The Concubine's Secret Part 42

'Eat up, my dear girl,' Dmitri encouraged easily. 'Put more flesh on those lovely bones of yours.'

'Thank you.'

She took another cake in her fingers and smiled at him, but left the delicacy untouched. Right now it would choke her. This whole thing was Dmitri's idea. To bring them all to this elite hotel for morning coffee, instead of to his apartment as Antonina had intended. His hand rested lightly on his wife's on the table, pinning down the white glove, and his eyes darted continually from Lydia to Alexei and back again. It was the kind of place Lydia had spent her childhood gazing at from outside, yearning to be allowed in, all white linen napery, bone china and carpets so thick they felt like cats under her feet. But now she was here, she was not so sure. She didn't like the way the waiters never met her eye or the sense that somehow there seemed to be the smell of dead bones under the tables.

Conversation was stilted. Lydia didn't much care, but Dmitri appeared amused and she couldn't imagine why. Antonina and Alexei said little, drinking their coffee and smoking their cigarettes. Antonina was dressed in black and using a neat ebony cigarette holder which Lydia loved. There was an air of antic.i.p.ation. Everyone waiting for something to happen. No one quite sure what.

'Have you made good use of the food I brought you?' Dmitri asked, eyeing her over the rim of his feather-fine coffee cup.

'The puppy has been enjoying the ham.'

Now why did she say that? Just to annoy him?

'It was meant for you, Lydia.'

She leaned forward, elbows on the pristine white cloth as she met his gaze and gave it one more go. 'Tell me, Dmitri, please, have you managed to find out yet where Jens Friis is being held?'

'I'll say this for you, my dear. You don't give up.'

'So?'

'So no, I'm sorry. I'm afraid not.'

She frowned at him. 'You're a useless liar.'

He threw back his head and released a great rush of laughter. 'Listen to the girl, Antonina. She thinks I'm a bad liar.'

His wife tipped her head to one side, considering the point for a moment, like a bright-eyed blackbird. 'She doesn't know you as well as I do, does she?'

He laughed again. 'The trouble with women,' he said to Alexei, 'is that they think they know you better than you know yourself. Don't you agree?'

'In my experience,' Alexei said a little stiffly, but with every appearance of courtesy, 'they usually know more than we think they do.'

A silence, so brief it was barely noticeable, scuttled across the table. Lydia fiddled with her spoon, rattling its silver edge against the saucer to fill the gap, and flicked a glance at her brother. Ever since she'd returned to their room in the grey light of early morning he had been aloof and uncommunicative. He made no secret of the fact that he disapproved of Chang, regarded him as an unwelcome distraction. Well, she disapproved of his disapproval.

'Your brother appears to be a connoisseur of women,' Dmitri teased. 'Don't you agree, Antonina?'

His wife turned her head and studied the silent figure of Alexei sitting beside her. 'I think he looks tired,' she murmured gently and smiled, first at Alexei, then at Dmitri.

'How long do you intend staying in Moscow, Comrade Serov?' Malofeyev asked.

'As long as it takes to get my business completed.'

Malofeyev inclined his head. 'If I can be of a.s.sistance, don't hesitate to ask. I have contacts in this city.'

'So have I,' Alexei responded curtly. Under the table Lydia stepped on his toe.

'I don't doubt that for a moment,' Malofeyev said, his tone cooler. He regarded his guest in silence for the time it took his wife to fit a new cigarette into her holder. 'I'm only offering help. If you should need it,' he added.

'Like you offered help to my sister. Is this a habit of yours? Helping strangers?'

Chyort! Lydia cursed under her breath. She glanced across at Antonina and found her smiling, a big broad smile, eyes bright with amus.e.m.e.nt. She looked ten years younger, and for once the white gloves were free from fretting fingernails. Lydia cursed under her breath. She glanced across at Antonina and found her smiling, a big broad smile, eyes bright with amus.e.m.e.nt. She looked ten years younger, and for once the white gloves were free from fretting fingernails.

'Lydia,' she said, 'don't you think this place is charming?' She gestured at the crystal chandeliers and the silk water lilies that floated in a fountain of fragrant water in the centre of the room. 'It's so civilised.'

'So civilised,' Lydia repeated softly. A needlepoint of anger p.r.i.c.ked under her ribs. She snapped her head round to face Dmitri. 'Unlike the place you were stationed in before, I believe.'

He didn't move. She wondered if he was even breathing he was so still. It was Antonina who laughed delightedly and tapped her husband's arm with the tip of her cigarette holder.

'What do you think, my darling? Is Moscow more civilised than Trovitsk camp? Or less? I can think of arguments for both.'

Her husband ignored her. Just as he ignored Lydia.

'It seems to me, Comrade Serov, for a brother and sister, you are not at all alike.'

'That, Comrade, is where you are mistaken. Lydia and I are very similar.'

'Is that so? In what way?'

'In the way we view the world.'

'What, from under a pile of rules and regulations like everyone else?'

'Perhaps. But nevertheless we do believe we can influence what happens to us.'

'Ah, I see. The cult of the individual. Surely Marx and Lenin and Stalin have firmly established that it is the forward progress of the collective whole that counts, not the cogs in the wheels. They are . . . dispensable.'

Lydia and Antonina exchanged a glance.

'Dmitri,' Antonina interrupted with an anxious flick of her hair, 'let our guests enjoy their coffee in peace. You are so provocative.'

'I believe your husband is right,' Alexei pointed out. 'Certain cogs are dispensable. It's a matter of choosing the right ones.' He leaned back in his chair, his face set hard.

'Dmitri,' Lydia said quickly and jumped to her feet. A nudge of coffee spoiled the whiteness of the cloth. 'Come with me, please. I want a word.'

Dmitri Malofeyev and Lydia walked towards the large revolving front door of the hotel, but before they reached it she spotted a heavy oak door off to the left, marked CARD ROOM. She pushed it open, entered and held the door ajar to admit Dmitri after her. She pushed it open, entered and held the door ajar to admit Dmitri after her.

'You in the mood for a game of poker?' he smiled.

'I'm willing to gamble, if that's what you mean.'

The room was unused at this hour of the morning. Small square green baize tables were dotted around, and an impressive aspidistra plant blocked most of the light from the window so that the air had a strange greenish shimmer to it. As if they were underwater. Lydia turned to face her companion. She placed her hands on her hips to keep them still and spoke seriously.

'Dmitri, help me. We both know you can. Please.'

He didn't smile or laugh or raise a mocking eyebrow this time. He regarded her with a solemn expression. 'What is it you want?'

'The same as before. Where Jens Friis is held.'

Slowly he shook his head, his red hair closer to purple in this strange light. She knew her own must look the same. 'That's not possible, Lydia. I've told you already. Now you must stop asking me.'

'It is possible. All you have to do is tell me. No one need know.'

'But I would know.'

'Does that matter?'

'Yes, I rather think it does.'

The gap between them was about three paces. Very deliberately, her mouth as dry as the green baize, she reduced it to two.

'What would persuade you to say yes?' she whispered.

To her astonishment his eyes grew sad and he murmured, 'I'm not worth it, Lydia. Take your beautiful wares elsewhere before I spoil them.'

'I'm staying right here.'

'Ah, I see. This is where you fall into my arms and I whisper sweet prison names in your ear in return.'

'Something like that.'

'It's what I should have expected.'

'You make me feel cheap.'

'No, lovely Lydia, you'll never come cheap, of that I'm certain. The price will always be high.'

She swallowed, beating down a sense of being out of her depth. Of drowning in this strange watery light.

'It's not a high price,' she insisted. 'One prison name and address. Easy for you.'

He let his eyes inspect her carefully, from her scruffy shoes to her thin hips, up to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her throat and finally her face, as though judging her worth. Her cheeks started to burn.

He smiled, an odd crooked smile. 'You are particularly desirable when you blush like that, Lydia. Do you know that?'

'Are you in the mood to gamble, Dmitri?'

Again he surprised her. Each time she tried to take control he seemed to sidestep her. He pulled his silver cigarette case from inside his jacket, removed one cigarette and tossed the case to her. She caught it.

'Use that, Lydia. Go and buy yourself your information. I have no intention of destroying my future career in the Kremlin just because I can't say no to a beautiful girl. Not even one with the face of an angel and the eyes of a tiger, ready to rip my heart out of my chest if I don't do what she asks.'

Lydia was stunned. She wanted to drop the silver case to the floor but her fingers wouldn't let it go. She watched him light his cigarette with a steady hand.

'So,' he said when he had exhaled a grey plume of smoke from his nostrils, 'what would you do if you knew the address of this prison? Write to Jens Friis? h.e.l.lo, how are you? I'm having a good time in Moscow. h.e.l.lo, how are you? I'm having a good time in Moscow. Is that what you plan to do?' Is that what you plan to do?'

'Of course not.'

'Then what?'

'That's my business.'

They stared at each other. Suddenly hostile.

'They aren't allowed letters or contact of any sort,' he said. 'You must know that.'

'I'm not thinking of sending a postcard.'

'No.' He nodded thoughtfully. 'I dare say you aren't.'

This was it. Her heart banged on her ribs. She took another step forward. They were close now, so close she could smell the spicy fragrance of his hair oil, see the tiny pockmark on his jaw. He stood immobile, the cigarette dangling from his fingers, but his grey eyes watched her.

She reached out, took the cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray on the nearest table. She lifted his hand and placed it over her racing heart. His mouth softened instantly. She stretched up on her toes, encircled his neck with her arms and pulled his head down to hers till her lips were pressed hard against his. At first he didn't respond. Unyielding and reluctant. She feared she'd got it all wrong. But as soon as she leaned her weight against him, letting the heat of her body sweep over his, he changed abruptly. His tongue darted into her mouth, his hands started to pull at her blouse, and a sound like a drunken moan escaped his lips. He had her now. Exactly what he wanted.

Lydia kept her eyes open. Forced herself to look at him as his hand slid under the waistband of her skirt.

'Well, what a pretty party this is. Can anyone join in or is it private?'

Lydia froze. Dmitri unwound himself. He breathed out heavily.

'h.e.l.lo, Antonina,' he said with an untroubled smile. 'Lydia was just teaching me the skills of gambling.'

'Bidding high, were you?'

'Extremely.'

Antonina's fingernails began to trace a path up and down her long white gloves. 'Lydia, your brother wishes to speak with you.'

Lydia felt a tremor moving like a snake in her gut. Without a word and without a glance at the Russian husband and wife, she walked out of the room. The snake shifted its coils inside her, sliding up from her stomach to her throat till she thought she would be sick.

'Lydia Ivanova, you're under arrest.'

Lydia spun round to face the speaker, heart racing, legs tensed to run. A scruffy mop of milk-white hair and a boy's wide grin greeted her. Even the dog in its sack on his chest had its pink tongue lolling out, laughing.

'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' she moaned and tried to clip Edik on the ear, but he ducked away with ease and pranced up on his toes beside her.

'What are you doing here?' he asked.

'I needed some air. So I've come to take a look at the Kremlin.'

'Why?'