Book II: Chapter II

 

Liam walked straight into Abigail as he crossed the restaurant to reach his table. She was dining with a few friends, people he didn't know, probably connected to the modelling assignment that had brought her to Sydney.

She jumped up, all fake lovey, air-kissing Terry and Annie and making an exaggerated fuss of them. Liam stood back, an unreadable expression on his face. It seemed to Annie that her son had changed radically over the years, from the boy whose every thought passed in Technicolor across this face, as clear as if he had spoken out loud to a guarded man who kept his internal self well-hidden from the world. His look was intimidating, on the edge of surly disapproval, his lips pursed and his brow creased. It made her feel sad. This is how he had learned to protect himself, very much as his father had done most of his life, if for very different reasons.

"Lovely to see you, Abigail. I hadn't heard you were in town," Annie lied gamely for her son.

Niceties over, Abigail turned her attention to Liam. "No I don't suppose he'd bother to tell you, would he? Come her, Liam, you naughty boy...I should punish you severely for that...When did you get back? And why didn't you come straight home?" She threw her arms around his neck flamboyantly as she had done for the others, but as her lips brushed his cheek, she hissed: "Avoiding me, eh? Sydney's a small town, you tosser...Might know you'd get caught..."

He faked a tight smile whilst firmly removing her arms. "I am not avoiding you. I am having dinner with my parents. That a problem? Where does it say I have to ask your permission - or even check in with you first?" He muttered in a low voice meant only for her. But Liam's deep tone carried; all those at and around the table heard it.

"I would imagine most people would at least go home first to dump their bags...unless there was someone at home they didn't want to see..." Abigail insisted.

Liam gave her a withering smile. "You said it, baby, not me..."

He walked on past towards his table. Annie threw Abigail a backwards look of disapproval; Terry merely rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. The last thing he wanted was to be party to a public display of Liam's temper. He hoped that his son would leave it at that, Abigail too.

At the table Liam chose his place - with his back towards Abigail's table - and acted as if nothing had happened, ordering a round of drinks while they looked through the menu. There was an uncomfortable silence during which Annie rearranged her cutlery and Terry maintained a steady gaze on his son until Liam threw up his hands.

"Okay...I was rude. But you didn't hear what she said to me. I'll go round and see her tomorrow and apologise. Now can we eat?"

Terry shrugged. "Don't give a bugger if you apologise to her. That's your business.  Just don't spoil our night out. Because that's our business..."

His son nodded, grinning sheepishly. "She drives me fucking nuts, Dad. You've no idea..."

"Then 'fucking' finish it..." Terry replied dryly. "Don't come crying to us that she's making your life a misery if you insist on dropping in on her from time to time when you're feeling like a bit of nookie. She's on a string, mate. Be a man and cut the damn ropes cleanly..."

Liam ran his hand down his face, muttering: 'Jesus...!" But he didn't argue back. His father was right. It was time he made some decision on this one. His mellow state on arriving back from Wangarratta was disappearing rapidly.

But the evening soon settled down once they had passed this initial hurdle. A few drinks later, Liam had relaxed and was soon regaling them with tales of life on the remote Outback station where he had set up his music and drama centre for the kids of the local communities. They had recently put on a festival, a surreal and wild couple of days with musician friends of his dropping in and the locals adding their usual irreverent contribution. Terry and Annie were much entertained - and impressed - with his commitment and contribution.

The dinner was excellent; their initial high spirits restored.  A lounge singer began her set later on in the evening, a young woman with a husky soulful voice who delivered an impressively mature repertoire, from standard torch songs and jazz ballads to more modern material, an eclectic collection that caught Liam's attention. He turned his chair round to listen, clapping loudly, even whistling at one point, sending his compliments - and a sizable tip- over to the young songstress, who was delighted to receive his attention. She even sang one of his songs, much to Liam's obvious pleasure.

Before she took a break, she announced her last song in this set would be a request from the audience. Someone had requested a ballad by Duffy, a British artist who was a personal favourite of Liam's. Then the girl reading from the card announced that it was dedicated to Liam Thorne...from Abby. By now, many of the diners were already aware of his presence in the restaurant that night. Abigail was less well known to them but when she stood up, raising her drink in Liam's direction, they all began to get the implication.

Liam grimaced, realising he was being set up. The singer suddenly looked uncomfortable, looking over as if to ask his permission, unsure whether she should go on. A frisson of expectant excitement shimmered through the room as other guests worked it out. But Liam indicated she should go on. "Let's hear it, love...and make sure you do it justice..." he shouted out.

The melancholy chords began. The young woman gripped the microphone stand, alone on a dark stage with just a solitary spotlight casting an unearthly light, as she breathily delivered the first angst-filled lines...

 

 

Abigail had not waited for the song to end, walking out after the first verse, when she already had the satisfaction of seeing Liam's reaction. He was furious even if he said nothing, listening stony-faced.

Her party left their table, a few members looking over in amusement. 'What were they laughing about?' Liam thought to himself. They didn't have a fucking clue about his relationship with Abigail. But of course the truth rarely mattered. Just like with Fliss, when he had been labelled as the hard-hearted bastard who had crushed the little English Rose under his heel once he had tired of her. It didn't much matter what he did or did not do. He was going to get bad press because Thorne the 'Out of Control Bastard' always sold more copy than the energy it took the media to try and get their facts straight - or their inability to value any story unless it was the usual stereotype. Oddly enough it probably sold more albums for him as well. It was a pretty fucked up world.

 

 

Liam allowed the young singer to complete her song, only standing as the applause rose to help cover his withdrawal. Annie reached out her hand to stop him because he shook her off gently. "Give me five, Mum. I'm not going to do anything crazy...Dad...excuse me..." He strode through the restaurant in a manner that dared anyone to try and stop him.

Terry was not sure that his promise not to do anything crazy was to be trusted. He waited until Liam had exited the restaurant and then put his hand on Annie's arm. "I'm going to check on him. Make sure he's okay...You'll be all right for a moment?"

She nodded, giving him a weak smile. As he followed his son out, she glared in hostility at a few of the nearby diners who were staring at her table. Why couldn't they just be left alone? Calling the waitress, she asked for the bill. Something told her the evening was over.

Outside, Terry saw that Liam was leaning against a wall smoking. He had just needed some fresh air after all, some time in private to cope with Abigail's metaphorical slap in the face and washing of their private linen in public. He breathed a sigh of relief. His son wasn't going to meltdown tonight.

Hands in his pockets, he strolled over. "Got one of those going spare, mate?"

Liam smiled and flipped over the packet and lighter. "Mum'll kill ya...!"

"So what's new?" Terry answered, lighting up and gratefully dragging hard on the cigarette. He hadn't indulged for a long time. He had thought he didn't miss them. Some nights, you still do. "You okay?"

Liam groaned. "She fucked me there good and proper, eh? Jesus, what is it with women? They tell you to be honest. You are honest. Then you're in more fucking trouble than ever..."

"You sure you've been entirely honest with her?" Terry asked.

Liam looked him straight in the eye. "I've told her many times that my feelings are limited to just friends with benefits. I've told her if she can't accept that then we had better stop seeing each other. She says that's all she wants, too. Then she slams something like this on me..."

"...because she was never being honest with you. And I think you always knew that. Christ, Liam, even I can see the girl's in love with you..."

"So it's my fault...you think I should have finished it...?"

"I think you know the answer to that better than I do as well. The question is ' why do you still see her?' Why have you been using Abigail as an excuse when you could have been out there finding a partner you might just fall for? Liam, I think you may have to face a few things. If you're gay...then live the life. Don't try to be something you're not..."

"Gay?" Liam blurted out, choking on his cigarette smoke, breaking into a coughing fit. "You- as well as everyone else- think I'm gay?" 

Terry realized his son was laughing at the thought. He cleared his throat, unsure how to proceed. "Well not exactly...I mean, I'm trying to make sense of it all. I just want you to know that if you were...contemplating an alternative lifestyle...then that's okay, go do it. But I'm sorry if I've got the wrong impression...I didn't mean to offend you..."

That made Liam even more amused. "I'm not offended. If I was gay, so what? But I'm not. I'm as straight as you are, and let's face it, that's about as macho-man straight as it comes, eh? You want to know if I've ever had sex with a man though, don't you? That's the fucking white elephant in the corner. Sometimes, I think it might be easier if I answered that one. But why should I? What should my sexual history have anything to do with any of you? I'm me, Dad. Liam Thorne. The same boy you raised...you know me better than anyone...so why the fuck you asking these inane questions?"

Liam's voice had begun to rise towards the end of his speech; Terry held up a hand to make him tone it down a little. His son complied, taking a deep breath and pacing up and down until he found his composure again. "I ask them because like everyone else, I have an opinion based on what I see. Just like you do about other people. And I also know that you don't have to be a raving ponce to be gay, mate. I've known some of the hardest men going who were queer...and when I say 'know', you are quite correct in assuming that was not in the Biblical sense. It's never appealed to me. But there is nothing to say my son doesn't feel differently. However, if he's saying that is not the case and he's merely hitched the occasional ride on the other bus, so to speak, then that's also cool...Just be happy, Liam. Something tells me you're unfulfilled. You need to find a woman - or a man- to love..."

Liam shrugged. "What about you at my age? Were you fulfilled then?"

Terry snorted with laughter. "No, I bloody wasn't...although all the many women I chased probably were... for at least a couple of minutes at a time..." The two men laughed. "That's the bloody point, Liam. I spent years in a fucking wilderness of my own construction. I closed down to real life because I was tired of being hurt. I don't want you to do the same, and one day find that you've wasted your best years taking the damn veil..."

"...I don't think you could ever accuse me of celibacy," Liam joked.

"Me neither. I meant the proverbial veil, not the actual one, mate..." He slapped his son on the shoulder. "You coming back in? Or you had enough for one night?"

"Nightcap at home sounds good to me at the moment. Sorry I spoiled the evening..."

"You didn't. She did, the little madam..."

Liam nodded. "You're not wrong. I'll go and see her tomorrow, slap her little backside and turf her out on her shapely arse...She's squatting in my fucking crib and she still insults me in public! Can you fucking credit it? That singer's got a great pair of pipes though, hasn't she? I'll think I'll get someone from my record company to come down and give her a try out. She deserves a break..."

Terry slung an arm around his son's neck. "You're a decent bloke, Liam. Hold on to that. Don't let all this relationship crap make you lose sight of your own virtues. They wouldn't be falling in love with you if you really were the bastard they like to paint you as...Ah, here's your Mum...! Looks like she's given up on us both..."

Annie came out, carrying a box. "Dessert. They wrapped it. Let's go home for coffee and liqueurs...or would you prefer to go and pick a fight with someone, Liam? Isn't this about the time you lose it and let fly on the first person that irritates you? " She asked him, a warning note in her voice.

"No, Mum, I'm cool. Testosterone levels no longer at critical mass...not going to blow tonight. All thanks to Dr. Terry here...you ever thought of asking Oprah for a job, Dad...? Putting your negotiating skills to use as a marriage guidance counsellor/ shrink..."

"Bugger off..."

"...which is probably the sort of advice your father would give those needy wretches on that show....and it might just do them some good, as well..." Annie grinned. "Come on, lads...let's go home, eh? It's been quite a night..."

He caught up with Abigail the next morning after a sound night's sleep and a good breakfast, followed by the benefit of a few pearls of wisdom from his mother. Driving up to his own property, he had the passing notion that maybe he should sell it. Although it was a beautiful place, it seemed to have outlived its purpose in his life.

The seafront estate was a family home, purchased and renovated with the idea of Fliss, Nina and he spending their Christmasses here, escaping from the northern cold for the festive season, surrounded by the rest of his family.  Now Fliss was long gone, he only got one weekend with Nina either before or after Christmas - never the day itself - and Zoe was always away with her new life. His Mum and Dad often opted to join her and her children or see out the season in their holiday home in France. The once lively homestead was now more of a mausoleum to a life that had slipped through his fingers.  The idea of him rattling around in it alone seemed utterly pathetic. He rarely stopped there long nowadays, only using the place as a rather expensive transit flophouse between London and Wangarratta.

Abigail was waiting for him at the entrance to the house. He strolled from the car, sidestepping her and walked in, looking around. "Everything in order, I hope? You didn't come back last night and wreck the joint, did you? Cut up all my clothes and burn the photographs?"

She tossed her golden hair about pouting, uncannily like one of the poor acting performances for which she was famed. "Oh, don't be ridiculous. I'm not that crazy...Look, I'm sorry about last night but you kind of deserve it! Fancy not letting me know you were in town like I was some stalker you were avoiding! If you didn't want me to stay here, why didn't you just say so?"

Liam gave her one of his piercing stares. "Because you didn't ask, darling. You just sent me a text message saying you were already ensconced...I got back from Wangarratta and I wanted to see my Mum and Dad before I had to get my head round your fuckin' mind games...satisfied?"

Abigail pouted and tossed some more but didn't offer anything in her defence. He paced through the hall and went on into the kitchen, picking up the stack of mail that had been gathered in a basket on a work surface and flipping through the contents. "Oh, and by the way, sorry is not exactly strong enough to excuse you putting me through a public humiliation - and insulting me before my own parents. Jesus Christ! What did they ever do but welcome you? And you make them sit through that pile on?"

"Come on, Liam, it was just meant as a joke.... You know how I feel about you and yet you still treat me like part of the furniture..."

"I'm not going there, Abby. You were out of order and I've done nothing wrong. I haven't seen you for months! Months during which you've been screwing every stud you could get your hot little hands on...so where's the evidence of Abigail Merchison's broken heart?"

"I'm not talking about sex! Sex is just sex. You know I love you. ...Liam. You treat me just like a trinket, a plaything to use and abuse anytime you feel like... You know I've been hanging around for years, waiting for you to decide to settle down and have a serious relationship..."

At that Liam's head shot up. "Serious relationship? With you? Listen to yourself, Abby! You dismiss the fact that you have the morals of an alley cat as if it's nothing to do with the issue. Baby, it's everything to do with it. You're absolutely right that I want nothing more than a real relationship with a woman - but you will never be that woman, lady. I am not going to share my wife with any passing well-hung model she happens to be shooting with..."

"Christ, Liam, you are such a fucking Neanderthal!" Abigail exclaimed. "Did Women's Lib just pass you by? We're equals now, you know, not just the little woman barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen..."

Liam muttered under his breath. Arguing with Abigail was a pointless exercise. She was either too stupid or too self-absorbed to see the lack of logic in arguments that borrowed freely from any self-righteous stance she could muster, without any real understanding or attempt to get it right in context.

"I wasn't aware love and fidelity were somehow no longer permissible...When I say I don't want to share my wife with another man, I obviously also mean nor would I be fucking around either. Marriage, kids...these things mean something more than indulging every little pleasure nerve you possess. Abby, you talk about love but you don't have the first idea what it is! You don't love me...you love the idea of me. It's the very fact that you can't quite catch me that keeps you chasing. If we settled down and you had to face me across the breakfast table every morning - how long do you imagine before you got bored? And that's even before we talk about children..."

Abigail slapped him in the face. "How dare you lecture me on the meaning of love and family! The same man who walked out on Fliss Henderson and his own daughter! She begged to have you back but you wouldn't listen...you're a heartless bastard who wants everything your own way but isn't prepared to give up anything for anyone else...you fucking hypocrite! I've wasted years of my life on you! You are such a fucking shit!"

Liam could feel that wild irrational anger rising in him that had so often caused him to act irresponsibly. It was a force that worked against his normal responses, one he barely understood. All past experiences of it had taught him so far was how to recognise it before it exploded. Now was a critical moment. Although he was not given to violence against women - and would never hit even as an annoying a girl as Abigail- there was no doubt he was quite capable of smashing up the room in a fit of temper. He would frighten her into believing he was about to turn on her. That would be the biggest mistake of all.  With an enormous effort of will, he gathered his reserves.

"Get out, Abigail! Pack your bags and get out of my house! It's over. I'm going to leave now but will be back later this afternoon. If you're still here, I'll fucking throw you bodily out on the street and all your crap with you. You got that straight?"

His words may not have been as aggressive as they might have been but his body language told a different story as he prowled around her, simmering with repressed rage. He saw her face pale. For once, Abigail decided not to have the last word. Even then, at the height of his volatile mood, that made an impact on him.

He remembered Fliss once flinching from him when they argued. He had to admit he had on another occasion laid hands on her even if he had drawn back from actual harm. Did he scare women? Were there darker parts to his character about which he was in denial? Was it possible to see himself through their eyes? Perhaps they were right. Maybe he was a heartless bastard who treated women like...what was it she had said? A trinket...a sparkly plaything to be picked up and tossed aside.

He backed off, turning around and striding out, taking his pent-up rage out on the door instead, hitting it with force. Back out in the fresh air, he breathed deeply. It was a fine spring day, sunny but still crisp, a lively breeze blowing in from the sea. Closing his eyes, he continued to take long slow breaths. Suddenly he felt so alone. He was a grown man and the only place in the world that he really had to fall was back on today was with his parents. How pathetic was that?

But one thing he knew for sure. He had just done the right thing. It was long overdue. He couldn't start moving forward until he offloaded the baggage that was dragging him down. If that sounded callous, so be it. Maybe he was a selfish user. All the more reason not to become entangled with women he could only hurt.

In a few days he would be back in London. He would see Nina again for the first time in several months. She was three plus now, a real little lady, the light of his life. The only woman who never let him down, the one who would always believe in him. The thought of his tiny daughter helped to bring him down from the destructive mood he had been in moments ago.

He was even looking forward to seeing Fliss again. These days, their relationship was vastly improved. On occasions there were even glimmers of that long lost friendship returning, the one that pre-dated even their love affair. He rather thought they were better suited to that than love. The trouble was that somewhere in the complex mix, that bond took them back to a time when Fliss still carried a hopeless little torch for him- and he suspected she still did. What was it with women that when you wanted them, they broke your heart and when you didn't they made you feel like a shit for leaving them? Both Abigail and Fliss had rejected him. Now he was regarded as the villain of the piece for not forgiving them. Or was he missing something?

With a sigh, he wrenched open the door of his car and threw himself inside. Glancing back at the house through his mirror as he drove away, he knew he would be back later that day but only to begin the process of closing the place down with a view to putting it on the market. He wanted to put an end to the past right here and now.

It was time to start building for a future.

 

~~~

 

 

Monday morning began as any morning, without even the least shadow of what was to come. Zoe had woken to an empty bed but that was no surprise. Sergei was always up before her and long into his intensive exercise regimen by the time she dragged herself from the covers. She herself had never been a morning person. It was the best thing about nannies - she could escape the children at that time of the day if she wished.

After a long shower, she was at her dressing table, drying her hair when Andreas ran in. "Where's Dad?"

"Good morning, first...where's my kiss?" Zoe teased. Andreas was obviously too caught up in whatever was on his mind to greet his mother. He sighed dramatically- as if her request was a chore- and then repeated his question, impatient. It was Sergei he was looking for, not her. "Gym, I think. He was already gone when I woke up. You'd better hurry. He's got an early meeting..."

Andreas haired off in pursuit of his father. She wondered what was on his mind and then smiled to herself. Her wayward son had embraced his new father completely. They adored each other. Andreas was so different from Nikolai, who was a boy much more in his uncle's image, serious, obedient, thoughtful, respectful - a truly perfect child. Yet Andreas' boisterous, argumentative spirit seemed to have won Sergei's respect. He saw in the boy a challenge that could be channelled into a man of some integrity and fire. He did not try to re-fashion his adopted son into the same mould as himself and Nikolai. For that alone, Zoe would have loved the man.

Sergei was strict with Andreas and expected to be obeyed but he had an easy hand that did not seek to swamp the boy's natural zeal. Maybe if Nick had been parented differently, he might not have developed the dangerous aspects of his character for which he was known? Only time would tell, but at least together they were doing the best possible to turn his son into a decent citizen, albeit one who she knew would make an impact of some kind. Andreas was too irrepressible to be kept down.

Sergei found her later in the kitchen. "I have a breakfast appointment," he announced with a smirk, can you arrange for cereals and whatever it is they eat to be sent into the morning room?"

Zoe was feeding Alexei who now refused to sit in his baby chair and preferred to kneel up instead at the kitchen table. Mealtimes were always fun as he shovelled in food, played with it - and invariably spilt half over the table. He was talking well by now and never seemed to shut up, even whilst spooning in the Krispies and milk.

"A breakfast meeting? Here? Who with?"

"My sons.  Andreas came in while I was running. He told me he thought he needed to know more about ...erections."

"Erections?" Zoe exclaimed. 

"What's a rection, Mummy?" Alexei asked.

"A tall building, darling...Andreas just walked in and calmly asked that?" Zoe laughed.

"Like a skyscraper, Mummy...?"

"Yes, sweetie...Go on, honey..."

Sergei gave her a shrug. "What can I say? I didn't feel I was in the right place for detail while I was running at top speed on a treadmill, so I suggested we talk about it later. Andreas insisted we meet for breakfast. Today. He was very formal about the whole thing. I presumed he had psyched himself up to ask. Then it occurred to me to wonder where Nikolai was...so I asked. Andreas replied 'Oh, he was very busy...' In other words, he chickened out and made Andreas ask the difficult question for them both. So I told him to go find Niki, that I'd answer any questions if Nikolai was with him but I wasn't having Niki finding out second hand from him, in case he got anything wrong..."

"Wow...good answer. Were you thinking on your feet... or just bidding for time? Okay, you go and meet with your 'clients' and I'll go wrestle up a tray. You want coffee and croissants?"

"Perfect. But what do I tell them?" He asked helplessly. 

"Not too much. Children invariably ask one question and adults give them the answer to that and a whole lot more than the kid really wants or needs to know, in the name of being a responsible parent. They've probably been discussing it and they don't get the mechanics as yet. As to the ultimate purpose of their bits, well they might not be at that stage yet. Tell them the biology of it and see if that's enough for now. If they already suspect more then they will ask a further question - only answer that... and so on. Mostly they need a while to compute stuff like that before they're ready for the next level... she grinned.

Sergei took a deep breath. "Why didn't they ask you? Why me? Surely it's harder to talk to me than you? You're their mother!" He was seeking a way out now that the time had come.

"You crazy? Ask me? Honey, they already get the important part of it, i.e. that you and they are boys and I'm not part of the club. Sadly, that points to two things: that they are beginning to feel embarrassment about their bodies even in front of Mum and that they know there's something involving girls in all this that they don't think they want Mum to know... They're growing up, Sergei. Too fast. But what can you do?"

"How do you know all this stuff?" Sergei asked. It amused her to see how ruffled he was. But he had not shirked it, or told Andreas to go ask him mother. She was proud of him for that.

"Instinct. Women are good at reading people, much better than men, whatever you think, Mr. Bigshot Corporate Giant. And experience. I've been a hands-on parent longer than you, remember? Also, women talk about this sort of thing - I discussed it with Mum and friends who have older kids. Men never think about these things in advance - and one day, it always happens. Kids are one day going to ask about sex. You can bet your life on it. So we get ready. What are you going to do the day you find the first condom in your son's pocket?"

"Pat him on the back and say 'good boy'." Sergei grinned. Obviously the male reaction to such a moment was different from the female. "Okay, I can do this..." he talked himself up, straightening his shoulders and adjusting his tie. "I'll fill you in tonight. I'm already running late so after this, I'll just go straight off..."

She stood up and kissed him, whispering: "Good luck...and remember, this is a great honour.  It means they trust you. You're the man they both aspire to be. Take it as the best sign of how much they love you that you could ever want..."

He nodded, stroking her face. "I love you..."

"...MY KISS!" Alexei shouted, jumping up on the chair and reaching out with his sticky fingers. Zoe held his hands away from Sergei's Italian wool while he gave the toddler a quick peck on the top of his head, one of the few areas not covered in food.

So, she smiled fondly as he took himself off to his 'breakfast' meeting, ordering a tray to be carried in for them, handing Alexei over to his nanny for his morning bath, and went off to make a few phone calls. By the time she had finished, Sergei had gone, the older boys were off to their summer soccer school and Alexei was out with his nanny for a walk in the park. Zoe sighed with relief at the rare quiet in the house, caught up on emails and then called for a car. She had a few errands to do.

At the front door, Gudovin was waiting. "Aren't you with Sergei today?" she said, her annoyance obvious.

"He told me to stay with you. He's only at the office. Plenty of people around..."

"What about the kids?"

"Lasky and his boys are with them. They prefer soccer..." He added with an attempt at a grin.

"You mean, you hate being stuck with children...well, buster, you are going to hate today even more, as I am going shopping. Call it payback for last night, you fuckwit...One of these days I am going to fill Sergei in about you ..."

"You're the boss, Madame Litvinova," he responded meekly.  

"You betcha I am, creep," she added and sailed past to the waiting vehicle. 

It was a tedious morning for Valeri. On her last shopping trip on Saturday morning, she had called at a few boutiques; today she was going back for fittings and alterations. The sort of clothes Zoe wore never came off the peg but were either ordered from a designer based on something from his current collection-with the extra detail she wanted - or individually commissioned designs that no one else would ever be able to purchase. Even the ready-to wear-clothes were usually altered so that they were an exact fit to her body. Gudovin wondered why it was all necessary. Anything Zoe Litvinova put on was graced by her body. She could have bought from a high street store and looked just as good. Couture was for rich women who needed it, in his opinion. But then in his view, beautiful women ought mostly to be stretched out on silken sheets naked - or in the flimsiest of lingerie, at the very most.

For her part, Zoe enjoyed trailing Gudovin from one shop to another, using him as a bearer for her boxes and bags. Several times he called for the car to offload the packages, reminding her sullenly that his skills at protecting her were very limited if she insisted on using him as a porter. To this she merely laughed and said: "If the job's too hard for you, Valeri, get a man who can hack it then..."

Her last stop was on the Rue St-Honoré for a fitting for an evening gown she had ordered from Christophe Josse, intended for a state function in Russia later in the autumn. She had been impressed by Josse's show at Paris Fashion week and his collection of sexy siren gowns, reminiscent of the 1930s with a 21st century gloss. The confection she had chosen was a sheer pale pink body decorated with appliqué motifs in the palest softest silvery rose lace above a skirt of tiers of rose pink organza tulle falling away from a slightly off-centre slit that reached almost to the bodice. It was daring selection but it would have to be as half the women at the ball were knockdown gorgeous trophy wives - and the rest dour Babushkas whose prejudices she adored offending.

The boutique was miniscule, by appointment only. Apart from a tiny waiting vestibule, the interior was reserved solely for clients. Valeri was told in no uncertain terms to wait with a magazine whilst Zoe was whisked within. She did not protest, glad to be rid of him. He looked about, sneered at the reading material, all fashion-related, but took a seat dutifully, if with disdain. His first action was to take out his phone to contact the driver and back up team to skirt the block and make sure the rear exits were covered. He was not going to chance some enterprising tail seizing his chance or even the lady herself deciding to bolt just for the hell of it.

A young woman on the reception gave him a baleful look, tutting loudly at the use of his phone, pointing to a sign that requested cells to be switched off, no doubt to preserve the Zen-like calm. Valeri merely raised a middle finger and carried on with his conversation.

"I must ask you to leave..." the woman began.

Valeri looked up. "Make me..." One look at him and she decided not to pursue the matter.

Inside, Zoe was led into a small changing room with a connecting door to the viewing salon. With the help of a dresser, she slid herself into the gown, still tacked loosely here and there. A pair of shoes was selected to complement the look.

"Please...the studio beyond is better lit and fully mirrored..." The girl announced, indicating the opposite door. Zoe walked out, still fussing with her dress, arranging the drape of the tulle. She was vaguely aware other people were inside the large studio.

"Madame Litvinova! I cannot believe it! Fancy meeting you here!"

Zoe's head shot up - it was Chiara Bellini. 

"You look beautiful, my dear! But isn't that gown from the wedding collection?"

"...Oh no, Madame Bellini! In rose, it is absolument intended for any occasion grand enough. This is an adaptation of the original. The theme is more Hollywood of the Thirties. You know, like Fred and Ginger...? Perhaps your hair in waves, Madame Litvinova, n'est-ce pas? Like the old movie starlets?" The senior stylist intervened, sensing animosity between the two women immediately, and also concerned at the potential loss of a sale.

But Zoe was less concerned about the potential faux pas of a married woman wearing a bridal gown in public than she was at the unbelievable coincidence of this harridan turning up again. Her instincts were immediately on high alert. She had been right suspect Bellini was up to no good. Reminding herself of Sergei's comments of the night before about Bellini's acid tongue and of the need to be dignified in public places, however, she ignored her, stepping onto the runway and striding forward with the confidence and aplomb of any top model.

The dress looked spectacular, and did not give off wedding signals: it would be quite an audacious bride who chose this number - with most of her upper body on show on her wedding day. "I think a few more motifs...for modesty..." Zoe commented to the stylists. "My husband likes me naked but not in full view of the rest of the Kremlin..." she added, with a toss of her hair and a backwards glance at Ms. Bellini.

"The shape is perfect for a skinny girl like you, it requires a flattish chest," Chiara observed with fake admiration. "And so lovely on your pale skin, too...you really are like ivory, aren't you? That anorexic chic style...you're so lucky. Is it natural or do you have to starve yourself, cara?"

Zoe merely smiled. Bitchiness meant Belladonna was impressed. Holding out her hands, she gestured to the women to help her down the steps, where they fussed and crimped until they were satisfied. Meanwhile a few other girls were working similarly on Chiara's gown.

"It's for the film festival...Venice?"

"Where else?" Zoe observed drily.

"Will you be there?"

"No. So it looks like you won't be able to stalk me and Sergei for once. It's only as film festival, for God's sake, the world hardly stops for Venice, whatever you lot seem to think...Anyway, school holidays are almost over and we'll be back in London..."

"How very domestic! I thought that was what nannies were for..." Chiara countered.

"God, you're a sad bitch, aren't you?" Zoe replied. "What's your problem? You know, I'd slap your face but I'd be punching above my weight, so perhaps not, eh? A right cross from you would floor a heavy weight boxer with the weight you'd be packing..." Suddenly her promise to herself not to contend with Bellini was evaporating.

Chiara gave a brittle laugh. "And I would kick your skinny ass, if I could find it, cara...Christ, when did Sergei Litvinov start lusting after bony gamines? He was always a man who liked his women to look like women..."

"Oh give it a rest," Zoe exclaimed, making her way back towards the dressing room. "Look, this is fine, send it on when it's done. I'll be leaving tomorrow for London, so have it couriered...I need to get out of here..."

"Can't stand the competition?" The other women winced at the challenge from across the room; the atmosphere in the room by now was electric. No one hardly dared breathe.

Zoe spun round to face her rival. "I'm younger, thinner, richer and a hell of a lot better looking, baby, not to mention, I have the man you'd bloody kill for. So exactly what fucking competition are you referring to? I know all about your meeting with Sergei in the lobby of the hotel on Friday. I also know that you are trying to drive a wedge between my husband and me but that is impossible, as he isn't the slightest bit interested in you. He has also been completely honest with me...so, why not back off while you can still get out with your dignity intact?"

Chiara's face bore an unexpected gleam of triumph, a high colour rising in her cheeks. "Honesty? From Sergei Litvinov? Is that what you think? Then you don't know your husband very well, darling. I was with him in a hotel on Friday, correct, but not in the lobby. No, we spent several hours in his suite...alone...you need me to say more or you get the picture, huh?"

The overhead spots in the room were already over-bright; the room was hot to begin with. Suddenly, however, Zoe saw dancing lights and felt the stifling suffocation that usually preceded a faint. Digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands, she struggled to control herself. 'I will not give her the satisfaction. Not here. Not in front of Chiara Bellini. Please let me hold on until I'm alone...!' she screamed inside her head.

The others noticed how the colour had drained away from Zoe's face and that she seemed to have been rocked back on her feet, almost as if the threatened punch had been thrown. Two girls rushed forward, steadying her arms. Zoe shrugged them away, holding her hands high and making for the door with a falsely stiff gait. Chiara watched her walk away with some satisfaction.

When the door of her dressing room was finally closed, Zoe gasped: "Get me out of this damned dress...!" The two women flapped about trying to accommodate her. As soon as the garment was lowered to the floor and she was supported as she stepped from it, Zoe slumped to a stool, unconcerned that apart from her panties she was naked.

"Can we get you anything, madame?"

"A glass of cold water. Then leave me for a moment...just get out..."

Putting her head in her hands, Zoe tried to shut out the world while she tried to gather her thoughts. Was the bitch lying? Bellini was quite capable of making it all up. She could not hang Sergei out to dry on the poison coming from that woman's mouth. He had told her the truth. There was no doubt that he had been contrite and desperate for her to believe him. He had made love to her like she was the only thing in the world he wanted...

Her eyes fell to the discarded shoes on the floor and the dress still lying over the back of a rail where the girls had placed it before running out. Or had last night been about something else entirely? She recalled his odd mood after they had made love, his comments that seemed to suggest he thought their relationship might be close to hitting a wall. There had even been some implication that he preferred more wholesome sex with her; she had even wondered if he was suggesting married men ought to keep the edgy stuff out of the marital bed. What had he really meant? Was his recent passionate lovemaking more the result of a man with something to hide trying to put his wife off the scent - and then feeling remorseful?

Shrugging back into her jeans and the loose white blouse she had arrived in, pushing her feet into her black stiletto ankle boots, an idea suddenly came to her. She could find out if Bellini had been in the room. Picking up her I-phone, she checked the number of the hotel in Rome.

"...Good afternoon, this is...Madeleine Costello... Chiara Bellini's personal assistant. Signora Bellini was at the hotel on Friday in the Presidential suite as a guest of Mr. Sergei Litvinov, I believe. She now appears to have lost a gold chain during her visit- it wasn't particularly expensive but of great sentimental value. Could you ask if the butler or any of the staff in the suite has found it, by any chance?"

One of the dressers entered tentatively with a glass of water. Zoe took it and waved her out. Then she waited, sipping on the water while the call was transferred to the household staff that serviced the penthouse suites. In her head, she prayed.

After some moments, a gentleman who spoke impeccable English replied. "Si? You are calling about Signora Bellini's visit last week Mr. Litvinov was in residence?"

Zoe's heart all but stopped. She forced herself to continue. Maybe he would tell her no such visit had taken place. She had to see this through. "To whom am I speaking ?"

"Luigi. The butler. I assure you we found nothing after Signora Bellini left. When Mr. Litvinov checked out, we gave the rooms a thorough clean. It is customary. Anything left behind would be immediately forwarded...I am so sorry..."

"But she was there? Signora Bellini was there? All afternoon on Friday? Were you present?"

"Of course. Well, I wasn't present as such, because their meeting was private, but I was in the kitchen, with the bodyguard. We were told to stay away to allow them privacy...excuse me, why are you asking these questions? I thought you were Signora Bellini's personal assistant...?"

But Zoe had already hung up. Gudovin had known about it all along. Maybe he had even tried to warn her. She may have unfairly misunderstood his motives. Even the cold hearted Russian disapproved of his employer's adultery...

Gudovin had finally relented and was flicking through a copy of Vanity Fair when the door to the interior salons opened. He raised his head, expecting his mistress to emerge, but to his shock, it was Chiara Bellini who strode out.

She smiled at him, reaching out to tip his chin. "Che bello...! Tired of waiting, handsome?"

He stood up. "It's my job to wait."

"How tiresome! A pretty boy like you should find a better job. Ever thought of gigolo? I can think of many women who'd pay for some of what you've got..." She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"How did you find out where she was going to be today?" Valeri asked, immediately astute to her presence.

Chiara laughed. "Clever boy! Brains as well as muscles... It's easy, baby. Surely you know how it's done? Every gossip in town knows when someone like Litvinova has a prior appointment at a fashion house...they all want to know what she's buying..."

Gudovin sneered. "And what are you buying, bitch?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, baby? Maybe you'll find out one day soon. So you better be nice to me just in case, no...? I like Russian boys..." She pulled out a card with her cell phone and stuck it in his pocket. "You should be very nice to me...so, call me, why don't you...?"

Then she sashayed out, with the air of a woman well pleased with her afternoon's work.

When Zoe emerged Gudovin was already primed and ready. She looked pale and had donned sunglasses. "Just take me home..."

He stepped forward, ready to support her. Zoe shot him a hostile look. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Are you all right, Madame?" He stopped, looking embarrassed, before stuttering: "...er...I mean...I saw Bellini just now ...I'm sorry...I should have stopped her today. I should always come inside with you. Now, you see why?"

"Your job is to protect me from danger, not from my husband's mistress. That sort of dirty work is not on your job description! I can fight my own battles...You knew, didn't you? You tried to warn me yesterday..."

Valeri shrugged, looked at his feet, his hands now firmly thrust into his pockets.

"...I know you won't betray him. I'm not asking you to. I respect your loyalty. You've to think about your job. But I also know you tried to warn me. I don't much like you, Gudovin - and I haven't changed my mind about that. But...I appreciate your concern about this...thank you..."

Valeri nodded as Zoe exited the boutique and made her wait to the waiting limousine. She did not see the look of pure pleasure on his face. This was a victory he hadn't quite expected - and at Litvinov's expense, too. The prospect of some fun and games with Chiara Bellini into the bargain was an added bonus. Maybe he could also find out more about her intended game while he was at it. Knowledge is power, he thought, as he secured the car door, donned his sunglasses and slid into the passenger seat....

 

 

 

To be continued....

Featured Song: 'Hanging on Too Long' by Duffy from 'Rockferry'

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