The Grayson Trilogy

by Georgia Rose

  Not giving Orlov or Anatoly a chance to begin talking again, Volkov spoke, his eyes finding mine as his voice distracted me, bringing me back to the dreadful present. “Congratulations.” It felt like a ridiculous thing for him to offer given the situation he was in. Then he hesitated, glancing at Trent who stirred beside me. Trent brought his hand back and wrapped it around my arm, squeezing it tightly before letting go, signalling a goodbye as he imperceptibly moved a little further away from me. Exhaling a held breath, he prepared, gathering himself, energy radiating off him as muscles bunched.

  “Look after her,” Volkov continued, and although he was looking at me, I knew he was talking to Trent and I knew what was coming. Instinctively. I remembered, and understood.

  With clarity.

  The trap.

  The sacrifice.

  Tears welled right from my heart, which ached suddenly and painfully.

  “No…” I whispered, my voice hoarse and cracking. “No…” louder, and I lunged towards him. Turner threw his arm across me, holding me back, holding me tight. “Please don’t, Dad…” and I saw the change as I said that word: the tears in his eyes, the smile that shone for me, full of regretful sadness.

  “Whatever it takes…”

  My father.

  The distraction.

  He forced himself away from Orlov, bucking against his body, dragging Orlov with him as he crashed into Anatoly, unbalancing him. And I saw the moment on my father’s face. I felt it, heard it: the knife slicing through skin, muscle, sinew; steel against bone. A shiver went down my spine and I never took my eyes from him.

  Screaming.

  And I never took my eyes from him.

  I watched the scene unfold even as I felt myself lifted from my feet. Turner had hurled his body into me, in front of me, taking me down with him as a hail of bullets skimmed the air above us.

  Trent dropped, throwing himself along the ground, his hands outstretched, grabbing his gun as his body skidded through dirt, soil and debris kicked up in clouds as he twisted and fired simultaneously. Deadly dull thuds rang out.

  With precision.

  Anatoly…Orlov…headshots. A moment of suspension, disbelief forever etched on their faces, then they fell.

  A burst of automatic fire from Greene’s retrieved weapon dealt with the other two and it was all over.

  The dead and the dying.

  I pushed myself away from Turner and scrambled to my feet, crossing to where my father lay. Ignoring Trent’s order for me to stay back until the deaths were confirmed, I fell to my knees in front of his body. My hands shook and I didn’t know what to do. His face was ashen, the knife still protruding – a gasp as he struggled for air, still alive. I yelled for help, and it came running. All those shadows around us becoming solid shapes and guided by Stanton, they picked Volkov up as if he were something precious then headed to the Manor.

  We followed, me in Trent’s arms again, Turner and Greene in line. Carlton – Carlton? My brow furrowed as, dazed, I asked where Baby was. Safely at the Manor, he reassured me. That was all I needed right now and I fell silent, watching, following the procession that carried my father out of the woods.

  Dusk was falling fast, the light fading to a misty blue as we crossed the parkland. I shivered with the chill in the air and Trent pulled me closer, kissing my head, telling me that everything was going to be all right.

  I wasn’t so sure.

  Stanton instructed those carrying Volkov to take him for assessment in the office. I was taken to a smaller sitting room, Trent finally putting me down once we were inside. Much to our relief, there sat Grace with Baby in her lap, and Mrs F, Bray and Lawson paying close attention. As we entered they looked up, the relief showing on their tense, pale faces. Baby was still asleep, and although I watched her, Grace kept hold of her as Bray and Lawson checked me over. I knew I was bleeding, but brushed their concerns away. That was going to have to wait for the time being. I wanted Volkov to meet his granddaughter, a more pressing need.

  Trent carried Baby to the office which had been temporarily taken over by Stanton and his team. I was surprised when I entered to find everything calm. I’d imagined frantic efforts being made to keep my father alive, and for one terrible moment I thought I was too late, that it was already over, but that wasn’t the case.

  I saw my father lying on his side on a settee and knelt on the floor beside him, checking him out as I did, seeing the knife in his back. I looked up at Stanton, silently indicating towards it, wondering why it was still there.

  He replied solemnly, “He will bleed out if we do.” I understood. Better facilities would be needed. I gazed at my father’s face. His skin was pale with a waxy sheen to it, though peaceful.

  “We’ve brought someone to meet you,” I said softly. His eyes opened, his smile looking tired as Trent lowered Baby into my waiting arms before sitting on the coffee table close to me. I tilted her towards my father, pulling back the blanket from around her face so he could see her clearly.

  “She’s beautiful,” he murmured, his words slurring as his eyelids drooped slightly, “like my Zafrelia Rosa.”

  “What?” I asked, confused, realising thankfully that he was doped up on pain medication. “Who?”

  He frowned, then blinked in a moment of clarity. “Sorry, forgot you didn’t want to know.”

  His eyes closed, opening as I questioned, “My name? That’s my name – my real name?” I whispered it under my breath – Zafrelia Rosa. It felt too exotic, too unusual. Zafrelia Rosa Volkov was who I’d been born to be, but it didn’t feel like me.

  “Zafrelia for my mother, Rosa for yours…”

  “It’s a beautiful name.” Although it no longer belonged to me, I wondered and glanced up at Trent, raising my eyebrows at him.

  “It will suit her,” he agreed, smiling down at me. So much for tradition.

  I looked back at my father. “Here’s a new Zafrelia Rosa for you to get to know.” He smiled, his eyes sleepy.

  “That’s good. I’m so proud of you, Emma. Spending even this short time with you has been more than I could ever have hoped for. I wish I’d made better decisions earlier…”

  His voice tailed off and I glanced anxiously up at Stanton. “How long until the ambulance gets here?”

  A deep pause. “There won’t be an ambulance,” came quietly from Stanton. What? I looked up sharply. Stanton’s expression was regretful, sympathetic. Nodding his head towards my father, he said, “He doesn’t want that.”

  “Why not? Dad, you need to get to the hospital.” The pitch of my voice was rising and Zafrelia stirred in my arms, starting to wake up. “Call one now,” I ordered to no one in particular, feeling my throat closing as panic started to take over. I felt Trent’s hand on my back, then his arm around me, hugging me to him. I turned to him, desperate.

  “Make them, Trent, make them get him to hospital.” He shook his head as Stanton spoke, firmly now.

  “Emma,” and I looked up into his kind eyes, “this is what he has chosen. The internal damage is devastating from such a wound.”

  “But they could try.” My voice was raw from the tears that threatened. “You have to try, you can’t just give up,” I nearly shouted at my father.

  His chest heaved with the effort of responding. “Listen to him.”

  I stared up at Stanton, wanting answers.

  “Orlov knew what he was doing, Emma. He drove the knife straight through the spine, severing the spinal cord. With the other damage, the blood loss, Volkov probably wouldn’t even make it to hospital. This is what he has chosen.”

  I couldn’t believe it. To have gone through all this…all this emotion…only for what I thought was a start to be about to end.

  The bundle in my arms was becoming more agitated in its movements. When I glanced down I saw Zafrelia was screwing up her little face. Sensing a lung-testing session coming from her soon, I looked up at Trent.

  “Can someone take her for a moment?”

  Ca
rlton appeared on my other side.

  “Here, Em, I’ll take her. Come on, Zaffy, let’s go and get you cleaned up and dressed properly.” Trust him to have already shortened her name.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, struggling to pay attention to what was going on around me, but vaguely aware of how seriously he was going to take his protective responsibilities.

  I saw the room was lined with people now. Our friends, our protectors, were waiting, watching in respectful silence, heads bowed in full knowledge of what was happening.

  I turned my attention back to my father and tenderly placed my hand on his cheek, his skin cool and clammy against mine, his lips pale. Vaguely aware of the tremor in my hand I ran my fingers up through the thick locks of his dark hair. Fear clutched at my heart as I sensed the icy tendrils of grief reaching for me once more. Filled with regret for all the time we should have spent together and wishing I’d made him immediately welcome when he’d reappeared in my life, I leaned towards him.

  “I love you and I’m so sorry.” He stirred, his head shaking almost imperceptibly as his eyes opened, his voice coming in a whisper as he struggled to speak.

  “Don’t…please, Emma…you have nothing to be sorry for. If I could turn back time I’d have run away with you and never left your side.” I swallowed with difficulty and heard the distant distraction of Zafrelia’s cry, my breasts aching in response, and I willed time to slow, to stop as I tried to capture those last minutes…those seconds…

  “You never did leave my side, Dad…”

  He smiled, bittersweet.

  “Dad,” he repeated, “that means everything…”

  His eyes closed; his breath shallowed. He struggled for the next one, then nothing.

  Chapter 12

  Six weeks later…

  It was hot, an early blast of summer sunshine. I was just back from my second ride out of the morning; I’d probably overdone it and would ache later, but by my reckoning the quicker I got my body back in shape, the better. I’d been itching to get back in the saddle after so long away and I’d had the best time that morning. I’d washed Regan and Benjy off earlier before turning them out and it was now the turn of Monty and Zodiac. I finished stripping water out of Monty’s coat with a sweat scraper then, untying both of them, I led them out to the field and let them loose in the paddock. Leaning on the fence I stood for a moment, watching them both drop and roll then get up and shake before starting to graze.

  Returning to the stables I finished getting them ready for the evening, although Turner had been over to do most of the mucking out earlier. Making beds, filling hay nets and water buckets, I glanced over at the cottage a couple of times, surprised I hadn’t been joined already by Trent and Zaffy – the name had stuck. I briefly wondered if they’d taken a trip up to the Manor. Zaffy had had a bad night last night; as I’d suspected, she was a light sleeper and consequently our night had been a long one. My eyes felt scratchy with sleep deprivation, but my joy at getting back to doing what I did best overrode that, at least for the moment.

  I finished in the yard and crossed to the cottage, bending to scratch Susie’s ears as she came to greet me and thinking I’d fix some lunch for when they returned. As I walked in, though, I knew immediately they were there. I could sense it, and after checking the sitting room I silently tiptoed upstairs, smiling as I gazed in through our bedroom door. Trent was asleep, spread-eagled across the middle of the bed, topless, skin to skin with Zaffy, who lay face down on his chest wearing nothing but a nappy, her legs curled up frog-like. Trent’s hand lay protectively across her, and her cherubic face, which faced me, wore an expression of contented bliss, her hand curled into a fist in Trent’s chest hair. I couldn’t fault her choice in comfortable places to be: it was my favourite too.

  I went back downstairs and quickly put some lunch together, knowing it wouldn’t be long before she would wake and want feeding – the discomfort in my breasts was telling me that.

  A lot had happened in the last few weeks and life was only now starting to calm down a little. I was struggling to come to terms with my father’s death. When it had happened I’d collapsed into Trent, who’d held me tight and comforted me as I’d sobbed uncontrollably, feeling my mood dropping as I succumbed to the depths of grief again. Balancing this with the emotional turmoil of a new baby meant I was all over the place. I knew everyone was worried about me so I tried to cover up the worst of the pits and peaks I swung between. I’d barely known Volkov, but initial sorrow for his loss soon became anger for the life we hadn’t had a chance at sharing. All those wasted years fed my irritation. Vivid dreams came in which I could feel the heat of his hug, smell his comforting scent, then I’d wake flooded with disappointment, my pillow wet with tears, as I remembered the way he’d made me feel and missed it.

  We’d started by getting through all the necessities: a trip to the hospital for check-ups on Zaffy and me; initial statements to the police, who were all over this incident; eventually being allowed home to get showered, clean clothes on and some food inside us. Our desperate need for sleep became an elusive luxury with having Zaffy now and we ended up sleeping in shifts. We staggered as if sleepwalking through the first few days as we tried to deal with everything.

  Cavendish delivered Susie back to me and we’d introduced her to Zaffy. She’d sniffed at the strange-smelling bundle and seemed accepting of this new person in our family, but I made sure Zaffy was kept out of her way and Susie’s routine stayed the same.

  Trent was taken away by the police along with Greene for further questioning. Carlton and I waited, anxious despite Cavendish’s reassurances, and while they were back a few hours later, I thought this was going to take some time to sort out.

  There had been a debriefing for what had happened. Trent hadn’t wanted me to attend, but I’d insisted and once there I’d wished I wasn’t. Volkov had suspected the Polzins had been keeping tabs on him for a while and consequently treated his phone as if it spied on him, leaving it in places where he should be and not taking it to places he shouldn’t. It turned out the text Volkov had sent me had been the trigger. What I’d thought of as my father listening to me and trying to forge some sort of contact had actually been the start of the countdown to his death.

  When Trent had studied the text he saw the code they had agreed. Emma spelt backwards in the first letters of the first and last words of each sentence. Trent hadn’t known about the other texts. If he had he would have seen they weren’t from Volkov and would have known that he and his phone had already been picked up. Whether that knowledge would have made any difference to the outcome was the subject of some discussion but it was thought probably not.

  Volkov had been hoping to avoid running into the Polzins, thinking that was his only chance to survive, but when he’d left the Manor that night then sent the text he’d had no idea they were already in the country and closing in on him. Their suspicions had been raised because the contract hadn’t yet been completed, and the text told them everything they needed to know, as Volkov had intended. They’d put their plans into action, but rather than managing to avoid them they’d picked Volkov up almost immediately at his hotel. He must have known they wouldn’t approach the estate without having something to barter with should it all go wrong for them.

  I was ashamed that I’d misread Volkov so badly, for not believing he’d put me first when everything he’d done had been to give me the best possible chance at survival. It was true once he’d been picked up he’d helped Anatoly and Orlov gain access to the estate, probably in the mistaken hope that they’d let him live, but he must have known they would never do that. He’d specifically led them to the stable yard, knowing the hidden cameras would pick them up and alert the estate to their presence.

  The worst thing had been hearing how he had arranged with Trent that if he became involved and the time should come when a decision had to be made Trent was to do everything possible to save me, at the expense of my father’s life if necessary. He had mad
e Trent promise and they had agreed on the words – whatever it takes. I suspected Volkov knew all along he would be present at the showdown. He knew what was coming.

  The funeral was held at the local crematorium. Though there was a good turnout from the estate, it was difficult to personalise a service for someone I knew so little about.

  His ashes now sat in an urn in the cottage and I didn’t know what to do with him.

  The strangest thing happened the day following the service. I received a call from Forster to say there was a Mr Peabody at the main gate for me from a firm of solicitors in London called Bentley, Bartlett and Rudge. None of the names meant anything to me, but as I wasn’t alone, Trent already being at the cottage and about to have lunch, I asked for him to be directed to us. We went out to meet our mysterious visitor together. Zaffy, who had just been fed, was settled and in my arms as we waited.

  A few minutes later a sleek dark-grey saloon car drove into the yard and I watched as Mr Peabody got out. My first impression was of a rather fussy walrus, caused no doubt by his bushy moustache extending down to his jawline, the clear definition of which was buried somewhere in jowls that flowed smoothly into the collar of his shirt. He wore an immaculate tweed three-piece suit, the jacket of which he did up across a rather portly stomach, but not before I’d spied a pocket watch adorning the waistcoat beneath. Smoothing the jacket down, he picked a piece of lint from the cuff. I imagined he always dressed with care and had chosen this suit specifically because today he was in the countryside. Tweed was what country people wore.

  He stepped towards us briskly on highly polished brogues, formally introduced himself, offered condolences on the loss of my father and congratulations on the birth of our daughter and handed me his business card. I had no idea who he was or why he was here, but we invited him in and offered him lunch which he politely declined, saying he’d already enjoyed all the delights The Red Calf had to offer. He did, however, accept a cup of tea.