The Devil Wears Kolovsky

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘It’s not the same.’ Lavinia pushed open the door and they stepped inside a vast room, with shelf after shelf filled with rolls of fabric. The fabric codes were all in a computer, and an assistant located them and brought the rolls to a desk, where they were laid side by side. As she ran her hand over them finally Lavinia could properly picture it.

  Zakahr, not for the first time, stood bored, hard-pushed to feign even mild interest—where was a financial crisis when he needed one?

  ‘Thank you.’ Lavinia, satisfied now that she could actually speak with the Princess about her choices, went to walk out. But suddenly she changed her mind, pressing in an access code, pushing on a heavy door and beckoning him in. ‘Here.’

  She gestured down a long aisle of fabric, and then down another one, through a maze of silk. Zakahr followed the blaze of silver ahead, with ponytail swinging, past endless corridors of colour till Lavinia stopped.

  ‘This is my absolute favourite.’

  Zakahr stared nonplussed at the neutral fabric, watched as she pressed a button till a metre or two of the silk had rippled down. Lavinia ran it through her fingers.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Lavinia said, and then she paused. She had been about to say your father, but she knew how that irked him, so without missing a beat Lavinia used his name. ‘Ivan spent months getting this right—this is one of the original fabrics that made Kolovsky so famous.’

  ‘It’s beige.’

  ‘No.’ She held her hand up to it. ‘It’s more a cream—and look…’ she slipped her hand behind it ‘ … now it’s pink. The fabric is called koža.’

  ‘That means skin.’ He was a little bit curious now. He held it between his fingers, watched as the pinks faded to more golden hues, and it actually felt like skin—cool skin. He could see her hand stroking the fabric, see it running through her long fingers, and for the first time Zakahr realised that material could be beautiful—so beautiful. He prolonged the contact as he asked himself how it could be that a piece of material could be erotic.

  How could simple, neutral cloth provoke reaction?

  But, watching her hand stroke the fabric, watching her fingers while feeling the ko~a beneath his, he actually felt as if she were touching him.

  ‘It’s divine, isn’t it?’ Lavinia breathed. ‘Normally they use this as a slip dress. It couldn’t actually be a dress—you’d look as if you had nothing…’ Her voice petered out as she watched his strong hand run beneath the cloth, saw the ripples it made as if she was wearing the fabric he held, as if it were her skin beneath his fingers, as if he were stroking her …

  ‘Why? ’ Zakahr asked in a voice that wasn’t quite as steady as he’d like. ‘Why do you say these things? ’

  ‘I don’t!’ Lavinia said, and she was cringing. ‘Whatever I say around you…’ She couldn’t explain it. It was like innuendo city—every road led there!

  ‘What do you want, Lavinia? ’ Zakahr already knew what he wanted, but she had to want something—of that he was sure.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lavinia admitted. She wanted his kiss, she wanted everything they had almost had, but she was quite sure—positive, in fact—that if he knew her truth he wouldn’t want her. ‘I’m trying not to think about you.’

  ‘Maybe stop fighting it?’ Zakahr suggested. ‘Why would you resist something so nice?’

  ‘I’m a mother-to-be!’ She tried to make a joke, but Zakahr didn’t smile.

  ‘So—soon you can be responsible, soon you can stay in every night…’ He voiced everything that she wanted to happen, everything she feared. ‘You can say goodbye to your passionate—’

  ‘I’m really not,’ Lavinia said. If he knew how boring she was he’d run a mile.

  ‘I dispute that.’

  ‘Are you saying I should just walk away from Rachael? That I should give up … ?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Zakahr said. ‘But you are single now. You can be selfish. You can do what you want. And,’ he said, ‘you want me.’

  It wasn’t a question. It was nothing she could deny. Because so very badly she did.

  ‘You told me with your mouth.’

  ‘It was just a kiss.’

  ‘With your tongue.’

  She just stood there.

  ‘With your hips,’ Zakahr said, and watched her redden at the memory of her groin pressing into his. It was as if it were now, her body flaring as she stood, and he refused to leave it there. ‘You told me with your hand,’ Zakahr said, and in a cruel repeat he did what he had before—but without her guidance this time.

  She watched, curious, fascinated, wanting, as he raised his hand slowly, slipped it inside her jacket. Her nipple jutted through the sheer fabric to greet him. He rested his forehead on her head, and for Lavinia the relief was exquisite.

  All night she’d denied this, all day she’d remembered—and now she got to relive it.

  ‘Why do you fight it?’ Zakahr asked, but even as she tried to fathom an answer, even as she tried to do just that, he overrode her with a single word. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Don’t?’

  ‘Don’t fight it.’ Zakahr stroked slowly, and when still she stood he slipped his hand up her cami to the heaven of no padding, no bra, just the taut swell of her.

  Lavinia ached for more contact. She could feel the throb between her legs. But she just held his gaze. She would not stop him, because so badly she wanted him, but he would do nothing more till she begged it of him.

  When he held her she forgot not to trust him.

  Zakahr liked sex.

  Not the build-up to it, nor the come-down after it—though no lover of Zakahr’s could tell. He was detached, he performed, he got what he needed, she got what she wanted.

  But here, in this stand-off, he was loving the buildup, was here, right here in the moment, aroused by her pleasure.

  He stroked on till her neck arched backwards. He stroked on till her lips clamped hard on her plea. He stroked on till it was Zakahr who ached for more contact. He pushed up her cami, saw her pretty naked breast, and lowered his head.

  Lavinia could not believe the bliss of it, the thrill of it. There was nowhere to go but backwards. She leant on the fabric behind, his mouth her only contact, and she watched.

  She watched his tongue flick her nipple, watched him softly blow, closed her eyes as he suckled, and then watched again as he drew his lips back on the length of her nipple.

  He was so hard. There was no choice for Zakahr but to cease contact—and for Lavinia there was both regret and relief when he did.

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘You don’t.’

  ‘Actually, I do.’ Lavinia pulled down her top. She could see a damp circle form as the fabric met her breast, and pulled her jacket over to cover it. ‘I’m meeting Rachael…’ This was madness, she knew—just madness. ‘I’m supposed to be proving to Ms Hewitt what a responsible woman I am.’ Her voice choked at the irony of it all.

  ‘I could come with you,’ Zakahr said. ‘Perhaps if she thought you were in a steady relationship…’

  ‘Steady!’ She shot out an incredulous laugh. ‘You’ve got temporary written all over you.’

  He didn’t even try to deny it.

  It was madness, Lavinia told herself again. Dangerous too. ‘I have to go.’

  She practically ran—which was just as well, because Zakahr too craved distance.

  What the hell was wrong with him? That he’d even suggested going with her was … He was cross with himself as he strode back towards the lift. Cross that now another afternoon would be wasted, pondering the mystery of her, another night of ruing her games. He wanted her in his bed, not his head.

  ‘This just came.’

  The receptionist rushed over, and Zakahr took the thick gold envelope, recognising its royal seal. But his mind was still on Lavinia as he scanned the invitation.

  She was way too distracting, Zakahr decided.

  Then he read the invitation again, and decided maybe some distraction was
merited—just not at work.

  An idea was forming, and his lips stretched in an unseen smile as a plan took shape. Back in the office, Zakahr picked up the phone—and then glanced at his watch, realising it was too early to make a call to the UK. But with his decision made he fired off an e-mail to Abigail—he had already put her on standby: it would come as little surprise that he wanted her to join him immediately.

  Then he made another call, delivered a rapid RSVP to the lavish invitation while flicking through the photos of Rula and admiring the private secretary’s discretion as he went through the finer details.

  Actually, it would be great having Abigail here, Zakahr decided, as Lavinia’s phone rang out again and again, till finally it diverted to his. Abigail didn’t take endless breaks, and if she was away she ensured that at least his calls were covered.

  ‘Belenki!’

  ‘Sorry, Zakahr…’

  He clicked on his pen as someone in Legal asked if he had signed the contracts. He was about to say yes, to tell them they could send someone to come and get them, then he looked again at the photos on his desk. He thought of an already too-thin Lavinia, who had been considered too big for Kolovsky, and then Zakahr thought again.

  ‘I’m not signing them.’

  There was a beat of silence, followed by a shout of incredulous laughter, then a suggestion that he was joking.

  Zakahr assured the voice on the phone that he wasn’t.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ALL of it—all of it—would be made so much easier if only Lavinia was sure Rachael wanted her.

  Lavinia picked her up from her foster family—saw her pinched little mistrusting face peeking out from behind her foster mother’s leg.

  ‘She’s tired,’ Rowena said, after introducing herself, and then told her a little of Rachael’s day. ‘She’s had a big morning at kindergarten.’

  ‘I won’t keep her out long.’ Lavinia forced a smile she couldn’t feel as she offered her hand, but her sister didn’t take it.

  Rachael trailed Lavinia to her car and quietly let herself be strapped in. ‘I thought we could go for a milkshake,’ Lavinia said brightly.

  ‘I hate milk.’

  ‘Since when?’ Lavinia grinned, but Rachael didn’t answer.

  ‘Maybe we could go to a park?’

  Which was far easier said than done. Lavinia had no idea of the local area, and they ended up on a rather sad strip of faded grass, with a slide, a rickety old see-saw and two swings—not even a duck in sight.

  ‘Is Rowena nice?’ Lavinia attempted, when Rachael climbed down from her dutiful swing, but Rachael just shrugged.

  ‘I am trying to get things sorted for you,’ Lavinia started, but there were so many things Ms Hewitt had said not to discuss with her.

  ‘How?’ Rachael asked.

  ‘I just am.’ Lavinia had to settle for that. ‘Let’s go on the see-saw.’

  ‘Before you take me back?’

  They didn’t even last the hour. Lavinia tried to console herself it was because Rachael was tired, but the reality was that their time together was hard work.

  ‘I’ll try and see you again next week,’ Lavinia said, not wanting to make promises Ms Hewitt might not let her keep. Securing her into her seat, she went to give Rachael a kiss, but she pulled her head away.

  She dropped her back to the foster home, gave her a hug that wasn’t returned, and, driving back to work Lavinia, who never cried, was precariously close to it. She’d had so much pinned on that hour, and there were so many things she had wanted to say. Nothing had transpired. If anything, Rachael was more distant than before.

  She dashed to the loo in the foyer, blew her noise, touched up her make-up—though she needn’t have bothered.

  No one even noticed Lavinia enter the office, so furious was the argument taking place. The room seemed filled with people from Legal, Accounts and, loudest of all, Katina.

  ‘N’et.’ Katina’s lips were white with rage. ‘You cannot do this! It’s too late. You cannot do this.’

  ‘I’m not doing anything,’ came Zakahr’s clipped response. And, just as Lavinia had surmised on the first day, he didn’t shout, didn’t raise his voice—such was his authority he simply didn’t need to. Zakahr overrode everyone.

  ‘You have to sign!’ Katina insisted. ‘You have to—’

  ‘I don’t have to do anything,’ Zakahr interrupted, and Lavinia froze in realisation. The shots of Rula were scattered over his desk, but Zakahr was ignoring them. As chaos reigned around him he was typing away at his laptop as if there was nothing more annoying than a fly in the room.

  ‘You’re trying to ruin the House of Kolovsky,’ Katina spat. ‘You tried before, with your cheap suggestions to Nina, and now…’ Katina was so furious she tripped over her words. ‘Now with this decision you will ruin it.’

  ‘Why?’ Now Zakahr did look up. ‘Because I refuse to endorse a few images? This—’ his manicured hand swept the photos on the table ‘—is not the vision I have for Kolovsky. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I suggest you have the same.’

  Katina cried.

  One of the hardest women Lavinia knew actually cried as she left the room.

  ‘That’s months of work you’ve just destroyed,’ Lavinia said when they were alone; her heart was thumping in her chest yet Zakahr seemed unmoved. He stood and stared out of the window, down to the city streets below.Maybe, Lavinia reasoned, he just didn’t comprehend what he had just done—or maybe, and she paled at the very thought, maybe Katina was right …

  ‘Are you here to destroy Kolovsky?’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘Am I?’ Lavinia asked. ‘You tried to destroy it before.’ She watched as his shoulders stiffened. ‘When Nina didn’t know you were her son you bombarded her with ridiculous suggestions—you were going to put a Kolovsky bedlinen range in supermarkets…’

  ‘A one-off!’ Zakahr did not turn. ‘With a portion of profit going to my charity. Why would I want to destroy what I own?’

  ‘Because you hate her?’

  Hate was a word that sounded wrong coming from Lavinia; there was no venom behind it, just a bewildered question.

  ‘What is it with the overreaction?’ He turned, irritated now. ‘This has nothing to do with my family or destroying Kolovsky. Why the melodrama? I’ve said that Rula can come back for a re-shoot when she is a healthier weight, or they can find another model. I refuse to put my signature on a page that encourages a seventeen-year-old girl to starve.’

  ‘You can’t change the industry.’

  ‘Really?’ Zakahr frowned. ‘I thought I just did.’

  Her questions had been too close for comfort; Zakahr dismissed her with a turn of his head and stared unseeing out of the thick windows, only resting his forehead on the cool glass when he heard the door close behind Lavinia. To keep up the façade it would have made more sense just to sign. A week or so from now it would be over anyway—there would be no Face of Kolovsky—yet he could not put his name to this madness, could not condone what his parents had.

  He turned as the door opened and Lavinia entered.

  ‘I’ve thought about it, and you’re right.’ Her words surprised him. Her opinion should not matter, and neither did he need her approval, yet even if not sought there was a curious pleasure in having it. ‘I was wrong,’ Lavinia added. ‘You can make a difference.’

  ‘How was lunch?’ Zakahr asked, changing the subject, because guilt was a visitor he did not welcome. She trusted him, Zakahr realized. Trusted in his decisions, trusted that his intentions were for the greater good. For the first time he had trouble meeting her eyes.

  ‘Spent bouncing up and down on a see-saw.’ Lavinia smiled, but it changed midway. Somehow she just couldn’t feign happy right now. ‘It was hard work,’ Lavinia admitted. ‘Maybe I’m kidding myself—maybe she doesn’t even want to live with me…’

  ‘Don’t doubt yourself.’

  ‘It’s hard not to,’ L
avinia choked. ‘She doesn’t want to spend time with me.’

  He did not want to get involved with this part of her—he wanted only Lavinia the woman. Yet she came with a whole lot more, and Zakahr knew his insight could help. Surely he could share that without getting involved?

  ‘She resents you,’ Zakahr said.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You come in dressed in your gorgeous clothes, smelling of perfume, like some fairytale princess come to rescue her, and then you send her back.’

  ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘I’m just telling you how she feels,’ Zakahr said. ‘She would probably prefer that you do not come.’

  God, he could be brutal.

  ‘How can you say that?’

  Because he knew it. Because he’d lived it. Zakahr gave a rare piece of himself.

  ‘When I was in Detsky Dom a family looked to adopt me. I was a good-looking child, clever…’ Zakahr’s voice was analytical. ‘For two weekends they came and took me out. I stayed in their hotel—they wanted me to enjoy, to be grateful, to laugh…’ His eyes were actually darker, if that was possible, almost black with the memory of many years ago.

  ‘So I shouldn’t visit?’ She hated what he was saying, but she hated the ramifications more—couldn’t stand the thought of not visiting Rachael. Again she had read him wrong.

  ‘You never miss a visit,’ Zakahr said. ‘No matter how rude, how appalling her behaviour, how ungrateful she is, always you are there. She’s testing you,’ he said. ‘She’s waiting for you to prove that she’s right.’

  ‘Right about what?’

  ‘That you don’t really love her—that one day you will turn your back. Rachael is testing you. To her, she’s just expediting the inevitable process.’

  ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’

  ‘Good—because while you were out Ms Hewitt rang,’ Zakahr said, and watched her eyes widen. ‘She only got as far as speaking with Reception, but she is ringing back next week for a reference check. That must mean they are seriously considering you.’

  And suddenly ruined photoshoots and skinny models and tricky access visits, even the stunning man before her, all faded as a long-held dream perhaps began to be realised.