Chapter 10
Ileave Polly to arrange the groceries and head to the coach house with Artem, where my men resume their task.
“This is a mess.” I concede, as I note the piles of scattered papers all in one jumbled heap.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?” He asks as I glance at the top letter on the pile and I shake my head.
“No, but any mention of my father, or any of the companies we run, would be a good start.”
He nods. “Consider it done.”
I take a seat at the desk and proceed to work my way through the pile and after a while, I groan. “We need alcohol to get through this. Ask Polly to bring us the vodka and six glasses.”
He nods and heads into the kitchen and it amuses me to think of her pretty face twisting in anger at the summons. I could have instructed any of my men to do that, but I kind of miss seeing her tortured expression and could do with a bit of light relief.
When Artem returns, he laughs softly. “I tried.”
“She’ll come.”
I’m confident because for all her anger she already knows not to push me too far and indeed, within twenty minutes, she slams open the door and places the tray roughly down on the papers I’m reading.
She says nothing and turns and I say casually, “Pour one for each of my men.”
“Excuse me.” I note the amused stares of my men as they wait for her response, and I lean back and fix her with a dark glare. “You heard me. Pour the drinks.”
I wish she would challenge me and I face her with the threat I issued earlier hanging in the air between us and she obviously remembers that because she huffs and says icily, “Fine but only because I want you to find what you need and leave.”
She splashes the vodka into the glasses and hands them out and as she makes to leave, I say roughly, “Pour one for yourself.”
“I don’t like vodka.” She answers with a rough glare, and I shrug.
“In Russia, if someone offers you a drink, it is most offensive to refuse. Isn’t that right, Artem?”
“Extremely rude.”
He lies and I nod to Viktor. “Am I right?”
He nods with a frozen glare in her direction. “He is right.”
Faced with a wall of animosity, she shrivels under our murderous gazes and huffs, “Fine, but don’t blame me if I’m sick.”
She grabs the bottle and splashes a small amount of liquid into it and knocks it back in one. The distaste on her face is comical to watch and as she slams it down, she says roughly, “There. May I go now?”
“You call that a drink.” I shake my head as my men laugh and I pour a large shot of vodka into the glass. “This is more like it.”
I offer it to her with a challenge and she faces me off and plucks the glass from my outstretched fingers.
“Fine. Here’s to your imminent departure. May it come sooner than I think.”
She tosses back the spirit and coughs as it hits the back of her throat, causing my men to laugh out loud and the distaste on her face makes me smile as she staggers back and gasps, “That is a truly horrible drink. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an urgent appointment with a pot of English breakfast tea.”
We watch her bolt for the door and Artem catches my eye and grins. “Lightweight.”
I nod, staring after her with a gleam of interest sparking inside me. She may be a lightweight where drink is concerned, but the challenge in her eyes as she plucked the glass from my hand has only made the game an even more interesting one.
Two hourslater and I’m done. Nothing is reaching out to me and it’s been a complete waste of time.
Leaving the men to it, I head back along the path toward the house and note the soft lighting burning in the small office that Polly appears to prefer spending time in.
The scent of something cooking drifts from the kitchen and reminds me how hungry I am. I’m guessing my men are too and we need food as a matter of urgency over anything else right now.
I head for the office and as I open the door, it makes me smile when I see Polly slumped on the desk, her face on the wooden polished surface, a gentle snore telling me she is sleeping deeply.
I take a moment to stare at her and once again appreciate the beauty before me. I’m used to beautiful women, but she has a fire that burns inside her that makes her even more attractive. I note the discarded mug of cold tea and the plate with a few crumbs on it. She is lying on a sheaf of papers that she must have taken from the drawer and I’m curious what she found.
I reach down and run my fingers through her gorgeous silky hair and she stirs, a small moan escaping that heads straight to my cock. I already know I will fuck this woman. It’s a written invitation in her eyes every time she looks at me. I will enjoy every minute of it too before I leave her to head back to my well-ordered life.
I slip the pages from under her and she grunts and then shifts, resuming her position, and I wander over to the window seat and peer at the script on the page.
This isn’t a formal letter, it’s a personal one and my heart beats a little faster when I see who wrote it.
My darling Veronica
How I miss your bright smile that lights my world. Has it really been two long months since I last held you in my arms? I have a favor to ask of you, my love. I know it’s another one, but this is important. I will meet you in Thorn House on the seventeenth of next month and explain everything. Until then, I will count the days and pray for time to pass quickly.
Yours always and forever.
Your devoted
Andrei.
Anger swirlslike a vengeful disease in my heart as I stare at the damning piece of evidence. Betrayal swirls around me like a virus, and my anger knows no bounds.
He was having an affair, and this is the evidence of that. If I hoped it was all a mistake, that hope is now lost because all the evidence is pointing to the fact my father was living another life that didn’t include his loving wife and children.
“Valentin.” A soft voice interrupts my pain and Polly crouches before me and takes my hand.
“I’m so sorry.”
She stares into my eyes with concern and then surprises me by reaching up and tenderly stroking my face.
I say nothing and just stare into her gorgeous green eyes that are brimming with concern and say with a ragged breath, “It was true. They were having an affair.”
“I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head. “I found it in a hidden compartment underneath the drawer.”
I raise my eyes and she shrugs. “I watch the movies. It was worth a shot.”
She sighs heavily. “There are several that you may want to read, but they are all much the same. She obviously treasured them because they were tied in a red ribbon and some are smudged, which makes me wonder if she cried onto them.”
She makes to stand and I reach out and grasp her wrist and whisper, “Stay.”
I edge along the window seat and pull her down beside me and stare into her eyes that are brimming with concern.
“I’m struggling with this, Polly.”
She reaches up and strokes my face and nods. “I can tell. It really sucks, doesn’t it?”
She sounds angry, and it raises a brief smile on my face. “You could say that.”
“Tell me about him. Your father, not Veronica’s Andrei.”
I wince at her choice of words and then sigh.
“He was a strong man. Ferocious even with a strong sense of family loyalty, which these letters make a mockery of.”
I grip her hand in mine and say gruffly, “We were a tight family unit. At least I thought we were. We were brought up to believe that family meant everything and came first in every way. I never had any reason to doubt that until my father’s death set us on a trail that led me here.”
She smiles sweetly. “You know, I read a book like this once.”
I say nothing and she smiles. “The man of the house was a devoted husband and father, but led a secret life. One day, his secret life collided with his real one and he couldn’t cope with it. He compartmentalized his life into two separate boxes in his mind. Both were given equal attention, and he loved each one the same and he didn’t think he was doing anything wrong because everyone was happy. Perhaps that is true of your father. He split himself in two and reasoned that if nobody ever found out, they would be none the wiser. Everyone was happy, and I’m guessing this was the case until now.”
“Until now.”
I nod and sigh heavily.
“My mother is still ignorant of this and that is how we want to keep it. We are tracking down the information in the hope of discovering who wanted to murder my father. It led us to an organization called Burning Roses where my father met with your aunt. It was run by a friend of hers, Marsha Steele, which is how they probably met. That is all we know until now. It’s what we are searching for in your aunt’s possessions. Anything that could indicate who else was involved.”
Polly pulls back and appears to be thinking of something, and then she shakes herself and smiles brightly.
“Come. We need to eat and I’m guessing your men are pretty hangry right now.”
“Hangry?”
I raise my eyes and she giggles. “Hungry makes angry. We call it hangry.”
She winks and for some reason, it stirs something in the depth of my heart that sparks against my cold walls.
“Come. I’ve made chicken stew and baked potatoes. I’m positive your chef would do a way better job, but it will do for now.”
As I follow her out of the room, I stare at the pile of letters on the desk and my heart falls. It appears that my loss is a continuing one because now even the image and memory I had of my father is dying a bitter death before my jaded eyes.