Kholodov's Last Mistress (15 page)

‘I’ll agree with that,’ she said, keeping her voice as wry as
she could, although her heart had started to thud. Sergei was looking at her with a grim determination, and yet from the veiled look in his eyes she had a feeling he wasn’t seeing her at all.

‘I joined a gang,’ he said flatly. ‘A street gang. Thugs. We dealt in whatever sordid vice was profitable—cigarettes, alcohol and …’

‘You had to survive,’ Hannah said steadily, but Sergei hardly seemed to hear her.

‘And because I was so big and strong? You know what I did?’ She tensed, tried to keep her face neutral, bland. A single flinch, she feared, would condemn her and Sergei both. ‘I provided the muscle,’ Sergei clarified, his voice still flat and without emotion, although Hannah could see how tight he held his jaw, his shoulders, his fists clenched at his sides. ‘I dealt with anyone who needed a little talking to—with my fists.’

She blinked. Said nothing. She knew Sergei had more to say, and he was saying it as much for his own sake as for hers. She wondered if he’d ever told anyone all this before. It was like a bloodletting, the drainage of a wound. ‘I didn’t even know their names. Or what they did. I just saw their faces. So many faces.’

Hannah’s heart ached. She thought of Grigori’s words at the hospital—
Sergei made sure we had food, a place to stay—
and she thought she knew why Sergei had done it all. Not so he could survive, but so that they could.

‘And then,’ Sergei continued, ‘it ended. When I was nineteen I was sent to prison for my part in a robbery. Since I was just the lookout, I only got five years.’ He tapped his chest, at the place of his crucifix tattoo. ‘Prison tattoo. Shows I was in for robbery. And the spires on my back show the number of years.’

Three spires, Hannah knew. Three years. In
prison.
She
blinked again. ‘That,’ she said after a moment, ‘must have been terrible.’

He let out a short laugh. ‘Living hell. The prisons are overcrowded, raging with tuberculosis, and the guards appoint their pet favourites to act as enforcers—you can imagine the kind of abuse of power that leads to.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘There is no hope in prison.’

‘But you got out,’ Hannah reminded him, because from the bleak look in Sergei’s eyes it almost seemed as if he were still behind those bars.

‘Yes. Early, for good behaviour. And in some ways prison was good for me, because it made me determined never to go back to the gangs. The street.’

He would have been twenty-two, Hannah surmised. Without family, home, or any resources at all. ‘What did you do?’ she whispered.

‘I got a job doing menial jobs for an electronics firm. That’s what I did in prison—worked on an assembly line for electronics. I learned a lot.’

‘And then?’

He shrugged. ‘I worked hard. I listened. I studied at night. Business, English, whatever I could. And one day I heard two executives arguing about a glitch in the latest cell phone and I made a suggestion. They took it, and I made sure I got credit.’

‘That intimidation thing again.’

He gave her a tiny smile, although his eyes were still hard and cold. ‘Something like that.’

Hannah shook her head slowly. ‘And within ten years, you owned that company,’ she guessed.

‘Five.’

‘Sergei, you’re amazing.’ She walked towards him, smiling, stopping when he shook his head violently.

‘Didn’t you just hear anything I
said
?’

‘Yes—’

‘I was in a gang. In
prison.
I beat people up, broke somebody’s arm—’

‘I heard all that.’

‘I sold—’

‘Are you
trying
to put me off?’

‘There are things about me, Hannah, things you don’t want to know—’

‘Probably,’ she agreed steadily. ‘And trust me, I don’t need a laundry list of every shameful thing you’ve ever done.’ He let out a shuddery breath, as if she’d proved his point. Hannah gazed at him, steady, unyielding. ‘Do you do those things now?’

He jerked back. ‘No, of course not.’

‘You told me Kholodov Enterprises is legit,’ Hannah reminded him. ‘Is it?’

His eyes flashed anger.
‘Yes.’

‘And you don’t go around breaking people’s arms … do you?’

He glared at her, let out a huff of breath. ‘No.’

She nodded slowly. ‘So I’m supposed to recoil in disgust and say I can’t love you because you did terrible things when you were young and frightened?’

Now he looked really angry. ‘Now you know what I’m capable of.’

‘Yes. I know you’re capable of rising from the gutter of life to stand on the top. I know you’re capable of working hard when everyone and everything is against you so you can succeed, and not just for yourself, but for those you love. Where were Grigori and Varya during all this time?’

Startled, he narrowed his eyes. ‘Doing the best they could.’

‘I bet Grigori made a good thief,’ Hannah mused. ‘No one would suspect him. He looks so trustworthy.’

‘Grigori never stole anything,’ Sergei hissed, all offended anger that she could suggest such a thing.

‘Oh, I
see.
Only you did. And then you gave them food and money and made sure they never had to do the dirty work.’

‘
Don’t
blame them—’

‘Then stop blaming yourself,’ Hannah snapped, and she sounded almost as angry as he did. ‘Stop beating yourself up for what you did all those years ago. You
survived
, Sergei. You succeeded, and you took as many people with you as you could, even the ones who didn’t want to come. Where would Varya be without you? Or Grigori? Or Ivan? Or any of the others?’ She closed the space between them, stared up at him with all the openness and honesty and love that she could. ‘I’m proud of you, and I don’t mean that in a patronising, pitying way. I’m
humbled
by what you accomplished, the strength of spirit you had, and that you came through it all to be the man you are now. A better man than I even knew.’

She reached up on her tiptoes to cradle his face, her thumbs brushing his lips. ‘I love you, Sergei. I love the man you are now, and that includes the man and even the boy you were, and how you became who you are now. I think you’re amazing and strong and really rather wonderful.’ Her voice choked and she blinked back tears. Tried to smile. ‘And if you kissed me now, I’d be really, really happy.’

The moment stretched on as Sergei stared at her, a look of almost scornful incredulity on his face, and Hannah stood there, waiting, wondering. Had she just bared her soul to be rejected again, and this time worse than ever? Then his expression slowly changed to something far sweeter. Gratitude. Joy.
Hope.

He smiled, a thing of tremulous wonder, and then his arms came around her and his lips were on hers, seeking, demanding and treasuring all at once, every memory and hope and dream wrapped up in that one wonderful kiss. And Hannah was happy.

Really happy.

H
ANNAH
woke up slowly, stretching, savouring the sunshine that streamed through Sergei’s bedroom windows, his arm comfortably heavy across her middle. She curled into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, feeling as smugly contented as a cat. After the emotional exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours, last night had ended really rather wonderfully. And even though she did not yet know what the future held—after Sergei had shared all the secrets of his past they hadn’t done much more talking—she felt hopeful. Really hopeful, deep down, with an unshakeable certainty that wasn’t based on youthful naiveté or innocent optimism but on experience. On faith. On love.

Sergei stirred and pulled her closer. Hannah rested her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. His hand found her own still wrapped around his waist and his fingers threaded with hers. Neither of them spoke; Hannah’s heart was too full. She had a feeling Sergei’s might be as well.

‘We need to go back to the hospital,’ he said after a moment, and Hannah’s heart skipped a beat at the
we.
They were in this—in everything—together. ‘To see Varya.’

‘Okay.’

He squeezed her fingers. ‘I’ve tried everything with her,’ he said quietly. ‘Offered her money, a place to live, a job, doctors and therapists. She won’t take any of it, only a little
cash when she’s truly desperate.’ He sighed, his fingers still threaded with hers. ‘What can I do?’ he asked, the question so simple, so heartfelt.

‘Maybe you’re not the one who needs to do something now,’ Hannah said after a moment. ‘Maybe someone else needs to step up.’

‘Who?’

‘Can’t you think of one person?’

He shifted so he could look at her. ‘You mean Grigori?’

‘He loves her.’

‘I know.’

She smiled and curved her body closer to his. ‘Somehow I thought you might say that.’

Sergei shook his head, his expression shadowed. ‘I don’t know what good can come of it. As far as I know, Varya has never looked at Grigori like that, and she seems bent on a course to destroy herself.’

Hannah touched his cheek. ‘We can still hope.’

‘Yes … but is it enough?’

His question seemed to hang in the air between them, breaking the intimacy of the moment. Was Sergei talking about Varya and Grigori, Hannah wondered, or about themselves? After everything that had happened last night, did he still doubt?

As he slid from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom Hannah realised he did. Of course he did. One conversation, one night, did not change a lifetime of hurt, uncertainty, pain, and guilt. Building this relationship was going to take time. Sighing, she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes against the sunlight still streaming through the window.

An hour later they arrived at the hospital. Grigori met them at the door to Varya’s room, looking haggard and unshaven, still wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

‘How is she?’ Sergei asked in a low voice, speaking English for Hannah’s sake.

‘Better,’ Grigori said firmly, and Sergei raised his eyebrows in silent query. ‘She realises she needs to change, Serozhya. I—’ He glanced shyly at Hannah before continuing, ‘I told her I loved her. I never had before.’

A faint smile tugged at Sergei’s mouth. ‘And?’

Grigori sighed. ‘Well, she did not tell me she loved me. I did not expect it. But at least she has agreed to come home with me. I will take care of her there. Make sure she has proper food and medicine, and that she is safe. She is happy for that.’ He lifted his shoulder in a half-apologetic shrug. ‘It is not much, perhaps, and not as much as I would wish. But it is something.’

Sergei clapped Grigori on the shoulder. ‘I am glad to hear it, Grisha,’ he said softly.

Grigori led them into Varya’s room, and Hannah was amazed by the sight of the woman who had once seemed like a threat to her. Now Varya’s face was free of garish make-up, her slender body clad only in a hospital gown. Her blond hair, still the brassy shade from a bottle, was tucked behind her ears. She looked young and vulnerable, Hannah thought, despite the lines apparent on her face. She had to be thirty-five, a year younger than Sergei.

‘Serozhya.’ She held her hands out to Sergei and he clasped them warmly. She spoke in Russian, and Grigori quietly translated for Hannah.

‘She says she is seeing sense at last.’ He looked down, battling both pride and embarrassment. ‘I have shown her, she says.’

Sergei spoke in Russian and then English. ‘I am so glad. I have only wanted to see you happy, Varya. Happy and safe.’

Varya nodded, her eyes still holding too much sorrow. Too much experience. She spoke again, and Grigori translated.

‘She says she wants to see Sergei happy as well.’ Varya glanced consideringly at Hannah and spoke again. Grigori blushed as he translated, ‘She asks him if he will be happy with you.’

Hannah drew her breath in sharply, wondering what Sergei would say. He turned to give her a long, considering look that made her flush.

‘Very,’ he said quietly, in English, and no one spoke for a long moment after that.

They left the hospital in a quiet, contemplative mood, and ate lunch in a restaurant near Red Square. Hannah could see the spires of St Basil’s from her seat and wondered what would have happened if those kids hadn’t pickpocketed her. If Sergei hadn’t intervened.

Her life, she mused, would probably have stayed very much the same, struggling on in the shop, determined to make it work and trying not to acknowledge how unhappy it all made her.

She turned to Sergei. ‘I need to return to New York.’

He stilled, glancing at her warily. ‘When?’

‘Soon. In the next week, at least.’

‘I see.’ Sergei’s voice was neutral, perhaps even cool, and Hannah couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

‘I need to take care of things with the shop,’ she explained.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Sergei asked after a moment, and Hannah was moved that he would consider such a thing.

‘No. You have work to do here. And I think I need to do this alone.’

He gave her another wary look, swiftly veiled, and then nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘It should,’ Hannah offered hesitantly, ‘only take a week or so.’

Sergei nodded. ‘And then you’ll come back,’ he said, and
Hannah had the odd feeling that he was telling himself as much as her.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll come back.’

It was strange to be back in Hadley Springs. It felt so small, so narrow, and Hannah’s whole world had changed in the meantime. She dumped her bag back in the house, which felt musty and unused, still filled with her parents’ furniture and possessions, things that had never really been her own. Funny how she’d never considered that until now.

After changing and washing her face she headed over to the shop, its window bright and welcoming with a new display of colourful balls of wools artfully arranged in a selection of wicker baskets.

‘Hannah!’ Lisa came from behind the counter to give her a big hug, the bells on the door still jangling.

‘Hi, Lisa.’ Hannah returned the hug, glancing admiringly around the shop. ‘You’ve done some things differently.’

‘I hope you don’t mind—’

‘Mind? Of course not. It looks fantastic.’

Lisa had brought in a pair of comfortable chintz chairs for the corner by the window, with a little table between them and a selection of knitting magazines and patterns laid out for customers to peruse. There was a sign offering coffee along with the evening knitting classes, and the whole place had a more cheerful, happy, lived-in feel. Lisa
liked
being here, Hannah realised, and she never had. What a difference it made.

‘So,’ Lisa said, propping her elbows on the counter, ‘tell me all about it.’

Hannah smiled wryly. All she’d told Lisa before she left was that she had an opportunity to go away for a week and she thought she needed a break. Lisa had agreed with alacrity, and Hannah had been able to tell by the knowing glint in her friend’s eyes that she suspected a man was involved.

‘It’s been a pretty intense time,’ Hannah said now. ‘Intense and incredible.’ Which was an understatement.

‘So there
was
a man,’ Lisa said with a grin. ‘You don’t have intense and incredible weeks on your own.’

‘Don’t you?’ Hannah teased, then gave a little laugh. ‘All right, yes, there was—is—a man. An amazing man.’

‘You want to tell me who it is?’

‘I’ll tell you all about it,’ Hannah promised. ‘Over dinner, my treat. And,’ she added slowly, looking around the shop once more, ‘I have something else to ask you too.’

Several hours—and a bottle of wine—later, it was amazingly all settled. Hannah had told Lisa all about Sergei, and Lisa had agreed—enthusiastically—to buy Hannah’s shop.

‘I don’t care about the money,’ Hannah said, and Lisa shook her head.

‘You should,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m not going to stiff you, Hannah, for heaven’s sake, even if you end up marrying a billionaire.’

Hannah’s heart lurched at that thought. ‘It hasn’t got nearly that far yet,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s still very new.’

Lisa reached over to squeeze her hand. ‘But you love him, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ There was, Hannah thought, no question about that.

Later that night Hannah went back to the shop. She walked slowly through the office and the stock room, finally stopping in the middle of the shop itself. The wind rattled the window-pane and the moon cast a swathe of silver on the floor.

She was glad Lisa was buying the shop, glad it would have the kind of chance her parents had wanted. She was glad to let go of the anger and resentment she’d nurtured this last year, and maybe even longer than that without realising it.

Her parents had loved this shop, but they’d loved her too. She knew that, felt it deep in her bones. And even if they’d made unwise financial decisions—even if her mother had lied
to her about staying at college—Hannah knew she could let it go. She could forgive.

She could move on. Just as Sergei had.

Smiling faintly, she flicked out the lights before slipping outside and closing the door.

Sergei stared irritably at the sheaf of papers spread out on his desk, the figures blurring before his tired eyes. He hadn’t slept well in a week—since Hannah had gone. Her absence was the reason for his restless irritation now, and the thought both unsettled and humbled him. He still wasn’t used to feeling so much, for one woman.

He’d only rung her once since she’d left. She’d seemed as if she wanted to be left alone to deal with what remained of her life in New York; Sergei didn’t think there was much. He wished she’d agreed to have him accompany her back to the States; he wished she’d wanted him to come.

Sighing, Sergei rubbed a hand over his eyes and tried to focus on the figures. He’d spent far too much of this last week acting like a lovelorn idiot … and wondering if and when Hannah would return.

His intercom buzzed, and Sergei pressed Talk. ‘Yes?’

‘There is a woman who wishes to see you—’ Grigori began, and Sergei, his heart lurching with uneasy, impossible hope, cut him off.

‘Send her in.’

He had half risen from his desk, the smile ready on his face, hoping to see Hannah, when a stranger walked through his door.

Almost a stranger.

Sergei stared at the young woman with her blonde hair tied back in a neat ponytail, her eyes very wide and very blue … as blue as his.

His smile faded as he stared at her, drank her in, his heart beating painfully.
‘Alyona?’

‘You’re … Sergei Kholodov?’

‘Yes.’ Of course she didn’t recognise him. Sergei came from behind the desk and, as formally as if this were a business meeting, extended his hand for her to shake. ‘Are you …

Allison Whitelaw?’

‘Yes.’ She shook his hand and then quickly let go. ‘You must think I’m mad, coming here unannounced like this.’

‘I am surprised, yes,’ Sergei replied. ‘But also very glad to see you. Did you … did you come all the way from America?’

She chewed her lip, her nervous gaze sweeping downwards. ‘Yes. I know it was terribly impulsive. My parents don’t even know I’m here. But—I felt I had to see you, not just email or talk over the phone.’ She glanced upwards, uncertain and yet curious. ‘I’m sorry to barge in—’

‘No, it is fine. Perfectly fine. Come and sit down … if you like.’

‘Okay.’ She perched on the edge of a leather sofa, and Sergei sat across from her in a chair. Neither of them spoke for several long, tense moments. Sergei felt his throat close up, his eyes sting. He had waited for this moment for twenty-two years, and yet he hadn’t expected it to happen like this. He hadn’t let himself think about it very much all, but he realised now he’d hoped—secretly—that Alyona would have at least remembered him. It was clear from the wary way she gazed at him that she didn’t.

‘I told that detective guy—whoever he was—I didn’t want contact because I was so freaked out,’ she confessed in a rush, sounding so very American. ‘I didn’t even know I had a brother.’

Sergei swallowed. ‘I see.’

‘My parents didn’t either,’ she continued, and Sergei said nothing. She gulped and then said, slowly now, ‘But after I
received that email—well, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.’ She gazed at him openly now, reminding him so much—so painfully—of the little girl she’d once been.

I’m not scared, Serozhya. Not when I’m with you.

I’m not coming this time, Alyona. But you’ll be all right, I know you will.

‘I started having these … memories,’ Alyona—Allison—continued. ‘Memories I didn’t even know I had. Little things. A—a stuffed animal—a cat.’ She stared at him, a question in her eyes, and Sergei forced himself to speak past the lump in his throat.

‘You had a little toy like that,’ he confirmed softly. ‘You called him Leo.’

‘Leo,’ Allison repeated. ‘Short for …’ She paused, the words seeming almost to form themselves. ‘Short for Leontiy.’

Sergei’s heart seemed to do a somersault. ‘Yes, after our father. And since it was a cat, Leo seemed like a good name.’

‘Right.’ They both lapsed into silence, the memories heavy between them. ‘And other things,’ Allison finally said. ‘Flowers.’