Playing the Dutiful WifeExpecting His Love-Child

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘You just had your first sale, honey.’

  ‘Levander?’ It was the only name on her mind, the only thing in her head. But the bubble of hope burst when Anton laughed and shook his head.

  ‘I wish! No—some rather staid lady. You just missed her—the ink’s barely dry on her cheque. Is there any way you can change your flight, Millie? Things could be turning around for you…’

  She actually had a legitimate excuse to ring home with now—a real reason to stay on just a little bit longer. But Millie couldn’t do it. She wanted home, wanted her mum—and, Millie realised with shame, needed to see a doctor. She could still see Levander shaking his head when she’d offered him not just her phone number but the chance to get to know her a little better—a chance to somehow build on the one night they had shared. A few days as his scheduled plaything was the last thing she either wanted or needed to be.

  ‘I really need to get back.’

  ‘Shame.’ Anton smiled. ‘You should be sipping champagne with your gorgeous date from last night, not fleeing the country, you know. How on earth did you land him, Millie? Have you any idea how many women would kill for a chance to date him?’

  ‘Does he date lots…?’ Mille gulped. ‘I mean, I gather he’s no angel, but…’

  ‘He’s incorrigible.’ Anton giggled. ‘He’d only just started working at his father’s company when he dated some actress—not that anyone knew who he was then. She was over here from the States to promote a film, and the next thing she was crying her eyes out on live television mid-interview because she’d just been dumped by Levander Kolovsky. Well, from that moment on the press have been in love with him, and his little black book reads like a Who’s Who. We all live in hope that soon enough he’ll work his way through the women and cross to the other side. We call him Georgie!’

  ‘Georgie?’

  ‘He kisses the girls, then makes them cry. It’s probably best that you are leaving, honey. He’d soon mess up that pretty little head of yours.’

  * * *

  He already had.

  As she climbed back into the taxi to head towards the airport Millie tried to fathom how in so little time so much could have changed. Selling her paintings had been her sole focus—everything had been geared towards making that first sale—only right now it barely seemed to matter. Everything that she had once deemed vital had gone tumbling to the bottom of her priorities. She barely knew him—and yet she felt different. As if in the couple of hours or so that she’d slept in his arms every molecule, every cell of her being had been taken out and then put back, only in a slightly different order.

  ‘Could you go down Collins Street?’

  The taxi driver just nodded. He probably didn’t care if it took the whole day to get to the airport as long as the meter was running. But it was the most dangerous diversion of her life. As they approached the hotel, Millie asked him to slow down. She scanned the foyer for a glimpse, then stared up and up at the vast building, craning her neck. To see what, she didn’t know—the thick black hotel windows gave no indication of what was going on inside. Truth be known, she had no idea which one was his. Yet she was sure, more sure than she’d ever been in her life, that Levander was staring down at her—that Levander was staring out through the window at her.

  Watching her leave and maybe—Millie gulped—just maybe, waiting to see if she decided to return.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘HOW COULD YOU let this happen, Levander?’ Nina Kolovsky’s voice was pure venom as she flounced uninvited into his office at 7:00 a.m. and slammed down a newspaper in front of him. ‘All your father has done for you over the years—and here he is practically on his deathbed and you disgrace him this way.’

  Usually it was Levander’s favourite time of the day—he was always the first into work and more often than not the last to leave, and the couple of hours before everyone else invaded gave him a chance to focus without interruption. The sight of Nina at this hour, made-up to the hilt despite the supposed drama, was for Levander most unwelcome. Anyway, his father had been on his deathbed for four months now—and looking remarkably well on it. So well, in fact, that Levander didn’t even bother to pick up the newspaper his stepmother was jabbing a well-manicured nail at. Couldn’t be bothered to read about his supposed latest exploits, or read that the company shares had slid a quarter of one percent—just couldn’t be bothered, full stop.

  ‘Out, Nina,’ he drawled, his disinterest only inflaming her further. ‘And I would prefer you arrange it with my secretary when you want to talk to me.’

  ‘This won’t wait!’ Nina screeched. ‘How could you do this to us? There is the reputation of our family to consider, your father’s health. A shock like this could mean the end of him.’

  Reputation.

  It was the word he hated most to hear—a word that had been bandied around since he’d first set foot in Australia.

  “Kolovskys has a reputation to uphold.’

  “You will keep quiet, Levander.’

  ‘You will be grateful for all your father has done for you.’

  Not once.

  Never.

  His father and everything he was disgusted him—that he was a Kolovsky did nothing to make Levander proud.

  ‘Annika pleaded with you to marry a nice girl, have babies—me, I pleaded with you to give your father his last wish, to let him go to his grave having seen the future of our family and the business. Instead you spit in all our faces—get some cyka pregnant—how could you let this happen?’

  ‘You really think I am that stupid?’ Levander sneered. ‘As if I would be so careless, Nina. As if I don’t know how many women would love to trap a man in my position. So, forget this rubbish you read…’ He picked up the paper, ready to toss it in to the bin, ready to tell Nina to get the hell out of his office so that he could get on with his work. But his voice faded mid-sentence as he stared again at the eyes that had enchanted him, remembering the one time in his life he hadn’t thought to be careful.

  Because that night he hadn’t thought—he’d felt.

  ‘So you do know her, then?’ Nina lit a cigarette and stood taking in his reaction, her face as hard as stone behind the make-up. ‘You know this cheap, conniving tart—’

  ‘Enough,’ Levander roared, halting her filthy mouth momentarily. But the words hung in the air as he skim-read the article. Bile churned in his stomach as he read that not only was Millie pregnant, but that she’d deliberately withheld the information from him. Had chosen not to tell him—had even, Levander read, a great wave of nausea rolling over him as he did so, considered a termination.

  ‘She would not do this.’ It was a knee-jerk reaction, an absolute state of denial, because even though the paper screamed the words, the Millie he had met, his Millie, would never—could never say such things. ‘She would not say these things…’ Levander insisted, like a drowning man reaching for a safety rope—a man who would do anything to reach safe shores. He actually turned to Nina, sought comfort from the unlikeliest of sources, where he knew he would never receive the slightest of warmth. ‘She would not do that.’

  ‘Think with your head where this woman is concerned, Levander—because she has.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘According to the paper your lady-friend’s plane is due to land here in Australia in less than an hour.’ Nina’s grating voice jangled his every nerve. ‘How convenient that this woman no one has ever heard of is suddenly in the news. She’s made very sure there is no chance now of you paying her off quietly to get rid of her.’

  ‘She’s not like that.’

  ‘Oh—and you know so much about her? Tell me, Levander—how did you meet this lovely girl?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘It is everyone’s business now,’ Nina shouted. ‘Read the rest, Levander. Read on and see that it says you met one night when you were out with your sister—she was waiting on your table. Given that you choose not to socialise often with your fa
mily—it narrows it down.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You spoke in Russian or English?’

  ‘What?’ Levander frowned.

  ‘That night—what language?’

  ‘In English.’ Levander frowned. ‘Annika’s Russian is not so good…’

  ‘You fool…’ Nina spat. ‘Your little waitress tart heard every word—she knew you were upset, possibly that you were looking for a bride.’

  ‘I wasn’t upset,’ Levander refuted. ‘And if she had overheard she would have heard me tell Annika I most certainly am not looking for a bride.

  ‘It is your father who is dying, Levander—even an insensitive brute like you would have felt something that night—and she knew it. That suka saw her chance and took it.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ Levander responded angrily. But Nina wasn’t going to be silenced again.

  ‘Tell me you were careful,’ Nina demanded. ‘Tell me you were careful that night and I will have PR straight on to it—Katina will have a retraction in tomorrow’s paper and—’

  ‘I’ll deal with this,’ Levander gritted.

  ‘Tell me you were careful.’ When Levander didn’t answer, when he clearly couldn’t tell her what she needed to hear, Nina sneered her disgust. ‘You bloody fool!’

  Levander closed his eyes, drew in his breath hard and held it, blocking out Nina’s tirade and focusing only on Millie.

  Pregnant.

  Despite feeling as if a fist had been rammed into his stomach—despite his complete lack of preparation for the news—somehow it wasn’t a complete surprise. Because a night like they’d shared couldn’t ever just end, and for Levander it hadn’t. Like trying to recall a dream, each morning he awoke to the fractured memory, chasing her image as it dispersed, trying to identify just what it was that had taken place that night, somehow assured that the energy they’d created couldn’t just dissipate… No, it wasn’t a complete surprise, Levander concluded.

  That night had been too vast to amount to nothing.

  ‘Where the hell’s Katina?’ As Nina grabbed for the phone, Levander caught her wrist.

  ‘You already called her? You rang her before you spoke with me?’

  ‘Of course.’ Nina eyed him as if he were mad to think it an issue. ‘She is our head of public relations…’

  ‘Yours, perhaps, but she’s not mine.’ Picking up his briefcase, Levander marched to the door.

  ‘Walk out, then,’ Nina called. ‘Walk out early on your contract while you’re at it—walk out on your family when they need you most, when like it or not you need them too…’

  ‘Need you?’ Levander gave a mirthless laugh, didn’t even look over his shoulder.

  ‘How much time do you want to spend in your new job looking for a lawyer?’

  ‘Take me to court,’ Levander jeered. ‘You think I’ve put up with you because I’m worried you’ll sue, or because I don’t think I can do better? I’ve put up with this because sadly you’re family—because without me the House of Kolovsky would have been a joke by now.’

  He was done.

  Done with the lot of them. He couldn’t even be bothered arguing the point with Nina—because he didn’t care, hadn’t for the longest time, and now it was time they got it. His only thought now was to get to Millie, to find out what the hell was going on.

  ‘Why would we take you to court?’ Nina’s question went unanswered—striding across the office, Levander couldn’t care less what she had to say. ‘It’s that little cyka who’ll be taking you.’ Keep walking, he told himself, don’t even listen. ‘To the family court, Levander…’ He hesitated for less than a second, but that was all that was required for Nina to swoop. ‘There it all comes out—there we sit in the gallery and watch others deal with our business. Ivan Kolovsky is dying, and his firstborn son…’

  Levander ran for an hour every morning—pounded the streets till it hurt and barely broke a sweat. But he was breaking one now… a sickly, cold sweat that came in seconds; he could literally feel the blood leach from his skin, feel the trip of his heart as it struggled to adjust to impending crisis. Rapid, shallow breaths dizzied rather than nourished, the blood rushing through his ears blocking her hateful words…his mind clamouring to find his own truth.

  ‘And after that…’ Nina’s voice seemed to be coming from a great distance, pungent words that had the bile churning in his stomach. ‘After everything has been said, when she’s pulled our family and business apart and she’s sitting laughing in England—then, Levander, then you will have to pay her.’

  ‘I don’t need Katina to deal with this….’ He dragged the words out through pale lips.

  ‘You might.’

  ‘If I need her, I’ll ask.’ The world was coming back into focus now, but everything looked different—everything was different. He was stuck here, stuck here whether he wanted to be or not. Nina’s bloated, over made-up face repulsed him so much he was sorely tempted to slap it, but he wouldn’t give her a single second of martyrdom. Finding his voice, Levander said, more firmly, ‘I’ll sort it.’

  ‘Sort it, then, Levander…’ Nina jabbed a long red nail in his chest. ‘And I tell you now, so you can tell that suka when you see her, whatever shame she brings to the Kolovsky table I serve her and her family double in return!’

  ‘Levander…’ Pale and distraught, Annika ran into the office, staring wide-eyed at him when she realised he clearly already knew. ‘I heard it on the radio. You have to do something; the phones are ringing off the hook out there—the press are going crazy… Her plane’s due to land soon—’

  ‘When?’ Levander cut in. ‘When does her plane get in?’

  ‘Levander,’ Nina roared to his parting back. ‘First we sort out properly what we do—’

  ‘Get this.’ He was back, his face just inches from Nina’s, his face black as thunder as he eyeballed the woman he hated most in the world. ‘I stay now because I have no choice. But you understand this—you are the last person I take advice from, the last person to tell me how I will raise my child…’

  ‘Levander, stop it,’ Annika sobbed. ‘What are you saying? What are you doing? You know how sorry Papa is for what happened when you were younger, but that is done now—it cannot be changed.’

  ‘Listen to your sister, Levander. We are all sorry for the past—’ Nina started.

  But this morning he could take it no more. Pandora’s lid was lifting open and his rage bubbled to the surface. Because today—today Levander didn’t want to hear those lies from Nina. Lies she repeated so often that sometimes Levander actually thought she must somehow believe them.

  ‘You know it kills your father to think of what happened to you….’

  ‘Don’t even try, Nina,’ Levander breathed, his voice low and menacing, speaking to her in Russian, watching as the colour seeped out of her face now. ‘Min znatts.’

  I know the truth.

  Finally—finally he was telling her the one thing she thought he didn’t know, still speaking to her in Russian. Just in case she remained in any doubt, he spelt it out just a little bit more. ‘I remember what you choose to forget.’

  ‘Why are you speaking in Russian?’ Annika’s nervous voice had Nina’s eyes darting.

  ‘Ask your mother,’ Levander said without looking over, pinning Nina with his eyes, daring her to continue this conversation with Annika in the room, taking some small solace at the sheer horror on his stepmother’s face. Now that she was finally silent, Levander had his say.

  ‘Your mouth is filthy, Nina, and if I ever hear you speak of the mother of my child like that again then I will not be responsible for my actions. Oh—and I made a mistake before,’ Levander said nastily, his accent heavy in his anger. ‘It is my father who is the last person I take advice from—you, Nina, come a very poor second to last.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SELLING A PAINTING, Millie mused, lifting up her tray and raising her seat as the cabin crew prepared for the final descent into Melbourne, was rat
her like having chicken pox—without the awful itching, though. One little dot had appeared, followed in rather quick succession by another two, and then little crops of them. A mention in the local newspaper had been followed by an interview with a national, then a couple of interviews on the radio. As her life’s work had started disappearing around her, galleries who once hadn’t even returned her calls had begun ringing to invite her to showcase her work—and, even though it was early days, any teaching plans had been happily deferred. And now here she was, revisiting Melbourne to personally deliver more of her work and to appear at one of Anton’s swanky ‘meet the artist’ nights.

  Though a rather flimsy reason to head halfway around the globe, it had proved enough of an incentive to muster all her courage and do what was becoming more and more unavoidable as each day passed.

  Tell Levander.

  His name popped into her head more times in a day than she dared to count. Working, shopping, eating, even while sleeping, he was a constant companion to her thoughts. Countless times she’d wanted to call him, to write to him, to tell him her news—but how could she?

  God, she hated landing…the lights dimming in the cabin, no movie for distraction, the false hush that seemed to descend as her ears tried to adjust to the change in pressure, nowhere to go except to her thoughts…

  She’d looked him up on the internet.

  The day she’d got home, before she’d checked her emails or waded through her post—almost as soon as politely able—she’d escaped to her computer and with a knot in her stomach she’d typed in his name. Expecting what, she didn’t know. She had reeled as page after page, image after beautiful image, had mocked her a thousand times over. Masochistically almost she had forced herself to read interview after interview…though none directly with him. The occasional quote in the business papers was all she could find actually from Levander. Still, there were plenty of women happy to talk about him, and hardest of all for Millie to bear was that—unlike most women scorned—not a single one of them was vicious. Apparently Levander Kolovsky got a big red tick in every box. Their single pervasive complaint about Levander was merely that it was over.