Falling for the Rebel Falcon

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘Professor Angus Hanson,’ he read. ‘Hanson? A relative?’

  ‘My father. And the one next to it was written by my brother. They’ve just been published. They sent them to me and, like a dutiful daughter, I started to read them on the plane over here. But don’t worry. I don’t understand them any more than you thought I would.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you, it’s just that every moment makes me realise more how little I know about you.’

  ‘You know the bits that matter.’

  ‘Do I? If you’re an intellectual I think you should have warned me.’

  ‘So that you could run a mile?’

  ‘Ten miles,’ he said with feeling.

  ‘We’ve never really had a long talk, have we?’ she mused. ‘There’s always been something going on around us, and we haven’t had much chance to get to know each other.’

  ‘I seem to remember talking about myself a lot when we first met. It’s listening that I didn’t do. But that’s going to change. When we’re in Moscow you’re going to tell me about yourself, what a learned, educated woman you really are.’

  ‘Not in a million years, so you needn’t run. My family are like that. They have great brains, go to top universities, then become professors or write learned books. Or both. Even my mother has a first class degree. I’m just not one of them.’

  ‘But it makes no sense. You’re not stupid. You’re one of the shrewdest, most intelligent people I’ve ever known. It’s almost scary how on the ball you are.’

  ‘Thank you. But the ball I’m on isn’t the one they think matters. My mind sort of dances around rather than goes in for the long haul. I’m the only one of the family who didn’t go to university.’

  ‘But you became a writer,’ he reminded her. ‘I’ll bet that book you’re ghosting will outsell anything your family write.’

  ‘Yes, I don’t deny that’s nice. At family gatherings I can hold my head up high in a way I couldn’t at one time. They know I’ve succeeded at something.

  ‘But the older ones—my parents—still see me as the one who isn’t up to standard. I’ve never quite fitted, and I never will. Why do you suddenly look like that?’

  ‘For a moment you made me think of my mother. This is so like what she told me. Her parents were teachers, and they were determined she was going to be like them. They taught her English but were always saying she didn’t work hard enough at it.’

  ‘You’ve got to try harder,’ she murmured. ‘Anyone can learn if they try.’

  He stared at her, astonished. ‘Is that what they said to you?’

  ‘All the time. Did your grandparents say the same to her?’

  ‘Something very like. She always knew they didn’t consider her a credit to them.’

  ‘Oh, how I know that feeling! I think she and I must be soulmates.’ She gave him a steady look. ‘I’m sure we’d get on well—if that’s what you’d like.’

  He stared at her as though unable to believe what he’d heard. ‘Do you really mean that?’

  ‘I mean it.’

  ‘I can take you to meet her? You mean it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Oh, if you knew what it would mean to her. She lives such an isolated life because nobody else understands her, especially about this.’

  ‘But do these things still live in her memory after all this time?’

  ‘Yes, because they ruled her life. It was because of my grandparents’ language skills that my father came to be staying with them when he went to Russia on that first trip. After he’d gone she worked harder than ever at perfecting her English, because she wanted to be ready for the day he sent for her.’

  ‘Oh no! How sad!’

  ‘Yes, it is. Even today she reads English books so that she’ll still be fluent “when the time comes”.’

  ‘She still believes the time will come,’ Perdita said sadly. ‘And you have to pretend to believe the same thing, so as not to hurt her. But can I help? Could I take her some English books? Would she like that?’

  ‘Oh yes, please do. Do anything you want. I know you’ll get it right.’

  His eagerness touched her heart.

  ‘Poor Leonid,’ she said softly. ‘However do you cope?’

  ‘By remembering that I’m all she has,’ he said simply. ‘I do what I can to make her happy. I know it isn’t enough, but if she can meet you it will mean so much to her. It’s a wonderful idea. You won’t change your mind?’

  ‘I promise. As long as it’s what you really want.’

  ‘It’s what I want,’ he assured her.

  ‘When you arrive we’ll have to stop-over one night in Moscow and go on to Rostov the next day so that you can meet my mother. I’m longing for that. Then we’ll return to Moscow and be together for as long as we can. I’ll arrange for my deputy to run the business for a while.’

  ‘Will it be hard for you to take time away?’

  ‘A little. Things are always happening. In fact I have to go back right now. I just heard that there’s been some trouble that I must take care of, otherwise I’d have liked to stay here a little longer, maybe persuade you to stay. But once I’m back there I’ll do everything I can to make your visit perfect—for both of us. We haven’t been together as much as we need to be. A few days here, then nothing, a few days there, then nothing. This time we’re going to concentrate on knowing each other properly.’

  She nodded ecstatically. He laid his lips on hers, then led her back up to her room. At the door he kissed her, but didn’t try to embrace her further. He’d said the time was coming when they wouldn’t have to snatch moments, and all her hopes now were on that time.

  ‘Soon,’ he whispered. ‘Soon.’

  Later that morning they left together for the airport.

  ‘It’s not for long,’ he told her. ‘We’re going to be together. We must. Goodbye—goodbye—goodbye—’

  His plane left first. She watched him go until he vanished into the crowd, then turned away with tears in her eyes.

  *

  For the next few weeks she worked without pause, hoping to get as much of the book done as possible so that there would be no problem about going to Russia. She wanted to be free to concentrate on Leonid and the new world that was opening to her.

  At night she would lie awake, wondering about what was happening to her.

  In some ways we’ve barely met, she thought often. And yet…and yet…oh, I don’t know what to think.

  But you know what you feel, came the answer out of the darkness.

  This was unlike their other separations. Now there were sweet phone calls to look forward to, and emails, sometimes several a day. He never used the word love but he said again and again how much he missed her, how she dominated his thoughts.

  Once she teasingly wrote, Perhaps you shouldn’t think of me too much. Think of all those business rivals, ready to pounce if they see you distracted.

  He wrote back, That’s a different ‘me’. I only let him out for business. You don’t want to know him.

  She replied, Yes, I do. I want to know both of you.

  She waited, intrigued to know how he would reply to that. But his next email was an account of his latest visit to his mother.

  I’ve talked about you, and she’s very anxious to meet you. She says that you sound like a lovely person. I told her she was right about that.

  It was a long email, warm and inviting, and she read it with pleasure. But no part of it was a reply to her assertion that she wanted to know both sides of him. She guessed he must have overlooked that.

  One event that stood out was the wedding of her cousin Sally to Thomas, the man who had briefly courted Perdita for the sake of her family connections, and abandoned her when she chose her career. It was their engagement party she had missed when she’d dashed to Paris, hoping to corner Travis at Marcel’s wedding.

  At the wedding she sat in a pew close to the front, watching Thomas as he stood waiting for his bride.
He seemed calm and untroubled, and she couldn’t help remembering Travis waiting for Charlene. Even seen from the rear he had clearly been agitated, as though he’d feared she would vanish at the last moment. When she’d arrived he’d watched her advance down the aisle with worshipful eyes. It had been a lovely sight.

  In contrast, Thomas awarded his bride the briefest glance over his shoulder. His eyes showed only satisfaction that everything was going to plan.

  So he got what he was aiming for, Perdita thought. I had a lucky escape.

  At the reception he approached her, smiling with self-satisfaction.

  ‘Nice to see you. I was afraid you might refuse to come.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘Well…after we…you know…’

  So he thought he’d broken her heart, she mused ironically. Time to give him a lesson in reality.

  ‘After we what?’ she asked innocently. ‘Have we ever met before?’

  His face showed his chagrin. ‘Evidently not. Excuse me, I have people to see.’

  He slipped away as fast as he could, leaving Perdita inwardly chuckling, and wondering how she had ever found that conceited oaf attractive. But that was before she’d met Leonid, a man who threw all other men into the shade with his dark mystery, ironic humour and, above all, his need of her; a need that she was sure he didn’t yet understand, but which she sensed with all her being.

  Jane, her elder sister, appeared at her elbow. Of all her family, Jane was the one she felt closest to.

  ‘You look as though you’re having fun,’ she said. ‘You’re smiling very mysteriously.’

  ‘Oh, I was just wondering what I ever saw in that twerp.’

  ‘That’s no way to speak about the bridegroom.’ Jane sounded shocked and amused at the same time.

  ‘Nonsense, I’ll bet every wedding has someone who says that about the bridegroom.’

  ‘You’re probably right. And if you’ve met someone else—’ She paused significantly, searching her sister’s face. ‘Not going to tell me?’

  ‘Not a lot to tell, really.’

  ‘Nothing happening between you and that attractive Russian man?’

  Perdita stared. ‘What do you know about that?’

  ‘I have a friend who specialises in Russian literature. He’s acquainted with Leonid, and happened to see you together in Los Angeles.’

  ‘We were both there as wedding guests,’ Perdita protested. ‘We weren’t dating.’

  ‘Sister dear,’ Jane said ironically, ‘when two people are so alive to each other, it shows, whether they’re dating or not. But don’t worry. I’ll keep my nose out.’

  ‘But I didn’t mean that. It’s just that even I don’t know what’s happening. I’m going to visit him in Russia soon, but after that—’ She made a helpless gesture.

  ‘After that he’ll ask you to marry him, and everything will be settled.’

  ‘If only it was that simple. I don’t know if he loves me. I don’t even really know if I love him. And where would we live?’

  ‘In Russia, of course. Where else?’

  ‘But what would I do there? Give up my career and be a housewife? Me?’

  ‘No, you’d have to learn how to cook, and I wouldn’t bet on that,’ Jane said wisely. ‘But you could write that book. The one you used to talk about writing.’

  ‘Yes, I remember now I used to feel cross that all the others were cleverer than I was. Then a couple of my cousins managed to get published and I got all cocky and said one day I’d write a book that would make everyone’s head spin. Actually, it may be coming true.’

  She explained about ghost writing for Lily Folles, and her sister gasped with delight.

  ‘That’s wonderful. But you don’t have to stop there. You’ve been about the world so much that you probably have plenty to say on your own account. You’re a gifted writer. And you weren’t bad at every subject. You’re quite good at languages. That could come in useful.’

  ‘For learning Russian, you mean?’

  ‘Possibly. Look, do what you have to do, darling. If Leonid is the one—go for him. Just make sure it’s on your own terms.’

  ‘Thanks, Jane. Thanks for everything.’

  The two women embraced each other. Perdita turned away, smiling both outwardly and inside. Today she’d received a gift she’d never hoped for, and the world was a nicer place.

  As well as emotional support, Jane had given her practical advice. If her relationship with Leonid flourished she would have to join him in Russia and explore other career possibilities.

  And, as Jane had reminded her, there were always books to write.

  ‘Thanks, sister dear,’ she whispered. ‘You really came up trumps.’

  *

  At last Leonid told her everything was ready. He had insisted on arranging all the travel details, booking her into First Class on the flight from London to Moscow’s Domodedovo Airport.

  She emailed, I’ll refund you the money when I arrive.

  He replied, Don’t be ridiculous.

  She protested, I’m not a kept woman.

  His answer was blunt. Then pretend to be. If my business rivals discovered that I couldn’t afford a few plane tickets they’d assume I was vulnerable and move in for the kill.

  That evening the phone rang. As soon as she answered he said, ‘I was only joking.’

  ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever known you to tell a joke.’

  ‘I seem to be doing a lot of things for the first time. I’ll be waiting for you.’

  He would meet her at the airport and take her to his home in the heart of the city. The following day they would both fly to Rostov-on-Don Airport, near the country home where his mother lived.

  The last few days were filled with hard-pressed work as she struggled to complete all her tasks. It must be the same for him, she thought.

  She wondered what else was the same. Was he too on edge, tense with longing for the next meeting, for the first glimpse of each other that would tell them everything?

  She tried to tell herself to be sensible. Leonid’s first priority was his mother’s happiness. It would be foolish to forget that. She repeated this to herself many times on the three and a half hour flight from London to Moscow, but nothing could dispel the hope that burned in her, now more than ever after several weeks of separation. Being sensible was no longer important.

  It seemed to take an age to get through Customs and Baggage Reclaim. She scanned the crowd, desperate to see him. For a terrible moment she feared that he hadn’t come. She was alone in an empty world.

  ‘At last.’

  The voice came from just behind her shoulder. There he was, tense and anxious, taking hold of her, gently but with determination, as though he feared she might escape.

  ‘You’re here,’ he breathed.

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I’m here.’

  He drew her against him and they clung together in an embrace that said it all without words. She closed her eyes, shutting out everything but the feeling of him against her.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, loving him for saying ‘home’. ‘But wait, my bags have vanished.’

  ‘My chauffeur took them while we were occupied,’ he said, smiling.

  With his arm around her waist he led her out into the car park, where a man was just closing the boot of the car. He opened the rear door for them.

  ‘This is Igor,’ Leonid told her. ‘He’ll take us home.’

  Inside the car he pressed a button that drew up a divider, giving them a kind of privacy.

  ‘I didn’t believe it,’ he said. ‘Not until I saw you. Even then I feared it was only a dream, one I’ve had before. So often I’ve seen you coming towards me and reached out my hands to you. But then I awoke and you weren’t there.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve always been here. Even when you couldn’t see me I was haunting you, driving you crazy with my awkward ways.’<
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  ‘You did it on purpose, huh?’

  ‘Of course. What else?’

  They didn’t speak again. Even with the divider up they were aware of Igor. They must be alone in the universe. Only that magnificent aloneness would suffice.

  She was vaguely aware that they were travelling deep into the heart of Moscow. Then the car stopped and they were going up in the elevator, accompanied by Igor and her bags. The door to his apartment opened, closed behind them. Now the rest of the world no longer existed.

  Silence, while they stood looking at each other with an intensity that crossed time and space. Then—

  ‘You’re here,’ Leonid said softly. ‘You’re here—and you’re mine.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘All yours.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE NEXT MOMENT she was in his arms, held with a ferocity that might have been frightening, but wasn’t because she sensed the vulnerable desperation behind it.

  Leonid’s breath was coming in hoarse gasps.

  ‘Tell me to stop,’ he said. ‘Tell me now—or it will be too late.’

  ‘It was always too late,’ she murmured. ‘It’s not our choice any more.’

  ‘It was never our choice,’ he agreed as his mouth touched hers. ‘Never…never—’

  His lips explored hers, caressing, teasing, inciting. But he had no need to incite her. The craving that rose up from her depths was already claiming her completely and now she reached out, wanting also to incite him.

  With delight she sensed that his desire was already hers as completely as her desire was his. Every part of her body was newly alive, and she rejoiced at what was to happen. If only it would happen soon—soon—

  He was pulling at her clothes, unbuttoning the coat that he hadn’t given her time to remove. She helped him, then tossed it aside. His jacket followed it onto the floor, and now she could feel him more intimately through the thin material of his shirt. He too was seizing the chance to explore, letting his hands rove over her shape—breasts, waist, hips—lingering briefly to relish the discovery, then moving on.