Secret Intentions

by Caitlyn Nicholas

  After deciding to leave the attics to the valuers, they’d filed back into the blue sitting room, and Klebnikoff stood in the doorway, chatting easily with Corbin about the slow demise of traditional Russian culture.

  Zani looked at them all and wondered what to do next, after all, what did one do with the Russian Mafia at close to four in the morning. Offer them breakfast? The problem fixed itself when Vladimir suddenly stopped talking. A strange expression crossed his face, and Zani thought for a moment he was going to burst into laughter.

  “I suggest you hold it right there. I’ve a carving knife up against your ribs and one wrong move by anyone and I will skewer you like a kebab,” came the outraged voice of Mrs. Stewart.

  “Emily!” gasped Zani.

  “And Peeves,” said Mrs. Stewart, as Peeves limped past Klebnikoff into the room. He leant heavily on his walking stick, and a shotgun was tucked under his arm. It looked like a remnant from World War One, and Klebnikoff flinched when it was waved in his direction. The mafia goons were frozen to the spot, wide-eyed in terror, except for the man in the black coat, who continued to look smug. As Zani watched he slid his hand into his coat pocket, and her mouth went dry with fear as she realized that he must have his small pistol tucked there.

  “It’s four o’clock in the morning. What on earth are you doing here?” she asked, using every ounce of calm to keep her voice from wobbling and trying to keep an eye on Klebnikoff, the man in the black coat and Peeves, all at the same time.

  “Well, if his lordship ’ere goes roaring through the village in a Hummer, he gets everything he deserves. Haven’t you heard of global warming?” growled Mrs. Stewart, peering around Klebnikoff and glaring at the Russians as if they were solely responsible for the hole in the Ozone layer.

  “Emily, please, put the knife down. Everything is fine. Mr. Klebnikoff’s tea has gone cold. Would you go and make him some more.”

  Taken aback, Mrs. Stewart sidled out from behind Vladimir.

  “Tea?”

  “Yes tea. Peeves, go with her.” Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself with that knife, added Zani silently. Corbin reached out and pulled the gun from Peeves feeble grasp, and with a glance at the man in the black coat, laid it slowly on the floor, barrel pointing at the wall.

  The elderly couple limped from the room, somewhat crestfallen, and Zani started to come up with a suitable apology for Klebnikoff. She was terrified he’d want another five million pounds, or decided to kill someone after all. Cold sweat shivered over her at the thought.

  “Faithful servants such as those are difficult to come by,” said Klebnikoff, shooting a poisonous glare at his goons, who’d formed a worried group by the fire. They’d let their boss get into danger, and Zani was fairly sure Klebnikoff wasn’t big on forgiveness.

  “We must leave now. Lady Best, send me the results of the valuation and any other documentation you may have. Do not doubt that I will be watching you. If there is anything, anything that I consider untoward in your activities, do not doubt that I will act swiftly.”

  He swept from the room, Mischka in the lead, the rest following. The man in the black coat was the last to leave.

  “I think you could’ve shot Peeves, thank you for your reticence,” said Zani.

  He turned and gave her an icy stare.

  “I couldn’t get an immediately fatal shot from where I stood, if I’d wounded him he may well have killed Vladimir. Reticence had nothing to do with it, you may be assured of that,” he replied, then stalked from the room.

  Zani slumped back on the chair.

  “I’ll make sure they’ve gone,” said Corbin.

  Alone for the first time in hours, Zani was surprised she didn’t want to cry, or be angry, or pace about. She just wanted to sleep and sleep. Oblivion. If it all went away, then it’d be fine with her.

  Secret Intentions

  Chapter Fifteen

  “April is living up to its reputation,” said Zani, glancing up as a shower of rain pattered against the windows of the Hill Head Sailing Club.

  Nigel the bartender put down the glass he’d wiped dry. “Another ginger beer?”

  Zani sighed. “Corbin should be here by now. What can be taking so long? Okay, another ginger beer.”

  “He’s at the auction, is he?”

  “Yes. Along with everyone for miles around. We sold Dad’s Wimbledon house last week, selling Everwood today and Christies is auctioning the knick-knacks and the Gainsborough tomorrow.”

  “It must be hard letting it all go?”

  “Yes and no. On good days I tell myself it’s a new start. For the family. I don’t want Grace to carry the baggage that Paul, Dad and I have. On bad days it’s like someone has torn out my heart and my soul.” Zani grinned ruefully. “You must get tired of me hiding here and telling you all about it.”

  Nigel shrugged. “No, I just worry we’re going to run out of ginger beer.”

  “You’re a sweetie,” said Zani, summoning a smile, then giving up when it came out as more of a grimace. Most of the time she wondered if she’d ever smile again.

  It’d been a long three months, sorting out the sale of the family assets and dealing with the reality of owing millions of pounds to the Russian Mafia. Klebnikoff had phoned or sent one of his goons to visit her at home or at the office almost every day. The stress and unrelenting pressure, hand in hand with being constantly watched had worn her down. Valuers, prospective buyers and a lot of nosey tourists pouring over her beloved childhood home hadn’t helped, either.

  “How’s your dad coping with Marion and a three month old baby?” asked Nigel with a grin.

  “Actually, since the heart attack he’s changed a lot. Softened, I think. He’s aged as well. He takes his health very seriously now, and just lives for Grace. I thought he’d murder Marion when they moved into my house, but they rub along nicely. She fluffs around him, but as long he’s got his paper and Marion doesn’t lay a finger on his stamp collection, then he’s happy enough.”

  She glanced toward the stairs, but Corbin didn’t magically appear. Grabbing her bottle of ginger beer, she stood and restlessly wandered over to the window, looking out over the grey, rain-swept sea. The sailing club was deserted. Nigel disappeared into the depths of the club, and the sound of clashing bottles soon filled the air.

  Zani sighed grumpily and wished he’d shut up.

  She worried about her father. Slowly but surely he was selling the Sunberri stock. The share price had almost halved, so for each pound he’d invested, he’d get back fifty pence. As yet there’d been no interest from the Financial Services Authority. Zani hoped that, as the stock had fallen so low, her father would be able to slide out of the company and not feature on their radar. He’d paid beyond any reasonable price for his foray into insider trading. He didn’t need to be punished any more.

  On the bright side, with the sale of the houses and their goods and chattels, there should be enough to repay their debts. What little money her father could get out of Sunberri he would keep to support himself in retirement. She’d let him live at her house, of course, with Marion and Grace. She smiled at the thought of them all. They made such a funny little family. Her father pretending to be aloof and formal, then folding in the indomitable face of Marion’s good humour. For all her failings, Marion had a heart of gold, and her complete inability to keep her emotions to herself was a constant reminder to Zani that she didn’t need to always hide how she felt.

  “Zani?” Corbin snaked his arms around her waist. “I love you,” he murmured into her hair.

  “I didn’t hear you come in. Don’t put it off. Tell me what happened.”

  “It sold. The bidding went on for ages, but it finally went for ten million.”

  Zani let out a breath and relaxed against him. “So, five million for the bank and the rest for Klebnikoff.” She stared at a figure making its way across the pebble covered beach, past the brightly painted beach huts that always cheered her up.

  Except tod
ay.

  “With the money from Dad’s house, we’ve got seven and a half million. Still twelve and a half to go. Everything hinges on the Gainsborough and the antiques. I know what the valuer said, but I’m just terrified we won’t get there.”

  “Zani, you don’t have to be scared. Don’t forget the Cellini salt cellar. Who could’ve imagined it was made of solid gold? That’s going to help as much as the Duchess. And I can help. I want to help. I wish you’d accept something from me,” said Corbin. His persuasive tone grated on Zani’s already raw emotions.

  “Stop it,” she snapped, pulling away from him and swinging around. “Don’t let’s go there again. Not today, please.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Corbin, instantly contrite. “I can’t bear to see you like this, scraping together every penny you can.”

  “I know,” sighed Zani.

  Corbin changed the subject. “Did you seen in the Times, Klebnikoff’s in trouble with the Russian government? Some scheme he was involved in came to nothing and they’re asking a lot of questions.”

  “I hope he gets everything he deserves,” said Zani with heartfelt sincerity.

  “Corbin!” Nigel appeared at the top of the stairs, lugging a crate of beer. “How’d it go? Did it sell?”

  Corbin nodded and launched into a description of the auction. Zani tuned out and watched another shower drift across the sea toward them. She didn’t want to hear the gory details. Everwood was gone. She’d said her goodbyes to the empty house the day before.

  “Let’s go,” she briskly interrupted them. One glance at her face had Corbin nodding at Nigel and ushering her toward the stairs.

  “See you for the big launch next week,” called Nigel after them.

  “See you then,” replied Zani automatically.

  “Tell me who bought it?” she asked as Corbin reversed out of the carpark. A lone tear traced its way down her cheek. Seeing it, he pulled back into the parking space and turned off the engine. Fishing in his pocket, he produced an immaculate white handkerchief, just as she began to sob. He twisted in his seat, trying to give her a little comfort, and wished for a moment she hadn’t chosen right there to fall apart.

  “The chef, the famous one from the television.”

  “I’m glad.” Zani nodded through her tears and managed a watery smile. “He had kids.”

  “Oui, he was there with his wife and the oldest two; they’re nine and eleven. Girls. They’re in orbit over the stables. His wife loves the house. She’s pregnant with their fifth. They’ve even said they’re going to rehire all the staff.”

  “Five children!” Zani was distracted from crying for a moment.

  “I thought we’d have at least eight,” said Corbin confidently. Glad to see a break in the tears, he tried to make her laugh.

  “Shut up.” She sniffed. “I’m upset. Did you tell him about the Greater Crested Newts in the pond, and the Sika Deer that drink from the fountain on the front lawn at night?” she asked anxiously, bottom lip trembling at the thought of the rare New Forest creatures that lived in the wood around Everwood.

  “The reason they bought the place was because they adore Greater Crested Newts,” said Corbin seriously. “So much better that they bought it rather than that terrible man with the flat cap.”

  “The developer who wanted to turn it into a health resort?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. He wasn’t happy. Went almost a million over the very highest he could pay.”

  “It must have been so exciting.”

  Corbin sobered. “No, it was awful. I couldn’t bear the thought of how sad you’d be.” Then he cursed himself when Zani began to cry again.

  He opened the car door. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “But it’s raining.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “This is better,” said Zani five minutes later, as they walked in the cold gentle rain, the pebbles on the beach clattering beneath their feet. They had the place to themselves, and apart from the hiss of the rain on the water it was quiet. The tide was slowly going out. Tiny waves lapped gently at the shore and the sea was as still as a lake.

  They stepped together over low seaweed-covered breakwaters.

  “I’m proud of you,” said Corbin, sliding a glance at her to make sure she realised how sincere he was. She had to be the worst ever for taking compliments. Most of the time when he tried to tell her something nice, it ended in a flaming row. Zani would be convinced he was being sarcastic, or having a dig at her.

  There’d been occasions when he didn’t think they’d make it. She’d been so badly used, her life was in such a mess, and he had to be so gentle. But it’d only been now and then when she’d been so low, and he’d been dealing with the disaster-zone that was Sunberri.

  He just had to look at her to remember why he loved her. Just had to wake up next to her each morning. Just had to see her smile, and for a moment see the ever-present wariness disappear from her eyes.

  He was going to marry her, and he’d spend the rest of her life supporting her, and encouraging her until she truly believed it when he told her she was fabulous.

  “Proud of me? Really?”

  He could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

  “You’ve handled this, all of this, with such poise. I know how hard it’s been for you. Anyone else would have given up, but not you. And in the midst of it all you’ve managed to oversee the fit-out of the Baltic 147, and it’s going to be launched on time.”

  She looked up at him, blinking in the light rain. She was wet through, her short hair plastered against her skull, giving her a delicate, gamine look.

  “I sometimes wonder if I’m stupid, being so proud. Perhaps I should have married you and let you fix it all for me,” she said.

  “No, cherie. You’ve done the right thing for yourself. There’s no point wondering what you should’ve done. You never would’ve chosen any path but this.”

  She smiled suddenly. That huge happy grin that he’d fallen in love with the moment he saw it.

  “You’re right.” She reached up and kissed him quickly, then turned and jumped over a breakwater. Sliding him a quick glance she took off up the beach, back toward the sailing club.

  “Last one to the car eats snails!” she yelled over her shoulder.

  Corbin caught up to her as she reached the carpark, and kissed her breathlessly.

  “I let you win.”

  “You did not.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I don’t believe you.

  “You couldn’t have beaten me.”

  “Why not?”

  “You run like a girl.”

  “I do not.”

  “Ouch!”

  Zani half awoke. Opening one eye, she wearily observed it was morning, then snuggled back to drift for a while. Only she couldn’t. There was something on the bed.

  “Basket, Fang, you know you’re not allowed on the bed,” she said without moving. The something didn’t move and she extended a leg, meaning to encourage Fang with a nudge.

  “Fang! Basket!”

  Then as her questing toe came in contact with what felt very much like a leg she yelped, and hurriedly sat up. Corbin grinned at her.

  “Morning, cherie,” he said.

  “Morning, oh, sorry, I forgot you… Um…” Feeling awkward, she picked at the bedspread. “I’m still not used to having someone in bed with me.”

  “Well at least this morning you didn’t actually kick me. We’ve been sleeping in the same bed for some time. Do you think you’ll get used to it soon?” he asked with a resigned smile and a raised eyebrow.

  “I should get up.” She flung back the covers. Corbin glanced at the thick flannelette nightgown she wore and the resigned smile broadened into a grin.

  “Not yet. We’ve got a while.” He ran a hand over her flannelette covered knee.

  “I can’t possibly stay in bed today.” She ignored Corbin and slid out of bed. The room was dim and she pulled open the curtain
s to look out onto Corbin’s beautiful garden and Rembrandt and Rubens, who grazed in the field beyond.

  “Okay, okay, but the auction isn’t until noon. I don’t see why we need to be up at—” He peered at the clock, “—six a.m.” He reluctantly followed her out of bed. Clad only in a pair of black underpants, she could see the goose bumps from where she stood.

  “Don’t get up. Get back in bed, you’ll freeze.”

  “Only if you join me. Let me take your mind off it all for a while.”

  For a moment, Zani was sorely tempted. Finding solace in Corbin’s arms was something she seemed to do a lot. But the thought of the day ahead, and the hurdles that still had to be cleared, made her shake her head in a regretful no.

  “I’ve been up half the night worrying. What if the Gainsborough doesn’t get what we expect? I wish this was all over. I need a cup of tea.” She could feel the tension creeping across her shoulders.

  “Zani, the art world has been in a lather since you announced you had it. Everyone thought it was lost. It’s going to fetch millions. Stop worrying,” said Corbin poking around for his dressing gown.

  “I wish it were that easy. It’s not just the money. Dad’s so stressed about it and there’s still no sign of Paul.” She pulled on a moth-eaten jumper and a pair of ratty old slippers, then trailed down the stairs behind him.

  He glanced back as he walked into the warm kitchen, taking in her outfit. “You know I love you most in the mornings.”

  Her face lit up as she smiled at him. “Make the tea, you old flatterer.”

  “Paul will turn up when he’s ready. Karl tracked him as far as South America and there he disappeared. He doesn’t want to be found. Just when you least expect it, he’ll reappear.” He put the kettle on.

  Zani opened the fridge. One of the best things about living with Corbin was that, no matter how busy, there was always food in the house. She’d only ever known men who thought looking after themselves was some sort of enormous chore. But Corbin took care of himself automatically. He loved to cook and refused to eat anything out of a packet. He was, as Zani’s best friend Sarah often mentioned in her frequent phone calls, perfectly, wonderfully, marvelous.