by Carmen Reid
Harry just smiled and shook his head as if to tell her that there was absolutely not one hair out of place on her lovely head and why should she need a hairdresser now?
'We go out for dinner later?' Svetlana asked, 'then you come back and stay night with me.' The request was accompanied by a hand which slid between Harry's legs and gave a playful squeeze.
Once she'd seen Harry to the front door, Svetlana shut it firmly behind him, then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she braced herself and began to walk downstairs to the basement kitchen.
In the large, well-equipped room she saw Elena at the table with a cup of coffee in front of her, while Maria stood at the cooker stirring at food she was preparing for the children.
The women were in silence, although Svetlana could not believe that Elena didn't speak English. Everyone in Eastern Europe spoke some English. It was not possible to even think of travelling abroad without at least a basic knowledge.
'Do you speak English?' Svetlana asked her in English.
'Yes,' came the reply; then, in Ukrainian, 'but I prefer to speak to you in private.'
'OK,' Svetlana agreed, also in her native tongue, 'follow me, we'll go to my office.'
This small room was also down on the basement level. Svetlana had no real use for an office. She had dabbled with thoughts of a business venture, but had never followed any idea through. Still, in this neat room she had a desk, a computer, space to answer letters and a table with two chairs. She directed Elena to sit down.
As soon as Elena had pulled up a chair, Svetlana's mind raced with all the questions she wanted to ask this girl: How had she found her? How had she got her address? Where had she been living for the past four years? What did she want?
And perhaps most importantly: How much money would it take to make her go away?
But before Svetlana could say a word, Elena looked up and began her story.
'I live in Kiev now, I'm studying engineering at the university,' she said, still in Ukrainian. Maria was well out of earshot, but maybe she just wanted to tell her story fluently.
'How do you have money to study?' Svetlana asked immediately.
'I'm clever,' Elena replied, 'I got a scholarship. I have a little job too. I work at the records office and help people find out more about their families.'
She let this piece of information settle on Svetlana.
This is how she had found the mother who thought she had carefully covered her tracks, the mother who thought she would never hear from this girl unless she chose to initiate contact.
'I found all my original documents and I managed to make contact with other relatives who weren't so scared to tell me who my parents are, and why they don't want to have anything to do with me.'
Elena paused and turned her clear grey eyes directly towards her mother's clear grey eyes.
'The famous ex-Mrs Igor Wisneski began to fascinate important men from an early age, huh?' Elena asked.
'I paid for you to be well looked after until you were eighteen,' Svetlana said, in a low voice: 'your father paid nothing and it was hard to get the money to your carers without anyone else finding out.'
Elena just laughed at this. 'Fifty pounds a month! You think that's a lot of money? You probably spend that on . . . on . . . your fingernails!' she exclaimed.
Now that was frightening. Svetlana had indeed always accounted the fifty pounds per month as 'manicure services' and very privately looked after her nails herself. It would be a lie to say that she hadn't thought about this girl. Whenever she'd wired the money, Svetlana had wondered how the girl was doing. Whenever she met girls of the same age, she'd also wondered. Elena's birthday was painfully engraved on Svetlana's heart and every year when the date came round, she had privately acknowledged that her unknown child had become another year older.
Svetlana looked closely and couldn't deny that there was something of a thrill in finally meeting this person. Scanning Elena's face, Svetlana could read the story of her past mistake in the features there.
'Why have you come to London?' she asked. 'What do you want from me? Is this just about money?'
'Well you certainly have plenty, don't you?' Elena glanced disdainfully around the room.
'I've worked hard for it,' Svetlana defended herself.
Elena just laughed before exclaiming, 'Organizing weddings to rich men?'
Svetlana replied with a tight smile. Elena obviously had no idea what was involved in being married to a rich man. 'Believe me, I worked very, very hard for all this.'
'Ha!' was the disgusted comment, 'and how much plastic surgery have you had to look like this at the age of forty-five?'
'Ah!' Svetlana gasped as sharply as if she'd been plunged into icy water, and almost automatically began her usual defence: 'I'm only . . .' But then she remembered that there was no point lying to this girl. Elena knew. Elena had seen her own birth certificate, Elena had probably seen Svetlana's.
She had to go. She had to be got out of this house. Elena and all the best-kept secrets of Svetlana's past had to be dealt with as soon as possible.
'What do you want from me!?' Svetlana cried. 'I'll get my chequebook and we can come to an arrangement,' but she said these words with a heavy heart: she knew this was blackmail, and it would only get worse.
'Keep the money you earned in the bedroom,' was Elena's contemptuous reply, 'I only wanted to get to know you. Don't I deserve to get to know my own mother?'
There was silence in the room. Svetlana sat very still and looked into eyes as serious, as intelligent and as defiant as her own.
Elena wanted to get to know her. Of course, this was so much, much better than money. Elena wanted someone to welcome her with open arms, someone to take her in, someone to help her make all the right connections, someone to take her into their hearts, where she would be for ever, right in the bosom of her new-found family.
If Svetlana said no, where would Elena go?
Maybe to the press . . . maybe to Harry? Or to Igor?!
If Elena knew so much about her, she must already know about Svetlana's husbands, past and future.
Svetlana would have to agree . . . but carefully, in stages, keeping Elena at a distance from herself and from everyone else until she had time to break the news, tell the story in her own way.
Elena would have to be kept safely away until she was Mrs Roscoff. There was no doubt about that.
'I need somewhere to stay,' Elena said.
She looked up at Svetlana, and for a moment the older woman thought she saw a glimpse of vulnerability. Maybe Elena wasn't nearly as scary and ballsy as she was trying to make out.
'You can't stay here,' Svetlana informed her. She had her sons, Harry and all of Igor's terms and conditions to think of.
'You must know somewhere I can stay,' Elena insisted. 'I have no money to pay for somewhere myself. I've spent all my money travelling to find you!'
Svetlana may have been wealthy, but she didn't want to start bankrolling a daughter she barely knew in a hotel or a nice flat. She needed temporary accommodation, she needed a friend who would do her this favour.
The problem was, women like Svetlana didn't really have friends. There was no-one in her circle of glamorous wives and divorcees that Svetlana could really count on. A nugget of information like this – Svetlana Wisneski's secret love child – would whip round the circle like an angry wasp and before she knew it, it would have buzzed into the ears of her future husband and the past husband who currently feathered her nest so well.
For a moment, Svetlana's mind raced but could come up with no answer, no possible solution.
Then she thought all of a sudden about the one woman who already knew some of her secrets.
'I make a call,' she told Elena and with that she stepped out of the office and went in search of her mobile.
As soon as it was in her hand, she pressed speed dial.
'Yes?!' came an exasperated voice from the other end of the line.
'Annah,' Svet
lana began, 'something terrible has happened.'
Chapter Twenty-four
Lana's weekend wear:
Grey and white print tunic (Fat Face)
Jeans (Miss Selfridge)
Brown suede boots (Greta's)
Total est. cost: £80
'Wow!'
'What's so urgent then?' Annie demanded once her phone call with Svetlana had ended and she had Ed on the other end of the line.
'Where are you?' Ed asked.
'In the car . . .'
'On hands-free?' Ed interrupted.
'Yes, on hands-free, d'you think I want to mow down a cyclist? I've been to Oxfam in Highgate, Oxfam Style in Camden and now I'm heading to their branch in Notting Hill. So far I've only been able to rescue one skirt, Ed! And they charged me forty-five pounds for it!' she told him, sounding just as heated as she felt.
'OK, try and calm down,' he soothed, 'Owen and I are walking up to the school right now. We've got hold of the janitor, he's says there are still lots of bags up here and he's going to let us in to take a look.'
'Right.'
Annie let out an exasperated sigh. She didn't hold out much hope. She was going to check out the other branch of Oxfam Style, then she would have to return home, to meet their guest. Ah yes . . . the guest. That was something she would have to mention to Ed.
For a moment, she was almost grateful for the lost clothes. Because of that trauma, Ed was not going to be able to feel as if he could say no to the guest.
'Someone's going to come and stay with us for a week or two,' Annie began.
'Really?' was Ed's surprised reply, 'who?'
'Well, this is really very top secret. I can tell you, but you can't tell anyone else and you can't tell the children.'
'What?' Ed sounded baffled. 'Who? In fact, should you tell me the gritty details if this is such a big secret? I might tell someone by mistake.'
'True. It's something to do with Svetlana . . .'
'Oh good grief,' was Ed's reaction, 'it's always something to do with Svetlana.'
'A relative of hers has to come and stay for a bit.'
'Why?' Ed demanded. 'She's richer than anyone we know, why can't she put them up in a hotel?'
'This is a top secret relative,' Annie said darkly.
'It's the Russian mafia, isn't it? We're going to have some drug lord hiding out in our house. I think you should just say no, Annie. Just nip this in the bud now before we have to change our names and go on the run.'
'Ed!' Annie told him off with a giggle, 'it's nothing like that. Nothing at all.'
When the conversation was over, Annie's mind turned back to Svetlana.
'What do you mean, your daughter?!' was the question she must have asked Svetlana four or five times at least.
It just did not compute. A daughter? Svetlana had two boys. She didn't talk about them much, but she was devoted to them. Her greatest fear had been that Igor would take them away from her during the divorce. But a daughter? There had never, ever been mention of a daughter. And Annie had a teenage daughter, not so different in age from Svetlana's surely? So would that not have sparked some sort of hint from Svetlana?
'You had her adopted as a baby?' Annie had asked her friend in astonishment.
'No. She went to distant relatives,' Svetlana explained. 'I was a model, I had money to pay them. I didn't want to give her avay completely. I thought this vay I could come back to her one day. But . . .' Svetlana had hesitated, before guiltily admitting, 'there was never good time.'
Of course Annie would take the girl in, but she was bewildered as to why Svetlana wouldn't take her in. Svetlana was the one with the Mayfair mansion.
'No-one can know about her until I'm married to Harry!' Svetlana had hissed. 'Otherwise Igor say I bring scandal to his name. I'm not supposed to have any secrets, Annah! This part of my contract . . . and Harry asked me before I sign, is there anything, anything Igor should know? Is there anything which he could use to spoil this deal? And I not tell him about Elena!'
'Harry loves you,' Annie had assured her, 'he knows you've been married three times, he knows you've been left penniless twice, he knows your sons will inherit one of the world's biggest gas fields, he knows you were Miss Ukraine . . . he knows everything that you've told him so far and he still loves you. So, tell him about your daughter!' Annie urged. 'He'll still love you and he'll help you.'
'No. I think, this . . . this too much,' Svetlana had insisted. 'She stay with you until I ready to tell him.'
Annie had only just arrived back home and broken the news of a house guest to Lana when they heard the rumble of a black cab's diesel engine in the street.
'That must be her!' Annie jumped up. 'C'mon, let's go and welcome her in.'
'Where's she going to sleep?' Lana wondered as they headed for the front door.
'Down in one of the basement rooms, maybe,' Annie suggested. 'It's about time we cleared them out.'
But she knew that was going to be a big job, not exactly the work of an afternoon. This was the problem with living in a big house, the spaces seemed to fill up without anyone even trying to fill them.
Annie opened the front door and set her most welcoming smile in place.
Then with their jaws dropping lower and lower, she and Lana watched Elena emerge from the taxi, stalk over to the driver's window, wiggle a wallet from the back pocket of her skinny jeans to pay him and then sashay towards the garden gate with her bags in tow, like two obedient puppies.
She's at least twenty! was the first thought to cross Annie's mind, followed by: she's absolutely gorgeous, but she looks like trouble.
Lana's polite smile had widened into something much more genuinely excited.
Ohmigod! Here she is! Lana was telling herself, My. New. Best. Friend!
Elena paused at the garden gate to look up at Annie and Lana perched on the front door steps.
'Hello, I am Elena,' she said cheerily in an accent just like her mother's. 'Thank you for inviting me to stay.'
'Come in!' Annie said, heading down the steps to help her with her bags, 'it's lovely to meet you. It's a surprise, but it's a very nice surprise. You're much more grown up than I expected.'
'Yes, I'm twenty-two,' Elena confirmed, 'my mother not tell you that because she alvays lying about her age, no?'
'How old is she?'
It was sneaky, but Annie felt she had to ask. This girl must know and it might be Annie's one and only chance to find out. In another day or so, Svetlana might have bribed Elena never to tell.
'Forty-five,' Elena confirmed.
Annie gave a little gasp. This wasn't much older than she'd expected, but boy, Svetlana must be on first name terms with a team of cosmetologists.
'She have me vhen she twenty-three.'
'She's never told me about you,' Annie said, her voice still full of surprise.
'Today first day I meet her,' Elena said. She was at the front door now, and held out her hand for Lana to shake.
'Hi there,' Lana managed shyly before adding in a burst, 'Elena can share my room . . . really it's not a problem. There's plenty of space. She doesn't have to go down to the basement. It's cold down there and kind of dark.