I lie back propped up against cushions on the shag carpet and look at the black sky as it streaks with flashes of white lightning. The power of it leaves me strangely excited. I count the seconds before the thunderclaps. One, two, three. Hmm … using the counting system of Baba, where one second is equivalent to one mile, the storm is only three miles away. It could get to where we are. The storm could break over us … if we are lucky.

In minutes Noah is back carrying a tray. Two steaming bowls of stew and a plate piled high with Chak-Chak. I dip my spoon into the rich brown liquid and put a bit of potato and beef into my mouth. The meat is so tender it disintegrates on my tongue.

‘Mmmm … Irina is really good,’ I say. I close my eyes. ‘I can taste the cloves and the dill, but she’s also used another ingredient.’ I pause and frown. ‘I think it’s rosemary. No, wait. It’s not. It’s actually oregano,’ I decide finally.

He looks at me with an odd smile.

‘What?’

‘You remind me of a joke my restaurant manager once told me.’

‘Go on then, share it. I can see you’re dying to tell me.’ I put a mouthful of food into my mouth and look at him expectantly.

He grins. ‘There was this gourmet who had an amazing sense of smell. He was very proud of it because it was so damn accurate and strong. All he had to do was smell a fork or a knife and he could tell exactly what food had been eaten using that utensil. He could do this even after it had been washed. Every time he went to the restaurant he wouldn’t let the waiter or waitress show him the menu, or tell him the special. He would simply smell the fork and know every single dish that the restaurant specialized in.

‘One day he goes into this Italian restaurant and, as usual, before the waiter can tell him the specials for the night, he holds up his hand. “Let me see if I can guess,” he says.

‘The waiter looks at him strangely, thinking, Oh God, I’m getting too old for this job. Silently he gestures for the man to proceed. The man smells the fork. “Ah,” he says. “You have sea bass baked with anchovies and olives, but the Chef has put a touch too much lemon juice in that dish so I won’t have that. Instead I’ll have the chicken with Parma ham, and the baked potato which also smells good.”

‘Shocked, the waiter asks, “You got all that from smelling the fork?”

‘The man explains about his amazing sense of smell but, of course, the old waiter suspects it must be a trick. He must know someone who has been in that restaurant before. However, he wants his tip so he quietly serves the man’s meal to him. For dessert the waiter opens his mouth to tell him the specials. Again the man puts out his hand and smells the spoon. “Ah, it seems as if the Tiramisu is very fresh.”

‘Now the waiter is convinced someone is playing a trick on him. “Yes, Sir, the tiramisu was made this morning,” he says politely. “Yes, I will have that then,” says the man.

‘The waiter resolves to play a little trick of his own on the man. “No, no, before you make your decision there is a very special dish that the Chef has prepared that has not yet been served to anyone else. I will let you smell it and guess for yourself. And if you correctly guess it you can have your entire meal on the house.”

‘The man agrees.

‘The waiter goes into the kitchen to the back where Maria is working washing dishes. He gives her an unused plastic spoon. “Listen, Maria, can you do me a favor and rub this quickly between your legs?”

‘Maria is a simple girl. “Okay,” she agrees and she sticks the spoon into her panties.

‘The waiter washes the spoon, then wipes it down carefully, and carries it to the man.

‘The man brings the spoon to his nose and sniffs it. He sniffs it once, then twice. Looking perplexed, he turns to the waiter. “But, Maria works here too?” he asks.’

I burst out laughing. ‘That’s a good one.’

He laughs too and suddenly I feel really close to him. As if we have been together for years and years.

‘So tell me about you?’ I ask, putting the empty bowl down.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Why would a man like you join the Mafia?’

His face closes over. He shrugs. ‘I had my reasons.’

I rise to my knees and, leaning over, kiss him on his eyelids. ‘Tell me. Let me in,’ I plead.

He lays his cheek on my breast. ‘I needed money, a lot of it, and quickly,’ he says.

‘Why?’ I whisper.

‘I was fifteen and my mother was ill. I didn’t know how else to get it.’

‘What about your father?’

‘My father disappeared after he had impregnated my mother.’

‘Oh, Noah,’ I sigh. In my mind’s eye I could see him, a tall, lanky boy, whipcord lean, his eyes anxious. ‘What happened?’

‘Yeah, I got the money, but she passed away in less than two months. I tried to get out of the brotherhood by paying the debt back, but of course they didn’t want the money. Less than £20,000 for a soul is a bargain.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

He shakes his head. ‘For two months she was comfortable. I would do it all again if I had to,’ he says fiercely.

‘I’m sorry you were forced into this terrible life.’

‘It wasn’t terrible to start with. I was just a thief, but this job slowly seeps into every crack and crevice of your life. It takes more and more of you until it becomes you and you become it. You are a thief, a counterfeiter, an enforcer, a murderer.’

‘So how did you come to England?’

‘I was on a job and I met Alexander Malenkov. He was called Zane then. He was leaving Russia for England. I had nothing left in the motherland. Babushka had just passed away that year so I followed him. We worked well together and we formed our own thing.’

He picks up the plate of Chak-Chak and offers it to me. I take one.

‘We were Mafia, but we only specialized in the finance industry. We targeted banks and large financial organizations. We were stealing from the biggest crooks of all time. It felt good.’

I chew the Chak-Chak and swallow it.

‘Occasionally we were forced to do business with your father or people like him, but as much as possible we kept away from organized crime outside of our small but loyal group. Then a couple of years ago Alexander met Dahlia and she persuaded him to follow his true talent and become the pianist he is now. By then I had saved a lot of money from our dealings together so I bought all his clubs and restaurants. And here we are.’

Outside the first fat drops of rain fall. They become a torrent quickly. I turn towards him. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? It’s like there is no one else in the world except us in this house.’

He stares at me.

‘Shall we go out in it?’ I ask.

His eyebrows fly upwards. ‘You want to play in the rain?’ he asks incredulously.

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s autumn rain. It’ll be cold.’

‘So what? We’re Russian. The cold doesn’t bother us.’

‘It was you I was thinking of.’

‘I love the rain.’

He stands and opens the door. Fresh air hits us. He is naked and I am only wearing his shirt. I take his hand and we go out onto the springy wet grass. Indeed, the rain is cold and we are quickly drenched, but we both laugh like children.

‘Will you dance with me?’ I shout above the noise of the pouring rain.

‘It might not be—’

‘When a lady asks you to dance with her, you dance with her,’ I mock sternly.

‘Don’t take that tone with me young lady.’

‘Or what?’ I challenge.

‘Or this.’ He slams me against his body and kisses me passionately. Water runs down our fused bodies. It’s beautiful. And … I will never forget this moment.

Afterwards, we go back inside, dry ourselves, and he makes love to me on the shag carpet. Outside the rain pours and lightning flashes across the sky. I will never forget this night.