Kate Furnivall - The Concubine's Secret

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?’

‘Do I damage you?’

He felt the evil night spirits flit past his head, rustling in the darkness, trying to burrow into her thoughts. He brushed a hand through the air to disperse them and she leaned her head back to study his face.

‘Do I?’

‘No, Lydia, you don’t damage me. You make me whole. Who has been pouring such vile oil in your ear?’

‘Elena.’

‘Tell Elena that-’

‘Popkov was shot and almost killed today. Because he was helping me.’

Chang’s breath stilled.

‘And,’ she whispered the words as if they were fragile, ‘Dmitri Malofeyev died tonight because of me. Now I’m asking for your help and it frightens me.’

He released his hold on her and lit the gas lamp. In the shadowy light the lines of her mouth were tense and there was a bruise on her face. But in her amber eyes there was something new, as if this day had changed her, and he recognised it at once. It was what he had seen in a soldier’s eyes after battle, a self reliance, an independence of mind, and it chilled his heart. Nevertheless he smiled tenderly at her and opened his arms to welcome whatever it was she wanted of him.

‘Ask me,’ he said.

So Wolf Eyes was dead. Chang felt not a scrap of sorrow for his greedy soul, and when he looked at the wife he saw no depth of sorrow in her bruised eyes either, despite her tears. But it unsettled him to see the concern on Lydia ’s face when he unrolled the carpet to remove the Russian’s watch and wedding ring. The ring was too tight to slide off the flesh, so Chang used his knife to whittle the finger to the bone.

‘Is that necessary?’ she asked.

‘Yes. There must be nothing on him that will identify the body.’

She nodded, tugging uncomfortably at her hair. He looked away because he couldn’t bear to see her do that for this man who had hit her face. He rolled up the rug once more and sent the wife for the car, while Lydia scrubbed the floor to remove the stains.

‘ Lydia, his own people will come looking for him.’

She was still on her knees. ‘I know.’

‘How will the wife explain away his disappearance?’

‘She’s going to inform them tomorrow that he has travelled to visit his sick uncle in Kazan. He really does have an uncle there, so when she tells them he was taken ill suddenly they will believe her. It will at least buy her time to decide what to do next.’

He didn’t point out that they might check the travel permits issued. Let her take one step at a time.

‘Good,’ he murmured and crouched down beside her. He placed one hand over hers on the floor. ‘Why do you care for this woman? Why not let her go to prison? She is nothing to you.’

‘She reminds me of someone,’ she said softly. ‘Someone equally damaged, equally in need of help.’

‘Your mother?’

She shrugged. ‘Anyway,’ she added with a change of tone, ‘I’ve been through Dmitri’s desk and found a box of his official stamps. We can use them on any forms we need.’ She looked at him. ‘They’ll be useful when we need to leave.’

‘I always said you were my fox.’ He lifted a lock of her red hair and let it trail through his fingers. ‘Rummaging in bins and drawers, making use of whatever you can find. Sharp teeth, sharp mind and dark holes to run to.’

For a long moment her stare fixed on him. ‘I love you, Chang An Lo,’ she said simply.

It was only later, after he’d carried the rug through the darkness to the boot of the car and was driving all three of them through the black streets of Moscow, that he had time to think again about the someone Lydia had spoken of. The someone who was damaged and in need of help. For the first time it occurred to him that she wasn’t talking about her mother. She was talking about herself.

The woman was nervy in the forest. Chang could hear her breath next to him, shallow and ragged. She jumped as shadows swayed towards her in the moonlight and picked her footing as delicately as a deer. When an owl screeched above her head, she froze. The sophisticated creature with the scarlet lips who had smiled so indifferently at him in the salon of the Hotel Metropol was now out of place, away from the chandeliers and the cigars. She tucked herself close to his elbow, uttering small gasps and murmurs. But on his other side Lydia moved in sure-footed silence, padding over the snow-covered ruts beneath the black arc of pine trees, her eyes wide and watchful, her face lifting at intervals as though scenting the night air with the caution of a fox.