Chapter Twelve

 

One hour later and I sat alone, in the living area, as the specialist doctor from Vologda examined Vadmir’s father. The whole family had gone into the bedroom and shut the door, Vadmir giving me a brief apologetic look as they went.

I’d yet to meet the father, it seemed he was too sick to have a new visitor. If he was this bad I was anticipating a hospital admission. Asthma could be nasty. I’d had a few passengers suffer attacks over the years.

The sofa was a little hard and threadbare and didn’t match the beautiful walnut units that filled one wall and housed a plus-sized television. A low, seventies-style table held a pile of hockey monthlies and what looked like a Russian gossip magazine. This room, unlike the kitchen, had curtains covering a huge window; they were a rich chocolate velvet and complemented the cabinets beautifully.

I sipped my coffee and then flicked through the celebrity mag, wondering if I’d recognize anyone.

I didn’t.

Finally, there was movement and I heard the doctor leave. The front door shutting and a chain being drawn across it.

I looked up as Vadmir came into the room.

He sat on the arm of the couch, his weight shifting it slightly, and rested his head in his hands.

“How’d it go?” I asked. I had the urge to hold him, comfort him, but I wasn’t sure if that was something he’d want.

He twisted his head and looked at me. “The doctor told him to go to hospital, but he’s a stubborn fool and refused.”

“Oh, that’s not good.”

“So I’ve organized for the hospital to come to him. It seemed like the best solution. He needs oxygen, stronger inhalation medicine and nursing care once a day. The doctor said the oxygen will be here first thing in the morning.” He shook his head. “It drives me crazy.”

“What does?”

“Darya could have done all of this. I told her to, weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t she?”

“They always worry about the money. I’ve told them, over and over, we are not poor anymore. We can have what we need, more than we need. I have a good job in America.”

He looked so exasperated, so despairing, that I stood and walked over to him. I set my hand between his shoulders and rubbed in slow circular movements.

He sighed and his muscles relaxed a fraction. “But they just won’t spend it.” He gestured around the room. “I told them, get a new sofa, a big chair so my father can enjoy the view. Rugs on the floor so my mother’s arthritic feet are warm, pictures, books, but still they use the furniture from my childhood and live with hardly anything.”

“Perhaps they prefer it that way.”

“No, they just won’t spend the money. Always saving it for a snowy day.”

I was sure he’d meant rainy day but snowy did kind of work here, so I decided not to correct him on that one. “The units and television are lovely.”

“Yes, they were part of the house when we bought it, anything that doesn’t look like it should go to the rubbish heap was on the specification when I filled in the forms.” He sighed and put his face back in his hands.

I stepped up closer, so that his head was level with my chest and pulled him into a gentle embrace. I hated seeing him so desolate. It tugged my heartstrings and made my stomach heavy.

He allowed me to pull him close. He didn’t cuddle me back, just rested his head on my breasts.

I stroked up his neck, over the back of his head and down again, to his shoulders. Hoping the gesture would be soothing and assure him he had my support, even if I couldn’t actually do anything about the situation.

We were silent for a few minutes. The ticking of the clock and our breaths the only sounds in the room. I wondered if he could hear my heart beating.

Eventually he lifted his head and looked up at me. “He’s had steroids and antibiotics. He’s feeling a little stronger, would you like to meet him?”

“Yes, of course, but only if he’s up for it.”

“Yes, he is better for me being here apparently.” He tutted and skimmed his hands around my waist and up my back. “I wonder if they did this just so I’d come home.”

“You don’t really think that?”

“I would not put it past them.” He stood and released me. “This way.”

As we went into the corridor the smell of cooking, something rich and meaty, wafted toward me and my stomach rumbled.

“Otets eto, Samantha,” Vadmir said, entering a large bedroom painted mossy green and with a double bed in the center.

For some reason I’d expected Vadmir’s father to be small and wizened. But he was still a big man. Wide shoulders, broad chest and a sharply angled face, much like his son’s. He also still had a full head of white-blond hair.

“Privet…Samantha,” he said in a weak voice as he hit mute on a remote control.

The commentary of a hockey game was silenced.

“This is my father, Ruslan,” Vadmir said.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, “I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

Ruslan nodded and smiled. He was studying me the same way his wife had.

“He doesn’t speak a word of English,” Vadmir said. “My mother doesn’t, either.”

Ruslan held out his hand, gesturing me to go closer.

I walked over and he took my hands in his, turned them over and smoothed his gnarled thumbs over my palms.

“Ona ochen'…krasivaya, Vadmir.” He paused and pulled in a breath that looked difficult to reach any depth. “Vy ochen'…schastlivyy chelovek.”

“What did he say?” I glanced at Vadmir.

“He thinks you are very beautiful and I am a very lucky man to have you.”

“Oh…well…?”

Vadmir laughed. “Don’t worry, just because you’re here, it doesn’t mean you have to marry me.”

It was as if he’d read my mind and I grinned and leaned forward, kissed Ruslan on his cheeks, three times, as was the Russian custom.

He smiled and patted my shoulder.

“Back in a minute,” Vadmir said, disappearing.

Ruslan gestured around the room, bringing my attention to the vast assortment of hockey collectables. He had shelves of trophies, hooks heavy with medals, a large bowl of pucks and rows of caps hanging from the wall beside the mounted television.

“Zdes' vy otets,” Vadmir said, striding into the room again. He placed a black cap with white embroidery on his father’s head: New York Rangers.

Ruslan plucked it off and excitement shone in his eyes as he examined a scrawled autograph.

“Todd Carty,” Vadmir said. “Ya poluchil yego dlya vas , kogda my igrali ikh v proshlom mesyatse.”

He then turned to me. “I got it for him when we played Rangers last month, for his collection.”

“Yes, impressive.”

“Todd…Carty,” Ruslan said, running his finger over the signature. “Ochen' khorosho.”

“Todd Carty is the best forward in the NHL,” Vadmir said, “and Rangers is one of the few caps missing from my father’s collection. He’s had all the Viper caps for ages.” He pulled a puck from his pocket. “He’ll love this, too, it’s the puck from the game.”

Ruslan’s eyes sparkled as Vadmir handed him the small black disk. He turned it over and over in his hands, studying the small Rangers logo in the middle.

Zoya bustled in, tray in her hands. “On dolzhen yest' vrach skazal.”

“Yes, he must eat.” Vadmir rested his hand in the small of my back. “Come on, so should we.”

“Goodnight,” I said to Ruslan. “I hope you sleep well and feel better in the morning.”

He smiled as the tray was set before him and again his likeness to his son struck me. He, too, would have been an incredibly handsome man in his younger years.

 

 

We dined on thick chicken stew that tasted strongly of dill and garlic. Heaps of rye bread came with it and I was pleased to escape more vodka and have water. I felt better after a hearty meal. It had been a long day.

Darya was keen to ask me about Hollywood and New York. Places she longed to visit, and as I told her about my travels with the airline she drank up the details. Her English was good and she clearly had a dose of wanderlust. I knew what that was like; it was why I’d become an air steward, it was a free way to see the world.

“Where did you learn English?” I asked her.

“At night school, ready for when I travel to beautiful places.”

“You should come to America for a visit.”

“I will one day.” She paused. “And also Spain and France, but for now I am busy here, with my parents.” She glanced at her mother who was beginning to clear away the plates.

“I am very grateful that you are here, looking after them,” Vadmir said to her, leaning back and folding his arms. “It means a lot to me.”

“I am happy to do it.” She tipped her head and studied him. “But you do need to come home occasionally.”

“I am here now.”

“Yes.” She reached for her water and took a sip. “You are here now.”

I glanced between the two of them and wondered if what Vadmir had said earlier was true, about it being an orchestrated plan to get him back to Russia for a visit. There was no doubt about it, Ruslan was sick, but Darya was a perfectly competent individual and I’m sure she could have handled her parents with Vadmir’s support.

A sudden wave of tiredness washed over me. I pressed my hand to my mouth and stifled a yawn. “Oh, excuse me,” I said.

“I should show you to your room,” Vadmir said, “get your bag for you.”

“I think so. I’m ready for bed.”

Darya smiled and stood, gathering the last of the plates. “Goodnight, Samantha.”

“Would you like help to wash up?”

“No, it is okay. We will do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please, we are happy to have you here.”

“Thank you.” I paused. “Goodnight, Zoya.”

Zoya walked over to me and took my hand. She then led me from the kitchen and down the corridor in the opposite direction of the front door. We went past several rooms including Ruslan’s and then she stopped at the end one. A white door that was slightly ajar.

“Samantha,” she said, pointing into the room.

“Yes, thank you.” I smiled.

She turned, pointed to the last door we’d passed. “Vadmir.” Her voice was stern and then she reached for my left hand and tapped my ring finger, over the knuckle. “Net svad'by ne krovat'.”

Vadmir walked toward us carrying my holdall. He was shaking his head and smiling. “What did she say?” I asked.

“No ring, no sharing a bed.” He shrugged and tipped his head backwards. “That is my room and this yours.”

“Oh, okay.” I’d presumed we’d share a room. The last twice I’d been in bed Vadmir had been with me. But he’d mentioned in the car about his mother being very traditional.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. I’m tired.”

Zoya reached up and planted three kisses on my cheeks and then patted my arm. She wandered back to the kitchen.

“Come,” Vadmir said. “This is the guest room. I’m not sure if it has ever been used.”

He flicked on the light and we walked in. Like the rest of the apartment it was nicely decorated with thick red curtains and bedding to match. There was a fitted wardrobe with chrome handles and a large mirror on the wall. Apart from that it was sparse.

“It has an en suite,” Vadmir said, opening a small door that I hadn’t noticed.

“Oh, that’s useful.”

He placed my bag on the end of the bed. “And there are spare blankets in the cupboard if you’re cold, or there were last time I was here.” He pulled open the doors and nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s nice and warm indoors.”

“Yes, this block has very good insulation, one of the reasons I moved them here.”

“It was very kind of you.” I dropped my purse next to the holdall. “Everything that you do for them. You’re a good son.”

“I’m glad that you think so, but I do feel guilty.”

“Why?”

“For being so far away.”

“These things can’t always be helped.”

He stepped up to me, close, so that his chest was right in front of my face. “Sammy,” he said. “I’m glad you came to Sokol with me.”

Looking up, I breathed in his cologne and felt his body heat radiate toward me. “I’m glad you asked me.”

He smiled. “That’s sweet of you to say but it has not been much of a vacation for you so far.” He slotted his hand into my hair, his palm sliding over my ear. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I whispered, resting my hand at the top of his chest, on the first rise of the ball of his shoulder.

“I’ll take you,” he said quietly and leaning down so his lips were a hairsbreadth from mine. “To the forest, it is beautiful.” He brushed his mouth over my top lip. “Just like you.”

I fluttered my eyes shut and leaned into him.

He kissed me, softly, sweetly. The frantic passion, the mating of mouths—tongues wild, teeth clashing—of the previous times we’d shared kisses had gone. This was a delicate whisper of a kiss that gave me the chance to feel the shape of his lips against mine. No rushing or gasping, just appreciating the tempo of a seductively sexy kiss.

I sighed and wrapped my arms around his neck. He drew me closer, one palm in the small of my back, the other slipping to my nape and cradling my skull.

He slanted his head, the kiss deepened. His warm tongue stroking mine and the heat from his breaths warming my cheek.

A tremor tickled my pussy and my nipples tightened against the inside of my fancy new bra. Suddenly the separate room thing didn’t seem such a good idea. Perhaps we should just roll into bed and get naked the way we usually did.

“Damn, you’re a temptation,” he said, pulling back and licking his lips. “And I don’t think I can resist.” His eyes glinted with sudden mischief and he dropped his hand to my ass and gave it a lingering stroke.

“Vadmir.”

A sharp voice at the doorway caused us both to turn.

Zoya stood there, hands on hips and her brow creased.

Vadmir snapped his palm off my butt cheek.

“I think you’ll have to resist,” I said, quickly stepping away from him. Though as I did I missed his body against mine. The solidity and strength of him and the way he’d just held me so gently was intoxicating.

“Seems that way.” His surprised expression turned into a grin and he took my hand, kissed my knuckles. “See you in the morning, milaya moya.”

I didn’t know what he’d said but his eyes had held tenderness and his usually deep voice a little lighter.

“Yes. You will.”