by Faye Brann
Chapter Twenty-Four
That afternoon, when Matisse got home, Sacha was snoring in his office. She watched him from the door of the study with her lip curled and then went upstairs. What she’d ever seen in him was anyone’s guess. Revolting, fat man. She couldn’t wait for him to leave her.
Since she’d taken delivery of his fake passport tucked inside a cheap, anonymous Christmas card, she’d veered between being furious, relieved and terrified. There were no fake passports for her or Dmitri; whatever he was planning, it didn’t include them.
Of all the ways she thought things would play out, she hadn’t factored in blatant abandonment. She’d played his game carefully enough over the years to regain some of his trust – enough that is, to ensure she didn’t end up dead in a gutter. But this was a literal slap in the face to everything she’d suffered to stay with him.
She made her way to the bedroom and let her shopping drop to the floor. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was going to end up dead in a gutter. She didn’t think so, though; even Sacha wouldn’t kill a child, and if he was going to kill her, he would have done it by now. But why hadn’t he? He’d loved her, in his own way, before he’d found out about the affair. Maybe, deep down, he still had feelings for her? No. Matisse didn’t think love was the reason. It was more likely he had chosen to let her live because it suited him somehow. Which meant that, one day, it might not suit him anymore. The thought wasn’t very reassuring.
She went into the dressing room to get some hangers. There was a bright side. She’d always been afraid of what might happen if she left him. But if he left her, she and Dmitri would be free. She could finally tell Dmitri who his real father was. Not the whole truth; it would be difficult enough for him to handle the news without telling him Sacha was a murderer too. Whether he was a good father or not, Sacha was the only one Dmitri had ever had, and his absence would weigh heavily on her son. But at least he would know the truth, at last, about where he came from. She hoped that he would forgive her, in time, for hiding it for so long. Maybe she could finally forgive herself too.
She began pulling at the bags and draped her new clothes on the bed, creating a patchwork quilt of designer wear. ‘Mutton dressed as lamb,’ Sacha would say, but she knew it was the green-eyed monster talking. She could still pull it off. She looked at the tight white Hervé Léger bandage dress lying nearest the pillows. Her eyes travelled over the sexy Pucci bikinis, a flowing nude Valentino maxi dress, and enough Oscar de la Renta to buy a terraced house in Barnsley. If he wanted a show – or a showdown – in Dubai, then she’d certainly be dressed for it.
On her return from the dressing room she saw Sacha standing by the bed. She jumped, her cool composure slipping for a moment.
‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘I see you did some work on my credit card.’ Sacha picked up a bikini top with one finger. ‘I hope it makes you feel better about yourself.’
Matisse threw a less-subtle insult of her own. ‘I bought you a new pair of shorts from the fat man’s section in Harrods. They are in the dressing room.’
Sacha growled. He balled up his fist and shook it by his side, the irritation obvious by his tensed, whitened knuckles.
‘Something the matter?’ She slipped a dress onto a hanger and walked back to place it on the rail.
‘Maybe it’s time you got a job and learnt to live on your own money instead of mine.’
‘Maybe I should get a job. At least I wouldn’t have to answer to you anymore.’
‘Who’d hire you? Your only qualifications are shopping and blow jobs.’
‘You didn’t seem to mind at the time.’
‘Yes, and look where that got us. To this happy, happy place.’
Matisse flung down the Gucci skirt she was holding. ‘Well if you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just go …’ She hesitated. If he knew she had seen the passport, or that she had guessed his plans to leave, maybe she would be at more risk than pretending to know nothing.
Sacha stepped towards her. He was close enough now to hit her. ‘Go?’ he said. His phone rang.
‘Go fuck yourself.’
Sacha pushed her onto the bed, face down, and held her by the back of the neck. ‘You seem to have forgotten that’s what you’re here for.’
The phone continued to ring.
‘Shit!’ Sacha released her and pulled his phone from his pocket. Matisse lay still on the bed and tried to stop herself from shaking.
‘What do you want?’ he spat the words out as if they were poison.
Matisse heard the Russian voice speaking on the other end in urgent tones, but couldn’t make out what was being said. Whatever it was, whoever it was, she was very grateful for the interruption. And even more thankful when Sacha’s scowl turned into a wide grin.
‘So he decided to play along. Excellent. I’ll see you on the twenty-first, my friend,’ he said, and ended the call. He tapped a new number in and put the phone back up to his ear. ‘This isn’t over.’ He pointed at Matisse, then walked away from her, heading downstairs. ‘William? I have good news. Everything is ready. Stand by.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
The guttural Arabic blasted from the PA system, asking Vicky to secure her belt and place her bag in the overhead locker. She checked Ollie was belted in beside her and looked over his head to smile at Chris, who sat with James and Evie just across the aisle. He grinned back. The plane began its descent, and she watched Dubai spread out beneath her. As they turned inland, the skyscrapers stretched like blinking vines towards the darkening sky, and, between them, the winding rivulets of road exploded in a million glittering directions, carving their way through the city and off into the smoggy unknown.
Vicky looked down at the city in wonder. Now a huge tourist destination, the last time she’d been in active service Dubai had been a tiny dot of a place, a discreet stop for Russian prostitutes and occasional reports of child smuggling. Not any longer; in and amongst the celebrities and footballers’ wives, the bankers, the traders and the property tycoons, the city was crawling with dubious businessmen of all shapes and sizes, all searching for legal loopholes to rinse their cash through the inflated real estate market and spending the spoils of their ill-gotten gains on fast cars and designer clothes. The perfect place for Sacha Kozlovsky.
The arrivals terminal was vast, spotlessly clean and deadly efficient, despite being one of the busiest airports in the world. Vicky and her family were processed through Passport Control swiftly and with the minimum of fuss. Pristine and bordering on belligerent, a customs official dressed in traditional white robes stamped their passports and motioned them on while he chatted in Arabic to his friend in the next cubicle about the football. Vicky pretended not to understand, although she was pleased at how quickly the language came back to her after years of neglect.
At the luggage carousel, she herded the tired kids around her while Chris went off to collect a trolley. Evie stared at the many local women waiting for their bags.
‘They look beautiful, don’t they?’ she said.
Vicky joined her gaze. Their robes wafted, and expensive-looking shoes poked out from beneath the black folds, while designer handbags hung from the crooks of their arms. Stunning young faces peeked out from abaya, eyes immaculately painted with kohl and slender, ring-adorned fingers skimming strands of hair or refastening loose scarves. It was a reminder of the new world they had arrived in. They were playing by different rules now; an altered universe where one false move wouldn’t just affect her, but her whole family, and Matisse’s too. She needed to get her bearings quickly.
They left the terminal and were ushered towards a waiting car by a driver bearing a sign that read TURNBULL. The driver grinned.
‘Hello, Vicky.’
Vicky laughed. ‘Hi, Jacob. I guess Jonathan really is the only one not coming to Dubai.’
‘He wanted you to have someone here you could trust.’
‘And who better than the person I assaulted on a
train?’
‘You did what?’ Chris had caught up with them, James in one arm and a suitcase trailing in the other. ‘Hi, I’m Chris.’
‘Jacob.’
‘And this is James.’
‘What’s up, fella?’ Jacob high-fived James, making him giggle. Evie and Ollie ran to catch up with them and introduced themselves to Jacob. Chris was smiling, more at ease than Vicky had seen him for days.
‘So, you’re our driver for the whole holiday?’ Evie said.
Jacob nodded, catching Chris’s eye. ‘I’m here for you 24-7, whatever you need.’
‘Thank you, Jacob.’ Vicky looked at Chris, to make sure he understood. Jacob was their protector; Jonathan had been good on his word.
As they reached the car, Jacob handed Vicky an envelope. She slipped it into her bag and got into the front seat, while Chris piled the children into the rear. They pulled away in the black SUV, the chaos of the airport traffic giving way to the sleek lines of the city, and the effervescent glow from the lights hugging the skyscrapers against the darkness beyond. Vicky craned her neck to see the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world, lit up white and strong against the black sky. High-rise quickly gave way to low-rise as they drove onwards, the familiar sail-shape of the Burj Al Arab changing colour as they passed by, and the twin towers of Atlantis glittering in the distance. Jacob made a turn on to The Palm and Vicky caught her breath. It was an enormous feat of engineering, to have dredged this tree-shaped island out of the sea and built so much on top of it. It took them nearly ten minutes to drive to the end, where they turned right and began the short drive around The Crescent to their hotel. They passed hotel after hotel on the way; each place more glamorous and alluring than the last.
‘Oh look, Mum, there’s a sign for where Dmitri is staying,’ Evie said, pointing. Vicky knew exactly where the hotel was situated, of course. They carried on driving for another few minutes before pulling into their own hotel’s fountain-strewn reception area.
‘Here you are,’ Jacob said. ‘I’ll drop you here and leave you to get settled.’
‘Thanks, Jacob. Will we see you later?’
Jacob shook his head. ‘Not tonight. But I’ll check in with you tomorrow.’
Vicky nodded. ‘Thanks.’
They got out of the car, a porter already helping with the bags from the boot.
‘Wow,’ Chris said.
Wow indeed. The hotel lobby alone was like nothing they’d ever seen before, stretching upwards and outwards and onwards in a never-ending sea of cream marble.
‘Something else, isn’t it?’ Chris said. ‘Vics? You with us?’
‘Mmm.’ It was an operational nightmare. So many pedestrian entry and exit points, although seemingly only one way in and out by car. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, of course, and that the operation stayed very firmly elsewhere. But if they needed to get out fast, then maybe a boat would be a better plan, if there was a jetty—
‘You’ll have to buy Jonathan something nice to say thank you.’
‘What?’
‘Are you even listening?’ Chris lowered his voice. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yes … yes is it. Sorry. I was just—’
‘Welcome, ma’am, sir.’ The sing-song voice belonged to the receptionist who wore an enthusiastic smile and a smart black suit. ‘Mr and Mrs Turnbull? A great pleasure to meet you.’
Vicky nodded at the greeting and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Jacob pulling away in the car.
‘Thank you,’ Chris said.
‘Oh, yes, thank you.’ Vicky was distracted; she needed to scope the place, quickly.
‘We have taken the liberty of upgrading you to a suite during your stay,’ continued the receptionist. ‘You will be in room three eight—’
Vicky quickly focused her attention back on the receptionist. ‘Oh no, no upgrade necessary, thank you.’ The hotel safe in her room contained everything she needed, according to Jonathan. A last-minute room change could prove to be complicated. ‘We are very happy with the rooms we have.’
‘I was told you might say that,’ the receptionist said. ‘Your friend, Mr Tariq, is a good client of ours. He called this afternoon, to ensure we would be looking after you, and sent a gift basket with his driver, to be placed in your room. When we told him about the upgrade, he asked that his gift be moved immediately, and your butler be made aware.’
Confident Tariq had somehow facilitated a successful safe contents swap, Vicky didn’t argue any further.
‘Well, thank you, that’s very kind,’ she said, taking the room keys.
‘You’re welcome. Have a nice stay. If you want details of kids’ clubs, or other activities, please go and see the concierge and he will be happy to help you. Merlando is your butler for the duration of your stay. He will show you to your room.’
‘Thank you.’
They made their way to the lift and Merlando held the doors for them until they were all in safely.
‘First time in Dubai for you all?’ he said.
‘Yes, yes, it is,’ Vicky replied.
‘Lots to do … lots of waterparks for the children, and shopping and spa for you, madam,’ he continued, babbling on happily about giant malls and slides with sharks in them as they rode upwards. They reached their floor and he guided them towards their room. ‘Here we are, madam, sir. You like the room?’
Double doors opened on to a small hallway and Vicky looked either side as the children poured into the room amidst plenty of ‘ooos’ and ‘ahhhs’. Merlando piled the suitcases in the hallway.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get the kids sorted out,’ Chris said, and went through the doorway on the left. He poked his head back inside again after a moment, grinning. ‘There’s a whole bloody living room in here. It’s bigger than our house.’ He was gone again. ‘Come on, kids, let’s take a look at where you’re sleeping.’
‘I want the bed by the window!’ ‘Can James sleep nearest the door so that he doesn’t wake me up in the morning?’ ‘Where’s your bed?’ Vicky heard her three children move into the bedroom area that led from the sitting room and she followed Merlando into her and Chris’s half of the suite.
‘This is your room, madam,’ he said. She looked at the expanse of bed in front of her and gasped.
‘If we get separated in the night we’ll never find each other again,’ she said. Merlando smiled.
‘I’ll be here for anything you need, madam,’ he said. ‘Oh, and here is your gift from Mr Tariq.’ Merlando gestured to the huge basket that sat on a small coffee table in the corner of their bedroom. ‘The room has been swept and your package is in the safe.’
‘Thank you,’ Vicky scrambled for some money from her wallet to tip him. ‘Hang on, are you—?’
‘This is very generous, thank you, madam,’ he said, handing her a card and winking. ‘I’ll be nearby if you need anything, just give me a call. Enjoy your stay.’
He must be MI6. Jonathan really had done as he promised. Vicky waited until she heard the main door closing, and then went across to the basket. Fruit, dates, and a bottle of fizz … Vicky saw a note was lodged next to a box of Arabic sweets, the small corner of white card poking out from behind the packaging. She slid the note out and read it:
Dear Mrs Turnbull. Congratulations on your competition win! We trust you arrived safely. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow at 10 a.m. for our winner’s photoshoot. A car will pick you up outside the hotel at 9.45 a.m. Anything you need in the meantime, please ask Merlando. Best wishes and enjoy your stay in Dubai!!
She cast the letter to one side and headed for the safe. She tapped in the six figures Jonathan had given her and the door popped open to reveal a phone, a plain white room key card, binoculars, a stunner, a gun and a box of ammunition. She took out the phone and put it in her bag, then shut the safe again.
‘Mum! MU-UM!’ Ollie came into the bedroom just as she had closed the safe door. ‘Can we get something to eat?’
‘Of
course, yes. Come on, let’s go and find something.’ Vicky ushered him out of the room. ‘Just let me have a wee and brush my hair and we can go and get dinner. Tell Dad.’
‘I heard you,’ Chris said, making an appearance. ‘Wow,’ he said again, catching sight of their room, and seeing the enormous basket of goodies waiting for them from Tariq. ‘You’ll have to enter one of these competitions again, Vic.’
Vicky threw him a look. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Get the kids and we’ll go and find somewhere for dinner.’
As soon as they finished eating, Chris took James up to the room. Evie and Ollie ate their dessert and asked Vicky if they could go for a scout around the hotel grounds. Vicky hesitated, and then relented. It was only six o’clock in the UK. Merlando had their backs. It was perfectly safe.
‘Stay together please,’ she said, handing them a room key. ‘And don’t be too long. It’s already gone ten o’clock and it might not feel late to you because of the time difference, but we all need an early night or we’ll never get up for breakfast.’
‘What are we doing tomorrow, anyway?’ Ollie asked.
‘Well I thought you might want to head straight for the waterpark,’ Vicky said, smiling as her two eldest children fist-pumped the air.
‘We won’t be late, Mum, we promise.’ Evie grabbed Ollie. ‘Come on, Ol, let’s go!’
*
Vicky let herself into their room quietly so as not to disturb Chris putting James into bed, got out her laptop and the envelope the driver had given her from her bag and went to sit on the expansive balcony. Lights from the high-rises twinkled in the distance, and a cool breeze blew on to the balcony from the Gulf waters below. She took an extra moment for the view to sink in before going inside to retrieve her sweater from the sofa where she’d left it before dinner. As she grabbed it, the champagne caught her eye; their turn-down service had been in and placed the bottle on ice while they were at dinner. It seemed rude not to open it.
She wondered what Anatoli was doing this very minute, and whether he was alone. She felt sorry for him. Nearly a decade had slipped by and he had missed all the amazing, emotional bits about being a father that she knew he would have loved. She hoped he would be able to get to know Dmitri after all this was over. They both deserved that. She had to make sure it happened.