‘Why me, Dmitri? You could have a thousand others who are willing, so why me?’
He started to move slowly around her, trailing his fingers over her buttocks, along her spine, feeling the bone of her hip, the silky cushion of her breast.
‘Because you are a rare creature, Lydia Ivanova.’
‘There are many more beautiful. Including your own wife.’
Still he circled her, again and again as if he were spinning his web. ‘The world is full of ordinary people, Lydia. You are not one of them.’
She drew a breath and said softly, ‘Then don’t crush me. Let me go.’
In answer he reached for her, his hands rough on her shoulders, gripping her hard. ‘Don’t be foolish,’ he whispered, as his lips came down fiercely on hers.
She didn’t fight him. But she remained rigid and unyielding until he abruptly tired of the game, threw off his robe so that he was totally naked and pushed her impatiently on to the chaise longue. He was strong and held her down, but as he pressed himself on top she squirmed her hips away. With no warning he pulled back and slapped her face.
‘No, Dmitri, don’t-’
He slapped her again, harder. She tasted blood on her teeth.
‘Fuck you,’ she yelled.
The hand was coming again. ‘Don’t you-’
The study door crashed open. Dmitri didn’t even look round. ‘Get out, Antonina,’ he growled and smacked Lydia in the mouth.
‘Let her go,’ Antonina said.
Lydia couldn’t see her because Dmitri’s body was blocking everything from view, but she could see his eyes clearly. They were no longer grey and controlled.
‘Piss off, Antonina,’ he shouted. ‘I’m busy.’
Abruptly Lydia felt his whole body give a sudden jerk, as though her flailing knee had caught his groin. Only when he slumped down on her with a groan, clutching the back of his head, did it occur to her that Antonina had hit him with something. His full weight was crushing her. She could barely breathe so grabbed a fistful of his red hair and yanked up his head, freeing her airways. His eyes were black with rage and she could feel the heat of it scorch her face. A fine thread of red was trickling from his ear down to her lips and she spat it back at him. Over his shoulder she could now make out Antonina, wide-eyed as a deer, a huge studded Bible clutched in her hands.
‘You stupid fucking bitch,’ Dmitri roared at her and dragged himself off the chaise longue, one hand still gripping his head.
Antonina backed off fast.
Lydia leapt to her feet and seized his arm from behind. He turned, swinging a fist at her, but she was too quick and he missed.
‘Dmitri, don’t-’
‘Shut your mouth.’
‘Leave your wife alone.’
But he lunged for Antonina once more and this time his fist connected with the side of her head. The crack of it was loud in the room and she went sprawling backwards on to the desk. Her fingers released the Bible and her mouth hung open in a scream that produced no sound.
‘I’m going to teach you, you stupid faithless bitch.’
He hit her again full in the face, just as Lydia slammed a punch into his kidneys. He grunted with pain, cursing, but seized Antonina’s slender neck, squeezing it brutally between his strong hands. Lydia hooked an arm around his throat to twist him off, but she was too late. In panic Antonina lifted a dagger-shaped paperknife from beside her head and rammed it with all her strength into her husband. It slid neatly up to the hilt between his ribs.
A high-pitched whistle issued from his throat before he keeled over sideways, one hand clawing at the silver cross that was sticking out of his chest. He slumped to the floor. Antonina leapt to her feet, her face a mask of blood, and stared down in horror at her husband’s inert figure. Her fingernails started to claw fiercely at her arm.
Lydia worked fast. First she felt for a pulse, but knew before she even pressed her fingers to Dmitri’s neck that she’d find none – she had seen dead eyes before. She sat Antonina down, a cloth for her face in one hand and a wine glass full of brandy in the other. She removed the knife from Dmitri’s ribs, washed it thoroughly and replaced it on the desk, then rolled his body up in the Afghan rug before the blood spread further. Only then did she think to put her clothes back on.
She took a seat beside Antonina on the chaise longue and wrapped her arms around the trembling woman, holding her tight, rocking her, murmuring soft sounds of comfort. She kept pouring brandy into Antonina’s glass until finally it took its toll and the tremors ceased, the limbs hanging loose as her dark hair. The woman’s head lolled on Lydia ’s shoulder and silent tears streamed down her cheeks.
‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’
‘I know.’
‘I’ll go to prison,’ she whispered.
‘Maybe not.’
‘Yes, I will. The Soviet police will condemn me.’
‘Is that what you intend to do? Go to the police?’
‘Oh Lydia, I’ve just killed my husband. What else am I meant to do?’
Lydia stroked the damp hair away from Antonina’s face. ‘There is an alternative.’
The wretched dark eyes, sunk deep in their sockets, turned to her and Lydia thought about what Elena had said. This woman was damaged enough. And now this.
‘Tell me, Lydia. What do you mean?’
‘We can go to the police right now and describe what happened and, after months of prison cells and questioning and a trial if you’re lucky, you would end up a prisoner doing hard labour in a coal mine in Siberia.’ She wiped away Antonina’s tears with her sleeve. ‘It wouldn’t be pleasant.’
‘Or what?’ the woman sobbed.
‘Or,’ Lydia hesitated, ‘we can bury him. And get on with our lives.’
Antonina looked aghast. ‘Where? In one of the parks? Alexander Gardens maybe? You’re crazy.’
‘No. Think about it. Dmitri is dead.’ She felt a brief wave of nausea and disbelief. Dmitri Malofeyev dead. The words frightened her. ‘Nothing we can do will bring your husband back. If you go to prison it won’t help him where he is now. And I am witness to the fact that it was self defence. I saw him trying to kill you.’
Antonina lifted her head and stared at Lydia, her eyes purple smudges on her bruised face. ‘You’re serious?’
Lydia nodded.
‘Oh you’re crazy. Haven’t you learned yet? This is Soviet Russia. There’s no escape. We’re all caught in the Communist net, for good or for bad. I’ve committed a serious crime and will have to-’
‘Don’t give up. Not yet. You helped me. Now let me help you.’
With a sad twist of her lips, Antonina touched Lydia ’s hand. ‘That’s why he wanted you so much. For that light inside you. He knew you were just using him, but he couldn’t stay away.’
Lydia shuddered. She looked at the rolled up rug and mourned for the loss of the man Dmitri Malofeyev might have been.
‘Antonina,’ she said, ‘do you own a car?’
Chang An Lo knew she was there the moment he stepped into the room, even though she had not lit the lamp. In the darkness he could sense her. No sound, no movement, just the feel of her there. Of her mind, of her thoughts, of herself.
‘ Lydia,’ he breathed.
Without lighting the lamp he crossed the bare boards. She was standing in a corner with a stillness and patience that told him she’d been there for a long time, and he cursed that he’d been delayed by an official dinner that had seemed endless. He had not told her yet that the delegation’s time here was soon to end. She curled her arms around his neck and he inhaled the familiar scent of her, knew again the sense of completeness that only his fox girl could give him. He held her, but not so close as to crush the thoughts that hovered round her like fireflies in the dark. He gave them space to fly.
‘What is it, my love?’