The Unseen (Echoes from the Past Book 5), page 21
December 2014
London, England
“Bastard! Dirty bastard!” Quinn raged as she tossed aside the necklace in utter disbelief.
“What’s all the shouting about?” Gabe asked as he poked his head through the door. “Who’s a dirty bastard, and should Emma be hearing this kind of language from her highly respectable mother?”
“Oh, Gabe, I never saw that coming. Never in a million years,” Quinn cried. “How could he? Why would he?”
“I think you’d better explain.”
Quinn began to tell Gabe what she’d seen until Emma came bounding into the room.
“Who’s a dirty bastard?” she asked happily. “Can I say that too?”
“No, you can’t say that. Mum said ‘dirty blanket.’ You misheard,” Gabe said sternly.
“No, I didn’t. And the blanket is clean,” she added, giving Alex’s yellow blanket a cursory check. “You are in so much trouble,” she said to Quinn. “And you are in trouble for lying to me,” she said, turning to Gabe. “What kind of parents are you?”
“I guess that’s us told,” Quinn said, feeling guilty as sin. So much for teaching Emma not to swear or lie.
“So, what do you think our punishment should be?” Gabe asked, clearly curious to see what Emma would come up with.
“You have to take me to see Penguins of Madagascar, buy me popcorn and a drink, and then take me out for pizza and ice cream afterwards.”
“That’s so unfair,” Gabe moaned theatrically. “I hate films about penguins.”
“Tough luck, Daddy. A punishment is a punishment.”
“So, what’s Quinn’s punishment then?” he enquired.
“She gets to mind Alex; that’s punishment enough.”
“Emma, that’s a dreadful thing to say,” Quinn bristled. “He’s so sweet.”
“Can something that spits up and poos all day really be called sweet?” Emma replied, arms crossed defensively in front of her.
“Yes, it can. You spit up and pooed too, and your mum adored you,” Quinn replied, deeply offended on Alex’s behalf.
Emma considered that for a moment. “Did she? I wish I could remember.” She suddenly looked so sad that Quinn’s heart nearly broke for her. Had Emma been older when her mother died, she’d remember Jenna, but since she’d been only four, the memories were fading, leaving her frustrated and lonely for the woman who’d loved and raised her. Emma had a framed photo of herself with her mum in her bedroom, but that wasn’t the same as having actual memories.
“Come here,” Gabe beckoned. Emma climbed onto the bed and allowed Gabe to pull her into a hug. “Your mum loved you, and we love you. Just because we also love Alex doesn’t mean that you are any less important.”
“I know,” Emma mumbled. “I love him too.”
“I know you do,” Quinn said as she kissed Emma’s forehead. “And you are right, you deserve an outing. Daddy can take you, or maybe he can mind Alex for the afternoon and we can have a girls’ day out. Which would you prefer?”
“Can we go shopping after the film?”
“We certainly can.”
“Then Daddy can mind Alex. They can have a boys’ day in. Won’t that be nice, Daddy?” Emma asked coyly.
“It’ll be amazing. Alex and I will go to the pub for a pint and play a couple games of snooker.”
“Daddy!”
“All right. We’ll stay at home, enjoy some breast milk—that’s Alex, not me—and then hopefully have a long nap.”
“Alex will like that,” Emma said, oozing approval. “And I think Mum needs a night out. You really should take her on a date,” she added.
“And how did you come up with that wise notion?” Gabe asked.
“Aidan said his parents have date night once a month, and if they don’t have a blazing row during dinner, they usually wind up sha—”
“Right. I get the picture.”
“She’s right, you know. I could use a night out,” Quinn piped in. “We haven’t had a date since August.”
Gabe stared at her. “Really? Has it been that long?”
“It has. I demand to be taken out for a nice meal, and maybe even a film, but not one about penguins.”
“I’ll call Brenda and see if she’d be open to minding the children for a few hours.”
“If Brenda can’t, then I’ll ask Jill. She’s offered in the past.”
“Why can’t we stay with Grandma Sylvia? I want to see Jude,” Emma said. “I miss him.”
Gabe and Quinn exchanged glances. Sylvia would have enjoyed spending a few hours with the children, but given recent events, it was safer not to try that experiment again. “Maybe next time. Grandma Sylvia has a touch of a cold,” Quinn said.
“Are you lying to me again?” Emma demanded. “I can always tell, you know.”
“Can you?”
“You always pause and take a breath before you tell me something that’s not quite true,” she said, pinning Quinn with her dark-blue gaze.
“Do I?”
“Yes, you do. I’m going to go to my room now and let you discuss this amongst yourselves.”
“Do I do that?” Quinn asked Gabe as soon as Emma departed in a huff.
“You sure do.”
“My God, Gabe, she’s only five. How can she be so perceptive?”
“She can’t help it; it’s in her genes.”
“Should we tell her the truth about Sylvia and Jude then?”
“No. She’s too young to understand the complexities of some relationships, and even though she’s astute enough to realize that something is being withheld from her, we, as her parents, will be the ones to decide when and what to tell her, at least for now.”
“How did you get so smart? Have you been talking to Aidan?” Quinn joked.
“No, but I think I will. Maybe I can book weekly sessions.”
They burst out laughing and promptly woke up the baby, who’d dozed off.
Chapter 37
Once Emma left the room, Quinn was able to finish telling Gabe about her vision, but saying the words out loud didn’t make what she’d seen any less shocking. “The man was despicable. I would have never foreseen this turn of events.”
“Yes, what he did was diabolical,” Gabe agreed. “He came to their aid, gave them time to grow comfortable and secure in their new life, and then sprang the trap. Did Valentina agree to his terms?”
“I don’t know yet. I can’t bear to find out. Everything inside me is screaming for her to get away from this man, but I suspect she gave in for the sake of her family. Her mother was emotionally fragile and unsuited to any type of work, and her little brother would have no future without a proper education. Tanya was only fifteen at the time, but given the societal norms of the day, her only future security lay in marriage, the prospect of which would also be snatched away should they be reduced to a life of penury. Valentina wouldn’t be the first woman to trade her dignity for security for her family.”
“No, she wouldn’t be, but she would despise the man who orchestrated her downfall.”
“I wouldn’t call it her downfall,” Quinn protested. “We know that Valentina married twice, had two children, and was financially sound for most of her life. Something must have happened to turn things around for her. Rhys would like to arrange an interview with her daughter, Natalia, but I think I’ll hold off a bit longer before speaking to her. I’d like to find out what happened first.”
“Rhys will wait until you’re ready. He has great respect for your process, and is completely in awe of your ability.”
Quinn chuckled. “My ability can be compared to a besieged castle. Everyone on the outside wants to get in and everyone on the inside wants to get out. Rhys would give up a vital organ to be able to see what I see, but I would gladly give up this curse once and for all.”
“Would you really?” Gabe asked, smiling at her in that way that suggested he knew better. “All you have to do is wear latex gloves when handling objects, and you’ll never see anything. Yet you choose to get involved with the victims. You feel compelled to tell their stories.”
“Very few people throughout history were important enough to remember. Most were born, lived—some longer than others—and died. But when you delve into the past, you see that their lives were not nearly as ordinary or uneventful as historians would have us believe. The common view is that most women’s lives could be summed up by three events. They were christened, married, and buried, leaving virtually no mark. For every Elizabeth Tudor, Mary Stewart and Margaret of Anjou, there are millions of women who’ve been completely forgotten. I feel obligated to give them back their voice and to applaud their bravery in fighting for a better life and the right to be happy in times when men held all the cards and a woman could do nothing more than cope with whatever was done to her.”
“So you wouldn’t give it up?” Gabe asked, still grinning as if he’d just proved his point without saying a word.
“I don’t think I can.”
“Then tell their stories and allow Rhys to be your tool. He might not be able to see what you see, but he gives you free rein. This is your show, Quinn. This is your platform.”
“You’re right, as usual. God, that’s annoying.” Quinn laughed. She felt lighter after talking to Gabe, and ready to face whatever had happened to Valentina. The women she saw were long gone, so the events could no longer hurt them, but it was important to vindicate them in the eyes of history, and she was the only one who could do that.
Chapter 38
November 1918
London, England
The day had been dreary and wet, the type of day when all one wanted to do was stay at home, close to the fire, and read or talk quietly before retiring for the night. And that was exactly what they had done. Valentina read, while Dmitri and Elena played several hands of whist. Dmitri had taught Elena how to play and she’d fallen in love with the game, always ready for a rematch. Tanya sat quietly, just staring into space, a small smile playing about her lips. She was a dreamer, preferring to indulge in her own fantasy rather than the product of someone else’s imagination, like Valentina.
“Are you still reading that book?” Tanya finally asked.
“It’s very long, and very difficult for me to understand,” Valentina complained. “There are so many words I still don’t know. I can only get through a few pages a day since I’m reading so slowly. I try not to move on until I fully understand what’s happening.”
“Must be some story,” Tanya said as she yawned. “Well, I’m off to bed. This weather is perfect for sleeping.”
“Goodnight,” Valentina replied wistfully. She wished she could go to bed and forget the despair that had been gnawing at her for the past few days. Dmitri looked relaxed and happy, his demeanor betraying nothing of what went on beneath the surface. Valentina had taken his good nature at face value, assuming he was sincere in his regard for her family, but now she knew better. Dmitri had known all along that Valentina would agree, and had bet on it, in fact. And now that the day was upon them, he was solicitous and kind, treating her as if she were precious to him. She supposed she must be, if he was going to make as much money off her as he hoped.
Valentina lowered her head so her mother wouldn’t see the panic in her eyes. She knew what would happen tonight, but it still seemed surreal. Would Dmitri really force her to go through with it? Would he allow her to change her mind if it came to that? Probably not. The arrangements had been made, and tonight money would change hands, money so filthy, she didn’t know how it wouldn’t soil Dmitri’s hands when he touched it.
What kind of man forced a young woman to debase herself to prevent her family’s ruin? There were many such men, she realized with bitter clarity, ranging from fathers who sold their daughters into advantageous marriages to pimps who preyed on defenseless women and took a large chunk of their earnings to ‘protect’ them from violence, which they themselves would readily inflict should the women refuse to cooperate. She wouldn’t be the first, nor would she be the last to suffer at the hands of a ruthless and greedy man. She should have demanded a percentage of her earnings, but she knew what Dmitri would say. She had a debt to pay, a debt that accrued with every passing day. Only yesterday Dmitri had taken Elena to collect her new winter coat from the fashion salon. It was made of fine blue-gray wool and adorned with the sumptuous fur of black fox at the collar and cuffs. It hadn’t been cheap, but Dmitri had encouraged her to order whatever she liked, reassuring her that nothing would give him greater pleasure than to make her happy.
“Do you need a new coat, Valya?” Dmitri had asked back in September, his eyes brimming with concern for her well-being. “It promises to be a cold winter.”
“My coat should last for another year or two,” she had replied. She’d never ask Dmitri for anything ever again. She couldn’t bear to.
Valentina’s innards tightened into intricate knots as the evening wore on. A part of her wanted to stall forever, but another part wanted to get the deed over with. All she wanted was to lock her door, climb into her bed, and lose herself in deep sleep. She’d borrowed a few drops of laudanum from her mother and mixed them into a glass of water she’d left by her bed. She planned to drink it when she got home, and slip away into opium-induced oblivion. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get to sleep on her own and would lie awake for hours, reliving the awful minutes spent in Timothy Mayhew’s company. She hoped it would be minutes and not hours. She simply couldn’t bear the thought of having to keep up the façade for longer than was strictly necessary.
At last, Elena wished them a good night and went to bed. Dmitri turned to Valentina, the smile slipping and his eyes boring into her in a way that warned her not to try any delaying tactics. “Are you ready to go?”
She nodded, too terrified to speak. Her mouth had gone dry and her heart hammered in her chest, her panic forcing her to recall the night her father and Alexei had died. She hadn’t thought she’d ever be so scared again, but here she was, in a warm, comfortable house in Belgravia, deceptively safe in a civilized, cosmopolitan city, about to become the victim of a man she’d trusted and even loved.
She donned her coat and hat and followed Dmitri into the rainy night, to the motorcar he’d left parked around the corner from the house so the noise of the engine wouldn’t wake Elena. She would know nothing of her daughter’s plight. Nor would Tanya. This sordid secret was between Dmitri and Valentina.
“Wipe that look of abject misery off your face,” Dmitri said as he pulled away from the curb, his eyes on the foggy road. “No man can possibly enjoy making love to a woman who looks as if she’s about to vomit.”
“I’m frightened,” Valentina admitted, immediately sorry that she’d shown him her weakness.
“There’s nothing to fear. Timothy is a gentleman. He won’t hurt you, nor will he treat you with disrespect. Could be a lot worse.”
How would you know? Valentina thought angrily. She huddled deeper into the fur collar of her coat and stared straight ahead, bracing herself for what was to come.
The drive wasn’t long. Valentina wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the building they pulled up in front of wasn’t a posh hotel in the center of London, but a small, nondescript establishment. It was called the Falmouth Arms Hotel and its name was probably the grandest thing about it. Valentina briefly wondered if Mr. Mayhew had paid the concierge to turn a blind eye to a young woman going up to a man’s room, something a finer establishment wouldn’t allow. The foyer was small and cozy, with a trio of sofas arranged around a low table stacked with newspapers and magazines. The reception desk was to the left of the door and manned by a middle-aged man who instantly perked up when they walked in.
“Good evening, Mr. Ostrov,” the concierge said.
“Evening, Mr. Block.”
Valentina glanced at Dmitri in surprise. How often did he come here?
“I own this hotel.” Valentina detected a note of pride in his voice despite his stony expression.
“Are there others like me?” she asked as she followed Dmitri up the stairs.
He stopped and turned to look at her. “You’re not as naïve as I first imagined.”
“Is that a yes?”
“That doesn’t concern you. Come.”
Dmitri knocked on a door at the end of the passage and a familiar voice from within bid them to enter. Timothy Mayhew was sitting in a wing chair by the fire, reading. He was in his shirtsleeves, but wore a tie and a pair of crisply pressed trousers. He set aside his book, sprang to his feet, and came forward to greet them, behaving as naturally as if they’d come for tea.
“Good evening, Valentina. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Dmitri,” he said, shaking her cousin’s hand.
“I’ll be downstairs in the parlor, Tim. Just send her down when you’ve finished. There’s a good man.”
Dmitri departed without further ado, leaving Valentina with Timothy Mayhew, who locked the door and invited her to sit down. “Would you care for a drink? There’s sherry, and brandy if you require something stronger.”
Valentina wanted to rage at him, to kick him in the shins or scratch his eyes out, but she mutely accepted a glass of sherry, her gaze pinned to the tips of her shoes. There was no point in making things more difficult. She’d only find herself back here another night, possibly with another man. At least Mr. Mayhew was courteous and respectful. She hoped he would continue to be. She took a sip of sherry and wondered what she was meant to do next.
“Valentina, I’ll have you know I’ve never done this before. I am married, and have four children. My youngest are ten-year-old twin girls. My wife never recovered properly after their birth and we haven’t lived as husband and wife since. I’m very lonely, you see. The lack of intimacy does something to a marriage. It chips away at the core day by day, leaving nothing but an empty shell behind after a decade of skirting around the issue and covering one’s true feelings with pleasantries,” he added, clearly hoping she’d pity him. But there was no pity in her heart, only resentment. It wasn’t her fault his wife didn’t share his bed, nor was it her responsibility to assuage his loneliness. She was heartbroken and lonely for Alexei, but she kept her grief to herself and didn’t cause anyone pain to make herself feel better.
London, England
“Bastard! Dirty bastard!” Quinn raged as she tossed aside the necklace in utter disbelief.
“What’s all the shouting about?” Gabe asked as he poked his head through the door. “Who’s a dirty bastard, and should Emma be hearing this kind of language from her highly respectable mother?”
“Oh, Gabe, I never saw that coming. Never in a million years,” Quinn cried. “How could he? Why would he?”
“I think you’d better explain.”
Quinn began to tell Gabe what she’d seen until Emma came bounding into the room.
“Who’s a dirty bastard?” she asked happily. “Can I say that too?”
“No, you can’t say that. Mum said ‘dirty blanket.’ You misheard,” Gabe said sternly.
“No, I didn’t. And the blanket is clean,” she added, giving Alex’s yellow blanket a cursory check. “You are in so much trouble,” she said to Quinn. “And you are in trouble for lying to me,” she said, turning to Gabe. “What kind of parents are you?”
“I guess that’s us told,” Quinn said, feeling guilty as sin. So much for teaching Emma not to swear or lie.
“So, what do you think our punishment should be?” Gabe asked, clearly curious to see what Emma would come up with.
“You have to take me to see Penguins of Madagascar, buy me popcorn and a drink, and then take me out for pizza and ice cream afterwards.”
“That’s so unfair,” Gabe moaned theatrically. “I hate films about penguins.”
“Tough luck, Daddy. A punishment is a punishment.”
“So, what’s Quinn’s punishment then?” he enquired.
“She gets to mind Alex; that’s punishment enough.”
“Emma, that’s a dreadful thing to say,” Quinn bristled. “He’s so sweet.”
“Can something that spits up and poos all day really be called sweet?” Emma replied, arms crossed defensively in front of her.
“Yes, it can. You spit up and pooed too, and your mum adored you,” Quinn replied, deeply offended on Alex’s behalf.
Emma considered that for a moment. “Did she? I wish I could remember.” She suddenly looked so sad that Quinn’s heart nearly broke for her. Had Emma been older when her mother died, she’d remember Jenna, but since she’d been only four, the memories were fading, leaving her frustrated and lonely for the woman who’d loved and raised her. Emma had a framed photo of herself with her mum in her bedroom, but that wasn’t the same as having actual memories.
“Come here,” Gabe beckoned. Emma climbed onto the bed and allowed Gabe to pull her into a hug. “Your mum loved you, and we love you. Just because we also love Alex doesn’t mean that you are any less important.”
“I know,” Emma mumbled. “I love him too.”
“I know you do,” Quinn said as she kissed Emma’s forehead. “And you are right, you deserve an outing. Daddy can take you, or maybe he can mind Alex for the afternoon and we can have a girls’ day out. Which would you prefer?”
“Can we go shopping after the film?”
“We certainly can.”
“Then Daddy can mind Alex. They can have a boys’ day in. Won’t that be nice, Daddy?” Emma asked coyly.
“It’ll be amazing. Alex and I will go to the pub for a pint and play a couple games of snooker.”
“Daddy!”
“All right. We’ll stay at home, enjoy some breast milk—that’s Alex, not me—and then hopefully have a long nap.”
“Alex will like that,” Emma said, oozing approval. “And I think Mum needs a night out. You really should take her on a date,” she added.
“And how did you come up with that wise notion?” Gabe asked.
“Aidan said his parents have date night once a month, and if they don’t have a blazing row during dinner, they usually wind up sha—”
“Right. I get the picture.”
“She’s right, you know. I could use a night out,” Quinn piped in. “We haven’t had a date since August.”
Gabe stared at her. “Really? Has it been that long?”
“It has. I demand to be taken out for a nice meal, and maybe even a film, but not one about penguins.”
“I’ll call Brenda and see if she’d be open to minding the children for a few hours.”
“If Brenda can’t, then I’ll ask Jill. She’s offered in the past.”
“Why can’t we stay with Grandma Sylvia? I want to see Jude,” Emma said. “I miss him.”
Gabe and Quinn exchanged glances. Sylvia would have enjoyed spending a few hours with the children, but given recent events, it was safer not to try that experiment again. “Maybe next time. Grandma Sylvia has a touch of a cold,” Quinn said.
“Are you lying to me again?” Emma demanded. “I can always tell, you know.”
“Can you?”
“You always pause and take a breath before you tell me something that’s not quite true,” she said, pinning Quinn with her dark-blue gaze.
“Do I?”
“Yes, you do. I’m going to go to my room now and let you discuss this amongst yourselves.”
“Do I do that?” Quinn asked Gabe as soon as Emma departed in a huff.
“You sure do.”
“My God, Gabe, she’s only five. How can she be so perceptive?”
“She can’t help it; it’s in her genes.”
“Should we tell her the truth about Sylvia and Jude then?”
“No. She’s too young to understand the complexities of some relationships, and even though she’s astute enough to realize that something is being withheld from her, we, as her parents, will be the ones to decide when and what to tell her, at least for now.”
“How did you get so smart? Have you been talking to Aidan?” Quinn joked.
“No, but I think I will. Maybe I can book weekly sessions.”
They burst out laughing and promptly woke up the baby, who’d dozed off.
Chapter 37
Once Emma left the room, Quinn was able to finish telling Gabe about her vision, but saying the words out loud didn’t make what she’d seen any less shocking. “The man was despicable. I would have never foreseen this turn of events.”
“Yes, what he did was diabolical,” Gabe agreed. “He came to their aid, gave them time to grow comfortable and secure in their new life, and then sprang the trap. Did Valentina agree to his terms?”
“I don’t know yet. I can’t bear to find out. Everything inside me is screaming for her to get away from this man, but I suspect she gave in for the sake of her family. Her mother was emotionally fragile and unsuited to any type of work, and her little brother would have no future without a proper education. Tanya was only fifteen at the time, but given the societal norms of the day, her only future security lay in marriage, the prospect of which would also be snatched away should they be reduced to a life of penury. Valentina wouldn’t be the first woman to trade her dignity for security for her family.”
“No, she wouldn’t be, but she would despise the man who orchestrated her downfall.”
“I wouldn’t call it her downfall,” Quinn protested. “We know that Valentina married twice, had two children, and was financially sound for most of her life. Something must have happened to turn things around for her. Rhys would like to arrange an interview with her daughter, Natalia, but I think I’ll hold off a bit longer before speaking to her. I’d like to find out what happened first.”
“Rhys will wait until you’re ready. He has great respect for your process, and is completely in awe of your ability.”
Quinn chuckled. “My ability can be compared to a besieged castle. Everyone on the outside wants to get in and everyone on the inside wants to get out. Rhys would give up a vital organ to be able to see what I see, but I would gladly give up this curse once and for all.”
“Would you really?” Gabe asked, smiling at her in that way that suggested he knew better. “All you have to do is wear latex gloves when handling objects, and you’ll never see anything. Yet you choose to get involved with the victims. You feel compelled to tell their stories.”
“Very few people throughout history were important enough to remember. Most were born, lived—some longer than others—and died. But when you delve into the past, you see that their lives were not nearly as ordinary or uneventful as historians would have us believe. The common view is that most women’s lives could be summed up by three events. They were christened, married, and buried, leaving virtually no mark. For every Elizabeth Tudor, Mary Stewart and Margaret of Anjou, there are millions of women who’ve been completely forgotten. I feel obligated to give them back their voice and to applaud their bravery in fighting for a better life and the right to be happy in times when men held all the cards and a woman could do nothing more than cope with whatever was done to her.”
“So you wouldn’t give it up?” Gabe asked, still grinning as if he’d just proved his point without saying a word.
“I don’t think I can.”
“Then tell their stories and allow Rhys to be your tool. He might not be able to see what you see, but he gives you free rein. This is your show, Quinn. This is your platform.”
“You’re right, as usual. God, that’s annoying.” Quinn laughed. She felt lighter after talking to Gabe, and ready to face whatever had happened to Valentina. The women she saw were long gone, so the events could no longer hurt them, but it was important to vindicate them in the eyes of history, and she was the only one who could do that.
Chapter 38
November 1918
London, England
The day had been dreary and wet, the type of day when all one wanted to do was stay at home, close to the fire, and read or talk quietly before retiring for the night. And that was exactly what they had done. Valentina read, while Dmitri and Elena played several hands of whist. Dmitri had taught Elena how to play and she’d fallen in love with the game, always ready for a rematch. Tanya sat quietly, just staring into space, a small smile playing about her lips. She was a dreamer, preferring to indulge in her own fantasy rather than the product of someone else’s imagination, like Valentina.
“Are you still reading that book?” Tanya finally asked.
“It’s very long, and very difficult for me to understand,” Valentina complained. “There are so many words I still don’t know. I can only get through a few pages a day since I’m reading so slowly. I try not to move on until I fully understand what’s happening.”
“Must be some story,” Tanya said as she yawned. “Well, I’m off to bed. This weather is perfect for sleeping.”
“Goodnight,” Valentina replied wistfully. She wished she could go to bed and forget the despair that had been gnawing at her for the past few days. Dmitri looked relaxed and happy, his demeanor betraying nothing of what went on beneath the surface. Valentina had taken his good nature at face value, assuming he was sincere in his regard for her family, but now she knew better. Dmitri had known all along that Valentina would agree, and had bet on it, in fact. And now that the day was upon them, he was solicitous and kind, treating her as if she were precious to him. She supposed she must be, if he was going to make as much money off her as he hoped.
Valentina lowered her head so her mother wouldn’t see the panic in her eyes. She knew what would happen tonight, but it still seemed surreal. Would Dmitri really force her to go through with it? Would he allow her to change her mind if it came to that? Probably not. The arrangements had been made, and tonight money would change hands, money so filthy, she didn’t know how it wouldn’t soil Dmitri’s hands when he touched it.
What kind of man forced a young woman to debase herself to prevent her family’s ruin? There were many such men, she realized with bitter clarity, ranging from fathers who sold their daughters into advantageous marriages to pimps who preyed on defenseless women and took a large chunk of their earnings to ‘protect’ them from violence, which they themselves would readily inflict should the women refuse to cooperate. She wouldn’t be the first, nor would she be the last to suffer at the hands of a ruthless and greedy man. She should have demanded a percentage of her earnings, but she knew what Dmitri would say. She had a debt to pay, a debt that accrued with every passing day. Only yesterday Dmitri had taken Elena to collect her new winter coat from the fashion salon. It was made of fine blue-gray wool and adorned with the sumptuous fur of black fox at the collar and cuffs. It hadn’t been cheap, but Dmitri had encouraged her to order whatever she liked, reassuring her that nothing would give him greater pleasure than to make her happy.
“Do you need a new coat, Valya?” Dmitri had asked back in September, his eyes brimming with concern for her well-being. “It promises to be a cold winter.”
“My coat should last for another year or two,” she had replied. She’d never ask Dmitri for anything ever again. She couldn’t bear to.
Valentina’s innards tightened into intricate knots as the evening wore on. A part of her wanted to stall forever, but another part wanted to get the deed over with. All she wanted was to lock her door, climb into her bed, and lose herself in deep sleep. She’d borrowed a few drops of laudanum from her mother and mixed them into a glass of water she’d left by her bed. She planned to drink it when she got home, and slip away into opium-induced oblivion. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get to sleep on her own and would lie awake for hours, reliving the awful minutes spent in Timothy Mayhew’s company. She hoped it would be minutes and not hours. She simply couldn’t bear the thought of having to keep up the façade for longer than was strictly necessary.
At last, Elena wished them a good night and went to bed. Dmitri turned to Valentina, the smile slipping and his eyes boring into her in a way that warned her not to try any delaying tactics. “Are you ready to go?”
She nodded, too terrified to speak. Her mouth had gone dry and her heart hammered in her chest, her panic forcing her to recall the night her father and Alexei had died. She hadn’t thought she’d ever be so scared again, but here she was, in a warm, comfortable house in Belgravia, deceptively safe in a civilized, cosmopolitan city, about to become the victim of a man she’d trusted and even loved.
She donned her coat and hat and followed Dmitri into the rainy night, to the motorcar he’d left parked around the corner from the house so the noise of the engine wouldn’t wake Elena. She would know nothing of her daughter’s plight. Nor would Tanya. This sordid secret was between Dmitri and Valentina.
“Wipe that look of abject misery off your face,” Dmitri said as he pulled away from the curb, his eyes on the foggy road. “No man can possibly enjoy making love to a woman who looks as if she’s about to vomit.”
“I’m frightened,” Valentina admitted, immediately sorry that she’d shown him her weakness.
“There’s nothing to fear. Timothy is a gentleman. He won’t hurt you, nor will he treat you with disrespect. Could be a lot worse.”
How would you know? Valentina thought angrily. She huddled deeper into the fur collar of her coat and stared straight ahead, bracing herself for what was to come.
The drive wasn’t long. Valentina wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the building they pulled up in front of wasn’t a posh hotel in the center of London, but a small, nondescript establishment. It was called the Falmouth Arms Hotel and its name was probably the grandest thing about it. Valentina briefly wondered if Mr. Mayhew had paid the concierge to turn a blind eye to a young woman going up to a man’s room, something a finer establishment wouldn’t allow. The foyer was small and cozy, with a trio of sofas arranged around a low table stacked with newspapers and magazines. The reception desk was to the left of the door and manned by a middle-aged man who instantly perked up when they walked in.
“Good evening, Mr. Ostrov,” the concierge said.
“Evening, Mr. Block.”
Valentina glanced at Dmitri in surprise. How often did he come here?
“I own this hotel.” Valentina detected a note of pride in his voice despite his stony expression.
“Are there others like me?” she asked as she followed Dmitri up the stairs.
He stopped and turned to look at her. “You’re not as naïve as I first imagined.”
“Is that a yes?”
“That doesn’t concern you. Come.”
Dmitri knocked on a door at the end of the passage and a familiar voice from within bid them to enter. Timothy Mayhew was sitting in a wing chair by the fire, reading. He was in his shirtsleeves, but wore a tie and a pair of crisply pressed trousers. He set aside his book, sprang to his feet, and came forward to greet them, behaving as naturally as if they’d come for tea.
“Good evening, Valentina. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Dmitri,” he said, shaking her cousin’s hand.
“I’ll be downstairs in the parlor, Tim. Just send her down when you’ve finished. There’s a good man.”
Dmitri departed without further ado, leaving Valentina with Timothy Mayhew, who locked the door and invited her to sit down. “Would you care for a drink? There’s sherry, and brandy if you require something stronger.”
Valentina wanted to rage at him, to kick him in the shins or scratch his eyes out, but she mutely accepted a glass of sherry, her gaze pinned to the tips of her shoes. There was no point in making things more difficult. She’d only find herself back here another night, possibly with another man. At least Mr. Mayhew was courteous and respectful. She hoped he would continue to be. She took a sip of sherry and wondered what she was meant to do next.
“Valentina, I’ll have you know I’ve never done this before. I am married, and have four children. My youngest are ten-year-old twin girls. My wife never recovered properly after their birth and we haven’t lived as husband and wife since. I’m very lonely, you see. The lack of intimacy does something to a marriage. It chips away at the core day by day, leaving nothing but an empty shell behind after a decade of skirting around the issue and covering one’s true feelings with pleasantries,” he added, clearly hoping she’d pity him. But there was no pity in her heart, only resentment. It wasn’t her fault his wife didn’t share his bed, nor was it her responsibility to assuage his loneliness. She was heartbroken and lonely for Alexei, but she kept her grief to herself and didn’t cause anyone pain to make herself feel better.
