Dmitri. She’d been startled by the whole encounter, and by his ‘invitation’, if it could be called that. It was only as she was half out the door into the freezing night that she realised she hadn’t even asked his name.
‘Dmitri Orlov,’ he’d said as the question had formed on her lips. Almost by rote, he had rattled off the answers to some of the others. ‘I am thirty-six years old. Originally from Russia. I live in Clapham and I have been here for seventeen years. You will meet me at Waterloo Station. Dress warm and wear comfortable shoes. I will need your entire day. Do you understand?’
No, she hadn’t, and she didn’t. But when he’d given her that enigmatic smile, shook her hand and said, ‘see you tomorrow’, Nicola had been intrigued. He would dole out her penance, that was what he had promised.
Now, as her mind raced with second thoughts, she wondered what she was in for. Why had she gone to the church last night? And why the hell would she let some madcap Russian choir director commandeer her Saturday? If he even turned up.
And as crazy as it seemed – as crazy as it was to be on this train – she hoped he would.
The train sped past Barnes and stopped briefly at Putney. The other passengers looked like they were out for a day of fun and shopping in London. There were families: children, sticky with sweets and crisps, wrapped up like sausages in down coats and woolly hats; elderly couples, mums with prams. It was a totally different crowd to the Monday to Friday commuters. Everyone looked so excited and animated. Nicola felt out of place.
The train stopped at Clapham Junction. She should get off, cross over the platform and go home. She stayed in her seat.
Eventually, the train arrived at London Waterloo. She didn’t have Dmitri’s phone number. He didn’t have hers. Would she even find him?
Nicola got off the train and walked to the barrier. And there, just on the other side, he was waiting for her. He was dressed casually, wearing a brown leather bomber jacket over a green jumper and jeans. His hair had fallen into his eyes and he raked it back, staring up at the boards as she had done that evening when she had first encountered him.
As soon as he spotted her, his face bloomed into a wide grin. Nicola, in spite of all her misgivings, felt relieved – and something else too that she didn’t want to acknowledge. She found herself smiling back.
She pinged her Oyster card on the barrier and went up to him. He was wearing leather gloves, and reached out to take her arm, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. A current of electricity glittered down her spine.
‘You came,’ he said.
‘I can’t quite believe it either.’ In fact, her being here at all seemed almost unreal.
Drawing back, he appraised her openly. Her cheeks grew warm. She was wearing a long Burberry down coat in dark green. Underneath she had on jeans, suede boots and a tight long-sleeved black top that accentuated her small waist and large breasts. And underneath that… well, it was unlikely to matter.
‘And you are ready to do your penance?’ He gave her a dark, teasing look that she wasn’t quite sure how to interpret. If Ollie was making her repent for something, she knew exactly what it would entail; that sort of thing she could understand. But if Dmitri’s goal was simply to sleep with her, then why meet at a train station on a Saturday morning? She was getting ahead of herself, she realised, a little embarrassed. It was a strange feeling not knowing what he had planned, not being entirely in control. But if he made her feel uncomfortable even for a second, she would bolt and be done with it.
‘Yes, I guess so,’ she said.
He opened up the black messenger bag he was carrying and pulled something out: a floppy package wrapped in green tissue paper. He held it out to her. ‘For you,’ he said.
‘Is this part of the penance?’ She took it warily.
‘Well, Nicola,’ he lowered his voice, making her feel that frisson again, ‘you tell me.’
She tore open the paper, then looked up at him, her face alight with horror. ‘You expect me to wear…’
‘I expect you to do as I say,’ he said, with a mixture of authority and amusement. He took the… thing… from her, straightened it out and put it on her head. Amusement won out. He started to laugh. ‘You look… perfect.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ she bristled, wanting to rip the awful red Santa hat off her head. But she was even more taken aback when he reached out and took her hand. He led her into the crowd that was heading towards the doors to the South Bank. ‘Come this way,’ he said.
‘Where are we going?’ she said loudly, over the crowd.
‘You’ll see.’
A thousand emotions swamped her as she followed Dmitri out of the station, heading in the direction of the South Bank. On a normal Saturday, she would spend most of the day working from home, plus going for a run, or shopping, maybe seeing her sister. All of a sudden, in the wake of the supernova of energy that was Dmitri, that life seemed bland and devoid of colour, and a million miles away. For now, she gave in to the novelty of spending the day with a man who made her wear a Santa hat, took her hand in public, and was still pulling her steadily onwards.
They went down the steps and crossed the street, heading towards the Royal Festival Hall, and ultimately, the South Bank. As they drew near, she realised where they were going.
The South Bank Christmas Market.
‘A Christmas market?’ She gave Dmitri a sideways glance. ‘You are trying to torture me, aren’t you?’
Nicola could smell roasting chestnuts and strong coffee as they approached the banks of the River Thames. Along the embankment, a line of German-style huts had been erected, with fake icicle trim and little white fairy lights along the roof-lines.
‘I knew you’d see it that way,’ he said, laughing.
Even this early, shoppers and passers-by were flocked around the little huts, some browsing, others eating or drinking cups of steaming coffee or hot chocolate. It was a cold day, with the forecast calling for partly sunny skies and the chance of snow showers later on. Nicola’s breath came out in white puffs. A fragile sun, still low on the horizon, was just beginning to light up the banks of the river.
They walked past the huts where people were selling crafts, souvenirs, artwork, and an array of different foods. Some of the vendors stood outside, handing out free samples of cheese and cold meats. There was a similar market at Canary Wharf, but she had never stopped to have a look. Now, though, she took it in with all her senses: the different smells and flavours, the bright colours, the people browsing despite the chill in the air.
‘Are you hungry?’ Dmitri said, slowing down as they passed an artisan bread stall giving out samples of pastry laced with cinnamon.
‘Not right now,’ Nicola said. Until she knew what he had planned, she couldn’t even think of food.
‘OK.’ He smiled at her and continued to lead her on. ‘This way.’
They went underneath the rail bridge, where more stalls were set up. The Santa hat drew a few looks, and an off-handed ‘nice hat’ from a roasted nut vendor. Dmitri kept her walking, directly towards the carousel.
‘No!’ she protested as he took her up to it. The carousel had fancy carvings painted gold, and brightly coloured scenes of happy children and animals. The lights were flashing and the music was garish and bright.
Dmitri let go of her hand and went over to have a word with the carousel operator. Nicola couldn’t hear what he said, but they seemed to know each other. She considered doing a runner – back to the station, home, an afternoon of work, a takeaway, a glass of wine…
Dmitri came back grinning, a bit smugly, she thought. She knew then that he’d been half expecting her to bolt too, and the fact that she hadn’t, well…
‘This is ridiculous,’ she said as he led her on to the carousel. He helped her on to a white horse with a golden saddle and hand-painted garlands of ribbons and flowers.
‘Maybe,’ he said, with a wry smile. He mounted the horse next to her: a black charger with a silver m
ane and tail. The crass, joyful music was loud in her ears as the carousel began to move and it was too late to get off.
Maybe it was the motion of the horse, or maybe it was the fact that she’d eaten only a piece of toast in the morning before getting the train, but as they bobbed up and down, faster and faster in vague time to the music, she felt light-headed and dizzy.
The carousel stopped and a few children and adults climbed on to the horses. Then it started up and went round again. Nicola stayed on her horse. It was like a bizarre fugue moment, an out-of-body experience, where she seemed to be staring at the world through the eyes of a completely different person. A child, almost like she might have been once, but too long ago to remember. It made her feel off balance and disoriented.
They went on the carousel three times in all. When Dmitri finally helped her down from the horse, and she found her feet again, she had to make a conscious effort not to smile.
She tossed the white pom-pom tail of the Santa hat over her shoulder like a stroppy teenager. ‘Is this the best you can do?’ she challenged.
He took her hand in his once again. Riding the carousel had warmed her and she’d unzipped her coat and taken off her gloves, but now her hands were cold. Dmitri had taken off his leather gloves but was still wearing a pair of grey wool half-gloves that he must have had on underneath. His fingers were long and slender – pianist’s fingers. She supposed that he needed to keep them warm. He lifted her hand to his mouth and blew warm air on it. The gesture was intimate and a little alarming.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, his eyes bright and mocking. ‘We’re just getting started. Would you like something to eat now?’
He let go of her hand and for second, she felt unsteady on her feet.
‘Maybe a coffee?’ she said. Unfortunately it was much too early to suggest something stronger.
‘Yes, good.’
They went over to a stall selling mulled wine, coffee and hot chocolate. There were also hearts and stars made of iced gingerbread hanging down from the window and an array of muffins, mince pies, croissants and buns.
‘What would you like?’ he asked her, taking out his wallet.
‘Just a coffee, please,’ she said. ‘Milk, no sugar.’
‘No mince pie?’ He cocked his head.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I don’t like them either.’
He laughed. ‘Good to know. What about gingerbread? I love gingerbread.’
‘I… don’t know.’ Her natural urge was to refuse. But the hearts and stars did look good, and she suddenly felt hungry.
He was still looking at her, judging her reaction. ‘OK, let’s see.’
He ordered her coffee and a hot chocolate for himself. He also bought a large gingerbread star decorated with icing swirls and snowflakes. After he paid, and the drinks were ready, he went over to the railing overlooking the river and broke the gingerbread star in half. It smelled so good, and hell, the day was already so bizarre that she decided to indulge.
The gingerbread was warm as she bit into it, the flavours exploding in her mouth in a mixture of sweet and spice. Sweet and spice, just like the man standing next to her. Sunlight sparkled on the water, and on the other side of the river, Big Ben, Westminster Palace and the House of Lords glowed in the golden light. A thousand questions came to mind as she ate the gingerbread and sipped her coffee.
Dmitri turned to look at her, and she found herself drawn in by his dark eyes, still sparked with amusement.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked her.
‘Can I take off the hat?’ she said.
He raised his hand and lifted the hat off her head, putting it on his own. ‘Is that better?’
She laughed at the wicked grin on his face. ‘Much,’ she said. She reached up and adjusted it on his head, pulling it down further over the dark hair that framed his forehead. For a second, he seemed to draw back a little bit at the touch, or maybe she was just imagining it.
He took a sip of hot chocolate, and then bit into the gingerbread star. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘This is good.’ He licked the crumbs off his lips. ‘Though my sister, Tanya, makes it better.’
‘Your sister?’ Nicola said. All of a sudden, something clicked. ‘Was she at the concert at the station?’
‘Yes,’ Dmitri said. ‘She was passing out song sheets.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I believe you two have met.’
Nicola felt instantly embarrassed. The beautiful dark-haired girl who had borne the initial brunt of her anger. The one with the song sheet basket that she had kicked over. She could see the resemblance between them now: the high cheekbones, the shape of the dark, long-lashed eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Maybe you can tell her that.’
‘I will if you like,’ Dmitri said. ‘Though, to be honest, I barely see her these days. She recently got engaged.’ He let out a small sigh. ‘For many years, she and I have shared a flat. Now, she will be moving out. Everything changes.’
‘I guess it does.’ Nicola ate another bite of the biscuit. ‘So, do you have any other family here?’ She was probing, but subtly, she hoped. When she’d thought of him after the ‘incident’, she’d assumed that he was just another smug married man, rubbing his contented holiday bliss in the noses of the people like her who were alone. But meeting him one-on-one at the church had given her an entirely different impression.
‘No,’ he said. ‘My mother died a few years ago. Cancer. It was quite sudden, but maybe it is better that way, I don’t know.’ For a second, he frowned. ‘Her partner, Phil, has, over the years, tried to be like a father to me. I haven’t always been very receptive.’
‘I can understand that,’ she said. ‘My mum has a second family. I’ve never really felt a part of it. Back when she left, I lived with my dad. But he’s dead now.’
He looked at her gently. ‘That sounds difficult,’ he said. ‘Especially this time of year.’
‘Oh, it’s fine, really,’ Nicola said, remembering their conversation in the church. ‘I’ll spend Christmas with them. My sister, Jules, is having everyone over. She’s married with kids. That’s what it’s really about, isn’t it? Like you said – family, friends.’
‘Yes, I suppose.’ He sounded less convinced this time.
‘So, what are you doing for Christmas?’ she asked. ‘Since you love it so much.’ It was probably obvious now that she was fishing for information. But she had to know. If he was married or with someone, like she’d first imagined – if this were all just some kind of a game – then it needed to end right now. Nicola had never set out to be ‘the other woman’. Things with Ollie had evolved that way, but she was finished with all that now.
‘I will mostly be working,’ he said. ‘As you have seen, the choir is very popular this time of year. We have many rehearsals and concerts.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘As for the rest, I will spend it with my sister, and also our friends. You are right, I do love Christmas.’ He tugged playfully on the pom-pom of the Santa hat.
He looked so goofy that she did laugh. At moments he seemed like an overgrown child. But he was easy to be with – charming, funny. So far.
‘I liked it when I was a kid,’ she said. ‘I have good memories of… before. Baking, going to church – even singing Christmas carols.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I bet you liked it back then too.’
‘Ah, but there you’d be wrong.’ The teasing look was back. ‘In the Soviet Union, we were not officially allowed to celebrate Christmas. Not until 1991, when I was nine.’
‘Really?’ She frowned. ‘I guess that makes sense. I hadn’t really thought about it.’
‘We did have a big celebration at New Year’s,’ he said. ‘On New Year’s Eve, we would wait for a visit from “Old Man Frost” – Ded Moroz – who was like the Russian Father Christmas. He came in a troika – that’s a kind of sleigh – with Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden. They would leave presents and sweets.’ His eyes were shiny with the memories. ‘And when finally, we cou
ld celebrate Christmas, it was on January 7th under the Orthodox Calendar. I think that nowadays in Russia, some people celebrate two Christmases: in December and January, with New Year’s in between, and Epiphany afterwards.’ He turned to her and grinned. ‘You’d hate it.’
‘Yes, probably.’ She gave him a pained look.
‘But for people like my mother, it was a joy to be able to celebrate Christmas. On Christmas Eve, she and my sister would spend all day cooking. We would go to the church, and there would be carolling. The old women would tell fortunes. And always, there was snow. It was quite magical.’
‘It sounds like it,’ Nicola said. ‘I guess I’ve always just taken it for granted. My mistake. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK.’ He glanced at her kindly. ‘I barely even remember that time – when we could not do this and not do that. When we were not, as you would say, free.’
‘So why did your family leave Russia?’
Though he was standing a few feet away from her, leaning against the railing, she was aware of his sharp intake of breath.
‘Sorry,’ she said, quickly. ‘It’s none of my business.’
‘No, of course, it’s an obvious question,’ he said, not quite meeting her eyes. ‘I suppose the answer is that my mother, and many others like her, saw the west as the promised land. My father did not agree. He was, as you say, very “old school”. When the Soviet Union broke up, he found all the changes very difficult. He died when I was eighteen. After that, we came here.’
‘God. I’m—’ She broke off. She hated that word ‘sorry’. And yet what else was there to say?
‘Yes,’ he said, as if he understood. He finished his hot chocolate and crumpled up the wrapper, putting it inside the cup. ‘Shall we go on? It’s a bit of a walk.’
‘Yes,’ Nicola said, feeling unexpectedly glad that there was a ‘next thing’. ‘Lead on, Lucifer.’
He gave her a fitting look in return. The shadow seemed to have passed.
They threw their cups in a bin and walked up the stairs to the Golden Jubilee footbridge that went across the river to the Victoria Embankment. On their way across, they passed several buskers: a saxophone player, a wheelchair-bound accordion player and a spray-painted silver mime doing a mechanical dance routine for a group of children. Dmitri had a coin for all of the performers and also stopped briefly and spoke to two homeless beggars bundled up in sleeping bags and cardboard on the bridge. Nicola stayed out of earshot, but she felt herself getting a little annoyed. Yes, it was a kind thing to do, but was he trying to prove something?
Moonlight on the Thames Page 6