Chapter Eleven

 

As Vadmir strode into the hotel room the scent of cool outdoor air breezed in with him. “Ready?” he asked, his movements all business as he grabbed his case from the side and dropped it on the bed.

“Yes.” I rose from the chair by the window where I’d been reading a tourist magazine.

“Good. We’ll head straight off and grab food on the way.” His cheeks were a little red and his cap held watery drips that must have once been snow. The material on the shoulders of his jacket was also wet, the moisture sitting in tiny beads on the surface.

“Where exactly are we going?”

“About four hours north from here, to my home town Sokol, just past Vologda.”

“Oh, okay.” I’d never heard of either place.

“It is an easy journey,” he said, flicking his case open. He disappeared into the bathroom and then reappeared, threw his toiletry bag in and locked it shut. “Snow-plowed freeway the entire trip. We will not need the snow chains.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

He stopped and looked at me. His gaze down the length of my body was like a heated caress. “How are the clothes?”

“Great. I mean perfect. But there were so many. Did you mean for me to have them all? Because really, you shouldn’t have. I can’t—”

“Shh…” He walked over to me and put his hands on my waist, his fingers almost spanning my torso, spine to belly. “Of course I meant for you to have them all. You can’t just have one outfit for a week away or one set of underwear.” He grinned. “Though, of course, if I had my way you’d just be naked for the entire time but I think my mother would have something to say about that.”

“Your mother?” Suddenly the thought of meeting his mother seemed rather daunting.

“Yes, she’s very traditional.” He stroked his hands up my back. “I love this sweater, it’s so soft and…girly.”

I leaned into him, just a little, and let a pleasant shiver wander up my spine. I liked his touch, I’d worry about meeting his mother later. “The receptionist, the woman who came with all of these clothes, she obviously has elegant and expensive taste.”

“Yes, I thought she would have.” He glanced at the brown leather bag, sitting on the dresser. “So everything is in there?”

“Yes, and my coat is hanging in the wardrobe.”

He released me, went to the wardrobe and pulled out my new outdoor wear.

“Mmm, this will be good and warm.” He held it open and nodded for me to put it on.

Once buttoned, I reached for the hat, flicked my curls over my shoulders and placed it on so that it covered my ears and touched the fluffy collar at my nape.

“Off we go,” he said, managing to hold both bags and pull the door wide for me to go through. “Let’s strike the road.”

 

I enjoyed the ride out of Moscow. Vadmir took us in a different direction to the routes I’d used before to and from the airport, and the architecture was both stunning and imposing.

The snow didn’t let up, but the BMW 4x4 Vadmir had hired didn’t seem to mind, and with the heating turned up and classical music playing on the radio I soon settled into the road trip.

Vadmir pointed out various points of interest, the Moskava River, the Tretyakov Gallery and one of his favorite restaurants that apparently served caviar and pancakes that were the best in the whole of the city.

When we reached the M8 I dropped my hat onto the back seat and stretched out my legs.

“So tell me about your family,” I said.

He glanced at me, his eyes soft but also holding a shard of worry. “Things aren’t great, that’s why I’m here and not playing for the team.”

A knot twisted in my belly? Damn, as I’d feared, I would be imposing. “What do you mean?”

“My father’s sick. He’s always suffered with his chest, khrupkimi astma. I think it translates as brittle asthma, but I fear he’s very ill this time.” He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles paled.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I paused. “Perhaps you should just drop me at the airport after all, before we go much farther. I’d really hate to be intruding on family time. Especially if someone is sick.”

“You won’t be. It’s fine.” He sucked in a deep breath and then blew it out. “I haven’t seen them for nearly a year. I’m hoping it won’t be any worse than usual. My mother is usually so calm on the phone but when I spoke to her a few days ago there was something about her tone that scared the shit out of me.” He paused. “Like she thought the grave was waiting for him.”

“So you came straight away?”

“Yes, on the first available flight anyway, which was yours.” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I told my sister to get the doctor to the house again. One from Vologda who specializes in his lung condition. I’m hoping that he will have improved by the time I get there.”

“Yes, let’s hope so.” I twisted my hands in my lap. “I don’t know much about asthma but if I can help around the house then I’m happy to.”

He reached over, squeezed my knee, then gripped the wheel again as he whizzed past an arctic truck that was kicking up a snowstorm with its huge bulk.

“So how long have you played for the Vipers?” I asked, relieved to get past the truck.

“Four seasons now. I’d admired them for years and they are the only team I would have left my homeland for.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Of course.”

“And did you play in Russia? Professionally?”

“Yes, from the age of nineteen. I’ve been playing for over ten years now. I’m an old timer in hockey terms.”

“What made you get into it?” I gestured outside at the snow-strewn landscape. An endless expanse of white dotted with small, bleak houses that appeared hunched against the brutal weather. “Are there many rinks around or did you play on a lake?”

He laughed. “We have a rink in town, and it was my father’s fault. He is a mad fan and before I’d even started kindergarten he had me in skates and with a stick in my hand.”

“I bet he’s real proud of you now.”

He nodded. “Yes, he is. But you’d better watch out, because he has a room full of fan paraphernalia and a million hockey stories that he’s happy to tell over and over again.” There was a softness to Vadmir’s voice as he spoke of his father.

“Do you like this music?” he asked, turning the radio up slightly, his fingers ridiculously big against the small button.

“Yes, it’s soothing.”

“Sergei Prokofiev, one of my favorite composers of the last century.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “You’re a fan of classical?”

He laughed. “Don’t be so surprised. I might be a brute on the ice but I have a cultured side.”

I smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… yes, I do like it. It’s soothing. I listen to classical when I’m jet lagged and can’t sleep. Even if I don’t get REM at least my brain has a rest. I find it lulls me into a meditative doze if I pick the right music and I feel refreshed afterward.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” He braked hard as a cranky old car pulled out in front of him without indication.

I shifted forward against my safety belt.

“Sorry,” he said. “Bad driving is epidemic over here.”

I tried not to grip the seat as he undertook and then sped away. The BMW engine swift and strong and easily leaving the other car behind.

“There’s a café, about halfway,” he said. “We’ll stop there for lunch if you can wait that long.”

“Yes, that’s fine.” I sought out my St. Christopher and rubbed it between my thumb and index finger.

 

 

Darkness had fallen by the time Vadmir pulled up outside a large apartment block on the outskirts of Sokol. Silvery light from street lamps flooded the parking lot, and I could make out piles of snow stacked up at the corners.

As he rounded the front of the car to open my door I glanced upward.

It appeared much nicer than the other blocks we’d driven past. The outside was painted a warm cream rather than gray and the front entrance had a covered porch supported by pillars. Vadmir had explained that he’d moved his family to this new development a little under a year ago. It had taken him a long time to persuade them to relocate but eventually they had. His sister still lived with his parents, to help look after them, and she worked in a local shop.

“This looks nice,” I said, as I took his offered hand and stepped onto the frozen ground.

“Yes, it is. I wanted to buy them a house but they wouldn’t have it. Most Russians live in blocks, and my parents always have, it is their comfort zone. But the views are awesome from their penthouse. It was a good choice.”

I pulled my coat tighter as Vadmir grabbed our luggage. It had been chilly in Moscow but it was several degrees colder up here toward the Arctic Circle. Plus, the night had crept through the air now, stealing any meager warmth from the day.

“Come,” he said, striding forward, shoulders hunched and great puffs of air billowing from his mouth. “This way.”

As we rode the elevator a rush of nerves hit me again. I hardly knew Vadmir and here I was about to meet his family. Stay with his family. What if they didn’t like me? What if I couldn’t eat anything? Russian food could be strong on my tastebuds. Perhaps my arrival would make them think there was more to our relationship than there was. We hadn’t even been on a date, just screwed each other crazy. We were hardly at meet-the-parents stage.

But I didn’t have time to worry about how I’d ended up in this situation, because within seconds we were standing outside apartment thirty-nine and Vadmir was hammering on the door.

It flew open almost immediately and a woman—about my age, with mousy brown hair in a short bob—stood before us.

“Vadmir,” she squealed, hurling herself at him. “Ty zdes'.”

While still holding the cases, he wrapped one arm around her waist, supporting her body as both her feet lifted off the floor.

“Eto bylo slishkom dolgo,” she said.

“It has been too long,” he said, releasing her. “But please, speak in English. I have company who speaks very little Russian.”

“Oh, I am…sorry,” she said, turning to me and pressing her hand on her chest. “I didn’t understand that.”

“It’s fine.” I smiled, “Don’t apologize.”

Her face lit further and I saw that she had Vadmir’s startling blue eyes along with the same softness to them. “It will do me well to practice English. Are you from America?”

“Yes, Darya, she is,” Vadmir said, “I told you that when I called earlier.”

“Samantha,” I said, holding out my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Before I knew it she’d clutched my shoulders and planted a kiss on both of my cheeks and then a third on my right cheek. “Come in,” she said, “you must be hungry. All the way from Moscow is so far.”

We stepped into the large hallway. It was sparsely furnished and Darya took my coat and hung it on a row of pegs next to several warm winter jackets.

“Vadmir, oh, Vadmir, moy mal'chik, nakonets, zdes'.” A woman who could only be Vadmir and Darya’s mother bustled into the hallway. She wore a blue flowery dress with a black apron over the top. She had a dotty red headscarf wrapped around her head knotted at the nape, and a few strands of gray hair peeked out. Her blue eyes were watery and she had a cross on a chain that sat at her throat.

Vadmir put down the cases and embraced her. His thick arms holding her close and his jacket rustling as they hugged. “Da, ya zdes' mat'.”

She pulled away. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Vadmir wiped it away with his thumb. “Zdorov'ye i ottsa?”

She shook her head and dipped into the pocket of her apron, pulled out a handkerchief.

“He is no better,” Darya answered for her mother. “Not today.”

Vadmir frowned. “And what did the doctor say when he visited this time?”

“He hasn’t seen him yet. Next week we have an appointment at the hospital.”

“Next week?” Vadmir shook his head and his mouth hung open. “What? I thought he’d been to see him twice now.”

Darya glanced at her mother. “She wouldn’t let me get the specialist in Vologda to come here.”

“Why not?” Vadmir shrugged out of his coat and hung it up beside mine. I knew him well enough to know that he was trying to keep sharpness from his voice.

“Money,” Darya said.

He clenched and unclenched his fists then turned around. “I told you, Darya, it is not a problem. Spend what you have to spend.” He paused. “I also told you one week ago to get the doctor here.”

“I know, but…” She gestured to their mother who was studying me. “What can I do when she says no?”

“You just do it, that’s what.” Vadmir stepped forward and through another doorway. “Where is he?”

“In bed. He’s been there for weeks.” Darya rushed after Vadmir and I was left alone with their mother.

“Dobro pozhalovat' v nash dom,” she said, holding out her palms, as if gesturing to the floor of the hallway.

“Hello,” I said, smiling and shifting from foot to foot. “Thank you for letting me stay in your lovely home.” She had piercing eyes and was nibbling on her bottom lip. I got the impression I was being judged as a potential daughter-in-law. No wonder my legs were a little twitchy, they were in run mode.

She made a cup shape with her hand and tipped it at her mouth. “Napitok?”

“Yes, please.” I smiled. “That would be great.” It had been hours since my last coffee.

“Dah, dah.” She nodded and turned.

I followed.

A long corridor with several doors leading off it led to a large kitchen. Like the hallway it was sparse and functional. But the glossy white cabinets appeared high quality and had trendy chrome fittings. There was a multi-burner stove and a large American style refrigerator with water and ice dispenser.

Vadmir’s mother reached into a cupboard beside the huge window that held no curtains and pulled out a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses.

She set them on the granite-covered island in the center of the kitchen and poured.

“Napitok,” she said again.

I walked over, set my purse on a tall, white leather stool and took the offered drink. “Thank you. Spasibo.”

She touched the rim of her glass to mine and then drank her vodka in one go.

I watched her lick her thin lips, then studied the clear liquid in my glass. It looked innocent but I knew it would burn like fire.

“Samantha,” I said, pointing at my chest and biding for time. We should, after all, swap names.

“Dah, Samantha.” She nodded and patted her throat, over the cross. “Zoya.”

“Zoya.”

She smiled and nodded at the drink. “Napitok, Samantha.”

I glanced at the vodka again, braced and then tipped it into my mouth. It was like a whip had been slashed over my tongue, its cruel end reaching right the way down to my belly. Instantly my eyes moistened and I sucked in air to cool the burn.

As I gasped Zoya reached out and took a lock of my hair in her hands. She pulled it over my shoulder and examined it. It was long, much longer than most people’s and I could see that she was interested.

As she spread the strands out between finger and thumb I glanced at the tap, wondering if it would be rude to get water to wash away the taste.

Loud footsteps on the tiled floor alerted me to Vadmir. He went to the cupboard, grabbed a glass and then poured a healthy measure of vodka. He downed it in one go. “I have to make a few phone calls,” he said to me, apparently unaffected by the burn. “I’ll be right back.” He frowned and studied my damp eyes. “Are you okay?’

“The vodka is strong,” I said, my voice hoarse. I then glanced at his mother who was still touching my hair. “And…”

“She always wanted to be blonde,” he said, tapping his head. “I got this from my father.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be right back.” He pulled his cell from his jeans pocket and left the room. Within seconds I could hear him talking loudly in his native tongue.

“Mat', what are you doing?” Darya appeared, her slippers silent on the floor. “You can not play with guests’ hair.” She smiled at me in an apologetic way. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said, wishing Vadmir was still in the kitchen.

“And she’s given you vodka. I told her Americans like cosmopolitan cocktails.”

“Well, yes, but actually, coffee would be great.”

“Coffee, yes, yes, I do that now.” She touched her mother’s hand and shook her head.

Zoya released my hair and poured herself another vodka. She didn’t take her gaze from me.