Book I: Part Three

 

 

 

 

Liam trailed Fliss through the bedroom, out onto the corridor and into the nursery as she packed. She was leaving for London with Nina that evening, about to embark upon her world tour, the first one she had done since before they had decided to try for a baby. It would be the only time they had been apart in two years; he was dreading the absence, even more now at the thought of missing time with his daughter. Nina Rose was almost six months' old and every day brought something new. He couldn't imagine what he would miss in the two months until they were reunited as a family again. He was bereft even before they left.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea...I could cancel the studio time...see if I could reschedule something in London for next month..."

"Liam! We've talked this out already. I won't even be in London for that long - it's a tour! That means I go from town to town, doh...! And you haven't even finished writing yet. You're weeks behind schedule already...this is the perfect chance for you to settle down to some serious work....Liam, we're not joined at the hip, for God's sake!"

"But I'll miss Nina so bad...!" He leaned over the crib where the baby was dozing, drinking in his little girl. It was inconceivable that he could cope without his daughter in his life.

"I'll be on the web cam every day. Liam! We've spent so much time together but everyone has to work sometimes! Think of how other people live! Your dad used to be away all the time!"

Liam shrugged that one away. "He was used to that. I think he was relieved anyway. My dad was never exactly a hands-on parent..."

"That's unfair. You know he would have wished to have been there more regularly. People have no choice...It depends on the career path they find themselves on... We're just spoiled, Liam..." Fliss always championed Terry. It annoyed Liam sometimes, as if there was a slight criticism of him in how she put his father on a pedestal of what a man should be. At least he changed nappies and stayed at home with the baby. Wasn't that what a father should do?

"I'm not sure it's good for a baby to be on tour either..." He changed his tack although they had also had this one out before.

"She's only six months old! As long as she's with her Mum she doesn't care where she is! And it isn't as if I'm going to be going wild or anything. Plus I have Kay with us night and day...come on, Liam, don't ruin our last day together with all this again!" Kay was the nanny, a charming lady in her fifties, one of the old style nursemaids who had dedicated her life to raising the children of others. Liam was running out of excuses.

"I'm going to hate this..." he muttered petulantly. Fliss dropped the pile of baby clothes she had been sorting and came over to him, slipping her arms round his neck.

"Oh, baby...me too! Truth is, I'm dreading it in one sense - but in another, I'm really excited. Much as I love Nina - and you - and our life...this is what I do! I am so ready for this challenge...we can't stay hidden away here forever...And I feel like I want a chance to prove myself - that I still have it, you know?"

Liam touched her face, committing it all to memory. He loved her so much. She was everything to him. Everything he did in life was framed by his relationship with her now. Challenges? He wasn't sure he personally needed anything more in life other than his two girls. It even bothered him slightly that Fliss didn't seem to find everything she needed in life in him and her child by the same token. But he was so proud of her. Fliss was strong and sure and brave - and all the things he hoped he was too. But sometimes he wasn't so sure.

"I love you both. If I didn't feel this way when you're going away, then we'd have something to worry about..." He kissed her lips softly; she sighed into them.

"She's still sleeping...c'mon...I can do this later...let's go and be naughty...." Fliss grinned and dragged on his hand, back to their room, closing the door and pushing him towards the bed. Liam laughed and let her jump on him, greedily pulling off his T shirt and setting to work on his zipper.

"You can ravish me any time, gorgeous...just as long as you remember this is what you'll be missing when you're gone...!"

 

*

 

The curtain came down on the performance of Les Sylphides to warm if restrained applause. This was an educated audience who were not given to the hyperbolic excess common in the west these days. It would have taken something quite extraordinary to have them talking in words such as 'awesome' or its Russian equivalent.

For Zoe, however, it was an event, an exquisite performance in the grand imperial style. Sergei had his own box. She felt like a Romanov princess. There was magic in the air, created by the ballet and heightened by the mystique of her companion.

She had found herself counting the hours all day long until evening, taking extra pains on her appearance and nervously pacing about until it was time to meet him. Even now he made her heart flutter when she stole a glance across to look at him absorbed in the performance, that serious intense expression on his handsome face. It was impossible not to be affected by his gravity and virile charm, never mind the tuxedo he wore as if he was born to the style.

Litvinov watched his Madeleine as she clapped enthusiastically, her cheeks flushed with pleasure and the heat of the auditorium. There was no air conditioning in this theatre and the night was humid.

His eyes strayed down her throat to the décolletage of her evening dress. She had perfect skin, flawless and smooth, white and even, sinuously curving to the full swell of her breasts, displayed enticingly in the plunging neckline. There was a subtle tightening in his groin, enough to make him adjust a little in his seat. It was impossible not to respond to such a woman. But he had no wishes to make any approaches of a sexual nature yet. Madeleine Harris was not a casual bed partner. He wanted to court her in the old way. The delay in gratification would only heighten the eventual satisfaction they would discover in each other.

"Did you enjoy that? I am sorry it wasn't a more modern repertoire, but at this time of year the choice is often limited..."

Zoe beamed across, leaning over and touching his hand lightly. "It was wonderful, Sergei! I might love the ballet but I'm no expert. For me the experience was just so unique. To enjoy ballet in this city where ballet has such a tradition of excellence - and in such a magnificent venue! I adored it. Thank you so much for inviting me!"

He smiled across fondly. Already he felt a pull towards this charming girl who seemed like all the things he had so singularly found lacking in the many women he had known. "The pleasure, as always, is mine. Your company for another evening is more than sufficient recompense...no ballet could quite live up to that..."

He unexpectedly took her hand, the urbane sophisticate gone in an instant as he dragged her out of the door and down the grand staircase, both of them laughing, weaving in and out of the crowd, unconcerned at the sober faces of the other members of the audience who were also streaming out into the night.

On the street, he kept up his relentless pace, still grasping her hand tightly; Zoe had to tip-tap on her high heels to try and match his longer stride. "Hey...slow down...!" she giggled but he shook his head.

"No...there are only a few tables and we won't be the only ones heading there tonight..."

"Where?"

"Ahhh!! Where, indeed?" he answered mysteriously as they left the main thoroughfare into a back lane, soon finding themselves in a decidedly more dubious area. Had she been alone or with anyone other than Sergei, she would have felt uneasy but there was something so strong and sure about him that she handed herself over willingly. Wherever he was taking her, it was going to be a very interesting experience.

She found out soon enough. They approached a tiny café on the corner of a junction of alleyways. The doors and windows were all open to the hot night and tables had been set out on the uneven street outside. It was not a lovely spot, set as it was in the shade of grim tenements and warehouses, but the clientele was mixed, some even fairly respectable. There was no one, however, other than the two of them, adorned in evening dress.

Sergei pulled out a chair at one of the tables, helped Zoe into it and then flamboyantly tucked the chequered napkin into her décolletage with a roll of his eyes. "Pardon me, madam...but the food here tends to be a little messy...!"

Zoe looked around and saw the other diners eating what appeared to be very plain fare, soup and hunks of bread. "Borscht?"

"Borscht, it is. But the best in St. Petersburg. You have never lived until you have tried it...!"

"Isn't it a bit hot for borscht? I thought that was a winter dish..." Zoe observed. Sergei tutted dramatically at her total lack of local knowledge.

"Well, of course, it is chilled borscht, the Russian answer to summer cuisine...!" he chuckled and ordered for two. The food arrived quickly, served in wooden bowls swirling with thick cream and iced, just as he had promised. He tore some bread for her from the large hunk that accompanied it and handed it over. "Come...eat!" Zoe was even more amused moments later when the homely proprietor's daughter came up with a chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses. "My driver brought it round...I doubt they extend to anything finer than the local vodka here..." And then he carefully filled their flutes, giving her one and raising his. "To glasnost...and other euphemisms for entente between citizens of different nations...!"

She drank her toast, trying not to let his comment disturb her. Her behaviour here was hardly 'openness'; rather she was about to re-impose the old spying games of the Cold War. To cover the moment of embarrassment, she took up her spoon and tried a sip of the vividly coloured fare. "Mmmmm....not half bad either...but I'm glad you tucked in the bib...this purple stuff would do havoc with cream silk....!"

They both laughed as they enjoyed the hearty rustic dish, drinking champagne at the table, chatting late into the night. It was easy and amiable, their attraction of the initial meeting now deepening. Sergei was less formal tonight, more expansive, talking openly - and she matched his mood although she found herself listening more than talking as he opened up and let her see the man inside.

He was a fascinating conversationalist, a man of many parts and interests, his views surprisingly democratic for a captain of industry in the new greed-driven Russia. He found her highly intelligent, acutely sharp in observation and extremely witty - but also an excellent listener, asking an astute question here and there, confident in her own opinions, not merely stroking his ego. It seemed like she was a dream come true for him, a singular woman who could spar with him intellectually, a great beauty who would hold his interest and a girl of a passionate and tempestuous spirit who would challenge him constantly. All these were things he needed.

But he also detected in her a surprisingly tender and soft heart. This woman would know how to love a man. It was as if he could already see his unborn children in her startling aquamarine eyes. This was hardly a common occurrence for Litvinov who normally kept women at an affectionate distance once he had bedded and rewarded them with some expensive trinket.

"Come...let's walk..." It was late and a chill was settling on the air. Sergei took off his jacket and hung it about her slender shoulders as they strolled through the back lanes; the driver has been sent ahead to wait for them on the main road.

As they passed one basement club, the languid strains of music came over to them, wafting across the night air. It was a ballad about love, a modern song, one that Zoe instantly recognised - it was one of Liam's tracks, although she doubted it was familiar to a man like Sergei. She had always supposed Liam had been based the lyric of this song upon his deep love for Fliss.

The plaintive lyric caught Sergei's attention immediately. "Can't take my eyes off you....! How very fitting..." he muttered as right there and then he took her into his arms and danced her slowly around the empty street. "I can't take my eyes off you, Madeleine...you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met...!" His murmur was gravel, grazing deep within her as he dropped his lips to her ear, nuzzling. She felt a weakness flood through her; her knees loosened and moisture dampened the silk and lace of her lingerie. She could not keep herself from sighing in his arms. There was no need to play a part with this man. The struggle was to keep her head clear and not simply fall under his hypnotic spell.

"I want to make you a proposition..." His whispered request brought back some semblance of clarity. Zoe realised this was where he would probably suggest sex.

Her plan had been to hold out, keep him on a string. She wasn't a whore. This operation might be a honey trap but even Cuthbert hadn't implied she had actually to hand the honey over. But realistically, had this been a real relationship in the making, what would have happened next? In this day and age, consenting adults didn't exactly hold back from sexual intimacy. He would not expect her to be a virgin. Would her refusal jar and make him suspicious?

"Come away with me this weekend. I know you are scheduled to fly back tomorrow...but can you extend? Just for a few days? I have a dacha in the countryside about ten miles from the city...Would you come with me? Please say yes...I don't want to lose you yet..."

A weekend away? It was probably the euphemism for 'sexual interlude' cloaked in romanticism, but yet, it sure did beat the hell out of the usual chat up line back home: 'You up for a shag?' "Just the two of us...alone somewhere...?" she answered, mostly just to give herself some thinking time. This was exactly the scenario Cuthbert had hoped for, but he had hardly imagined they would have reached it so quickly. He had warned her it might be a long haul, with several visits to the country before she found herself trusted enough to be taken to his home. In fact, they had regarded this as a long shot; the prelude to more drastic action that would no doubt involve a dangerous and unpredictable raid on his estate.

The only problem she could see at the moment, however, was whether the boy was there or not. Information had suggested he lived with his grandmother on the country estate outside of St. Petersburg but one could never be absolutely sure that they might not be away somewhere else at this time of year.

Sergei chuckled softly against her neck as he bussed her skin, still moving from side to side in the dance. "Forgive me...that sounded rather presumptuous...I was not suggesting anything... inappropriate... My mother and adopted son live there. It is my family home. My mother is very religious and insists on the conventions, so it would mean separate rooms and some measure of formality. But we will be mostly alone...and then, who knows? We shall see. As we say in Russian... 'Budet, budet'...or rather Que sera, sera, which sounds so much less prosaic, don't you think...? What do you say, my beautiful Madeleine..?"

It was hard not to keep the sense of victory from her expression at the swift and unbelievably successful course of this assignment so far, even if she wasn't also a little ashamed at her own triumphalism at the expense of this man whom she was so cruelly playing. Zoe rested her head against his shoulder, let him lead her round a few more turns as the music faded, composing herself before she gave her answer. "I would love to join you there. I can easily change my flight...Sergei...I didn't want to leave yet either..." She looked up at him as he smiled down in pleasure at her acceptance of his invitation. "Sergei, I want to tell you something. You're very special to me. I know we only met yesterday but...it feels like I've known you for a long time already..."

Steady on, she told herself. Don't overdo it. Let him be the one to make the declarations. It had to seem like his idea - or he just might smell a rat. Sergei Litvinov was a very clever man and he had to be aware that an attempt to recover the child was a possibility, which was no doubt why he was kept on this estate under such heavy guard. Sergei would also have many other enemies both professionally and personally. It was important not to give it up too easily either.  She bit her lip, wondering if she had overplayed her hand.

"You've taken the words from my lips, Madeleine. My sentiments exactly. Sometimes even hard-bitten old cynics like Sergei Litvinov come to believe in fate..." His answer cut her to the quick. He really believed in her. Triumph was already dissipating into shame at the ease with which she was duping him.

By now, they were nearing the city street where his limousine was waiting. Helping her in, they sped across the city, back to the air conditioned comfort of the hotel. He again escorted her to the elevators where he kissed her hand formally. "So tomorrow, then? Can you be ready by four? It would be good to leave before the weekend rush begins, no...?"

"Of course! I shall be in the foyer at four sharp. Until then, Sergei..." She hesitated a moment, a conventional delaying tactic that women know well when they are willing a man to kiss them. Sergei recognised her gambit and bent his head towards her ear.

"I want nothing more than to kiss you. But not here. Too many people know me and I have no wish for our friendship to be fodder for the gossip columns...but I shall kiss you. Soon. And often...."

She watched him back away as the doors slid closed and then slumped against the wall, unsure whether her knees could hold her. Sergei made her head swim. She was breathless. Her heart raced.

Back in her room, she took a swig of Scotch from a miniature in the refrigerator, lit a cigarette and paced around. 

Then she called Cuthbert.

 

*

 

"I know her..." Tom Quinn observed thoughtfully as the team viewed the weekly gallery that Ruth Evershed had earmarked for them, clicking images on the screen in the conference room, commenting where information was known. A great deal of intelligence work depended on chance observation, the tedious cross-referencing of apparently unrelated facts and images. Computers made their job at MI5 vastly easier these days but there was no compensation for painstaking hard work. Harry Pearce, head of B Department (Counter-terrorism and radical groups), insisted that they set aside this time after daily briefing each day to jointly screen  images that were of most current interest. He tapped a pencil against his lips, thinking awhile before he mentioned it. Ruth had already moved on to the next shot by the time he spoke, and had to scroll back to find it.

"This one? Came in via AIA. The bloke's Jeremy..."

"...Cuthbert. I know. But I also know her. I've seen her before..." Tom grimaced, pretending to be struggling for recall although he had in fact recognised the woman instantly.

"Bloody hard to forget a girl like that, I'd say..." Danny Hunter grinned across the table. "Sure she didn't just feature in one of your more lurid dreams. Tom...? You've had a lean season of late..."

Tom shot him a wry glance. "Don't have them... Lurid dreams or lean seasons, that is. That's your department, Danny...No, I've definitely met her...Wait...Christ! It's the courier! The one who passed over the madrassar intell...! Bloody hell, she's gets about, hey? Her hair was a different colour then. Chestnut...or a bit darker...no, more like dark brown but with some chestnut lights...shiny, curly...chin length..."

"Didn't pay much attention then, Tom?" Zoe Reynolds rolled her eyes in amusement. Tom was always so serious and yet his reputation with women made it obvious he was quite a lad underneath the public school veneer. They all took great pleasure in teasing him about his private life, which was anything if not stormy.

"Not much...only what was required in the fulfilment of my duty," he responded with a grin. "She seemed a nice girl, actually. Not what I expected. Intelligent. Sharp. Not a raving loony leftie as you might expect..."

Ruth interrupted. "Name's Zoe Thorne. Dual citizenship. Born here. British mother - university lecturer, Australian father...now, he's an interesting one. Military, Intelligence and K and R background...."

Zoe Reynolds laughed. "Looks like not all Zoes have brains and integrity then..."

"...Did you say Thorne?" Tessa Phillips had been observing the younger members of the department with her usual cool indifference but the mention of the surname had caught her attention. "Not Terry Thorne? Is the father called Terry?"

Ruth checked on her laptop. "Hmmm, yes, Terrence Andrew Thorne...Why, do you know him?" Ruth asked. "Quite a hero, so the files say..."

Tessa shrugged. "Worked with him once, years ago. He was SAS then. Never met him since...so this is his daughter?" Tessa stared at the grainy image. It was hard to find anything of the man she had once loved in the striking girl on the screen. Imagine. I could have been her mother.

Harry broke in. "Thorne's a bit of a maverick, to be fair - but on the side of the angels. Knew him vaguely in the Province. But he's retired now, I believe. Still hear his name now and again though. He's got a head full of intel and he's often called in for advice...so this is the daughter, is it? I've heard a few whispers about her..."

"Whispers...what's that mean?" Tom asked, wishing he hadn't broken in quite as quickly. His interest was showing. It was probably more than was entirely seemly.

Harry leaned back and took off his reading glasses. He enjoyed a moment when he could lay out the vast experience at his fingertips for the younger members of his team. "Nicholas Costello. Ring any bells?"

Tom grunted. "Dr. Death himself? But didn't he die a couple of years back...?"

Danny Hunter pricked up his ears. "Hit man? Got his just desserts then, did he?"

"The best. And when I say best, I mean the very best. Plus, he mostly worked for us. Or the Cousins. Australian...you'll find him on the files as 'Barry McKenzie'. Had a sense of humour, did our Nicholas. But a very black one, naturally..." Harry added.

"Met him once," Tom admitted. "Scary guy...could never figure out if he was insane or just putting it on...Totally without any conscience. He's the only truly amoral person I've ever met... Didn't you work with him early on, Zoe?"

No one had noticed the silence from Ms. Reynolds that had followed the mention of Nick's surname. She swallowed hard, reddened slightly and fumbled her answer. "Not really...well, I met him once. Accompanied him back to a safe house for a debrief after he carried out a contract...But we never really knew each other...as it were...I mean...of course, we talked...but nothing more...obviously..." She stopped speaking and bit her lip, aware she had dug a deep, deep trough for herself and was making it worse by the minute.

Pearce sniffed. Danny nudged Zoe and made a curious face; he would want some dirt later. Tom looked down, embarrassed for her, and pretended to be sifting through papers. Tessa gave a withering look. "Don't worry it over, Zoe. He was a total shit where women were concerned. I doubt there are many women in London he hadn't had at one time or another...It was his second profession - and they say he was as good at it as his first...but of course you probably know all about that better than I do..." Her supercilious comment did not make Zoe feel any better.

"What's the connection between her and Costello?" Tom indicated the image on the screen, attempting to return them to the topic and away from Zoe Reynolds and her unfortunate lapse in judgment.

"She was about to marry him when he bought it. Apparently had even changed her name - she calls herself Thorne-Costello these days. There's a child, too. Male. Posthumous." Harry barked out in his no- nonsense British army style.

Tom exhaled air slowly. "Christ...! Wouldn't have put those two together..."

"No, well, that's love for you, eh?" replied Harry, lacing his answer with sarcasm. "Young Miss Thorne-Costello was left a very wealthy woman on the untimely demise of her notorious fiancé. You may not regard intelligence work as a high earner when you check your bank balances, boys and girls, but death pays very well, apparently. The man was extremely rich and left her everything."

"Lucky girl..." Tessa muttered and gave Zoe a patronising smile. "Could have been you..."

"Not really. I have morals," Zoe retorted sharply. There was little love lost between the two women - but then Tessa Phillips never made any attempt to cultivate friendships at the Grid, especially with other women. She preferred it if they all thought her a callous bitch. Over the years she had become just that. Well, who could blame her if jumped up little choir boys like Tom Quinn were already being promoted over her head at twenty years her junior? So much for a lifetime's service and giving up one's chance of a personal life.

"You'd be wrong to assume too much about Ms. Thorne based on Costello's reputation. She is rather a golden girl, actually - very much the sort of young lady who might have been recruited by us or Six. I believe she was approached at Oxford but showed no interest. She's a graduate in PPE - first class honours, Magdalen College, has a Master's from Harvard in International Politics and worked for a while as a journalist for a European freelance news agency based in Berlin. Reported from some very unsavoury places and seems to be quite the intellectual as well as committed to the plight of the weak and helpless. So maybe all Zoes do have brains and integrity, eh?" Harry glanced over at Zoe with a smile of encouragement, aware that the girl was still smarting from her earlier faux pas. "Not sure when she met the dashing Costello, except that he is linked to her father. They go a long way back. But that's another story..."

Tom interrupted. "Why would a girl in her position be hanging about with Cuthbert? What's in it for her? She doesn't need the money. And he's hardly someone with whom she would share a common political philosophy..."

"Kicks," Tessa interjected abruptly. 

"Kicks?" Tom said in disbelief.

"Yes, kicks. She was once a war correspondent. Then she takes up with the most dangerous man alive...and let's face it, he was quite a dishy specimen, so one can hardly blame her... but he dies and leaves her with a lot of money - and a baby. Life over almost before it had begun...my money's on kicks..."

Tom knew she had a point. You could not fault Tessa's shrewd judgment and knowledge of human failings. Her outlook might have been cynical and jaded but it was invariably on the nail. However, he hated her to score a point over him and often took her on - unwisely - just to be contrary. "Cuthbert might be forcing her. Could he have some hold? Something he knows about Costello? Threatening her or the boy's safety?"

Tessa grinned coolly, doodling on her pad. Trust Tom Quinn to try and find a noble motive.

"There is another possible avenue..." Harry broke in. "Costello left her everything. A few years' before he died, Costello gave up the day job, you know? Started a security company..."

"...Siphos International..." muttered Ruth, sifting though her notes. "Very successful. Ms. Thorne is now the de facto owner but one James Farrow runs it as the CEO...and we all remember trigger-happy Jamie, don't we?" The case involving Jamie's trial for an SAS sting that had gone badly wrong when a member of the public got caught in the cross fire - and her family had insisted on justice - was a famous blot on the intelligence network books. It had taught them that in these days of openness and accountability, any of them were potentially at risk from the public that they were trying to serve.

"Bloody small world..." Danny observed. "Every part of her life seems to have a security connection..."

"If you are prepared to accept coincidence as a factor..." said Pearce. "...Which I am not. When Costello resigned, he went out with a rather worrying bang as befitted his reputation. He claimed that he was sitting on information that was highly secret and could endanger many agents, both ours and other western intelligence agencies. We have never managed to ascertain if there actually was such a hidden cache - but it was his insurance policy and we have to take it seriously. And knowing Costello as we do, it would be hard to imagine that he was bluffing. He wasn't a man to leave anything to chance..."

"Didn't work though, did it? The insurance, I mean," Danny observed wryly. "Surely he would have left instructions to drop his little bombshell on the event of his death of anything other than old age, if he had what he said he had. It would have surfaced five years ago..."

Harry looked uncomfortable. "The circumstances of his death were not what you might expect. Bizarrely, considering his life, Costello died a hero. It appears it was nothing to do with his own past and the many enemies he might have made. The girl was kidnapped. He offered his life for hers. Stuff of legends, boys and girls..."

There was a silence round the table. The story of the death of the West's leading assassin was known to all in some form or other. It was not, however, something anyone wanted to celebrate. They were all aware that their careers might bring those they loved into danger eventually. Some had already had a taste. In that sense, Costello had been one of them.

It was Pearce who broke the silence first. "Tom...we need to get to the bottom of this. God knows if the girl is aware of what she could be sitting on, but this odd link with Cuthbert is worrying a lot of people. You've met her. We need to exploit that. See me later and we'll begin working on a pretext...Now....Ruth, let's move on...please continue...."

 

*

 

She skittered across the hotel room, trying both to answer her cell phone and hook her sandal over her foot at the same time. "Jake?"

"Hey, baby...where you been?" She checked her watch. It was almost four. This was not a good time.

"Crazy busy...meetings round the clock. Look...I'm just about to go to another... can I call you later?"

"I'll be asleep...should be now...jet lag..." he replied.

"You back in LA?"

"Yeah. Sleep pattern's all screwed. Maybe I'll just give up and go for a run or something? Just lying here. Thinking about you. Been doing a lot of that recently..."

Zoe sat down heavily and ran her hand through her hair. "You doing okay?" Her voice had noticeably softened. She couldn't put him off now. Sergei would just have to wait. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you were leaving..."

"Not your fault. You've got work, I've got work. Everybody's busy working, working, working...I'm in the studio tomorrow. Interiors. No, that's today...Christ, I'm gonna be wasted...I think of you all the time, Zoe. I just wanna be with you again. That's all I care about these days...Any chance? Any time soon?" He asked the question casually but it was obvious that his intent was anything but. She was such a shit to treat him this way. He had always been so lovely to her - and understanding. So far he had asked for nothing and expected even less. She should not be using him this way. Either have the guts to offer him a relationship - or tell him the truth and let him go.

The truth? What exactly was that? Zoe wasn't even sure she had a clue herself what she wanted. Except that she didn't want to say goodbye to him. That had to count for something? "I'll do my best, Jake. A couple of weeks? It's difficult, what with the job and Andreas and..."

"I know. I do understand. If you can't make it, as soon as we wrap this baby up, I'll join you. Wherever you are. That is, if you want me to...?"

"I want you to. Truly. Jake...I miss you, too. I was thinking about you yesterday actually..." She winced as she said it. Yeah, she thought, I was thinking about the moral issues surrounding shagging someone else whilst on a business trip and whether that compromised our relationship. I'm sure Jake would be delighted to know the details of that particular little erotic fantasy.

"You were? Something very dirty, I hope. No point having dreams about me if we don't get to have wild sex all over the place in them...we do in mine anyway...Every fucking time..." She could hear the smile in his voice, playful and shy all at the same time. "Pity you've got a meeting, huh? A little bit of telephonic mutual masturbation might just get me off...I meant to sleep. I also meant...but then you knew that, didn't you?" he chuckled. "Jesus, I'm lying here with a hard on just talking to you..." he groaned.

"Go run on the beach. Take a cold shower. Eat plenty of roughage. And a glass of warm milk before bedtime. That should get rid of your problem, sir..." Zoe giggled huskily.

"I don't want to get rid of it, honey..." he replied, his own voice dropping to a low burr. "I kinda like how it feels. And anyways, the best way to get rid of it, is just wrap my fist around and..."

"Jake...! You naughty boy. Are you really lying in bed indulging in self-abuse whilst talking to me?" She feigned shock.

"I sure am, ma'am..." came his amused reply, accompanied by a series of highly exaggerated suggestive noises.

"You've missed your calling, Jake, me old mate. Ever thought of a career laying down porno sound tracks?"

Just then the doorbell to her room rang. It had to be Litvinov. Get Jake off the phone quick, she urged herself. "Jake...I really have to go...there's someone at the door. My client, I presume..." She ran across to open the door, pausing for a moment. "Jake...bye...I'll call you...soon..."

She hung up and swung the door back, momentarily caught off balance even though she had expected Sergei to be standing there. He was wearing a pair of cream slacks and a crisp blue linen short sleeved open-necked shirt. It matched his eyes. He looked devastatingly handsome, his short blond hair and tanned skin giving the impression of health, strength and vigour.

"You're late. We said four..." he announced, tapping his watch but with an indulgent expression. "What is it that prevents women from ever being able to be ready on time when they are meeting a man? Is it some genetic code that requires you to torment us?"

 "Sorry, Sergei. Important phone call. Had to take it...head office..." She didn't apologise or show any level of contrition at all. "If it was your call, you wouldn't expect me to accuse you of hanging about spending too long on your appearance. So I would be grateful if you stopped making trite and meaningless sexist remarks like that..."

"Are you angry with me?" He asked as he held out a small posy of flowers. She took them with a bashful grin, holding them to her nose to smell their fragrance. "No more than you are with me..." she answered sassily and stepped back to let him enter. "...Just one second while I find my other shoe and then you can carry my bag..."

"Ahh...so you have a use for me at last! To be the porter..."

Zoe flashed him a pout. "I can be just as sexist as you can, Mr. Litvinov. Or should I just call you Muscles?" 

He shook his head chuckling quietly as he crossed the room to where she was standing, hand on hip. With an easy movement he bent down and kissed her three times on the cheek in the Russian style of greeting, but making a soft moan as he did. "You smell wonderful. That perfume will drive me to distraction in the car..."

"Good! It was worth the exorbitant price, then. Here's my bag..." She danced away backwards, mouthing, Mr. Muscles at him. Sergei stood with his hands in his pockets, observing her with obvious enjoyment before leaning down and picking up the small case and vanity, one in each hand.

Striding to the door, he waited for her to gather her purse and check her reflection in the mirror. "And now, if we are quite ready...let's go away for the weekend...no?"

 

*

 

"So, how're you doing?" Annie stood at the main door of Liam's home, with her arms full of groceries. Liam had buzzed her up from the gatehouse after she had woken him. He stood there yawning and scratching his chest, wearing only a pair of torn shorts. "Well, you're obviously getting enough sleep. But it's definitely time for a shower and prising those duds off you...Liam, really!" she grinned as he moaned at her chiding and stepped back to let her in.

"Shut up, Mum...I didn't get to bed until three..." he complained as he hoisted the bags from her arms.

She rolled her eyes. "It's one thirty, Liam! That means you still got over ten hours sleep! Where were you? Out drinking?" 

"I wish.  I was working. We were at the studio laying down a few new tracks. Suddenly things are kicking in, you know? Must be 'cause I'm lonely and blue. Nothing works as well on the old muse as being unhappy..." He smiled bashfully and Annie gave him a hug. She knew how emotionally vulnerable her son was but adored his openness about it. The very thought of Terry - or even Zoe - admitting loneliness was impossible to imagine.

"Here, I've brought you some tucker. I thought you might appreciate if I fix some brunch for us...?" She swept through into the kitchen with Liam staggering in her wake.

"Ripper, I'm bloody starving...!" he muttered.

"Have you been eating properly?" Annie found herself asking the typical mother's question. When had she become this person who bothered about people eating?

"Not much. Mostly crap. Fliss'd kill me. I've set back my macrobiotic diet a couple of years in a week..." he chuckled, rummaging through the food in the bags. Annie slapped his hand away.

"Go shower. You stink. Shave. And put some pants on. Do you think I want to see all that hanging out? It reminds me of a butcher's window..." she added dryly as she unpacked the provisions.

Liam sauntered to the door. "You wouldn't be whining if it was Dad..." She threw an empty paper bag at him.

 

Later at the table round the pool, they shared a casual brunch, chatting easily. It had been a long time since they had found themselves alone together. "Heard from Fliss?"

"Yeah. Every day. We talk on the webcam. It's not the same but...she sits Nina on her knee there and talks and it almost feels like I'm with them. But it's just an illusion. I need more than a picture, Mum. I love them so much. I fucking hate it when we're not together..."

"...Hey, language! I'm your mum, not your mate. It's only two months, sweetie. I know that seems a long time now, especially when Nina's so tiny and changing every day. But it will soon pass. You and Fliss have had a great run for so long now. But you don't have normal careers. This is going to happen from time to time and you are both going to have to adjust to it...I know that sounds trite, and it isn't anything you haven't heard before but..."

Liam broke in. "I know it. I just keeping asking myself, what the fuck's it all about? There was a time when all I wanted was to make music. Now I wonder if I give a fucking damn...sorry, bloody..." Annie smiled at his correction and reached out to cover her hand with his.

"Don't be so melodramatic. You're too young to retire, believe me. There's more to work than earning money. Ask your dad..." She raised her eyes heavenward. He might be technically retired but he seemed to have more work than ever on his plate these days. Terry Thorne never said no to anyone and Annie knew it wasn't to do with the fact that he didn't know how to say the word. He worked because he didn't know how else to fill his time usefully and that was a fact that she had accepted a long time ago. It didn't matter how much he loved her - he was still going to be taking on things that meant he had to leave from time to time. The only consolation now was that he wasn't in any firing line anymore. This was all bureaucratic work, consultancy and advisory capacities only, boardrooms and lecture halls.

"How did you cope?" Liam asked. "When we were kids and Dad was always away? He was gone for weeks sometimes. How did you stand it?"

Annie shrugged. "I hated it. I always resented the job even if I tried to support him. But he was so bloody annoying! I used to say that I was the only one he ever said no to. Which was not fair. But we fought a lot about it. I guess you never saw that side of things. We kept it away from you both..."

"You always seemed so together. You made it seem so matter-of-fact. Daddy's away so we just have to get on with things. I don't suppose we ever gave any thought to how you must have felt..."

"I was a young woman. I felt our best years were just disappearing and we were spending so much time apart. I was pretty and I had a lot of offers from other men. But I had this sexy, handsome husband - whom I adored - yet he just wasn't around much. It was hard. There was a lot of responsibility. I was lonely and frustrated much of the time. I worried about Dad..."

"...Did you think he might mess around?" Liam asked. Annie wondered what had made him ask that highly personal question at that moment. Was it on his own mind? God knows he got more temptations than most.

Annie raised her hands. "Well, it was a possibility. He was working under a lot of pressure. Things happen. I tried not to think about that. Liam, your father is not inclined to infidelity, whatever you may think. There might have been one or two notable lapses in his life but he is not that sort of man. I did trust him. But I also knew that if anything ever did happen, then it wouldn't really have anything to do with us, you know?"

Liam frowned and Annie wondered if maybe she shouldn't have been so honest, that maybe this was not the answer he wished to hear. "It wasn't about not enough sex. That's not what bugged me most, Liam. It was all the things we missed from day to day. The every day sharing of our lives together and experiencing our children. He was missing so much of that. And he knew it. It hurt him more than we can ever know. He's always carried guilt over that. But...you and Fliss are not going to be forced to face that. It's just on occasions for you two. For us it was year in, year out."

"I know. I'm just a wimp. Take no notice of me. Feeling sorry for myself - what the hell do I have to feel sorry about? I've got everything a man could wish for. I don't want you to think I'm taking the success we've had for granted..."

Annie shook her head, smiling across at him. "On the contrary, the way you feel does you credit. It means that you know what's really important in life. And what isn't. Not everyone gets that at your age."

Liam seemed placated by that and his thoughts turned elsewhere. "When's Zoe back? Who's got Andy today?"

"He's with Brenda. She's got some family birthday party on this weekend and Andreas wanted to go. So he's staying overnight. No, Zoe's not back. She hasn't exactly given us a date. She implied it would be another week or so."

Her son rubbed his face in thought. "Where is she anyway?"

Annie looked up, a little surprised. "With your friend, I presumed. I know she said work but Terry and I weren't falling for that one..."

"Jake? No, she's not with him. He's back in LA. Pining. He said she was in Russia or something. What work's she got there? Didn't think she ever got involved in the placements..."

It was Annie's turn to be pensive. This wasn't quite what she had expected. Liam usually knew more than she did about his sister. They confided a lot in each other. "You sure she didn't go to LA?"

Liam shook his head. "No. Jake would have said. He's going nuts without her. She's really knocked him for six. I hope she knows what she's doing....he's a good bloke..."

"Yeah, me too..." Annie replied vaguely with a faint feeling of foreboding settling on her. What was going on with her daughter? Had she missed something? "Well, we'll know when she gets back. Won't be long now. Andreas is doing it hard though. He tries to be tough - but he's only four. He gets anxious if she's late calling. He worries about her a lot and it's bound to take a toll on him. He shouldn't have to take responsibility for anything at his age..."

"We didn't like it when Dad was away..." Liam reminded her.

"Didn't like is not the same as worrying. Most children never even think of the idea of losing a parent so they don't worry about their Mum and Dad. They think their parents are invincible and will always be around. But Andreas has dealt with the loss of his father since birth. He might not understand it fully but he knows that Nick isn't coming back. A bright child like he is soon works out that if it could happen to his dad it could just as easily happen to his mum. In fact he is almost primed to think it will occur. I feel so sorry for him sometimes. He hears a car and he charges to the door. The phone rings and he expects it to be Zoe. To watch his crestfallen face is so painful. He needs her with him..."

"...She needs a life, Mum," Liam broke in.

"I know. The eternal conundrum of women, huh? Never think we have it all, Liam. The more that's expected of us, the less independence we really have..." Annie observed.

"Tell that to Fliss," he muttered.

Annie laughed. "You're missing the point, kiddo. She's in exactly that situation. She's damned if she does and damned if she doesn't, trying to work, raise a baby and be a good partner all at the same time and yet feeling that she's failing on all counts. What's she getting out of it all? It isn't just you who is alone..."

"She's not exactly alone. She's with Nina..."

"You're not exactly alone either, Liam. And unlike Fliss, when you finish work you don't have to spend the rest of the time looking after a baby.  You have your freedom. Do you know what I'm saying?"

He shrugged truculently. She knew he wasn't convinced. Liam wanted to wallow in his own distress in his usual dramatic fashion. Annie repressed a smile at her emotional son. He was so like she was. How absurd! But he was also like his father, more than either of them would readily admit. Annie watched Liam purse his lips and give her his sour look and then he immediately changed the subject. It was a familiar gambit.

"So...you still cooking those incredibly enormous Sunday dinners these days? And am I still invited?" Liam asked.

Annie grinned. "I am and you are.  I'll just go load the dishie and get off then. Gotta go buy some beef if I've got three men to cook for..."

 

*

 

Zoe had expected the limo but to her surprise, Sergei intended to drive them himself. Waiting outside the hotel was a silver Lamborghini Gallardo Spider. He smiled to himself as her eyes widened at the sight of the speed demon. Stashing her luggage in the trunk nonchalantly, he slammed the lid and opened the passenger door with a flourish. "You want me to put the top down...are you worried about your hair in the wind...?" he asked.

She tossed her head and gave him a sultry look. "Wind in the hair is good..."

He gave her a slight bow as she slid inside. Zoe noticed his eyes scanning her body, clad in tight jeans and a figure hugging lacy top. Even a man like Sergei couldn't hide the hunger.

As he joined her in the driver's seat, he looked across again. "I hope you like speed...I wouldn't like to drive you too hard..." he muttered ambiguously. His nostrils flared. She felt a bolt like lightening dart through her. Resolve melted away. Why shouldn't she enjoy this while it lasted?

"Give me all you've got, boy....the harder the better..." she replied. He didn't answer but leaned over, taking her by surprise. His right hand reached across her left leg, brushing sensuously along her thigh.

"Seat belt. We wouldn't like to cause any damage, no?" He drew the belt tight across her body, making no attempt to avoid contact with her breast, smoothing it across her flat belly and grazing his knuckles lightly across her pelvic bone before snapping it into its cradle. His eyes met hers and she was in no doubt where he was heading.

Sergei sat back and reached over to secure his belt. He got his answer to the unspoken question when Zoe's hand reached out and stopped his, helping herself to the buckle and pulling it sharply downwards, letting the belt drag against his groin as she tightened and locked it in place. Her eyes let him know where she was looking. His face was impassive but she saw the gleam in his eye as he ignited the engine and shot off out of the hotel forecourt.

In silence for a while, with nothing but a cool jazz track playing on the sound system, he deftly negotiated the city traffic. They were soon on a fast highway out of the central zone and he put his foot down, zigzagging lanes until he had left the suburban traffic well behind.

He drove at high speed with intense concentration and yet his body was relaxed. Sergei was not showing off. This was how he conducted himself behind the wheel.  For all the arrogant daring of his behaviour, Zoe knew he was totally in control and doubted he ever took a chance that he couldn't win. She thought of Nick, whose driving had always been reckless in the extreme. This was different in every way. Nick had tempted providence simply because it amused him to roll the dice with disaster, relying only on his lightening reflexes and fate to bail him out. Sergei was not a gambling man. He would not fail because he never allowed himself ever to make mistakes. There was something very unnerving about that thought. If someone crossed Nick, she knew well enough how he would snuff them out as easily, and as thoughtlessly, as swatting a fly. She suspected that it would not be as easy a passing if you angered a man like Sergei Litvinov.

His revenge would be slow and devastating, with every detail planned. Nothing would be left to the vagaries of chance. A shudder sent a cold chill down her spine, even in the heat of the late afternoon. What would he do to her when this was over if he ever managed to trace her real identity?

There was a moment then of utter, gut-loosening fear - and then another sensation overtook it almost as quickly. Zoe suddenly felt a thrill, so intense that it was like a powerful orgasm. She looked across at Sergei, who caught the movement of her head and turned to smile at her. "Too cool?"

She shook her head, momentarily speechless before she managed to regain her tongue. "Not worried about highway police then? Don't they have them in Russia?"

That made him chuckle huskily. "How many cars like this you think there are in St. Petersburg? No one would touch anyone who could afford such a vehicle. They'd be too scared of the consequences..."

He didn't explain the comment. He didn't have to. She knew how things worked in modern post-Soviet Russia. His car would immediately flag him as a very rich man indeed - and most probably a mobster or a man with connections in that area. Police would know well to keep clear of someone in that walk of life. Zoe wondered exactly how much Sergei was acknowledging in this remark the more shady elements of his life.

It was possible that he meant no such thing at all, merely that there was a culture here of privilege, a curious legacy of the supposedly egalitarian communist regime. But she doubted it. Litvinov had to have dirty hands. It was the way things worked there.

"So, tell me about your family, seeing as I am about to meet the mother... is there anything I ought to know?"

Sergei laughed softly without taking his eyes off the road. "My mother is my mother. You will have to meet her and face her to know the answer to that..."

"She won't much like me?"

"It would be highly unlikely if she did..." he grinned. "A first. She's a Russian mother. What can I say?"

Zoe rolled her eyes. "A Babushka, hey?"

"That sort of thing. But she's harmless. She loves me. I'm all she has...her boy...Like all mothers...I'm sure if your mother met me, she would not be too impressed by me either ...?"

Zoe snorted. "Oh, I think my mother would like you very much...If I kept you two apart it would be for the very opposite reason..." She could imagine them both charming the pants off each other. Well, not literally, of course. Mum was probably a bit past that sort of thing.

Probably. But Zoe was never quite sure about Annie where it came to men. Her mother had such an effect on them. Even these days. She also had a suspicion that Sergei was the kind of man who wouldn't be averse to an affair with a beautiful and alluring older woman. Scary thought.

"Aha! At last...I find something out about you. You have a mother. And she is beautiful...no? And you are a little jealous of her...?"

His acuity shocked her back to the moment. Why on earth had she let her real identity intrude so carelessly? Cuthbert had told her that while she might keep her legend close to her real self in general details to give her story credibility, she must never give any facts that might be checkable or could in anyway lead a determined researcher back to her own life. As unlikely as it was that he could piece anything together from the little he knew, Sergei was a resourceful man. It was one thing putting herself in danger - but to even think of implicating any family member was unthinkable.

Of all people, she ought to know the possible consequences of private vendettas.

Zoe feigned a weak smile. 

"Okay, let me pry a little further," he grinned over as he accelerated forward on the open road, now fairly empty of traffic. "We've established you have a mother. But what about your father? Is he still alive?"

"No." She found herself clamming up completely.  Somehow the idea of her father and Sergei Litvinov ever meeting made her feel nauseous.

"Brothers and sisters?"

"No..."

Sergei shook his head. "You're a very secretive girl, Madeleine. In my experience, women are generally over-talkative, ready to spill their entire life story five minutes after we have met...you are very unusual. Or do you have something to hide?"

A cold chill ran down Zoe's spine. She looked across at him, but his manner did not appear to be hostile. He was still teasing her - or appeared to be.

"Nothing to hide. Just private. I'm not one for really revealing my personal details to just anyone..."

Her caustic remark brought a smile to his face. "And I, of course, am just anyone...no matter. I think I rather approve of discretion. Without meaning to sound arrogant, most women see me as a prize these days. It is rather refreshing to meet a woman who hasn't even made up her mind yet whether she likes me..."

"I didn't say I didn't like you...I just....I just don't find it easy to be open. It takes time for me..." Zoe didn't feel she had to lie about that one. When had she ever told any man the truth in a very long time? Even in her private life?

"I understand. Personally, nor do I. Confide in others, I mean. However, I have a strong urge to do so in you. I wonder why?" he asked with an enigmatic look. She shrugged and smiled back tentatively.

"I am curious about you," Sergei observed. "I can't blame you for being curious about me. If you want to know anything, just ask..." This time she would be more cautious in her replies. But Sergei did not take the opportunity.

"Take your time. When you are ready. If you are curious about me, though, don't hold back. I have no secrets. My life is public knowledge. But I would rather I was the one to tell you about myself. There is a lot of shit talked about me...you know how it is?"

She nodded pensively. Then she decided to take him up on his offer. "I'm going to meet your son, too. I should know a little about him. You said you were his uncle...but you adopted him. What happened to his parents?"

A shadow passed over Sergei's face and the granite stillness she had observed in him when they had first met returned instantly. "They are dead."

"I'm sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't have..."

He shook his head. "No...of course you should know. My younger brother, Alexei...he died...two years ago. And his...wife..." There was a short pause as he mentioned the child's mother. Zoe knew that was significant. She also knew that it proved he was lying. Christie Litvinov was not dead. It was the first time he had confirmed what Cuthbert had warned her all along. Litvinov was a manipulator of people, highly persuasive and not to be trusted. Had she been falling for his masterly seduction despite her detailed knowledge of his actual life?

"What happened?"

Sergei raised his hands off the wheel in a helpless gesture. "I will tell you a little about my brother. He was eleven years younger than I am. A late child. My mother and father had given up hope. Along came this little baby when they were already middle aged. They named him Alexander...very apt. The golden boy. Like the Greek?"

His mention of the word Greek made her think of Nick. It didn't take much to bring his memory to mind at the best of times. "Macedonian. Not Greek. It was different then..."

"Ah, yes...you are right. Alexander of Macedon. My Alexei was just such a boy. White blonde hair, blue eyes, beautiful face...he was clever and talented and the sort of child everybody loves. My parents spoiled him, of course. We all did. When I was seventeen, I left for America. By the time I returned eight years later, the child was now a teenager. What can I say? He was a difficult boy. Wilful, lazy, selfish....always wanting the easy way in life...but charming. Always charming. You know the type?"

She did indeed. Zoe imagined that Nick had been such a boy at fourteen, wild, headstrong and yet, able to draw people to him. "I've met a few in my time..." she smiled.

"I was worried about him and his lack of progress in his studies. There was some evidence that he was using drugs, running with a fast set. It is so easy in this country to destroy your life even before it begins in those circles... I had recently taken a job as a young executive in the steel industry.  I was earning quite well considering so I decided to send him away to school. A very expensive private academy. It was mistake. I thought I was doing the best for him. He fitted in well. Other pupils were attracted to him. But he was poor and they were rich. He wanted to have what they had. And he found a way easily enough..."

"Dealing?" Zoe asked, shrewdly guessing where this was leading.

Sergei looked impressed at her deduction. "Yes, indeed. These kids have a very high disposable income and parents who do not supervise them enough. The school turned a blind eye to a lot of the behaviour until it was impossible to do so. A student died. The matter was investigated by police. Alexei was arrested..."

"Bloody hell...can't imagine it's much fun in a Russian prison...!"

"Indeed...I had to intervene. He'd never have made it out alive - a pretty boy like Alexei? God knows what they would have done to a kid like that...I pulled some strings, did a few favours, called in a few more...he was released and I flew him to the States. Put him in school there. A tougher regime. Private boot camp for delinquent children of the rich...you know the kind of place...?"

She nodded. "How did he get on?"

Sergei grunted. "He was expelled. He went through a few more places but it was always the same story. What could I do with him? He was nineteen already. Almost a man. I supported him financially even though I knew he did not deserve it. But what choice did I have? I was afraid if he didn't have money, he would simply find some illegal way of funding his habits..."

"He was using?"

"Recreationally. He was no fool...but he had a taste for fast cars, loose women and nightlife...a lot of bad habits..."

Zoe chuckled. "Much like his brother, huh?" They were travelling along at a very high speed. Sergei laughed grudgingly. "Touché, Madeleine, but at least I pay for my own vices myself, no?"

"What about your parents? Why did you take so much on?"

He hunched his shoulders. "My father died when I was a student in the States. I imagine that was part of Alexei's problem. My mother was so lonely she indulged him. Father would have had a stronger hand...."

"So then, what?" Zoe was too enthralled in this story to hide her interest, even if she could see where it was leading. She seemed to have forgotten her earlier conviction that Sergei was lying.

"He was spending money liberally and I knew I had to keep an eye on him. Then suddenly he tells me he is married. Got a girlfriend pregnant and they had gone to Vegas and made it legal. I told him he had to grow up then. Start to make something of himself for the sake of his wife and baby. I told him if he didn't come home, the money would stop..."

"He refused?"

"No...he did what he was told. Which surprised me. But, in retrospect I realised that he wanted a bigger cut. The girl, too. By then I was the owner of the company. Management buyout. I was suddenly  wealthy man. Alexei was smart enough to realise that he was missing out on the new meritocracy in Russia by staying away. In America, he was just another rich kid. In Russia, he was a celebrity..."

Zoe sighed. "Sounds like a little shit..."

Sergei laughed sadly. "He was. I gave him an executive position but he abused it and I had to sack him. He used my name to run around the place. I kept him on a tight budget, gave him a car, a house, paid all his living costs - but didn't give him much cash....it was continual battle. Even after the child was born, he still lived like a playboy..."

"How did he die?" Zoe suddenly wanted to end the sad little tale. There was no sense in forcing him to go over each painful detail of his brother's decline.

"His car went off the road one winter's night."

"Speeding?"

"Probably, but the bullet in his brain didn't really help his driving too much..." Sergei muttered sardonically.

Zoe gasped. "He was murdered? By whom?"

Sergei looked across at her dolefully. "Who knows? Whether he crossed the wrong gang or seduced the wrong man's wife or got himself into money troubles...I'm not sure I even want to know. It was kept quiet. The brother of Sergei Litvinov tragically dies in an automobile accident...private funeral..."

"And his wife...?"

"And his wife..." Sergei added without any further embellishment.

"The baby hadn't been with them that night?"

"No...Nick was at home with his nanny..."

"Nick?" Zoe found herself saying the name incredulously.

"Nicolas...He's almost five.  He was born on St Nicholas' day...that's ..."

"December 6th..." Zoe murmured. She realised that this little boy, so close to her own son in age, was born the day Nick had died. The same date that Andreas had been christened a year later. The synchronicity of so much of this story disturbed her. It all seemed too close for comfort, almost as if this was as much a legend as her identity was. Had he invented all this merely to try and tease her out? Did he actually know he was being set up and was this weekend not a simple excursion to the country but, in fact, something very much more sinister?

Cuthbert's people were tracking her. She was grateful for that.  Suddenly her confidence in her own covert abilities took a major tumble. But surely Sergei wouldn't have bothered with such an elaborate sting had he known all along what she was after?

"So you took care of him? He's a lucky boy to have such an uncle..."

"He calls me Papa. He doesn't really remember them. He's a beautiful child. Made in his father's image. This time, I am determined not to make the same mistakes..."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him," Zoe said, merely for something to say. 

Sergei leaned over and rested his hand over hers for a moment. "Thank you for listening. Few people know the whole story. Sometimes, it is good to talk. Maybe you should try the truth sometime. Catharsis is wonderful thing..."

There seemed no guile in his comment although it added to her sense of insecurity. Was he a sinister game player or just a lonely man falling in love? Either way she had to keep her head.

 

*

 

"Man, I'm shagged out..." Liam moaned, running his hands back through his hair and groaning. He set down his guitar and went to the bathroom, hanging his head over the sink and throwing cold water over his head

Looking at his reflection, he stared thoughtfully. These overnighters were killers. He was out of practice. In the old days he used to go days without a decent sleep.

"You feeling the heat?" Billy J called over as he walked in, already unzipping and settling in at the urinal as Liam shook the cold water from his dripping hair.

"Yeah...hey...I could use something, you know what I mean?" Liam muttered. Billy looked over his shoulder sharply. "Thought you'd given up that shit...?"

Liam shrugged. "Just one or two tabs...Come on, mate, I need an upper to keep me alert...just for tonight...we could lay the rest of that track down without me fucking up the bloody vocals again..."

"Fliss would have my nuts..."

"Fliss isn't bloody well here. You gonna tell her?" Liam asked tersely "I know you're all carrying...if it's money..."

"Fuck, Liam...it isn't the money..." Billy retorted, pulling a small packet out of his inner pocket and tossing

them across. "Just go easy, mate...plenty of water...you've been clean a long time...this could mess your head up..."

"I'm cool. Thanks, mate..." He took a few of the pills and held his hands under the running water, drinking a few gulps as he swallowed them. "Just give me ten. Let these kick in...then we'll run through those harmonies again..."

"Sure....hey, Petra's coming over later. She's got a few mates with her...I told her to go get some bottles and join the party...we might as well have a bit of eye candy while we work, huh?"

"Yeah, whatever," Liam replied absently, not really listening. He lit up a joint and slithered down to the floor, eyes closed and just letting the rush hit him. Billy shrugged and left him alone. Thorne was a moody sod. But he was turning out some class stuff this time. That had been the problem for too long. Playing happy families does nothing for the muse. He needed a bit of misery to give him some inspiration...or maybe a bit of something a little edgier than usual? Tonight could be fun - especially if Thornie let rip. There was nothing quite as crazy as Liam on one of his benders. Just like old times.

 

*

 

"So that's where you are?" Annie walked into their bedroom. Terry was lying on the bed reading, dressed in a pair of loose sweats. He looked over his reading glasses at her.

"Where were you?"

Annie slipped off her jeans and T- shirt. Terry eyed her up, tilting his head to get a better look as she bent over to take off her pants. "Bloody hell, so something can get your nose out of those files, hey?" she laughed as she caught his gaze, slipping her bra off and tossing it to him. "I was with Andy. He woke up upset. I think he had a bad dream. Something about Zoe but he was all mixed up."

"She call today?" he said, as he fingered the lacy lingerie, raising it to his face unconsciously.

"Yeah...this evening...but she was in a rush...you know Zoe..."

He said nothing, just making a grunt. "Hurry up...I'm tired..." he replied as she went though to the bathroom.

"God, what a chat up line, you smooth bastard..."

A quick shower later and she came back through, rubbing her hair dry on a towel, wrapped in another. Terry seemed to have given up on her and gone to sleep. She sighed, dropped the towel and reached for her sleep shorts. "Leave it...I prefer the view..." she heard his voice and looked up. He was lying watching her, hands behind his head, leaning up on the pillows.

Annie struck a pose, hands on hip, strutting her stuff. He chuckled softly. "You are one foxy lady...come over here..." He held his hand out and opened the bedcovers, inviting her to join him. She slipped inside, next to him. He rolled her underneath.

"You smell so good...you always smell so good..." he murmured as he covered her, burrowing down into the crease of her neck, tracing a path of kisses up to her lips. She closed her eyes and relaxed into his desire, late night, easy love, her body naturally adjusting, rubbing herself against his thigh as his hands caressed her sensually.

Their bodies moved in a familiar rhythm. Annie's head fell back against the pillow, her spine arched in his arms as he tenderly held her and rocked in and out, his lips grazing her pebbled nipples, his tongue flickering. She cried out as she came, he covered her lips with his mouth. There was a child in the room next door. It had been a long time since that had been a consideration.

"Shush, baby...don't wake him..." He heard her groan as she choked it down. "I still got it, huh? Still make you scream..."

"Oh God...oh God...you are so...you are so fucking...oh my God...!"

Terry chuckled at her total inability to articulate. "The only fucking way to shut you up..." he groaned as he thrust harder, beginning to feel the heat, her orgasm and the strong contractions of her muscles driving him. "You ready for this...?"

She moaned soft in his ear, muttered a profanity and something unintelligible that ended in '...big cock'.

"I... love... you..." he murmured instinctively as he flooded into her, momentarily blinded by the physical rush, burying himself in her, filling his senses with every part of her. He felt her arms relax, the tension wash away as she languidly held him, stroking his back, his face, his hair, her hips still undulating softly as he rocked slowly against her.

"You okay, sweetie...?" he heard her whisper into his ear.

"Hmmmmmm...." He grunted deep and low, testosterone-fuelled sex dirty voice. "You're gonna kill me one of these days..."

"You're not exactly having your arm twisted, boy..." she laughed softly. "That was a good one...man, you still got it...better and better..." He hitched his hips and eased out of her on a trickle of spent fluid. Annie grabbed a bunch of tissues and mopped up, wiping him down as he flopped on to his back, staring at the ceiling. She lay on one side watching him. "Is something going on, Terry? You've been tense...and what were you up to in the office all night...?"

"We just had sex. Give the brain a rest, huh?" He reached out a hand and cupped her naked breast. "You have beautiful tits...still so firm..."

She raised her eyes. "Don't change the subject."

"I was not. I adore your breasts. All my sex-soaked brain can compute at the moment is your tits...small, pert, sexy little titties..." he nuzzled down and sucked on one. She pushed his face up.

"You like all tits...small, big, whatever...I saw you giving Gillie's a good going over when she was feeding Dewi the other day...you dirty bugger..."

He grinned. "I'm just a guy with healthy appetite for the female sex...but you're the one I'm with when I turn out the lights..."

"At least you didn't try a feeble lie. Baby...now answer me...what's going on? Ever since Steve and Gillie were here you've been wound up like a tight screw...please, tell me...you'll feel better..."

He stared up at the ceiling. "Annie...it's nothing. Just a complicated matter I've been consulted about..."

"Please, don't say confidential. I hate that word. I wouldn't tell anyone, Terry..."

"Out of the question...don't be absurd. It's nothing to do with you..."

She looked at him for a few moments and shook her head, sliding down to lie in the crook of his arm. "Okay. Up to you. But just so you know I care...If you change your mind..."

"I know you care. Believe me, I have no doubts about you, sweetheart..." He rolled onto his side and cradled her, kissing her tenderly, sighing deep and low against her lips.

But his comment had perturbed her and inadvertently revealed more than he had intended. Her instinct was correct. This was not some impersonal government operation that had been on his mind. It was something much nearer home. And Terry was doing the old thing. Going inside himself. Taking on the hurt to protect her.  Zoe...it had to be Zoe. She was already having a few doubts herself about what her daughter was up to. Now    something told her that Terry knew something and it was concerning their girl. What the hell was she doing?

 

To Book II

The featured song: The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice.

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