Читать книгу The Russian Rivals: The Most Coveted Prize / The Power of Vasilii - Пенни Джордан, PENNY JORDAN - Страница 8

IN THE privacy of his own suite Kiryl telephoned his agent, announcing the minute the older man answered the call, ‘Alena Demidova, sister of Vasilii Demidov—I want to know everything there is to know about her.’

From the windows of his suite he could look out on the private garden in the square below, where the February light was now beginning to fade. A young East European woman was walking there with two children, both of them wearing the uniform of an exclusive prep school, but Kiryl had no interest in the garden or its occupants. All his intention was focused on the game plan now unfolding inside his head.

‘Everything, Ivan—from who her friends are, how she spends her time, to what she eats for her breakfast. I want to know it all. And even more importantly I want to know everything there is to know about her relationship with her brother Vasilii, and his with her. I want to know what he thinks of her and what he plans for her. And I want to know by tomorrow morning.’

Ending the call before the other man could say anything, Kiryl paced the floor of the sitting room of his suite.

He could feel his whole body tingling with a potent mixture of excitement, challenge, and the knowledge that he had embarked on a game he would win. Alena was the key to her brother’s downfall. He was sure of it. He could sense it, smell it, and feel it deep down inside himself in the Romany genes given to him by his mother and so loathed and despised by his father.

Unexpectedly inside his head he had a momentary image of Alena as she had been when they had had tea together—as fragile as a flower a man might pick and then crush in his hand, her emotions and desires plain to see. Something was struggling to come to life inside him—something that had its roots in that brief time he had shared with his mother before she had died, the only time in his life when he had been truly loved. For a moment he hesitated. But he could not afford to be weak—not now. As weak as the mother who had loved his father and conceived him against that father’s wishes. He’d had to be strong in everything he had striven so long and hard for, goaded and driven during his struggle by the memory of the man who had been his father sneering down at him as he pushed him into the gutter before walking away from him.

It was finally within his grasp. And if Alena had to be sacrificed so that he could keep the mental promise he had made his dead mother, then so be it.

‘The promise I have seen in your eyes when you look at me.’ In the grey London light of the February morning Alena lay in the bed in her expensively designed and decorated bedroom, cocooned in the highest thread-count sheets that money could buy, but feeling every bit as uncomfortable as though she were that fairytale princess lying on the discomfort of a sharp pea. Fairytales. Wasn’t that what this was all about? A young woman’s fairytale, though, rather than a child’s. A fairytale of a prince who wasn’t just handsome and kind but a prince who was also sensual and sexy—a prince who offered not the experience of a pampered, indulged lifestyle, but the experience of real raw sensuality … the kind of intensely emotional and passionate sex that perhaps was merely a fantasy.

Was that why she now felt so unnerved and afraid? Because now that she had been given a hint that she could make her fantasy reality she feared that she might discover that being sexually involved with Kiryl would destroy that fantasy? Sex with Kiryl. Intimacy with Kiryl. The intimacy of shared kisses and caresses, her skin shivering with excitement, and the enticement of his hands—his lips—on her naked body. She was shivering with that excitement now, at the mere thought of it. But wasn’t the reality that she needed to put him out of her thoughts and out of her life? That was certainly what Vasilii would want her to do.

Alena looked at her alarm clock.

She had an appointment later in the morning at the offices of a charity set up by her mother. Vasilii would prefer her to wait until she was twenty-five to step into her mother’s shoes and fully take over her role at the head of the charity, Alena knew. He felt that even at twenty-one—which she would be in just over fifteen months—she would be still too young for such a responsibility. Alena, though, was determined to prove her half-brother wrong. She had been assiduous in studying the workings of the charity since her mother’s death.

It was a big responsibility—a huge responsibility, in fact. The charity handled not only the income from the millions her parents had donated to it, but also the income that came from various sponsors and donors to the charity’s cause, which was the education of children who would not otherwise receive any. How much chance would she have of convincing her half-brother that she was ready to take on that responsibility if he ever got to know of her reckless fantasies and even more reckless behaviour over Kiryl? None at all. He would judge such behaviour as immature and irresponsible.

Her mother had often said that the charity was her ‘thank-you’ to life for giving her the happiness that meeting her Russian husband had brought her. Not even Vasilii, with his often hard-headed attitude towards money and charity, could argue with that motivation. No matter how much she sometimes objected to Vasilii’s control of her and her life, Alena knew full well that he had the power to melt her heart simply because he had loved and valued her mother so much. For such a tough, uncompromising man to be willing to admit that one slim Englishwoman had, through her love for his father and for him, transformed their lives—even if he would only admit that to her—was something that would always touch her heart. Vasilii’s love and concern for her, his protection of her, was his way of repaying the love he had received from her mother, Alena knew. She just wished that he would relax his protective guard of her a little.

Did she really want to risk everything she had worked so hard for just for the sake of a sensual infatuation that had as much reality to it as a rainbow over the Neva?

She had no need to ask herself what Vasilii would think of her present behaviour. He would be horrified and angry. But he was not going to know about it, was he? Because she was going to be very sensible and responsible and not have anything more to do with Kiryl. She was going to focus instead on the future she had been working so hard towards and prove to her brother that she was mature enough to take on her late mother’s role within the charity.

Two hours later, stepping out of her taxi outside the office block that housed the offices of her mother’s charity, Alena paused to smooth down the soft grey cashmere of her smart single-breasted coat and take a deep breath. Appearances counted for an awful lot, her mother had always said. Deals could be brokered as broken in the judgement passed on the impression one conveyed—before a word had been spoken. Alena had remembered her mother’s sage advice this morning when she had dressed for this appointment. It might eventually be her right and inheritance to take over the running of the charity, but she could not do that successfully without the support of the executives who worked for it. She needed to win their support and their confidence if she was going to be able to continue to grow the success of her mother’s charity. For that reason she had tried to dress in a way that, whilst showing something of her own individuality, conveyed maturity.

She had chosen to wear medium-height black shoes with opaque winter tights rather than high-heeled knee-length boots. Boots might be sensible in cold weather, but there were boots and boots—and she certainly did not want to be judged as an attention-seeking fashion plate. To ward off the sharp February wind she’d wrapped a darker grey woollen scarf round her neck and pulled a matching knitted hat on over her hair. A pair of fingerless grey gloves allowed her to pay her taxi fare, and her smile for the doorman who opened the glass doors to the office block for her earned her an answering smile of appreciation.

Initially, when she’d first set up the charity, her mother had wanted to locate its head office in London because it was her home city. But she’d wanted it to be in a far more modest and inexpensive place than its current Mayfair location. It had been her father and halfbrother who had persuaded her mother to accept that if the charity was to attract donors then a more prestigious location would give it gravitas. Besides which Vasilii had added a properly secured office block so it would be far safer.

Safety was important to Vasilii. But that was not surprising, given that his own mother had been the victim of a kidnap plot that had gone wrong, and which had resulted in her death. It had been after that that Vasilii’s father had relocated his business and his home to London, although it had been in St Petersburg in Russia where her parents had met. Her father had had high moral standards, both in his business and his private life. The death of both parents in a car accident had been a terrible shock and a terrible loss, but thankfully she had always had Vasilii.

It had been wrong of her to allow herself to be taken over by what she was now beginning to think of as a form of madness in her unfamiliar desire for Kiryl, and she was glad that she had decided to put the whole incident behind her—to focus on what was really important in her life, Alena told herself as she stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the tenth floor.

The work of Alena’s mother’s charity involved helping girls in poverty all over the world. A multicultural staff worked for the charity, and its South American CEO, Dolores Alvarez, had known poverty in her childhood herself. She was now in her fifties, and the lines on her face told of her compassion and her life experience.

She welcomed Alena with a warm smile as she showed her into her office, and ordered coffee for both of them, telling her, ‘We’ve had a lovely surprise this morning. You’ll know that one of your late mother’s goals for our charity was to bring in more outside donors, and that we’ve been running a campaign to that effect?’

Alena nodded her head. ‘Yes, I know how important my father and mother believed it was that we should broaden the scope of the charity.’

‘After the death of your parents we did receive some very generous donations from their colleagues and friends, but they were one off payments. However, we have now had an approach from a potential donor which sounds very promising. Before making up his mind he has stated that he wants to meet you.’

Their coffee had arrived, and after thanking the smartly dressed young male PA who had brought it Alena asked the CEO, ‘Is it because he wants to know if I am capable of heading the charity successfully?’ She gave Dolores a wry look and told her, ‘It’s exactly the kind of thing Vasilii would do.’

‘Rich men like to be in complete control of their wealth. It seems to go with their mindset and the drive that has made them rich in the first place.’

‘Control freaks?’ Alena said ruefully.

Dolores smiled, but gave a small shake of her head. ‘Maybe, but we can’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth, or …’

‘Frighten it away?’ Alena suggested.

‘No. Not if we’re to succeed in achieving the most ambitious of your late mother’s plans. The money she left in trust for the charity brings in a good income, but …’

‘But we need more money. Yes, I know. I’ve been studying our financial statements, and the rise in the cost of living in some of the countries where we are most active has meant that the cost of providing schooling for the poorest in those countries is rising.’

The CEO gave her an approving look that Alena suspected was also tinged with surprise, before agreeing.

‘That is true, yes. Which means that it is important to find every new donor we can. From what this one has said to me he is considering making a very generous on-going annual donation to our cause, once he has satisfied himself as to …’

‘As to what?’ Alena pressed.

Dolores looked slightly uncomfortable.

‘Tell me,’ Alena insisted. ‘I have a right to know.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Dolores hesitated again, and then told her, ‘He has expressed some reservations about the fact that someone so youthful and … and untried will ultimately be in charge of the charity. Because of that he has expressed this wish to meet you personally.’

‘To assess my suitability to step into my mother’s shoes?’ Alena guessed.

‘To reassure himself that he is making the right decision,’ Dolores corrected her diplomatically. ‘Of course if you prefer not to do so then I am sure we could make a tactful excuse—perhaps tell him that you would prefer your brother to deal with the situation?’

Alena weighed up what Dolores had told her. If she met this potential donor and he didn’t think her capable of stepping into her mother’s shoes then she risked losing his support for the charity. It might be safer for her to allow Vasilii to meet him instead. But if she did that how was she ever going to be able to convince Vasilii that she was mature enough to take on her mother’s role? And, just as important, how was she ever going to feel confident about her ability to do that herself?

She took a deep breath.

‘If this prospective donor wishes to meet me, then it is only fair that he does.’

She could see from the CEO’s approving look that she had made the right decision.

‘If you could set up an appointment with him for me?’

‘That’s easily done,’ Dolores told her with a smile. ‘He is actually here now. When I told him that you were coming in this morning, and that I’d speak with you about seeing him, he announced that he would come here to meet you. I did try to put him off, but he insisted, I’m afraid.’

Just as Vasilii would have insisted in the same situation, Alena knew. Such behaviour might be considered by some to be unconventional, but in the world in which her brother moved those men who were the most successful often made their own rules and ignored convention.

‘Of course if you want us to tell him that you would prefer him to see him another time …?’

Alena thought swiftly. It was true that already she could feel a frisson of nervous energy jittering through her tummy at the thought of the responsibility she would be taking on in agreeing to meet this would-be donor. But if she wanted to be taken seriously as a woman whose maturity could be relied upon then she had to behave accordingly.

Straightening her spine, she shook her head. ‘No. I will meet him now.’

‘I was hoping you’d say that. Thank you. This donation would mean such a lot to us. Especially as it would be a regular annual income, guaranteed for the next five years. We’ve asked him to wait in the boardroom—I’ll take you there now. And of course I’ll be on hand with you, to answer any technical questions he might have.’

Alena gave her a grateful look.

The charity’s boardroom had windows that overlooked the street outside. It was decorated in a businesslike and smart colour palette of off-whites and greys shading to black, its leather furniture showing subtle gleams of brushed steel. Its appearance was very much in accordance with the accepted contemporary look apart from the fact that its table was round rather than rectangular. It was the photographs displayed on the room’s walls that caught the attention, though: photographs of children, some of them taken by children and as a result slightly out of focus. They were haunting, strike-at-the-heart photographs that told a story of how a girl in the poorest of circumstances could become a young woman who could hold her head high because of the education and support she had received from this charity.

Normally it was to these photographs and this story that Alena’s attention was drawn whenever she entered this room. Her mother had chosen these photographs herself, and every time she looked at them Alena felt almost as though she could feel her mother in the room with her.

Today, though, it wasn’t the photographs that were the focus of her immediate attention. Instead it was the man standing in front of the windows, outlined by the light coming in through them, his features shadowed and hidden. Alena didn’t need to see those features to recognise him. Her body and her senses had recognised him immediately. Kiryl.