The Concubine's Secret Part 52

'You're looking tired, Lydia, distinctly pale. Let me pour you a gla.s.s of wine. You'll feel better.' He held out his hands to help her off with her coat.

She didn't move, just stood there in his warm apartment with her hat and coat firmly in place. She tried to find him behind his smile but he was too well hidden.

'Dmitri, don't do this.'

His grey eyes widened. 'My dearest Lydia, you surprise me. We made a deal.'

'I know.'

'Your Cossack is back home?'

'Yes.'

'Not even dead.'

'No.'

'So,' he spread his hands as if confused, 'what's the problem?'

'I don't want to do this.'

He gave her a slow, sad look and gently removed her hat, so that her flaming hair tumbled over her shoulders.

'I really don't think,' he said softly, 'that what you want is relevant. We agreed. A bargain is a bargain. I have fulfilled my half of it and now it's time for yours.' His voice was sounding different, as though his mouth were dry and his tongue heavy.

'Dmitri, please. You are a decent man and we can still be friends despite-'

'Friends! I don't want to be friends!'

Anger flared for a second and he bared his teeth at her. And then it was gone, smothered by an attentive smile. That was when she knew nothing would change his mind and that was when she started to hate him. She glanced behind her at the door.

His hand closed over her wrist. 'No, my little Lydia, nyet nyet.' He spoke soothingly, the way he would to a nervous colt. 'Don't think of leaving. And don't glare at me like that. Such contempt.' He laughed and the sound of it made her skin crawl. 'If you try to leave, my dear, I shall have Comrade Popkov rearrested.' His eyes grew brittle as gla.s.s. 'Understand?'

'Yes.'

'Good. Now we understand each other, let me take your coat.'

She didn't move but he carefully unb.u.t.toned it for her and started to slide it from her stiff shoulders.

'Dmitri,' she said without looking at him, 'what is to stop you threatening to arrest Popkov in the future every time you want me to come over here?'

He beamed at her, delighted. 'Ah, now I see we really do understand each other.'

'Answer me. What is to stop you?'

'Nothing. Nichevo. Nichevo. Absolutely nothing.' Absolutely nothing.'

The room with the music turned out to be his study. It was intimate, despite the hard lines of the desk and the shelves of leather-bound books. Well chosen for seduction, it seemed to Lydia. Soft lighting, a gramophone playing, the rich colours of an Afghan rug on the floor, a pot of coffee and a bottle of burgundy on a table next to a chaise longue. It was the chaise longue that caught her eyes, with its elegant curves and dense green velvet. Silk cus.h.i.+ons of amber and russet, as inviting as a forest floor in springtime.

'Wine?' he offered.

'No.'

'Do sit down.'

She remained standing.

He removed the gramophone needle from the record, poured out two gla.s.ses of wine and paused for a moment with one in each hand while he inspected her, head c.o.c.ked to one side. He seemed to like what he saw. She wanted to slap the smile off his face. The room was over-hot. Or was it her? The aroma of coffee seemed to clog up her lungs and she felt suddenly sick. I can handle him I can handle him, she'd boasted to Elena. How naive could she be? She'd stupidly believed she could flutter her eyelids and toss her hair at this man, extract what she wanted from him and escape without having to pay the price. That man eats girls like you for breakfast That man eats girls like you for breakfast, Elena had warned. She should have listened to her.

Yet without Dmitri's help Popkov would still be in prison or, worse, dead. Dmitri had waited with the patience of a spider until she blundered into his web and she had no right to feel surprised when the sticky threads tightened around her.

'Here, this will calm you down.' He proffered a gla.s.s.

'Do I need calming?'

Again he inspected her. 'I rather think you do.'

She took the wine and drank it down in one go. He approached, standing close enough for her to smell the pomade on his hair, and the lines of his face seemed to harden as he bent his head and kissed her lips. She could taste whisky on him. So he'd started without her. She let his lips linger on hers but made no response.

'Lydia,' he murmured, 'so cold? So stony?' He ran a hand up her throat and into her hair, then dropped it down to her breast. 'Loosen up, my sweet angel.'

She stepped back from him, replaced her gla.s.s on the table and turned to face him. They had laughed together, danced together, surely he wouldn't force her. 'Dmitri, release me from this bargain. I'm begging you.' She dropped to her knees in front of him. 'Please.'

He smiled slowly and for a moment she thought he was going to agree, but instead he unb.u.t.toned his flies and reached for her head.

'You disgust me, comrade,' she said coldly and rose to her feet. 'So let's get it over with.'

With no hesitation she undid her blouse b.u.t.tons, stepped out of her skirt and removed her underwear. In the time it took for Dmitri to realise she was doing his job for him, Lydia stood stark naked in the study.

His gaze roamed over her body. Her face burned but her eyes remained fixed on his, as if by willpower alone she could force him back from the brink and make this enough. This display for him. She couldn't believe now that she'd been blind enough to find him attractive. He yanked down his trousers and kicked them away, moving closer to her. He touched the smooth milky skin of her stomach, her thigh, the fiery curls in between. He was breathing hard.

'Why me, Dmitri? You could have a thousand others who are willing, so why me?'

He started to move slowly around her, trailing his fingers over her b.u.t.tocks, along her spine, feeling the bone of her hip, the silky cus.h.i.+on of her breast.

'Because you are a rare creature, Lydia Ivanova.'

'There are many more beautiful. Including your own wife.'

Still he circled her, again and again as if he were spinning his web. 'The world is full of ordinary people, Lydia. You are not one of them.'

She drew a breath and said softly, 'Then don't crush me. Let me go.'

In answer he reached for her, his hands rough on her shoulders, gripping her hard. 'Don't be foolish,' he whispered, as his lips came down fiercely on hers.

She didn't fight him. But she remained rigid and unyielding until he abruptly tired of the game, threw off his robe so that he was totally naked and pushed her impatiently on to the chaise longue. He was strong and held her down, but as he pressed himself on top she squirmed her hips away. With no warning he pulled back and slapped her face.

'No, Dmitri, don't-'

He slapped her again, harder. She tasted blood on her teeth.

'f.u.c.k you,' she yelled.

The hand was coming again. 'Don't you-'

The study door crashed open. Dmitri didn't even look round. 'Get out, Antonina,' he growled and smacked Lydia in the mouth.

'Let her go,' Antonina said.

Lydia couldn't see her because Dmitri's body was blocking everything from view, but she could see his eyes clearly. They were no longer grey and controlled.

'p.i.s.s off, Antonina,' he shouted. 'I'm busy.'

Abruptly Lydia felt his whole body give a sudden jerk, as though her flailing knee had caught his groin. Only when he slumped down on her with a groan, clutching the back of his head, did it occur to her that Antonina had hit him with something. His full weight was crus.h.i.+ng her. She could barely breathe so grabbed a fistful of his red hair and yanked up his head, freeing her airways. His eyes were black with rage and she could feel the heat of it scorch her face. A fine thread of red was trickling from his ear down to her lips and she spat it back at him. Over his shoulder she could now make out Antonina, wide-eyed as a deer, a huge studded Bible clutched in her hands.

'You stupid f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h,' Dmitri roared at her and dragged himself off the chaise longue, one hand still gripping his head.

Antonina backed off fast.

Lydia leapt to her feet and seized his arm from behind. He turned, swinging a fist at her, but she was too quick and he missed.

'Dmitri, don't-'

'Shut your mouth.'

'Leave your wife alone.'

But he lunged for Antonina once more and this time his fist connected with the side of her head. The crack of it was loud in the room and she went sprawling backwards on to the desk. Her fingers released the Bible and her mouth hung open in a scream that produced no sound.

'I'm going to teach you, you stupid faithless b.i.t.c.h.'

He hit her again full in the face, just as Lydia slammed a punch into his kidneys. He grunted with pain, cursing, but seized Antonina's slender neck, squeezing it brutally between his strong hands. Lydia hooked an arm around his throat to twist him off, but she was too late. In panic Antonina lifted a dagger-shaped paperknife from beside her head and rammed it with all her strength into her husband. It slid neatly up to the hilt between his ribs.

A high-pitched whistle issued from his throat before he keeled over sideways, one hand clawing at the silver cross that was sticking out of his chest. He slumped to the floor. Antonina leapt to her feet, her face a mask of blood, and stared down in horror at her husband's inert figure. Her fingernails started to claw fiercely at her arm.

Lydia worked fast. First she felt for a pulse, but knew before she even pressed her fingers to Dmitri's neck that she'd find none - she had seen dead eyes before. She sat Antonina down, a cloth for her face in one hand and a wine gla.s.s full of brandy in the other. She removed the knife from Dmitri's ribs, washed it thoroughly and replaced it on the desk, then rolled his body up in the Afghan rug before the blood spread further. Only then did she think to put her clothes back on.

She took a seat beside Antonina on the chaise longue and wrapped her arms around the trembling woman, holding her tight, rocking her, murmuring soft sounds of comfort. She kept pouring brandy into Antonina's gla.s.s until finally it took its toll and the tremors ceased, the limbs hanging loose as her dark hair. The woman's head lolled on Lydia's shoulder and silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

'I didn't mean to kill him.'

'I know.'

'I'll go to prison,' she whispered.

'Maybe not.'

'Yes, I will. The Soviet police will condemn me.'

'Is that what you intend to do? Go to the police?'

'Oh Lydia, I've just killed my husband. What else am I meant to do?'

Lydia stroked the damp hair away from Antonina's face. 'There is an alternative.'

The wretched dark eyes, sunk deep in their sockets, turned to her and Lydia thought about what Elena had said. This woman was damaged enough. And now this.

'Tell me, Lydia. What do you mean?'

'We can go to the police right now and describe what happened and, after months of prison cells and questioning and a trial if you're lucky, you would end up a prisoner doing hard labour in a coal mine in Siberia.' She wiped away Antonina's tears with her sleeve. 'It wouldn't be pleasant.'

'Or what?' the woman sobbed.

'Or,' Lydia hesitated, 'we can bury him. And get on with our lives.'

Antonina looked aghast. 'Where? In one of the parks? Alexander Gardens maybe? You're crazy.'

'No. Think about it. Dmitri is dead.' She felt a brief wave of nausea and disbelief. Dmitri Malofeyev dead Dmitri Malofeyev dead. The words frightened her. 'Nothing we can do will bring your husband back. If you go to prison it won't help him where he is now. And I am witness to the fact that it was self defence. I saw him trying to kill you.'

Antonina lifted her head and stared at Lydia, her eyes purple smudges on her bruised face. 'You're serious?'

Lydia nodded.

'Oh you're crazy. Haven't you learned yet? This is Soviet Russia. There's no escape. We're all caught in the Communist net, for good or for bad. I've committed a serious crime and will have to-'

'Don't give up. Not yet. You helped me. Now let me help you.'

With a sad twist of her lips, Antonina touched Lydia's hand. 'That's why he wanted you so much. For that light inside you. He knew you were just using him, but he couldn't stay away.'

Lydia shuddered. She looked at the rolled up rug and mourned for the loss of the man Dmitri Malofeyev might have been.

'Antonina,' she said, 'do you own a car?'

Chang An Lo knew she was there the moment he stepped into the room, even though she had not lit the lamp. In the darkness he could sense her. No sound, no movement, just the feel of her there. Of her mind, of her thoughts, of herself.

'Lydia,' he breathed.