Читать книгу The Scandalous Kolovskys: Knight on the Children's Ward - Carol Marinelli, Carol Marinelli - Страница 12

IT KILLED her not to ring or page him, but Elsie had been adamant.

She had to trust that he would come, and if he didn’t … Well, he had never been going to.

So, when she finished at the nursing home at nine a.m., she went home and had a little sleep, and then went to the Victoria Market. She bought some veal, some cream, the most gorgeous mushrooms, some fresh fettuccini and, of course, some more raspberries.

It was nice to be in the kitchen and stretching herself again.

Melting chocolate, whisking in eggs—she really had loved cooking and learning, but cooking at a high level had to be a passion. It was an absolute passion that Annika had realised she didn’t have.

But still, she could love it.

She didn’t know what to wear. She’d gone to so much trouble with the dessert that she didn’t want to make too massive an effort with her clothes, in case she terrified him.

She opened her wardrobe and stared at a couple of Kolovsky creations. She had a little giggle to herself, wondering about his reaction if she opened the door to him in red velvet, but settled for a white skirt and a lilac top. She put on some lilac sandals, but she never wore shoes at home—well, not at this home—and ten minutes in she had kicked them off. She was dusting the chocolate boxes and trying not to care that it was ten past eight. She checked her hair, which was for once out of its ponytail, and put on some lip-gloss. Then she went to the kitchen, opened the fridge. The chocolate boxes hadn’t collapsed, and the veal was all sliced and floured and waiting—and then she heard the knock at her door.

‘Hi.’ His voice made her stomach shrink.

‘Hi.’

He was holding flowers, and she was so glad that she had taken Elsie’s advice and not rung.

He kissed her on the cheek and handed her the flowers—glorious flowers, all different, wild and fragrant, and tied together with a bow. ‘Hand-picked,’ he said, ‘which is why I’m so late.’

And she smiled, because of course they weren’t. He’d been to some trendy place, no doubt, but she was grateful for them, because they got her through those first awkward moments as he followed her into the kitchen and she located a vase and filled it with water.

Ross was more than a little perplexed.

He hadn’t known quite what to expect from tonight, but he hadn’t expected this.

Okay, he’d known from her address that she wasn’t in the smartest suburb. He hadn’t given it that much thought till he’d entered her street. A trendy converted townhouse, perhaps, he’d thought as he’d pulled up—a Kolovsky attempt at pretending to be poor.

Except her car stuck out like a sore thumb in the street, and as he climbed the steps he saw there was nothing trendy or converted about her flat.

There was an ugly floral carpet, cheap blinds dressed the windows, and not a single thing matched.

The kitchen was a mixture of beige and brown and a little bit of taupe too!

There was a party going on upstairs, and an argument to the left and right. Here in the centre was Annika.

She didn’t belong—so much so he wanted to grab her by the hand and take her back to the farm right now, right this minute.

‘I’ll start dinner.’

She poured some oil in a large wok, turned the gas up on some simmering water, and then glanced over and gave him a nervous smile, which he returned. Then she slipped on an apron.

And it transformed her.

He stood and watched as somehow the tiny kitchen changed.

She pulled open the fridge and put a little meat in the wok. It was rather slow to sizzle, so she pulled out of the fridge some prepared plates, and he watched as she tipped coils of fresh pasta into the water and then threw the rest of the meat into the wok. Her hair was in the way, so she tied it back in a knot. He just carried on watching as this awkward, difficult woman relaxed and transformed garlic, pepper, cream and wine. He had never thought watching someone cook could be so sexy, yet before the water had even returned to the boil Ross was standing on the other side of the bench!

‘Okay?’ Annika checked.

‘Great,’ Ross said.

In seven minutes they were at the table—all those dishes, in a matter of moments, blended into a veal scaloppini that was to die for.

‘When you said dinner …’

‘I love to cook …’

And she loved to eat too.

With food between them, and with wine, somehow, gradually, it got easier.

He told her about his farm—that his sisters didn’t get it, but it must be the gypsy blood in him because there he felt he belonged.

‘I’ve never been to a farm.’

‘Never?’

‘No.’

‘You’re a city girl?’

‘I guess,’ Annika said.

She intrigued him.

‘You used to model?’

‘For a couple of years,’ Annika said. ‘Only in-house.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Just for Kolovsky,’ she explained. ‘I always thought that was what I wanted to do—well, it was expected of me, really—but when I got there it was just hours and hours in make-up, hours and hours hanging around, and …’ she rolled her eyes ‘… no dinners like this.’ She registered his frown. ‘Thin wasn’t thin enough, and I like my food too much.’

‘So you went to Paris …?’

‘I did.’

‘What made you decide to do nursing?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Annika admitted. ‘When my father was ill I watched the nurses caring for him …’ It was hard to explain, so she didn’t. ‘What about you? Are you the same as Iosef? Is medicine your vocation?’

‘Being a doctor was the only thing I ever wanted to be.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘Though when I go to Russia with your brother, sometimes I wonder if there is more than being a doctor in a well-equipped city hospital.’

‘You’re not happy at work?’

‘I’m very happy at work,’ Ross corrected. ‘Sometimes, though, I feel hemmed in—often I feel hemmed in. I just broke up with someone because of it.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘I’m supposed to be sworn off women.’

‘I’m not good at hemming.’

Ross laughed. ‘I can’t picture you with a needle.’ And then he was serious. ‘Romanys have this image of being cads—that is certainly my mother’s take. I understand that, but really they are loyal to commitment, and virginity is important to them, which is why they often marry young …’ He gave an embarrassed half-laugh. ‘There is more to them than I understand …’

‘And you need to find out?’

‘I think so,’ Ross answered. ‘Maybe that is why I get on with the orphans in Russia. I am much luckier, of course, but I can relate to them—to that not knowing, never fully knowing where you came from. I don’t know my father’s history.’

‘You could have a touch of Russian in you!’ Annika smiled.

‘Who knows?’ Ross smiled. ‘Do you go back to Russia?’

She shook her head. ‘Levander does, Iosef as you know does work there …’

‘Aleksi?’ Ross asked.

‘He goes, but not for work …’ She gave a shrug. ‘I don’t really know why. I’ve just never felt the need to.’

‘You speak Russian, though?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Only a little—a very little compared to my family.’

‘You have an accent.’

‘Because I refused to speak Russian …’ She smiled at his bemusement. ‘I was a very wilful child. I spoke Russian and a little English till I was five, and then I realised that we lived in Australia. I started to say I didn’t understand Russian—that I only understood English, wanted to speak English.’ He smiled at the image of her as a stubborn five-year-old. ‘It infuriated my mother, and my teacher … I learnt English from Russians, which is why I have an accent. Do you speak Spanish?’

‘Not as much as I’d like to.’

‘You’re going in a couple of weeks?’

‘Yeah.’ And he told her—well, bits … ‘Mum’s upset about it. I think she’s worried I’m going to find my real father and set up camp with him. Run away and leave it all behind …’

‘Are you?’

‘No.’ Ross shook his head. ‘I’d like to meet him, get to know him if I can find him. I only have his first name.’

‘Which is?’

‘Reyes,’ Ross said, and then he gave her a little part of him that he didn’t usually share. ‘That’s actually my real name.’

‘I lived with my father. Every day I saw him,’ Annika said, giving back a little part of herself, ‘but I don’t think I knew him at all.’

‘I know about Levander.’ He watched her swallow. ‘I know that Levander was raised in the Detsky Dom.’

‘Iosef shouldn’t talk.’

‘Iosef and I have spent weeks—no, months, working in Russian orphanages. It’s tough going there—sometimes you need to talk. He hates that Levander was raised there.’

‘My parents were devastated when they found out …’ She was glad she’d read that press release now. ‘On his deathbed my father begged that we set up the foundation …’ Her voice cracked. She was caught between the truth and a lie, and she didn’t know what was real any more. ‘We are holding a big fundraiser soon. If nursing doesn’t work out then I am thinking of working full-time on the board …’

‘Organising fundraisers?’

‘Perhaps.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll get dessert …’

‘You made these?’ He couldn’t believe it. He took a bite and couldn’t believe it again—and then he said the completely wrong thing. ‘You’re wasted as a nurse.’

And he saw her eyes shutter.

‘I’m sorry, Annika; I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Don’t worry.’ She smiled. ‘You’re probably right.’

‘Not wasted …’

‘Just leave it.’

‘I can’t leave it,’ Ross said, and her eyes jerked up to his. ‘But I ought to.’

‘At least till I have finished on the ward,’ Annika said, and her throat was so tight she didn’t know how to swallow, and her chocolate box sat unopened.

‘I’ll be in Spain,’ Ross said.

‘Slow is good.’ Annika nodded. ‘I don’t want to rush.’

‘So we just put it on hold?’ Ross checked, and she nodded. ‘Just have dinner?’ He winced. ‘When I say just …

‘Maybe one kiss goodnight,’ Annika relented, because Elsie would be so disappointed otherwise.

‘Sounds good,’ Ross said. ‘Now or later?’

‘You choose.’

Four hours of preparation: tempering the chocolate, slicing the boxes, choosing the best raspberries. And the mousse recipe was a complicated one. All that work, all those hours, slipped deliciously away as he pulled her across the table and her breast sank into her own creation.

His tongue tasted better than anything she could conjure. They both had to stretch, but it was worth it. He tasted of chocolate, and then of him. His hair was in her fingers and she was pressing her face into him, the scratch of his jaw, the press of his lips. She wanted more, so badly she almost climbed onto the table just to be closer, but it was easier to stand. Lips locked, they kissed over the table, and then did a sort of crab walk till they could properly touch—and touch they did.

The most touching it was possible to do with clothes on and standing. She felt his lovely bum, and his jeans, and she pressed him into her. It was still just a kiss, one kiss, but it went on for ever.

‘Oh, Annika,’ he said, when she pulled back for a gulp of air, and then he saw the mess on her top and set to work.

‘That’s not kissing …’ He was kissing her breast through the fabric, sucking off the mousse and the cream, and her fingers were back in his hair.

‘It is,’ he said.

And the raspberries had made the most terrible stain, so he concentrated on getting it out, and then she had to stop him. She stepped back and did something she never did.

She started to laugh.

And then she did something really stupid—something she’d cringe at when she told Elsie—well, the edited version—but knew Elsie would clap her approval.

She told him to dance—ordered him, in fact!

She lay on the sofa and watched, and there was rather more noise than usual from Annika’s flat—not that the neighbours noticed.

She lay there and watched as his great big black boots stamped across the floor, and it was mad, really, but fantastic. She could smell the gypsy bonfire, and she knew he could too—it was their own fantasy, crazy and sort of private, but she would tell Elsie just a little.

And she did only kiss him—maybe once or twice, or three times more.

But who knew the places you could go to with a kiss?

Who knew you could be standing pressed against the door fully dressed, but naked in your mind?

‘Bad girl,’ Ross said as, still standing, she landed back on earth.

‘Oh, I will be!’ Annika said.

‘Come back to the farm …’

‘We said slowly.’

So they had—and there was Spain, and according to form he knew he’d hurt her, but he was suddenly sure that he wouldn’t. She could take a sledgehammer to his bedroom wall if she chose, and he’d just lie on the bed and let her.

‘Come to the farm.’ God, what was he doing?

‘I’ve got stuff too, Ross.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘Don’t rush me.’

‘I know.’ He was coming back to earth as well. He’d never been accused of rushing things before. It was always Ross pulling back, always Ross reluctant to share—it felt strange to be on the other side.

‘And I’ve never been bad.’

He started to laugh, and then he realised she wasn’t joking.

‘The rules are different if you’re a Kolovsky girl, and till recently I’ve never been game enough to break them.’

Oh!

Looking into her troubled eyes, knowing what he knew about her family, suddenly he was scared of his own reputation and knew it was time to back off.

Annika Kolovsky he couldn’t risk hurting.