by Georgia Rose
Rodwell looked seriously at me as though about to impart bad news, then watched me closely as he delivered the punchline.
“Volkov has told us he is your father.”
Chapter 7
I didn’t sleep a wink I was so unsettled, the events of the evening whirling in my mind. Trent and I had sat up talking for a couple of hours when we got back, by which time he’d gone grey with exhaustion, and was now asleep next to me having been seriously deprived over the last couple of days.
Baby wriggled and squirmed in my stomach as if depicting the turmoil in my mind. When Rodwell had broken the news it was as if the air had been sucked from the room and I’d sat there, stunned. Completely stunned. Silence had fallen around me as all watched for my reaction, which when it came had been lame.
“How can he be? My parents are dead.” It was stating the obvious, but I had no idea how I should have reacted to this news.
Rodwell had answered, “I know that’s what you’ve grown up thinking, Grayson, but he has given us information on you that I have been able to verify. Shocking though it may be, I believe him.” I’d scoffed at that point, not wanting to accept it, and Rodwell had patiently continued, “Information, I might add, that we’ve been able to substantiate through our investigations and our questioning of you, Trent and Cavendish. I needed to see how that questioning went, which is why we have given you a hard time this evening, and I have to say it has strengthened his position. Honestly, Grayson, I believe him,” he added, for the second time and unnecessarily in my opinion. It was as if Rodwell was on Volkov’s side and was trying to vouch for him.
“But how…” I’d wanted to ask how my father could be alive; how he could be an assassin; how he could have been given the contract to kill me and Trent and Cavendish. I’d wanted to ask so much, but didn’t know where to start, or what they’d actually be able to answer, so I’d plumped for, “So why haven’t I been with him? Why did I grow up with foster parents?” Then I’d remembered the other revelation of the evening. “Who weren’t actually foster parents at all, it turns out.”
“He told us he organised for you to be unofficially fostered. It was one of the pieces of information we could check out on you,” Rodwell confirmed.
“But how do you go about doing that? And why? Why not just hand me over to social services?”
Rodwell had shaken his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Grayson, I don’t have much more I can help you with.” He’d paused, then landed me with another verbal right hook. “Though he would like to meet you. Perhaps you could ask him then.”
I’d sat up straighter, bristling.
“Would he? He hasn’t wanted to know me up to now, but suddenly he wants to meet me?” My voice had risen a little and Trent had started on the soothing motion with his hand on my back again. I’d given it a few moments’ thought then. There was so much I needed to know and it would be better going straight to the source for the information, no doubt about that.
“Make the arrangements,” I’d told them. I’d sounded strong, but by that point I was anything but. My head reeled from the overload of information it had received over the course of the evening.
Bond had been remarkably quiet during the latter part of the discussions, and his attitude had softened towards me now it appeared I clearly had no idea of my connection to Volkov and apparently wasn’t a spy in their midst. Sounding more sympathetic he’d said, “We’ll get a DNA test done at the same time if you’re agreeable. It would be a sensible thing to do.” I’d mumbled my agreement to this and watched them get up to leave. They’d said their goodbyes to Cavendish, but ignored Trent, who hadn’t seemed to mind, although I had. A tiny flare of anger hissed among the confusion that reigned in my brain, then they’d left the room.
Cavendish had told me to go home, get some rest and not to worry. Not to worry! Trent had then guided me home and we’d exhausted ourselves – or rather, I’d exhausted him by making him go over his last few days, trying to glean any bit of additional information I could. He’d filled me in on his experiences, which didn’t amount to much more than I’d already been able to work out for myself. He and Cavendish had been separated as soon as they’d arrived at headquarters and both had been questioned on and off over the last couple of days along the same sort of lines as this evening. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Cavendish at all, but they would debrief in the morning and see what should be done from there.
Trent had insisted I go to bed, but while I lay there awake, knowing I’d suffer the next day, I was completely unable to switch off. So many questions were left unanswered. Although Trent had warned me against immediately believing Volkov was my father, stating that he could be some sort of fraudster, I couldn’t see why anyone in his position would pretend to be something he wasn’t. What would be in it for him? Trent had to admit I was probably right, but still wanted me to be cautious and not get my hopes up.
But I didn’t know if my hopes were actually up.
I felt a bit peculiar about it in all honesty and I was confused about how I was meant to feel. Thrilled that my supposedly dead father had made contact? Frightened, or horrified, by his chosen career? Angry that he had left me alone all these years? Sad at the wasted opportunity to be part of a proper family? And then, right at the heart of it, something I’d never thought of, never believed could be a possibility. If my father was alive, then could the same be said of my mother?
I got up the next morning before the alarm. Leaving Trent to sleep on, I went to let Susie out. I watched her sniff round the garden, catching up with the smells of creatures that had passed through during the night. I leaned against the doorframe, cold damp air settling on my skin as I gazed out at what was so far a grey drizzly day.
After feeding Susie I made toast and tea which I sat and ate at the kitchen table, staring at the wooden box that sat in the middle. I hadn’t opened it since the first time, unable to look at the photos again yet. Rodwell had tried to take it with him the previous evening. It was ‘evidence’ apparently, but I’d hung on to it and told them no. He didn’t press the issue.
I thought I’d have a look at them again later…maybe.
I showered and dressed, managing not to wake Trent, and went over to the yard to start work. I always fed the horses first, today only half listening to their gathering impatience as I mixed their feed. Monty spun circles in his stable over and over, churning the straw until it resembled a whirlpool then dashing back to the door to see if I was coming yet. Benjy kicked at the lower partition of his door with his front foot in his annoyance at having to wait. I delivered the bowls and left them to it while I fussed Susie for a few minutes, which would be all it took for them to clear their hard food away.
I changed the ponies’ night rugs for waterproof ones and led them out to the field. It had been a wet spring and there’d been a lot of rain over the last couple of days so my feet squelched into the saturated ground as we approached the field. If it got any worse I’d have to arrange to have some wood chips delivered to prevent the ground getting any more poached, I thought morosely as I reached the gate. The ponies, as if picking up on my subdued mood, wandered off quietly to start grazing. I watched them for a moment before walking back to the stables.
I made up a couple of hay nets and fixed one to the fence before tying the other up in Regan’s box for him to start on, then I led Monty out and tied him up. Giving him a quick brush down, I got the straw out of his mane and tail and adjusted his rugs. The horses weren’t going to be exercised today, but I thought if it cleared up a bit later I’d turn them out for an hour or two. They weren’t going to be clipped out again, so as their coats grew back in I could harden them off through the spring by turning them out more often.
I mucked out Monty’s box, needing the physical work as I cleared my mind of everything but the job in hand. Being around the horses was great therapy for me, it always had been, and having Susie hanging around the stables as I worked through my jobs helped as we
ll. Finishing Monty’s stable, I filled his water buckets and returned him and his hay net to it before going through the same routine with Regan.
I was putting him back in his box as Trent joined me. He leaned on the post-and-rail fence.
“You should have woken me.”
“You needed to sleep.”
“You look like you could use some too.” I’d already clocked the dark rings under my eyes earlier and didn’t need reminding. I shrugged.
“You didn’t need to do this this morning, Em, you could have got Turner in.”
“I did need to do it. I needed to work to keep my mind occupied.” The fact I’d just gone through the motions on autopilot didn’t come into it.
“Do you want to talk?”
“No,” I shook my head, adding, “thanks,” as an afterthought. What was there to say?
He hesitated for a moment. “Cavendish and Grace are coming over.” I looked down, nodding. “Carlton and Greene as well…”
“Oh…they know?”
“They’ve been briefed.”
I started sweeping down the yard. “I’ll finish this and I’ll be in.”
I was crossing back to the cottage when the others arrived. By the time I’d got my boots off and washed my hands they’d all followed me in. Greene gave me a big supportive hug as she passed me, though she didn’t say a word. Trent was in the process of making mugs of coffee for everyone and, after subdued greetings, we sat round the table. No one appeared to have slept well. The wooden box sat in the middle and as everyone got themselves settled the silence stretched out into awkwardness.
Grace reached out a hand and covered mine. “How are you, Emma?” Tears stung my eyes that were raw with lack of sleep.
“Fine…” my voice cracked as I smiled gratefully at her, “…but don’t be nice to me, Grace, I can’t take that at the moment.” She squeezed then patted my hand before moving hers away.
“So,” Cavendish started briskly, “we need to come up with a plan on how to proceed.” He looked round the table. “My suggestion is that we aim to set up a meeting with Volkov as soon as possible. Within the week. The samples for the DNA test will be done there, although I suspect that is a mere formality…” and he glanced over at me worriedly as he cleared his throat. “Grayson, are you still all right to meet him? We could just do the tests and wait for the results if you prefer.”
“No, I’ll meet him. I doubt he would have the proof he has or have gone to the lengths he has done if he wasn’t my father.”
“True. Are you happy to meet him at the Manor rather than here? I think it’s probably best if we keep it semi-formal.”
Trent was nodding as I agreed.
“Okay then. I’m going to call a meeting of all the staff this evening to brief everyone on the current position.” I hadn’t thought of that, but it was sensible, everyone getting the same message.
Carlton interrupted, “Just going back to setting up the meeting with Volkov, I think there should be several of us present until we know exactly who he is and what he wants.”
“I agree,” came from Trent.
Cavendish responded, “I think if we are all there that will be enough, and we’ll have some additional security outside the room.”
“We need to go over the security on the estate again anyway. It’s become lax. We’ll cover that tonight.”
“Can I ask how this is being arranged with Volkov? If anyone knows, that is…” Greene glanced round at each of us as she spoke, her eyes coming back to Cavendish.
“We don’t know yet, but what do you mean exactly?”
“He must have done things that he could be charged for…Sorry, Emma.” She glanced across at me, but I shook her look away. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t already thought the same thing a million times during the night. She continued, “So I’m wondering on what basis has he come forward, and depending on that how is he coming here? As a prisoner? As someone S.I.S. are working with?”
“We don’t know yet,” Trent responded. “I suspect he’s aiming to do a deal to gain his freedom from prosecution in exchange for helping with information, be that in general or specifically to get us closer to the organisation. He won’t come in via the agency unless they are able to offer him some form of protection. He has no need to – he could turn up whenever he likes.”
“What do you mean by that?” Grace sounded alarmed.
Trent looked over at me. “Emma, do you mind?” and he gesticulated towards the box. I shook my head and reached out to pull it towards me, then opened the lid. Once I’d collected the photos together again the previous evening I’d put them back in the hidden drawer, so I popped that open to retrieve them, much to the interest of those who hadn’t seen it before. Pausing to look at the top one for a moment…my mother…I then handed them round the table – the story of me growing up. Not much was said apart from a cheeky comment from Carlton on the relative gawkiness of me as a young teen which earned him a glare, though I had to smile. He was quite right.
The photos did the rounds, finishing with the one of Trent and me kissing in the Manor gardens at our wedding.
Trent then answered Grace’s question. “Apart from the first few photos, all of these have been taken at a distance and, more importantly, without Emma knowing about it. The last one shows he was on the estate, and we weren’t aware of it. Volkov goes by his reputation – no one even knows what he looks like – so I suggest we let him come to us whichever way he thinks is best.”
The rest of the week passed excruciatingly slowly, but eventually we had word that Volkov would be with us early evening on the Saturday. The agency had said they wanted to have a couple of agents present, and when Cavendish coolly informed them a couple of agents were already going to be present they were apparently a bit sniffy. However, they couldn’t do much about it.
I asked Turner to do evening stables for me so I could be up at the Manor early and got the distinct impression he would rather have come with me. Since the meeting of all the staff he’d been around the stables every moment he could and Trent had taken to calling him my shadow again. Amid all my other worries, it crossed my mind that perhaps we should be more concerned for his mental health, but he appeared quite happy and settled. When I chatted to him one day he said he was just enjoying working with the horses. Who was I to deny him that?
I was back in Cavendish’s office again and pacing the floor as we waited. Trent urged me to sit down, saying I’d wear myself out, but I couldn’t. I’d been like this all week: restless. It was now April and only a few weeks until the birth, and I realised I should have been taking it easy, but whenever I went to sit another anxiety would grab me and I’d be on the move again. I was concerned what all the stress would be doing to the baby as well, but at least with me moving around a lot, it slept. I rationalised that in its sleeping state it wouldn’t feel the stressful vibe coming from me.
The last time we’d been together in the office had been on the previous Monday evening when all the staff were there. Cavendish and Trent had passed on the intelligence relating to my family background, which I found incredibly awkward to sit through, my cheeks pink with embarrassment. There were audible gasps as they revealed who my father was and I felt terrible thinking all these people could be putting themselves in jeopardy again, and because of me this time.
Trent tried to reassure me that, until they took care of the top men, it was only ever going to be a matter of time before the Polzin organisation struck back. He told me to remember that three people had been on the contract given to Volkov, and me being one of them showed Orlov’s involvement and his rank within the organisation. It also showed his weakness: he wanted vengeance against me purely because I’d made him look a fool. Trent made the point that if Volkov hadn’t been my father the hit could have been taken by now and we’d already be dead. At least this way we had some time.
The office was now quiet. Grace sat near the fireplace and gazed into space. I could only imagine at her worri
es with all that was happening and the children being due home for the holidays soon. Cavendish was at his desk at the far end of the room, dealing with some correspondence Sharpe had left for him. Trent, Carlton and Greene stood together by the office door chatting, but their voices were soft, only reaching me as a mumble.
I paced from one side of the room to the other in front of the four floor-to-ceiling windows behind Cavendish’s desk that looked out onto the garden. Forster was on duty, ready for any arrivals via the main gate. Porter was ready at the farm; every entrance approachable, but monitored. I got to the wall, turned and started my walk back, passed by one window, past the second, on to the third.
I stopped.
Something made me.
A feeling.
An intuition.
And I turned to the window and looked directly into the face of a man I could have sworn I’d never seen in my life before.
I stopped, staring, and he stared right back, holding that connection less than six feet the other side of the glass. I couldn’t read his expression, but I saw it soften, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as the briefest hint of a smile touched his lips. Before this day, in the build-up to it, I’d tried to come up with an image of him, but had drawn a blank. I’d decided that when I saw him I’d recognise him, but now here we were, face to face, and all I felt was confusion as to why I didn’t. I spent a moment, taking him in: dark hair, greying at the sides, thick and curling, though shorter than Trent’s; lean build; taller than me; dressed in black, from the boots right up to the trench coat that hung open.
“He’s here,” I heard Trent behind me, then he and Cavendish reached my side. I stepped back as Trent unlocked the window, swinging it open like a door to let our guest in. Volkov entered, his eyes still on me, and stood silently as the window was locked behind him.