Kholodov's Last Mistress (14 page)

S
ERGEI
stared blindly out of the bedroom window, his heart beating with hard, painful thuds as the private investigator’s words echoed relentlessly through him.

She does not wish to have any further contact. I’m sorry.

Alyona didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want even to email him. No further contact at all. After over twenty years of missing her, a year of searching for her, a
lifetime
of loving her, to be so summarily and utterly rejected was unbearable.

Sergei sank onto the edge of the bed and dropped his head in his hands. No, he realised with sudden, wrenching clarity, what was unbearable was having hoped at all. He hadn’t wanted to hope, which was why he hadn’t tried to find her until now. Until Hannah.

Hannah, with her shy smile and soft words and violet eyes, with her sweetness and her rosy,
ridiculous
view of the world,
Hannah
had made him hope. Hannah had made him believe—
want
to believe—in happy endings. Happy endings that didn’t exist, not for men like him. And the fact that he’d let her do it filled him with an unbearable rage.

He stood up, pacing the room restlessly, each memory—each
face
—rising up to mock him.

His grandmother’s snarling face, telling him she hadn’t wanted him, his parents hadn’t wanted him. Nobody had. He still could see the look of almost bored disinterest on her
face as she held his wrist to inflict his ‘punishments’—the cigarette burns that lined his right arm.

The indifferent faces of the orphanage workers, or even the faces of the kind ones, who couldn’t look at him without their features twisting with pity. The faces of volunteers and therapists who came in and tried to help, and couldn’t hide their horror.

The blunt faces of the gangs on the street, who only wanted him if he could steal or sell something. It didn’t matter what it was. The anguished face of someone he’d beaten bloody in yet another street battle.

The smug face of the warden when he was finally sent down for robbery, the utter despair on the faces of the prisoners.

So many faces.

And then finally, most painfully, the shock and sorrow on Hannah’s face … when he told her he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let himself hope any more. He couldn’t change.

The realisation was like a hammer blow to his heart, shattering the illusions he’d allowed himself to secretly nurture, and for that he had to be grateful. He couldn’t believe he’d let it get this far.

Slowly, with aching determination, Sergei rose from the bed. He knew what he had to do, and it filled him with a deep and angering anguish. He didn’t
want
to feel this, to feel so much, but surely it was better to end it now than to continue, knowing there was no future.

Hannah paced the living room, nearly dizzy with nerves, her heart thudding hard. She didn’t know who had called Sergei, what had been said, but none of it was good. And she had a terrible, treacherous feeling that when he came out of the bedroom—
if
he did—he was going to tell her it was over.
They
were.

She stopped in front of the window, stared out at the black
night. She felt sorrow and frustration and a sudden, fierce rage all rise up in her because half of her wanted to fight for Sergei, and half of her didn’t want to have to. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass and closed her eyes. She was tired of fighting. Tired of being disappointed. Hurt. Rejected.

At some point in your life, Hannah, you’ll find out that people disappoint you. Deceive you. I find it’s better to accept it and move on than let yourself continually be let down.

Maybe Sergei had been right when he’d told her that a year ago. Maybe she would have been better off if she’d believed him. Instead here she was now, her splintering heart flinging itself against her chest, desperation and sorrow and a jagged little shard of hope all a broken tangle inside her.

Maybe, Hannah thought, tears stinging her eyes, now was the time to walk away.

Except she desperately didn’t want to. She wanted to stay because she loved Sergei. Love, Hannah realised, was a choice, a choice she was in control of, a choice she had made deliberately, and she knew what love did. Love stayed. Love believed. Love hoped.

The door opened.

Hannah turned. She saw immediately from the composed and yet determined look on Sergei’s face that he wasn’t about to sweep her in his arms and kiss her. He did not have good news.

‘Who called you?’

Sergei flicked a hand in dismissal. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Yes, it does, because—’

‘No,’ he cut off in a tone of lethal softness, a tone she hadn’t heard in days, no, a
year.
‘It doesn’t.’

Hannah swallowed, painfully reminded of the man in Red Square who had looked at her with such disbelieving disdain. ‘What’s going on, Sergei?’ she asked quietly.

‘I can’t do this, Hannah.’ He sounded very cold. ‘I thought
I could, I thought I could try a real relationship, but I can’t. I’m sorry.’ He spoke flatly, without any inflection, any emotion at all, and it made Hannah wonder if this was the same man who had held her in his arms, who had touched her like a treasure, who had wiped the tears from her cheek.

‘Why?’

‘I just can’t.’ He looked away.

‘And that’s it?’ She stared at him in both rising disbelief and fury. ‘No reasons, no excuses at least?’ He hesitated. It wasn’t much, but Hannah grabbed on to it. ‘You have to at least give me a reason, Sergei. Something to show me
why
—’ She broke off, drew in a shuddering, hiccuppy breath.

Slowly he swung his gaze around, his ice-blue eyes freezing her to the floor, his expression utterly unyielding. ‘I don’t have to give you anything, Hannah. Not even a reason.’

Hannah jerked back at the icy indifference in his tone. It was the voice of a stranger. ‘So that’s really it, then?’

‘Yes.’

She shook her head slowly, words crowding her throat.
But you kissed me so softly. You told me your secrets. You lay in my arms.
She didn’t say any of it. Couldn’t. It occurred her to then, with a sudden, painful ferocity, that Sergei might have been lying all along. Perhaps he’d never intended to have a
real
relationship. That had just been a ploy to soften her up. Perhaps this was the kind of ending he’d planned, right from the beginning. She swallowed and finally managed to speak. ‘So is this how you end it with all your mistresses?’

He stared at her without expression for a good thirty seconds before answering with a shrug, ‘More or less. Sometimes I give them a bracelet.’ Hannah gasped aloud. She could not believe he could be so cruel. ‘However,’ Sergei continued flatly, ‘since I already gave you that choker …’ He shrugged again and turned towards the bedroom. ‘Ivan will see you to the airport,’ were his last words to her.

The door closed shut with a final click, and Hannah stood there alone, disbelieving, shaking, and then suddenly, amazingly,
hugely
furious. Without even thinking about what she was doing she flew to the door Sergei had just closed. It was, of course, locked. That didn’t stop her.

Hannah pounded on the door with her fists, hit it hard enough to hurt her hands. ‘Coward!’ she shouted. ‘You’re nothing but a coward, Sergei Kholodov! You’re hiding behind that stupid tough guy thing you do because you’re scared! The minute this oh-so
real
relationship of ours gets a little tricky, a little less picnics and flowers and great sex, you’re pulling the plug and
that
—makes
you
—a
coward
!’ The words poured from her, welling up from a place of pain and truth deep inside. The only answer was silence.

Breathless, Hannah sank to the floor and drew her knees up to her chest, all her fury gone, leaving her flatter than ever. She might as well have said nothing. The door remained closed, the room beyond silent.

Hannah lay her cheek against her knees. She wished she could cry, but the pain cut to deep for mere tears. She supposed she should get up, pack, wait for Ivan, yet something in her rebelled against making it too easy for Sergei. She would not tiptoe away with her pay-off choker and a suitcase full of clothes she’d never wanted.

Yet what could she do? Sit here on the floor like a pathetic, kicked puppy yearning for its master’s touch?

She heard the click of a lock turning and then the door behind her opened. Hannah scooted away, lurched to her feet. Sergei stood in the doorway, colour blazing on his cheekbones, his eyes glittering like cold sapphires.

‘I am not,’ he said in a low, clear voice, ‘a coward.’

‘Then prove it,’ Hannah snapped. ‘Prove it by not running away the first time things get tough!’

Sergei’s features contorted, although whether in anger or
sorrow or something else entirely Hannah could not say. She glared at him, her body as tense as a bow, tightly strung, taking aim. ‘Tell me,’ she demanded.

‘Tell you what?’

‘Who telephoned you, for starters.’

He folded his arms, his gaze narrowed, his expression turning indifferent, but Hannah knew better. She knew just how much feeling Sergei could hide. ‘It was the private investigator I hired.’

‘About Alyona?’ Sergei gave the barest of nods, and Hannah knew then what the news must have been.
Damn.
‘Why?’ she whispered.

‘If you’re asking why she is refusing any further contact, I’d say the answer is obvious. She’s moved on to better things. She has her own life now, has had it for years, and it doesn’t include me.’

‘But not even to ask—’ Hannah stopped, knowing there was no point, not now. ‘So,’ she said slowly, ‘you suffer one setback and you decide to cut me out of your life?’

‘Don’t,’ Sergei warned her coldly, ‘trivialise.’

‘Sergei, that’s the last thing I want to do.’ Hannah spread her hands and saw they were trembling. She didn’t care. Let Sergei see how he affected her, how afraid she was. Maybe then he wouldn’t hide his own feelings so much. ‘The very last thing. If anything, my problems seem trivial compared to what you’ve endured—’

‘Don’t pity me, either,’ Sergei growled and she dropped her hands.

‘I
don’t.
But I do pity any child who endured what you did. Don’t you?’

Her question seemed to startle him for his eyes widened, his body stilling. He didn’t speak for a few moments. ‘Yes,’ he finally said quietly. ‘I do.’

Hannah sagged a little. She felt as if she’d won a victory,
although she couldn’t even say what it was. And still the war raged on, around and ahead. So many battles to fight. ‘So why did you tell me it won’t work between us?’ she finally asked, her voice thankfully steady.

Sergei shoved his hand in his pockets and let out a long, weary sigh. ‘Because I don’t think it will,’ he finally said, ‘and it’s not just Alyona. It’s everything. Seeing Varya in that hospital room, knowing she’ll never change—’

‘You,’ Hannah said, ‘are not Varya.’

He inclined his head. ‘Indeed not, but still.’ He looked at her with a grave sorrow. ‘I’m more like Varya than you think.’

‘What on earth is that supposed to mean?’

‘It means,’ Sergei told her, his voice gaining an edge, ‘that I’ve seen and done things that would have you running a mile. Things that would fill you with horror and disgust and despair.’ He spoke flatly, calmly even, but Hannah saw how the muscles in his jaw had bunched, his shoulders set rigid. ‘I’m not the man you think I am.’

‘You’re not the man you think you are, either,’ Hannah said quietly.

‘And I thought you weren’t an optimist any longer,’ Sergei returned, a slight sneer in his voice. Hannah had a sudden vivid memory of standing in that private room, staring at Sergei and telling him what she’d believed deeply in her heart.

You’re trying to push me away and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because you’re afraid of hurting me, or maybe you’re just afraid. You’re a better man than you think you are.

She’d believed it then, and she believed it now. She lifted her chin. ‘I’m not an optimist, Sergei. Nor am I naive. Right now I see things very clearly, and I think you’re afraid, just as you told me you were before.’

‘I am not afraid.’

‘Afraid,’ Hannah continued, ‘that this relationship could work. I’m not saying I’m an expert on relationships, far from
it. But I’m willing to risk my heart and give it—us—a chance, and that doesn’t just mean romantic little getaways or luxury hotels. It means real life and hard work, up and down. I’m willing to face that. Are you?’

‘I
know
,’ Sergei told her, ‘this relationship won’t work.’

‘Because you’re not capable of it?’ Hannah said, scornfully, and Sergei just bunched his jaw. ‘You don’t think you’re capable of loving someone? Is that it?’ She heard the contempt in her voice, and Sergei heard it too. She could tell by the narrowing of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw that it made him furious. Well,
good.
‘I might believe that,’ she said more quietly, ‘if I hadn’t seen you in the hospital with Varya. Or even with Grigori. Or heard you talk about Alyona. You’re perfectly capable of loving people, Sergei. In fact I think you have a
lot
of love to give. So that’s not what’s making you push me away.’

‘Don’t—’

‘So,’ Hannah continued, her voice growing stronger, surer, ‘it must be something else. Maybe it’s that you’re afraid
I
won’t love
you.
’

His eyes flashed dark and his mouth thinned. ‘Do you?’ he asked, his tone caught between a supplication and a sneer.

‘Do I what?’ Hannah challenged him softly.

A muscle flickered in his temple. ‘Do you love me?’ he clarified, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. But before Hannah could answer—answer with a resounding, heartfelt
yes
—Sergei continued. ‘Do you love the man who left the orphanage at sixteen to pickpocket tourists like yourself on the street?’

Her eyes widened. ‘So that’s how you knew what those kids were doing.’

‘And I didn’t stop at pickpocketing, Hannah. I was big and strong and so that made me useful. Intimidating.’