Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
After my mother went I cried for days. I never stopped begging Baba to let me see my mother. At first she told me to forget Mama. Mama had left the country.
‘But where could she have gone? All her clothes and shoes are here?’
‘You can’t see her. The sooner you accept that the better it will be for everybody.’
‘I’ll run away,’ I threatened.
‘There are bad men outside these walls. They will catch you and do terrible things to you.’
‘Can’t you ask Papa to bring Mama back?’ I begged.
‘No, Solnyshko, I can’t.’
But I wouldn’t relent. I was determined. Every day without fail I begged her. Sometimes I wouldn’t even eat.
Then one day she took me shopping and we ‘accidentally’ bumped into Mama. Oh the unexplainable joy. I can still remember how I wrapped my arms tightly around her neck and howled when it was time to part. Then Mama started crying and Baba scolded me.
‘If you don’t stop that we’ll never be able to see Mama again.’
Every time I turned back I would see her standing where we left her, watching us sadly until we turned a corner, or the crowd swallowed us.
In the car, Baba cautioned, ‘Remember you can never ever tell anyone about this. If you do you will never see your Mama again.’ Her eyes stared at me earnestly. ‘And perhaps not even me.’
My mouth opened in horror. ‘Will Papa kick you out of the house too?’
‘Perhaps,’ she said softly.
From that day on I learned to be ultra-secretive. To keep my mouth shut. To watch everything that came out of it.
As I grew older, Baba taught me how to use the rope ladder. Ever since then I have been using it to go visit my mother.
Sergei suddenly lifts his head, jumps off the bed, and goes to scratch at the door. I let him out and call Lina. It is nearly nine o’clock.
‘What?’ she says sleepily.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘I … uh … left a jacket in your recycle bin. Would you mind very much putting it into a bag? I’ll pick it up from you when we go to my fitting appointment.’
There is a slight pause. ‘A jacket?’
‘Yes, a brown leather one.’
‘In my recycle bin?’
‘Right,’ I confirm.
‘Uh … huh. Am I going to get any kind of explanation?’
‘Um … not, right now.’
‘‘Fine, go ahead and be mysterious, then.’
‘It’s important.’
She sighs. ‘What do I do with it again?’
‘Just bring it with you when we go for our appointment.’
‘Okay. What time are you coming?’
‘About ten thirty.’
‘Are you excited?’
‘Yeah, sure. Sure, I am.’
Thirteen
Tasha Evanoff
Lina thanks Anatoly, our driver, and slips into the back of the car next to me. She thrusts the John Lewis plastic bag at me as Anatoly closes the door behind her and goes around to his seat.
‘Thanks,’ I say air kissing her cheeks.
‘No problem,’ she says. Lina is American. She has a thick head of shining, chestnut hair, chocolate eyes and a blood red mouth. She gets her dusky coloring and her sultry looks from her Italian mother.
‘Are you excited?’ she asks with a grin.
‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to inject enthusiasm into my voice.
‘So, you want to tell me about the jacket?’
‘Not just yet.’
‘Okay. I was under the impression there was a fairly innocent explanation behind it, but now I’m having to revise it up to scandal category.’
I squeeze her. ‘I’ll tell you later. I promise. We’ll go somewhere for tea and cake.’
‘No, not cake. I’m on a diet.’
I smile faintly at her. I’ve known Lina since kindergarten, but I’ve never truly confessed my secrets to her. Sometimes I would make things up so that it did not seem as if it was always she who was telling me things, pouring her heart out to me while I was holding back. Even when I became engaged to Oliver, I never told her how I really felt. Always at the back of my mind, Baba was saying, The less you say, the safer you and they will be.
It is only a short journey to Wardour Street, where Valeria Lahav, the most famous Russian bridal dress designer has her studio. The first to get out is Vadim, my personal bodyguard. He walks to Valeria’s black door with its gold knocker and rings the bell on the side.
When Valeria answers and her receptionist comes to open the door, Vadim returns to the car and holds the door open for us. Afterwards, he positions himself outside the closed door.
Valeria comes out to the reception area to greet us. She has curly blonde hair that is in a messy ponytail at the back of her head and she is smiling widely at us.
‘You are going to be so pleased. I can’t wait for you to see it. The dress is more beautiful than I thought,’ she gushes.
I smile politely and follow her into the large room. There is a long wooden table and a few tailors’ dummies in one corner. She positions us in front of a curtain. ‘Are you ready?’ she asks theatrically.