already been spoiled beyond belief with all the toys, clothes, and nursery items we’d accumulated. I never knew there was so much stuff you had to buy for a new baby. I’d stopped reading some of the pregnancy books I’d ordered because they scared me half to death, though Ivan had read them back to back. I think Kolya had gotten fed up with him after I’d hit the five-month mark. He still needed help with translation on some words and he seemed to be constantly asking what they meant.

  Kolya and I decided we didn’t want to know the sex of our baby until he or she was born, though everyone else seemed to think we were mad not to. Neither of us were bothered whether we had a boy or girl. They’d be loved and cared for either way.

  Kolya’s father had made it clear he wanted a boy. He said he wanted a child who could pass on the family name. Roman Barinov can be a bit of an arse sometimes, though he seems to have a soft spot for me.

  I met him after we’d been on our honeymoon. Kolya had taken me to a private island in the Caribbean. It was amazing. The sand was almost white and the sea was the most crystal clear pale blue you could ever wish to see. I spent my eighteenth birthday jet-skiing throughout the day, followed by a party on the beach at night. Kolya even flew Jean and Nan out for a few days. Everyone made me feel like a pampered princess. It was perfect.

  We’d spent two weeks on the paradise island before flying to Berlin, then Moscow. The rain and drop in temperature were a shock to the system after having nothing but hot sunny days for a fortnight.

  Moscow was nothing like I thought it would be, though we only hit the tourist sights and his family home. I got on well with Kolya’s brothers, especially his oldest brother, Yuri. Each of the brothers looked so alike, having the same pale blue eyes as their father, yet none had his coldness. He was always so friendly with me, and treated me like a daughter in a way. But I knew what he did for a living, so letting my guard down in his presence hadn’t been easy at first. We speak via video call every couple of days now, and he called twice a day to check up on me when I had tonsillitis last month. Not exactly how I thought a mafia boss would behave.

  The pains in my back had been getting worse by the hour; even sitting down was uncomfortable. I walked across to the window and looked out over Mayfair, my hands pressing firmly against my lower back. I felt the baby give me a kick on my right side and smiled. It seemed he or she was protesting about this morning’s activities. I should have gone back to bed for an hour or so to get some rest.

  We were staying in London so it was easier to get to the hospital I’d be having the baby in. No NHS for baby Barinov and me. I’d be giving birth in the Lindo wi
ng at St Mary’s Hospital, just like the Royals. Not bad for the orphaned ex-foster kid from Doncaster!

  The back pain came on again and I felt a tightening in my belly at the same time. It almost took my breath and I had to put my hand on the windowsill to steady myself.

  Shit! I knew what that was. I’d had the Braxton Hicks ones for the past week but this was so much stronger.

  I took out my phone and sent a text to Kolya.

  I’m in labour. What time will you be done with your meeting?

  Kolya was in Whitehall having a meeting with the Secretary of State for Defence, so I didn’t expect him to reply straight away, but in less than a minute I had an incoming text.

  I’ll end the meeting now and be on my way. How far apart are the contractions?

  I felt a little foolish. I’d only had one.

  No rush, Kolya, I’ve just had my first. Haven’t told Ivan yet. Don’t want him fussing, I replied.

  How’s the backache? Could it have been the start of labour? he questioned.

  I was about to reply with “No. Tina Turner’s to blame,” when another contraction hit. It felt like someone was tightening a foot-wide elastic band around my whole abdomen. I groaned and placed my hand over my belly.

  “I’ve got you, Tess.” Franco slipped an arm under my bust and pulled me against him, my back to his chest. “Breathe through it, baby. That’s it, nice and steady.”

  When the pain finally ebbed, I sagged against him in relief then took out my phone.

  Just had another contraction. It really hurts, Kolya.

  “Was that your first contraction?” Franco asked just as Ivan walked into the room.

  “Contraction… YOU’RE HAVING CONTRACTIONS?” Ivan bellowed. He dashed towards me, picked me up, then carried me to the sofa.

  “It’s my second big one, but I’ve had backache on and off for four hours. I thought I’d pulled it when I was dancing around this morning. I need to call the hospital. My contractions are about three minutes apart,” I told them.

  “THREE MINUTES?” Ivan yelled.

  “Ivan, for fuck’s sake. Stop with all the hollering. Tess doesn’t need that right now,” Franco told him.

  “And the baby doesn’t need to hear you swearing, either,” Ivan admonished.

  He’d read somewhere that babies in the womb could hear and recognise voices. Ivan had been like the swear police since.

  He called through to the hospital and passed me the phone. Before I could tell the midwife what was happening, another contraction had me bending over as far as I could to cope with the pain. Just as it finally began to recede, I felt my underwear and maternity jeans becoming wet.

  Ivan was relaying my details to the midwife over the phone. He’d made it his business to learn all my medical history, along with whatever the midwife had written in my antenatal booklet, so he was in a good position to speak for me until I signalled for him to pass me the phone.

  “I think my water broke or I’ve wet myself, I’m not sure,” I told the midwife in a panic. “I’ve had backache for hours but I thought that was because of Proud Mary,” I added.

  “Proud Mary?” she questioned.

  “The song,” I replied. “We did it twice. I thought I’d pulled my back with all the dancing but I must have been in labour. This is happening way too quickly; I’m just not ready for it. They said in antenatal class that first labours can go on for hours.”

  “Mrs Barinov, the gentleman I spoke to said you are in Mayfair, which is only around eight to twelve minutes away, depending on traffic. Because your waters have broken and your contractions are only three minutes apart, I’d like to send an ambulance and midwife to you, just in case. The address we have for you is the penthouse suite at Lassiter’s Hotel. Is that still correct?” she asked.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” I replied. “Will I have time to get a bath?”

  “Because your waters have gone we’d rather you shower than get in the bath. Can you have your antenatal booklet ready for when the midwife arrives, along with anything you need for you and baby during your stay. Your room will be ready for you when you arrive.”

  “Everything is ready to go. I just need to clean up and change my clothes,” I told her.

  After my next contraction had passed, Ivan walked me to the bedroom then switched the shower on for me. He insisted I left the door to the bathroom open while I got myself cleaned up. I purposely didn’t make a sound during my next contraction. I didn’t want him to come to my aid and see me naked. And if he noticed the blood in my underwear, I thought he might freak. It was just a small amount and I wasn’t bleeding now.

  I needed Ivan calm. Until Kolya got here, he was the only one who could do the deep breathing exercises with me.

  It wasn’t how bad the contractions were, but how long they lasted. I honestly thought they’d build up slowly and get stronger over time. I didn’t know who to ask for advice. Jean hadn’t had any children of her own, and Nan had gone to Covent Garden for lunch before going to see Blood Brothers in the West End. It was her birthday treat from her sister so I didn’t want to disturb her.

  I knelt in the shower when I felt the familiar painful tightening once again. Holding the warm shower spray on my lower belly seemed to help so I stayed there a while, letting the gentle heat do its thing until my knees began to ache.

  I got out of the shower and put on my white towelling robe, hoping I wouldn’t get blood on the back of it as I rinsed my underwear and jeans in cold water. I could still feel plenty of movement from the baby, which was reassuring.

  My next contraction had me gripping the side of the sink and I could feel a little more fluid running down my leg when the pain began to subside. Ivan knocked on the open door before stepping into the bathroom. His face seemed paler, his expression grim.

  “Tess, there’s been a number of incidents across London in the last ten minutes. It looks like a co-ordinated terrorist attack. There were gunshots outside Whitehall so the building is on lockdown. Kolya hasn’t been able to leave. We’ve spoken to Nan; she’s at the theatre already so she’s safe. There’s been a small explosion on one of the roads leading to St Mary’s hospital so the ambulance has been delayed until the police deem it safe. I’ve just spoken with one of the midwives again. They said to call if anything changes.”

  “Has anyone been hurt? Have you definitely spoken to Kolya?” I gripped Ivan’s shirt and looked directly into his eyes to try and determine if he was telling the truth. Being as he was sixteen inches taller than me, that wasn’t an easy task.

  “When you are done in here you can call him yourself. Rashid is on the phone with him now. Do you need me to help you?”

  “I need clean underwear and…something out of my hospital bag,” I told him.

  “What is it you want from the bag?” he asked.

  I wanted him to bring me the maternity pads I’d packed for after I gave birth but I felt embarrassed telling him—until another contraction came along, then I almost growled out the words as I clung to him.

  When the pain had passed, Ivan left to get what I’d requested from my bedroom. I wiped away the slow trickle of amniotic fluid that was running down my legs and threw the washcloth in the bath, along with my wet clothes. I didn’t like putting wet things in the laundry hamper and began to wish we were at home in Oxford or at Glengarran.

  Ivan came back into the bathroom and handed me one of the huge maternity pads, then he dropped to his knees and held my knickers open for me to step into.

  “Ivan, what are you doing? You can’t help me put my knickers on!” I exclaimed.

  “I can, and I will. You can sort out the…thing,” he said, gesturing to the pad in my hand. “Now hurry. The sooner you have your underwear on the sooner you can come and get comfortable on the bed. We can do the breathing exercises and listen to music until we hear from Kolya or the midwife.”

  I placed the pad on the edge of the bath then stepped into my knickers carefully, one hand on his shou
lder, the other making sure my bath robe stayed closed. Ivan tugged them up until they were just past my knees, then he got up and went back to the bedroom. I’d just got the pad in place when I felt the beginnings of another contraction. Sitting on the edge of the bath and rocking seemed to help with the pain. As soon as it had passed, I went to the toilet and emptied my bladder once again.

  I heard a knock on the bedroom door before Franco said he was coming in. Ivan told him I was in the bathroom and would be out soon. Franco relayed the message back to someone else before saying, “No chance, boss. The last time was a one-off. I had no choice.”

  Franco sounded irritated. Angry, almost. I got up and went into the bedroom to speak to Kolya. I needed to see him so I suggested we video called. When the call connected and I finally saw him, he looked even more stressed than I did.

  “Kolya, please don’t worry about me. I’m just about to listen to music with Ivan so it’s all good, I promise.”

  “I cannot believe this is happening. I need to be with you, my darling. It’s killing me to know you are in pain and can’t turn to me for comfort. But they won’t let us go to our cars until they’ve been checked thoroughly.” Kolya ran his hands through his hair and began to pace the room he was in. It looked like a library of some sort. I could see Jonesy following behind him, and there were other men in suits sat on leather Chesterfield sofas.

  “I’m fine, Kolya, honestly. I’m sure the—” I dropped the phone on the bed when a contraction that was worse than the others seemed to slam into my belly and drag itself out through my cervix.

  “Aargh,” I cried out in agony as wave after wave of torturous tightening took my pain to another level. Ivan was yelling for me to take long deep breaths—in through my nose, out through my mouth—but how could I when it felt like a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around my belly and was squeezing me to death.