Книга - Mission To Seduce

Mission To Seduce
Sally Wentworth


Her personal bodyguard Allie had teased him, insulted him, but still she seemed to be stuck with Drake Marsden as her official chaperon! He'd been appointed to look after her during a crucial assignment in Russia, and he refused to leave her side - day or night… . Just because Allie was pretty and petite didn't mean she needed Drake's protection!And she simply refused to be seduced by him. At least, that was the idea. Until her twenty-four-hour bodyguard decided the safest place for her was in his bed!







“I know why you’re really here.” (#uf32c6c13-7b5d-59c7-a70c-59efacaf8790)About the Author (#uda331698-aa84-57e8-917a-753c193358bf)Title Page (#u1227de31-4730-5ccf-96dc-8f79003a9174)CHAPTER ONE (#ud38fd308-3864-5145-9347-8c3d1180c2c6)CHAPTER TWO (#u14d74d27-341e-5b4a-81f7-8305c63f701e)CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“I know why you’re really here.”

Drake’s gray eyes studied her face. “Why?”

Her voice growing husky, Allie said, “You were just looking for some excuse to chase after me!”

To her surprise, he nodded. “Yes, I’ll admit to that. But you’re not the kind of woman I thought you were.”

She gave a throaty chuckle. “You were looking for a flesh-and-blood woman, who turned you on, so don’t try and make out you were looking for something more. All you wanted was sex. You saw me, wanted me and set out to seduce me!”


SALLY WENTWORTH was born and raised in Hertfordshire, England, where she still lives, and started writing after attending an evening class course. She is married and has one son. There is always a novel on the bedside table, but she also does craftwork, plays bridge and is the president of a National Trust group. Sally goes to the ballet and theater regularly and to open-air concerts in the summer. Sometimes she doesn’t know how she finds the time to write!


Mission To Seduce

Sally Wentworth










www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CHAPTER ONE

DAMN! Allie thought angrily, and exclaimed, ‘But I won’t need an interpreter.’

‘Do you speak Russian?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact I do,’ she said triumphantly. But then, as she looked into her boss’s sceptical eyes, reluctantly added, ‘A little.’

‘How little?’

She gave him one of her sudden smiles, her blue eyes lighting with mischief. ‘Enough to say no if I’m propositioned.’

He laughed, wanting to be serious but unable to resist her smile. ‘But do you speak enough Russian to recognise a proposition if you hear one?’

‘One could be deaf and dumb and still recognise that!’

He shook his head at her and said, ‘I know you’re a capable career woman and all the rest of it, but I’m not going to risk letting you loose in Russia without someone to keep an eye on you.’

Allie hated the sound of that; she had reasons—important and secret reasons—of her own for going to Russia that had nothing to do with the assignment she’d been given, and to have someone looking over her shoulder would be inconvenient to say the least. But it was important not to jeopardise the trip so, to keep the boss sweet, she smiled and said, ‘OK, leave it with me. I’ll find someone out there.’

‘No need,’ he said on a pleased note. ‘I already know of someone based in Moscow. A family friend, I suppose you could call him. His name is Drake Marsden and he works for a bank that’s opening up a branch over there. He speaks the language and will give you all the help you need. I’ll have him meet you when you arrive.’

‘Wonderful,’ Allie enthused, while inwardly cursing, and she determined to get rid of this extremely unwanted man at the very first opportunity.

She thought that opportunity would present itself at Moscow airport. Surely in the bustle of a huge international concourse it would be possible to lose herself in the crowd, slip into a taxi and so free herself of her boss’s pal right at the start. There was bustle, all right. Take the crowd outside Harrods on the first day of the January sale, double the amount of shoving and pushing, and even then it would only give a small idea of what it was like at Moscow airport. There was complete chaos, and that was before Allie even got through to the concourse. Everybody seemed to be flying in to Moscow that August day, and they were all herded into a great crowd that gradually developed into long queues of passengers waiting to have their visas and passports checked, the officials achingly slow and letting only one person through at a time.

Allie stood in the queue for over two hours, weighed down by her expensive camera equipment that she didn’t dare rest on the ground in case it got kicked by the people pressing all around her. A large man stood on her foot, and a fat woman with elbows made of steel tried to push in front of her, thinking Allie a soft touch because she was so petite, but received a blazing look from angry blue eyes that stopped her in her tracks.

The only compensation in all this, Allie decided, was that Drake Marsden would certainly have given up on her and gone home long before she got through. Once past this barrier she had to join another queue to change some money into roubles, retrieve her suitcase, and wait in yet another line to go through the baggage check, so that it was over three hours before Allie eventually emerged, tired, hot, and thirsty, into the main concourse.

She didn’t even bother to look for some middle-aged man with a very fed-up expression holding up a board with her name on it, but just headed for the welcome open air and a taxi. There were a lot of taxis, all looking equally old and unreliable, but, before Allie could get a hand free to hail one, a modern silver-grey Mercedes, large and sleek, pulled up at the kerb beside her. A man got out, quite young, tall and lean, and with thick dark hair. Allie gave him a glance, made a mental note that Russian men were much better-looking than she’d expected, then dismissed him as she tried to attract the attention of a taxi-driver by standing on tiptoe to look over the roof of the Merc and wave.

‘Miss Hayden?’

Allie blinked, and slowly turned. The man from the Mercedes, in his immaculate dark suit, was looking at her expectantly. She thought of denying her identity but there was no way this man could be a buddy of her boss, who was not only well into his fifties but had the middle-aged spread to go with it. ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged guardedly.

He held out a hand. ‘I’m Drake Marsden. Welcome to Russia.’

Slowly, with inner chagrin, she put her hand in his and had it briskly shaken.

He was very businesslike, opening the passenger door for her, putting her case and camera equipment in the boot, ignoring the blare of an impatient taxi horn, getting in and driving away, all within a minute.

‘How did you know it was me?’ she asked, looking at the lean planes of his profile with very mixed feelings.

‘I was given a description—and then there was all the photography stuff.’

Fleetingly Allie wondered how her boss had described her. Short, blonde, and sexy, probably, knowing him. She had been given no description of the man beside her, and as she had no intention of using him hadn’t asked for one. But maybe it would have been helpful to know in advance that Drake Marsden was both good-looking and—judging by his clothes, the gold Rolex on his wrist, and the car—fairly affluent. His voice, too, was attractive, being deep and with the unmistakable accent of a good public school.

‘I thought you’d have given up on me after the hold-up at the airport,’ she remarked.

‘What hold-up?’

She gave a small gasp. ‘I was queuing in there for over three hours! I thought the officials had gone on a work to rule, or something.’

Drake gave her an amused glance. ‘No, it’s always like that. I didn’t bother to set out until long after your flight was due. Weren’t you warned?’

‘No, I wasn’t,’ she said feelingly.

To her annoyance, he laughed. ‘That sounds like Bob,’ he commented, naming her boss.

‘Is he a close friend of yours?’ she asked curiously.

‘No, but he knows my parents quite well. They have a shared interest in horse-racing.’

So that explained the age difference, Allie realised, guessing that Drake must be in his early thirties, a whole generation younger than her boss. He hadn’t asked her where she wanted to be taken to, so she said, ‘I take it we’re going somewhere in particular?’

‘To your hotel.’

‘I haven’t chosen one yet,’ she pointed out.

‘I know, so I’ve booked you into the Baltschug Kempinski. It’s an old building that has been restored and modernised, and it’s handy for Red Square and the Kremlin.’

‘I’d intended to stay at the Ukraine,’ Allie said frostily, annoyed at his high-handedness.

To her further annoyance he gave her an amused, almost pitying look. ‘Believe me, you wouldn’t like it there. It’s where all the Communist officials from out of town used to stay. And it’s still very basic.’

‘Perhaps I’d prefer to find that out for myself,’ she told him stiffly.

Another amused glance came her way. ‘Ah, you’re into this feminism thing, are you?’ Drake remarked with casual chauvinism.

It was the kind of remark that immediately put her back up. Allie thought of telling him exactly what she thought of his attitude, but then shrugged inwardly and let it go; as she intended to ditch him just as soon as possible there seemed no point in setting him straight. But it made her decide at once that he was the sort of man she had absolutely no time for. One who was still trapped in the time-warp of gender stereotyping. Lord, he probably even thought that the little woman’s place was still tied to the kitchen sink!

Giving him a sideways, and very prejudiced, glance from under her lashes, Allie had the momentary thought that it was a pity he wasn’t her type, because she had to admit that his clear-cut features under level eyebrows were more than attractive. And he had the kind of tall, broad-shouldered but slim figure that made clothes look good on him, even elegant. When that adjective came into her mind it caught her by surprise; it wasn’t one she often ascribed to a man but it fitted him exactly.

But if there was one kind of man she couldn’t stand it was one who was narrow-minded in his attitude towards women. Allie had come across it too many times in the past. At first she had fought it, but had come to realise that most of the time she was beating her head against a solid concrete wall. The poor creatures had chauvinism ingrained into them from the cradle and nothing she could say or do would change it. So now she employed a more subtle method, and where necessary used the chauvinism for her own ends. And, looking at Drake Marsden, she decided to do the same now. To use him until she was ready to ditch him and go off on her own secret quest.

Smiling inwardly, she turned to look out of the window at this new country she’d read so much about. The roads were full of cars, mostly old Russian-built Ladas that belted out choking exhaust fumes, making Allie grateful they didn’t have to have the windows open. The car had air-conditioning so was pleasantly cool, but outside the sun beat down on the streets full of sweltering people. It made her feel hot just to look at them. ‘I thought it would be quite cool here,’ she commented, slipping off her jacket, ‘but it’s hotter than England.’

‘We seem to be having a heatwave at the moment, which is quite exceptional. In Russia they have a saying, “We spend nine months looking forward to the summer and then have three months of disappointment.” So you’re in luck.’

Drake steered the car expertly, completely at home in the congested traffic, she noticed. ‘How long have you been out here?’ she asked, for something to say.

‘About six months.’

‘And Bob said you speak Russian.’

‘Yes, I took it as one of my subjects at university.’

An egg-head, she thought. Just her luck. ‘I never went to university,’ she said provocatively.

‘Then you must be extremely good at your job to be given such a responsible assignment,’ Drake commented.

Flattery and condescension all in one sentence! Lord, it would almost be a pleasure to take him down a peg or two, Allie thought tartly, and if all she’d had to think about was her assignment she might have taken the time to do it, just for the hell of it. But right now she had other, far more important things on her mind.

The streets widened into broad thoroughfares, the buildings became grander, and Allie gave a gasp of pleasure as she caught a glimpse of the first onion-domed church to come into view, the golden domes bright and beautiful against the clear blue of the sky.

‘Wait till you see St Basil’s,’ Drake told her.

‘St Basil’s?’

‘It’s the cathedral in Red Square.’

They crossed the bridge over the River Moskva and Allie gave a delighted laugh as she saw the huge church with its brick-coloured towers, surmounted by a hotchpotch of domes. ‘It’s like something out of a fairy-tale!’ she exclaimed. ‘I had no idea there would be domes in so many different colours and patterns. The people who built them must have had a great love of colour.’

‘They still have. They’re a hot-blooded race.’

Allie thought she noticed a note of disapproval in Drake’s voice, which amused her. If he disapproved of people with passion in their veins, then what did that make him? But perhaps he liked playing the austere Englishman.

It took them only another couple of minutes to reach the hotel. Drake parked outside and in a very short time had helped her check in and carry her stuff up to a very comfortable room, with a window from which she could see the patterned domes of St Basil’s.

He glanced at his watch. ‘You’ll want to unpack, and I have some business that will take me about half an hour and then I’ll meet you downstairs. Is there anything you need?’ he asked her.

‘I’d murder for a drink.’

He smiled at the feeling in her voice. ‘Then I’ll meet you in the bar.’

Not, ‘Would you care to meet me in the bar in half an hour?’, Allie noticed, just the arrogant assumption that he was in charge and she would have to fall in with his timetable. In a small act of defiance she opened the fridge that nestled under the built-in dressing-table and poured herself a soda, tilting back her head to savour its liquid coldness in her dry throat, the material of her blouse stretched across her breasts. After the first drink she gave a long sigh and licked her now cool tongue slowly over her parched lips. Glancing at Drake, Allie saw that his eyes were studying her, and she gave a small smile. ‘I thought you had some business to do,’ she reminded him.

He blinked, nodded, said, ‘See you later.’ And went swiftly from the room.

Although the building was old, the ceiling in the room high and corniced with ornate plasterwork, there was, thankfully, a very modern bathroom. Allie stripped off and stood under the shower to cool down, then padded around the room in her underwear while she unpacked her suitcase. There was a safe in the wardrobe and into it she put her valuables, and also a small but very important old notebook. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she took her time in redoing her face and brushing the short blonde curls that clustered round her head like an angel’s halo. She found a sleeveless sun top and a short denim skirt, put them on and looked critically at her reflection for a couple of minutes, wondering whether to make Drake fall for her. He was certainly interested, she knew that already. And it might be amusing.

But no, she decided, picking up her bag; if it got out of hand, if he got serious, it might make it difficult to get rid of him when the time came. Looking at her watch, she saw that she had already kept him waiting for nearly twenty minutes, so strolled down to the bar.

Drake didn’t look at all put out by the wait, in fact was leaning against the bar chatting to another man in fluent Russian. He straightened when she came in, his eyes going over her and lingering just a little too long on her shapely legs. ‘Hello. What would you like to drink?’

‘Well, as I’m in Russia, I suppose it had better be vodka.’

‘With tonic?’

‘Please.’

Drake gave the order to the barman and saw that his companion was looking at Allie with unconcealed interest. ‘Let me introduce you,’ he said dryly. ‘Sergei Morozov. Miss Alexandra Hayden.’

‘Allie,’ she said with a friendly smile as she extended her hand.

It was taken and enveloped in the large hand of a man almost as tall as Drake, but with heavier features that were good-looking in a florid way. He had fair hair, was wearing a brown suit, but had a look in his eyes that spoke of a more extrovert nature under the conventional exterior. He gave her a polite bow and she had to take her hand from his as he showed no sign of releasing it. ‘Welcome to my country,’ he said expansively, as if he owned the place.

‘Why, thank you.’ Both men towered over her five feet three inches, so to make things more equal Allie climbed up onto a bar-stool. There was a momentary silence as both men savoured her legs while she did so, then Sergei said in good English, ‘You are on holiday in Moscow?’

Allie gave Drake a flicking glance, then, seeing no reason to prevaricate, replied, ‘No, actually I’m here on business. I work for a computer information company, and we’ve been asked to put together material for a CD-ROM—a compact disk—on Fabergé.’

‘On Fabergé?’ He opened his hands in an extravagant gesture. ‘Then you have come to the best place in the world. But there is so much information. The factory made so many beautiful things.’

‘So I understand. But I’m concentrating on just the Easter eggs they made at the moment.’

‘Ah, of course. Everyone wants to see the famous eggs.’

‘I understand you have several here in Moscow?’

‘Yes, certainly. At the Armoury museum.’

‘That’s in the Kremlin, isn’t it?’

‘You are well-informed, Allie.’

She smiled, but inwardly wondered if he really thought she would have undertaken a project like this without having first done her homework.

Drake said casually, ‘As a matter of fact Sergei might be able to help you. He has free access to the Kremlin.’

‘You do?’ Allie’s eyes widened and she looked suitably impressed as she gazed at the Russian.

He preened himself a little. ‘It is simply because of my work, you understand.’

‘Oh? What do you do?’

‘I am an architect, and an official in the department that deals with government buildings.’

‘And quite a high official,’ Drake put in.

Sergei smiled and didn’t deny it, but went on, ‘And as the Kremlin is the most important government building in Moscow I have to keep a close eye on it.’

‘What a wonderful job,’ Allie said with open awe, but wondering if she was overdoing it a little.

It seemed not. Sergei took her admiration as his due and said expansively, ‘It will be my pleasure to show you over the museum.’

‘How very kind of you. Actually I do have an appointment to meet a Professor Martos. I understand he’s the curator in charge of the Fabergé eggs.’

‘Ah, yes. I know him. I will speak to him and make sure he gives you all the help you need.’

‘That’s really very kind of you. I’m most grateful. I just know I’m going to have a wonderful time here.’

She smiled sweetly at the Russian and he became expansive, telling her about the delights of Moscow that she mustn’t fail to see. After another half an hour and a couple more drinks that he allowed Drake to buy, he remembered he was supposed to be somewhere else and took himself off, first bowing low over Allie’s hand. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss it but he contented himself with pressing it meaningfully while looking into her eyes in open admiration.

When he’d gone, Drake gave him five minutes, then said, ‘Drink up. Let’s get out of here.’

They walked out into the late afternoon sunlight and made their way to Red Square. For a while Drake pointed out the familiar landmarks that she’d heard of so often: the Kremlin with its high surrounding wall, the Gum department store opposite, and the angular red stone of Lenin’s tomb.

There were quite a few people about, mostly groups of tourists, but it wasn’t at all crowded. As they strolled along, Drake looked at her and said dryly, ‘You handled Sergei very well.’

‘He seems nice,’ she said guardedly, and saw his mouth quirk in wry amusement. ‘And wasn’t that what you intended—that I should be nice to him?’

His head came round sharply and his eyes became intent. ‘Not at all. I merely thought he might be useful to you.’

‘Is he a friend of yours?’

‘An acquaintance. Russians like getting to know foreigners. Both male—and female.’

There had been a definite pause and an inflexion on the last word that made Allie raise her head to look at him. ‘Was that a warning?’

He nodded. ‘Russian men tend to think it something to boast about if they can—get to know a European woman.’

‘What do you mean by “get to know”?’ Allie lifted a guilelessly innocent face to his.

Quizzical grey eyes met her blue ones for a moment, then he said wryly, ‘I’m quite sure you understand me.’

To tease him she kept up the naive act for a little longer. ‘Become friendly, do you mean? Let them show you round the city, that kind of thing?’ For a second he looked uncertain, but then saw the amusement in her face. His expression stiffened a little and she laughed. ‘You mean have sex, don’t you?’

Drake nodded. ‘To allow that to happen would be a very big mistake.’

She felt a sudden flash of anger at his presumption in warning her off. What kind of woman did he think she was, for heaven’s sake? Did he think that she could be swept off her feet so easily? Did he think her so cheap that she’d allow herself to be seduced by some stranger, albeit a rather good-looking one? Or was it just that he had a low opinion of women in general and expected them to fall for every glamorous foreigner they met?

‘Thanks for the warning,’ she said shortly, adding on a falsely artless note, ‘I’d never have known men could be so despicable if you hadn’t pointed it out’

His eyes growing contemplative, Drake said, ‘May I ask you a personal question?’

‘You can ask—but I don’t guarantee to answer it.’

‘How old are you?’

Her mouth creased in amusement. ‘How old do you think?’

‘In your mid-twenties?’

She nodded. ‘Near enough. Why do you want to know?’

But he didn’t answer, instead saying, ‘And do you have a partner—isn’t that how people in a lasting relationship are euphemistically described nowadays?’

‘You sound as if you don’t approve.’

‘Of the wording or the relationship?’

She shrugged. ‘Both.’

Drake looked at her for a moment, his face brooding and his eyes hidden under lowered lids, then he said, ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

Seeing that she’d only just met him that was hardly surprising, Allie thought indignantly. She said, ‘I told you I didn’t guarantee an answer.’

‘And you’re not going to?’

Tilting her head to one side as she looked at him, Allie said, ‘I think—not.’

For a moment he looked annoyed, as if he wasn’t used to being thwarted, but then his tone became brisk and formal again. ‘Very well, as you wish. I’ll walk you round to the entrance to the Armoury museum so that you’ll know where to go when you visit.’

He led her round the side of the wall and through a gate in a low iron railing that led through an archway guarded by armed soldiers. Through it they came into an open area where a section of pavement in front of the main building had been given a cover supported by scaffolding poles. A means of keeping the rain and snow off the queues of tourists waiting to enter, Allie presumed. Today, though, it served the purpose of providing welcome shade from the heat.

‘Isn’t it open yet?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘Yes, but visitors are only allowed in at certain times and for a set period.’

‘I hope that won’t apply to me,’ she said in some alarm. ‘I’ll need prolonged visits, preferably when there aren’t any visitors around.’

‘I dare say that can be arranged.’

Allie swept her eyes over him assessingly, wondering if he had any influence here. ‘I understand your company is setting up a branch in Moscow,’ she remarked casually.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

It was far from being a helpful answer, so she had to come right out and ask, ‘What sort of business is it?’

‘Banking,’ Drake replied shortly.

So he was nothing but a glorified bank clerk. Dull stuff, and he certainly couldn’t have any influence that would be helpful. He had probably already done the most that he could in introducing her to Sergei.

Turning, they left the Kremlin to walk back to her hotel. Allie had travelled a lot in the past, on holidays and with her job, so she was used to new countries. But Russia was somehow different. Perhaps the first thing she noticed was the road and street signs; they were completely impossible to decipher because Russia used the Cyrillic alphabet where some of the letters looked the same as the ordinary alphabet but had different meanings. An H for an N, for example. And then there was the beauty and colour of the splendid churches and the Kremlin, compared with the ring of concrete apartment blocks that surrounded the city.

‘Is it safe to walk around alone here?’ she asked idly.

She got a reaction she certainly hadn’t expected. Drake stopped and spun round. ‘What do you mean?’ he demanded sharply.

Blinking in surprise, Allie said, ‘Well...just what I asked; is it OK for me to walk around alone?’

Slowly his taut face relaxed and Drake ran a hand through his hair, but his voice sounded strained as he said, ‘In the daytime, yes, but I would certainly advise against it at night. In fact, I insist that you don’t.’

She gave a small gasp at his vehemence. Was the place that dangerous, then? Allie frowned, puzzled, but said nothing more. When they got to her hotel, she turned to Drake and held out her hand. ‘Well, thank you very much for meeting me and everything. It was very good of you to take the time.’

‘Not at all.’ He shook her hand but didn’t go, instead saying, ‘You said you’d been in contact with Professor Martos. When do you intend to see him?’

‘Some time tomorrow. I’m going to call him now to arrange a time.’

‘Does he speak English?’

‘Yes, I believe so.’

‘Are you sure? Would you like me to help you make the call?’

God give me patience, Allie thought, but said with some irony, ‘I think I might just be able to manage to make a phone call by myself.’

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on him. Drake raised an eyebrow, but only said, ‘Very well. I’ll pick you up at eight to take you out to dinner.’

‘That’s very kind of you, but I really don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ Allie said hastily.

‘It’s no trouble.’

‘But what about...?’ She had been going to say ‘your family’, but intuitively knew that he didn’t have anyone here, so changed it to, ‘I’m sure you’re terribly busy; I don’t want to take up all your time.’

Drake frowned for a moment, then said curtly, ‘I’ll meet you in the lobby at eight.’

He walked to where he’d parked his car and Allie watched him drive away with great misgivings. Trust her to get landed with a chauvinist, and an autocratic one at that. When he’d gone, she made her call to Professor Martos from the phone in the lobby, then quickly strode back to the Gum department store.

The building reminded her strongly of a huge French château with its white façade and sloping green roofs, but inside it was a delight of galleried arcades linked by bridges, ornate iron railings, and stuccoed archways. Allie searched the shopping arcades for a store that sold maps in English and bought a road atlas covering western Russia, from Moscow north to St Petersburg. Only then did she take time to stop and admire the magnificent glass roof that spanned the store like some immense spider’s web, the sun casting shadows that elongated the strands of the web and seemed to reach out to trap the shoppers as they passed below.

The shops were starting to close but Allie browsed through them, looking for typical Russian goods, but the up-market western companies seemed to have hijacked the place and if it hadn’t been for the wonderful architecture she could have been in any shopping mall in any part of the world.

When she got back to her hotel Allie locked the road atlas inside her suitcase. It was unlikely that Drake would ever come up to her room again, but she didn’t want to run any chance of him seeing the book and starting to ask questions. She changed into a beige lace dress that left her shoulders bare and, rather than have Drake call up to her room, went down to the lobby to meet him.

She reached it just as Drake was coming into the hotel. Allie caused quite a stir as she came out of the lift; most of the people glanced round and let their eyes linger. But then, it was a designer dress, and she knew she looked good in it, the colour and the style perfect for her slim figure.

Drake stood still for a moment and then walked forward to meet her. ‘You’re exactly on time,’ he remarked, letting his gaze run over her.

‘I don’t usually keep people waiting for three hours,’ Allie told him, referring to the wait at the airport.

He smiled, his grey eyes creasing with amusement. ‘You’re never going to forget that, are you?’

‘Could anyone?’

‘Don’t let it put you off the country.’ He put a hand under her elbow to lead her to the door.

‘Oh, I won’t.’ She raised her hand to her hair, making him let go of her arm, and then strode ahead of him out into the open.

His car was waiting at the kerb and Drake opened the door for her. She wasn’t sure whether or not he had got the message, but he made no further attempt to touch her.

‘Where are we going?’ Allie asked as he began to drive away from the city centre.

‘To a restaurant where they do typical Russian food. I thought you might prefer that on your first night here.’

‘How thoughtful of you.’

He gave her a somewhat sardonic look, one level eyebrow rising. ‘Most people seem to.’

Which put her in her place, Allie thought, smiling inwardly. ‘Do you live in a hotel?’

‘No, I have an apartment, for the moment.’

‘You intend to move?’

‘No, but my job here is over. I shall be going back to England shortly.’

‘Shortly?’ Allie fastened on the word, wondering if it represented an easier way to get rid of him. ‘I hope you’re not staying on here in Moscow just because of me.’

Drake didn’t answer directly, merely saying, ‘I’m due some leave.’

Turning to look at him, Allie said, ‘Good heavens, how embarrassing. I wouldn’t for the world want to keep you from going home, from being with your family. In the circumstances it was wrong of Bob to ask you to—’

‘I’m happy to do it,’ Drake interrupted rather brusquely.

He said it in a tone that was meant to stop all argument, all further protestations, but Allie tried once more, saying with a little sigh, ‘Bob really is a dear. He worries about me, and I appreciate it. But he never seems to get it into his head that I’m quite capable of looking after myself, even in a foreign country. I can just imagine the list of instructions he gave you.’ She deepened her voice into a playful imitation of her boss’s bass tone. ‘Don’t let her get too friendly with the natives. Make sure she knuckles down to work. Don’t let her go off sightseeing—this isn’t a damn holiday. And don’t let her go on the Metro in case she gets lost. And don’t let her loose in the shops or she’ll spend a fortune.’

Pulling up outside the restaurant, Drake turned to her and laughed. ‘How did you know what he said?’

‘Because I got the very same lecture before I left, of course. Whenever he sends me on an assignment he always worries himself silly in case something happens to me.’

‘I’m surprised he lets you go, then.’

Her voice becoming serious, Allie said pointedly, ‘He has to. I’m good at my job and he knows it. And when it comes down to it, it’s my expertise he wants and is paying for. Oh, he might put on the act of being paternal and worrying about my welfare, but maybe that’s to compensate for the fact that he can’t do the job himself and has to send me instead.’

Drake had turned to look at her and was studying her face, taking in the seriousness of her blue eyes, the tilt of confidence and determination to her chin. Slowly he said, ‘I can understand his concern. You give off an aura of—’ he sought for the right word ‘—of fragility. You remind me of one of those modern figurines. Dressed in the latest fashion but with a delicacy that is becoming lost in the contemporary world. You look as if you might easily break.’

Allie sighed, knowing exactly what he meant; her lack of height and her fine bone structure were the bane of her life—of her professional and working life, at least; in her social life they were definite assets. Firmly, she said, ‘That impression is entirely wrong. It’s an anachronism. I’m a professional career woman and I can handle any situation I come up against. I don’t need a nursemaid, and I certainly don’t need a chaperon—of either sex.’

His eyebrows lifted. ‘That was a very definite statement.’

‘It was meant to be.’

‘And what exactly does not needing a chaperon mean?’

Steadily, her eyes holding his, she said, ‘It means that I’m not a girl. I’m an experienced woman, and if I want to get friendly with someone, then I’ll go ahead and do it, whether—my boss likes it or not.’ She had almost said ‘whether you like it or not’, but stopped herself in time. She wanted to keep this as impersonal as possible.

But Drake had guessed and his face hardened. ‘I’m beginning to think Bob is right about you,’ he said shortly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘“The lady doth protest too much”,’ he quoted. Opening the car door, he said, ‘Come on, let’s go and eat.’

The restaurant was already quite full. It was almost impossible to tell the nationality of the customers from their dress because all looked smart; it was only as you walked by and listened to the language in which they spoke that you could tell. And everyone seemed to be talking as they ate and drank. On a small raised platform behind an equally small dance floor there was a gypsy band which was doing its best to drown out the noise of the voices.

Allie looked back over her shoulder as she turned a laughing face to Drake. ‘Is it always like this?’

He seemed to draw in his breath and gazed at her for a moment before he blinked and bent nearer to hear. She repeated her question and he nodded. ‘Wherever there are Russians you have noise.’

They sat down at a table for two at the rear of the room where an open window gave a welcome coolness. A waiter handed them menus but Drake didn’t look at his for a few minutes. His eyes were still on Allie but there was a frowning, abstracted look in them, as if he was thinking of something quite different.

‘A rouble for them,’ Allie said, her eyebrows rising.

He blinked, looked disconcerted for a moment, then said hastily, ‘What would you like to drink?’

They settled for vodka on the rocks and drank it while Drake explained the menu to her. ‘Everyone has zakuski,’ he told her. ‘That’s the same as hors d’oeuvres. And the Russians can make them last for a couple of hours. That’s mostly why westerners complain about the slow service here; they eat the zakuski and expect the main course to be served straight away, but you have to prolong the experience.’

‘Make a meal of it, you mean,’ Allie said, tongue in cheek.

Drake groaned, laughed. ‘I asked for that one, didn’t I?’

‘You didn’t take up my offer,’ Allie told him.

‘Offer?’

‘A rouble for your thoughts,’ she reminded him. ‘You were miles away just now.’

He gave a short laugh, said, ‘Was I?’ in a terse, ‘leave it’ kind of voice.

But Allie wasn’t to be put down. ‘So where were you?’ she demanded.

Picking up his glass, Drake looked down at it as he gave a small shrug. ‘It was nothing. For a second you reminded me of someone, that’s all.’

‘Oh? Who?’

‘No one you’d know,’ he said dismissively. ‘Now, have you decided what you would like to eat?’

‘Well, as I’m in Russia, I’ll guess I’ll go for something really authentic and have the beef stroganoff.’

That made him grin. ‘Very adventurous!’ he mocked.

Allie smiled back at him, wondering who it was she’d reminded him of. What woman could it have been, and what must she have meant to him to drag his mind away from the present and bring such a frown of memory to his face? ‘I take it you didn’t bring your family with you to Moscow,’ she said lightly.

‘My family?’ He gave her an assessing look at the question, probably wondering if it meant she was interested in him. ‘I have no family. I’m not married,’ he said, his tone a little abrupt.

She nodded. ‘That figures. Companies tend to send single people on foreign assignments. It’s cheaper.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

He looked slightly amused for a moment but turned to give the waiter his attention. He ordered in fluent Russian that produced the hors d’oeuvres and a bottle of Russian champagne. The gypsy band was playing away with great vigour and soon people got up to dance. Allie watched the different interpretations of the music with amusement; some tried to waltz, others to do a Highland fling, while other dancers just jigged around. The dancers were more entertaining than the band, but everyone seemed to be having a good time.

Watching her, Drake said, ‘Want to try?’

‘To that?’ She gave him a horrified look. ‘No way; I haven’t had nearly enough to drink to let my hair down to that extent.’

‘A slower one, then.’ He beckoned a waiter over and gave him some money which was taken over to the band leader, a man with dark hair and a luxuriant moustache who obviously thought he was the bee’s knees in his flamboyant costume.

The money had the desired effect and the band began to play a slow, haunting melody that could only have been a love song in any language. Drake stood and offered his hand. Hiding her reluctance, Allie let him help her to her feet and went into his arms to dance. As they moved around the room she thought how strange it was that you could be with a virtual stranger and never want or expect to be close to him, but with just the excuse of some music he could hold you as close as this, your bodies touching almost intimately, your faces, your mouths just a few inches apart. He could put his arm low on your waist, bend his head to take in the scent of your perfume, could look into your eyes and give a slow smile of awareness. An awareness that you were man and woman, that the business connection was just a superficial nonsense, a masquerade when set against the deeper, primitive sexual consciousness.

She found the thought disturbing, just as she found Drake’s nearness getting to her. He moved well and held her firmly; she could feel the muscle in his arm beneath her hand, and could only guess at his strength. He was too tall for her, of course, but her high heels had lifted her close enough for Allie to get the tang of his aftershave, to be able to study the strong line of his jaw and the firmness of his lips. There was nothing full or heavy about his features and there never would be; he was all lean planes and angles, western handsomeness personified.

She began to wonder if he was very experienced with women. He didn’t give off an obvious aura of knowledge, hadn’t looked her over stripping her as he did so, as some men did, wondering what she would be like in bed and how much effort might have to be put into getting her there. But there was a certain class of man who was so self-confident, so assured in his own masculinity, that he didn’t have to flaunt his experience. And that type of man was far more attractive to a woman than the more obvious kind.

Was Drake that kind of man? Allie wondered. A rather boisterous pair of dancers pushed towards them and Drake pulled her close and swung her out of the way. She followed him effortlessly, their steps perfectly matched, then laughed up at him. ‘That was close.’

‘Mmm.’ He looked down at her musingly for a moment and she wondered if he could guess what she was thinking about him.

Mischievously, she said, ‘You’re miles away again. Where are you this time?’

She wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t for him to say, completely out of the blue, ‘I know you have an ulterior motive in coming to Russia.’

She came to a precipitate stop, too disconcerted to be able to prevent her face filling with horrified dismay as she stared at him in appalled consternation. How could he know? How could he possibly have found out?


CHAPTER TWO

SOMEBODY bumped into her and Allie hastily moved out of the way, lowering her face, trying to hide her consternation. But her mind was screaming in mingled fright and anger. Who had told him? How could he possibly know? The two, oh, so vital questions burned into her brain. With a supreme effort she somehow lifted her head to look at Drake, forcing an amused smile to her mouth. Her voice sounding odd even to her own ears, she managed to say lightly, ‘What on earth gives you that idea?’

She hadn’t fooled him for a minute. Drake was gazing down at her with a frown of incredulous surprise in his grey eyes, and she could almost hear his brain computing her reaction, trying to work out why such a simple remark had disconcerted her so much. ‘It was something Bob said.’

It was such a deliberately ambiguous reply that she felt a spurt of anger but managed to fight it down, aware that he was watching her, studying her face. But she couldn’t understand how Bob could possibly know; she’d told no one, it was a secret she’d shared with only one person in the world—and she had been dead for years now. Fighting for normality, for lightness, Allie said, ‘Really? I can’t think what it was. What did he say, exactly?’

The direct question had pushed him into a corner and Allie knew that he would have to give her a direct answer, but the wretched man side-stepped again by saying, ‘He mentioned that you had an—outside interest in Russia.’

At any other time she might have enjoyed this verbal fencing, but this issue was much too important, made her too anxious to want to prolong it. And it was such dangerous ground. She gave a small shrug, pretending indifference. ‘I can’t think what he means.’

It left the opening up to Drake; he could come right out with it or he could go on playing cat and mouse with her. Allie kept her expression casual, as if nothing was the matter, even looking round the room and humming to the music.

She didn’t know whether she’d managed to deceive him or not, but she felt his eyes still fixed on her when he said, ‘Bob told me that you’ve already written a couple of books for children and would probably use this visit to get background for another.’

So that was it! Allie felt a huge wave of intense relief run through her, her legs felt as if they wanted to sag and her shoulders sank as the tightness left them. But she did her best to hide it by giving an embarrassed laugh. ‘Oh, that!’

‘What else could he have meant?’ The question showed that Drake hadn’t been taken in for a minute. He was holding her quite close and must have felt the sudden loss of tension.

Ignoring the question, she glanced up at him from under her lashes, still pretending to be embarrassed. ‘I’d hoped Bob had forgotten all about my writing. He teased me about it unmercifully when he first found out. Called me the future Enid Blyton of the twenty-first century. Thought it was a great joke. You know what he’s like.’

‘Does that worry you?’

The music came to an end and Allie stepped away from him, lifted an arm to push her hair off her forehead as they walked back to their table. ‘Here I am, busy projecting myself as a successful career woman, a go-ahead jet-setter with the lifestyle to go with it. Writing stories for young children hardly fits the image.’

His voice dry, Drake said, ‘And is your image that important to you?’

Of course it darn well mattered, she thought in annoyance. Where the hell had he been if he thought that the image a person projected wasn’t all-important in their career, their chances of promotion? ‘Isn’t yours?’ she countered.

‘What one does is surely more important than the way one looks while you’re doing it.’

‘Actions speak louder than appearances, in other words,’ Allie said wryly.

His eyebrows rising at her tone, Drake said, ‘You sound as if you don’t believe it.’

‘I can’t afford to. You may not have noticed, but I’m a woman.’

Drake had been about to take a drink but stopped at that, his eyes widening. With a sudden and rather surprising smile, he said, ‘Er—yes, I had noticed, as a matter of fact.’

‘Women have to be far more image-conscious than men.’

‘Isn’t that attitude rather dated?’ he asked on a cautious note.

He was right to be cautious; Allie could easily have snapped his head off. What could he, a jumped-up bank clerk, possibly know about the fight that women with any ambition had on their hands the minute they entered the business world? To succeed they not only had to be as good as men but better, and they had to look good, too. Power-dressing was exactly what it implied—a physical projection of where they wanted to be, the path they wanted to tread.

A man could turn up for work in yesterday’s shirt, his suit crumpled, and his contemporaries immediately thought that he’d had a night on the tiles and admired him for it. If a woman turned up looking at all unkempt her male colleagues would think she was sleeping around and treat her accordingly, while her female workmates would probably think she had given up the uneven struggle and was letting herself go.

Inwardly at zero tolerance level, Allie just gave Drake a sweet smile and said, ‘No—but yours is.’

He looked taken aback and his eyes narrowed. Leaning forward, he looked as if he was going to argue, but thankfully the cabaret started, dancers dressed in vivid, exotic costumes springing onto the dance floor. The music became high and heated and it was impossible to talk. Allie turned her chair slightly to watch, her face averted, presenting only the fine line of her profile to Drake’s gaze. When the sweating dancers finished their performance, the waiter hurried to bring their main course, and when he had gone Allie made sure to turn the conversation into safer channels.

It was a prolonged meal and she didn’t enjoy it. She realised that her reaction to Drake’s remark about her having an ulterior motive in coming to Russia, which he’d made in all innocence, had aroused his curiosity. He was watchful now, scenting a mystery he couldn’t fathom. As soon as he got home he would probably be on the phone to her boss, trying to solve it, she thought with chagrin, angry at herself for having given so much away. But the remark had taken her completely by surprise, there had been no warning, no few precious moments in which to prepare herself for it.

‘Tell me how you came to write the story books,’ he invited.

‘I have a little god-daughter. I was baby-sitting one night when she couldn’t sleep, so I made up a story. But she’s a very modern child, everything has to be visual, so I had to draw pictures of the characters for her. Her father saw them and suggested I try to get it published.’ She shrugged. ‘No big deal at all, really.’

‘Did they sell well?’

‘Quite well,’ Allie admitted, with an inner surge of pleasure at the thought of her success. ‘But not well enough to give up the day job,’ she added firmly, in case he passed that piece of information on to her boss.

But Drake disarmed her by grinning as he said, ‘I’m sure Bob would be pleased to hear you say that. He told me that you’re a great asset to his company.’

‘He did?’ Allie’s eyes widened. Her boss wasn’t exactly generous with praise and compliments. The most she usually got from him was, ‘Not bad. Not bad, considering.’

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t want to lose you,’ Drake said in some amusement, as if reading her mind.

She didn’t like it when his mouth twisted into that amused smile; it was condescending, as if she were just some dumb female, not to be taken seriously. It put her back up.

‘How sweet of you to reassure me. And where will you be based when you leave Russia?’ she asked him. ‘Back in London—or do you just dutifully go wherever you’re sent?’

The edge of sarcasm in her tone wasn’t lost on him. Drake’s eyes narrowed, but he admitted, ‘I go where I’m needed. But isn’t that what you do?’

She gave one of her sudden, impish and completely natural smiles. ‘Touché.’ His eyes came swiftly to her face with an arrested expression, but before he could speak Allie pretended to stifle a yawn. ‘It’s been quite a long day. Would you mind taking me back to my hotel?’

‘Of course. You must be tired after your journey.’

She wasn’t; Allie had seldom felt more inwardly alert as they drove back to the city centre, but she lay back against her seat, letting him think her exhausted.

When they reached her hotel, she turned to thank him for the evening, but Drake said, ‘I’ll see you inside.’ And, opening the passenger door of the car, he escorted her into the entrance.

There she turned and offered her hand, gave him a practised smile. ‘Thank you so much for a wonderful evening. It was a perfect start to my stay here. And thank you again for meeting me and everything. I’ll be sure to tell Bob how kind you’ve been.’

There was dismissal in every sentence, distance in her smile. Drake took her hand but not the dismissal. Instead he said, ‘It was my pleasure. I know you’ll be working during the day, but have you any thoughts on where you would like to go tomorrow evening?’

‘That’s very kind of you, but I expect I’ll be busy working out my shooting schedule, that kind of thing,’ she responded easily.

‘That’s a shame. The ballet are performing tomorrow and I’m sure I could manage to get a couple of tickets.’

‘The ballet? Russian ballet?’ Allie was immediately torn; seeing the ballet performed here in Russia was a lifelong ambition. Well, she’d intended to see it some time while she was here, so why not let Drake take her? So she smiled and said, ‘You’ve found my weakness. I couldn’t possibly refuse a chance like that.’

‘Good. I’ll meet you here at seven tomorrow, then.’ And only then did he let go of her hand.

Allie smiled. ‘Thanks again. Goodnight.’ She turned and walked across the deep foyer to the lifts, joined a small group of waiting people. When the lift came she glanced back. Drake was still there, hands hooked into the pockets of his trousers, watching her. She lifted her hand in a small wave goodbye and walked into the lift.

As Drake watched her walk away from him his thoughts were on her legs. Although she was so petite her figure was perfect and her legs very shapely, with the kind of slim ankles that he liked on a woman. There were other tourists, women among them, waiting for the lift and he was sure she would be quite safe, but he stayed where he was. When Allie waved, he merely nodded, and waited until the lift doors had closed before going back to the car.

He was fully aware that she didn’t want him around; Bob had warned him that she was an independently minded girl. What he hadn’t been warned about was her attractiveness, her air of fragility that immediately appealed to his protective instincts. Fleetingly he wondered if Bob, who knew everything about his past, had deliberately brought them together for reasons other than that of convenience. But he pushed that thought aside. What intrigued him now was that moment of open fear Allie had shown earlier. If her secondary reason in coming to Russia had been merely to write a children’s book, why be so frightened that he should know? No, there had to be something more than that. Something that Bob Delaney didn’t know about.

Drake negotiated the streets and pulled into the garage below his apartment building, pondering the problem. Had she perhaps undertaken to carry out an assignment for some other organisation at the same time as Bob’s? Working for two companies without telling her employer? It was possible, he supposed. From only spending one evening with her he was aware that Allie was very ambitious. If she thought it might help her career she might well agree to take on the extra work, even though she probably knew that Bob wouldn’t approve.

Maybe she was even lining up to move on to another company, or to start up as a freelance. So perhaps it was the fact that she was deceiving Bob, who was his friend, that had made her so prickly towards him, made her react so guiltily. Whatever it was, he would do his best to discover it, Drake decided. After all, Bob had been a good friend to his parents, and to him when he’d most needed one; he owed it to him to find out.

But as he entered his flat and moved over to the window to look out over the lights of the city in the direction of her hotel Drake knew that that was just a feeble excuse; the truth was that he was intrigued by Allie herself and couldn’t resist getting to know her better. But whether that was wise, in view of his own past and even more uncertain future, was an extremely debatable point.

Allie was eager to get down to work the next morning but found that it was first necessary to get to know Professor Martos and his assistants. She was given a tour round the whole museum, which was fascinating, but her mind was entirely on the Fabergé eggs which she was shown last. The professor took her to the display case but stood with his back to it as he gave her a lecture on Fabergé and his factory, before at last moving out of the way, indicating the eggs with a flourish of his arm, like a conjuror waving his wand.

Allie gasped, and stared. The treasure that he’d revealed was the cream of an Aladdin’s cave. Gold, silver, the flash of diamonds and rubies, the gleam of platinum and crystal—all these were there, but those were mundane in comparison to the fantastic workmanship in which they were contained. There were ten eggs in all, arranged on two shelves of the large cabinet. Some of them were large, some small in comparison, but all were different. And most of them had a hidden surprise.

One of them was a clock crowned with a delicate bouquet of lilies carved from onyx, another had a scale working model of a Trans-Siberian railway train that folded to fit inside, the tiny key that wound the mechanism lying beside it. A third was a music box, and others contained miniature portraits of the Imperial family, their young faces smiling confidently into the future they would never see. A small replica of the royal yacht floated on a crystal sea, another egg opened to show a painting in a golden frame.

Her eyes wide with wonder and pleasure, Allie gazed at the eggs, the Easter gifts of the last Tsar of Russia to his wife and his mother. Last of all, she allowed her gaze to move to one of the smallest eggs. It was covered in clover leaves of transparent, bright green enamel, their shapes outlined by gold threads. Here and there between the foliage wound a thin golden ribbon paved with rubies. Although one of the smallest examples it was also one of the most attractive, a masterpiece of the jeweller’s art.

‘Doesn’t that egg have a surprise inside?’ she asked, pointing to it.

Professor Martos raised his hands in a helpless gesture and said, with his heavy accent, ‘Alas, it has been lost But records show that it once had four leaves set inside it, each with a portrait of the emperor’s daughters, and was set with twenty-three perfect diamonds.’

‘What a shame,’ Allie murmured, and hid her excitement by immediately pointing to a different egg and asking questions about it.

The professor was pleased to air his knowledge and practise his English, and they got down to fixing shooting schedules. It was arranged that they would photograph one egg per day with a break for Sunday. The eggs were to be taken from the show cabinet to a special room, but Allie wasn’t to be allowed to handle them, she was warned; the professor and his assistants would do that. But he promised he would give her all the help she needed for the very handsome fee that her company was paying the museum. She was shown the room where the shoot was to take place; it was adequate, about thirty feet square, windowless, and with the walls painted white to reflect the light. ‘I will want to take one film of all the eggs together,’ she warned.

Allie took a loose-leaf binder from her document case and showed Professor Martos the outline that she envisaged for the CD-ROM. ‘We’ll need a wide shot of all the eggs so that people can click on to the one they want to go to,’ she explained.

‘It will have to be done at night, or when the museum is closed,’ he told her.

They were discussing arrangements when footsteps sounded in the empty gallery. Allie thought it was the tourists entering for the next visiting period, but when she glanced round she saw only one man—Sergei Morozov.

He shook hands first with the professor and then with her, holding her hand longer than was necessary as he told the professor how they had already met. ‘You have already seen round the museum? That is a shame; I had promised myself that pleasure. As you’ve already seen the Armoury perhaps you would let me show you round some other museums instead?’

Allie sensed that the professor wasn’t too happy about having Sergei hanging around, so she said, ‘Having seen these wonderful eggs, it looks as if I’m going to be very busy, but perhaps I could give you a ring when I have some free time.’

‘“Give me a...?” Oh, you mean call, telephone. I understand. But it will be easier for me to call your hotel, I think.’ He turned to the professor, said something in Russian to which the older man shook his head, then glanced at his watch and said a time. One o’clock. The phrase was easy enough for Allie to understand it.

When he’d gone they finalised arrangements for the day on which all the eggs were to be photographed together, everyone agreeing that early the following Sunday morning would be best. An hour or so later Allie left the museum, walking out of its cool atmosphere into the midday heat. She paused to put on her dark glasses and wasn’t at all surprised to see Sergei leaning on the railing outside, waiting for her.

Straightening, he came forward and said with an easy smile, ‘I remembered that I have to go to a very famous monastery not far from Moscow this afternoon. To check on the building, you understand. And I thought, on such a beautiful day, what could be better than to show this most beautiful place to our most beautiful tourist?’

Allie wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Sergei, that is the corniest line I ever heard.’

He laughed. ‘But it is what they say in the movies all the time.’

‘You must watch some very old movies.’

He laughed again, not in the least put out. ‘But you will come with me, yes?’

‘Where is this place?’

‘At Zagorsk. It is the biggest monastery in Russia as well as being the most beautiful. Everyone goes there. You must not miss it.’

She had heard of the place, of course, not only from her reading about Russia in preparation for this trip, but in tales told long ago. And she’d had every intention of going there, so if Sergei wanted to take her—well, why not? ‘Sure. I’d like to.’

Rewarding her decision with a delighted smile, Sergei led her out of the Kremlin, saying, ‘My car is just a short distance away.’

As they walked along, the sun rippling on the surface of the River Moskva on their left, Allie remembered Drake’s warning about getting too friendly. She smiled inwardly, quietly confident of her ability to handle Sergei if the need arose. But then the forcefulness in Drake’s voice came back to her; maybe it wouldn’t do any harm to be cautious. So when they reached Sergei’s car, a well-polished but old German model, she said, ‘I’ll have to go back to my hotel first; I can’t visit a monastery dressed like this.’

He tried to demur but she insisted, and while in her room she wrote down where she was going and with whom, leaving the note with the receptionist to give to Drake if he should ask for her.

As it turned out the precaution was completely unnecessary. Sergei drove the seventy kilometres or so to Zagorsk, telling her something of his life in Russia but far more interested in life in London.

‘Haven’t you ever been there?’ she asked him.

‘For one week only, to study the architecture. It rained all the time.’

Allie laughed. ‘It does tend to do that.’

‘But I have been to America,’ Sergei told her. ‘Now that is an amazing country. I studied English and architecture there for nearly two years.’

‘I thought your English had an American accent.’

‘It does? I did not realise that.’

The monastery was everything Sergei had promised. Its buildings covered a vast area and it came complete with onion domes in gold, and brilliant blue encrusted with gold stars, with towers and steeples, with an uncountable number of religious buildings, and even a museum full of beautiful icons.

Being with Sergei was definitely a help; where the way into a church was barred to ordinary tourists, he merely spoke a few words to the robed and bearded priest who guarded the entrance and they were allowed inside. Allie had changed into an ankle-length skirt and a long-sleeved blouse back at the hotel and had covered her hair with a lightweight scarf as they’d entered the monastery, so she didn’t stand out too much from the crowds of worshippers who packed all the shrines and churches. All of these were breathtaking; richly adorned, their walls of painted icons, most of them overlaid in gold or silver, reflected the sunlight. There were no seats inside these holy places; in the Russian orthodox church everyone stood, murmuring their prayers.

Her only regret was that she wasn’t alone, but without Sergei she probably wouldn’t have been allowed inside these sacred places. He stood quite close beside her, but Allie shut her eyes and tried to forget him, to lose herself in the atmosphere of veneration around her. It must have been like this for hundreds of years, she thought, for all the ancestors who had lived in Russia so long ago. They must have stood in churches just like this, prayed as these people were praying, worshipped in exactly the same way. She tried to feel as they must have felt, but it was all too strange, too alien to her upbringing, to the modern western woman that she had become.

Outside again, they wandered around.

‘Didn’t you come here to do some work?’ Allie asked after a while.

Sergei gave her a bland smile. ‘But that is what I’m doing as we walk around.’

Allie laughed as she was meant to. ‘It’s very kind of you to show me round like this, but I wouldn’t want you to neglect your work.’

‘It’s my pleasure. But you have seen very little as yet. There is much of Moscow still to see.’ He hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘And you must try some typical Russian food. Perhaps you would let me take you to a restaurant I know tonight?’

‘How nice of you to ask me, but Drake Marsden has already invited me out.’

‘That’s a great shame. Perhaps—’

‘Some other time? Of course. Although I’m going to be rather busy with my work, of course. Oh, look at that amazing tower!’ she exclaimed as they turned a corner. ‘How old is it, do you know?’

Her ploy to change the subject worked and they talked Russian history until it was time to leave. Sergei drove her back to Moscow but they got snarled up in the traffic and it was quite late before he dropped her off at the hotel. Allie cursed a little as she hurried to change; this was probably the only time she would ever get to go to the ballet at the Bolshoi and she wanted to look good for the occasion. As she sorted through her wardrobe for something suitable to wear Allie remembered Drake’s comment about her look of fragility and pouted a little. If he thought she didn’t look capable of taking care of herself it was going to be even harder to get rid of him. So maybe ‘it wouldn’t do any harm to show him another side of her persona. Smiling, she took out her red dress.

After washing her hair, Allie drew it smoothly back from her head but with a knot of curls at the nape, fastened with jewelled clips. The red dress wasn’t really all that revealing, at least when viewed from the front. It was when she turned round that the perspective changed. The front had a high halter neck, but was completely bare at the back. The skirt was long, but had two slits up the sides that reached to her thighs. And it clung so sleekly that it was quite impossible to wear anything underneath it. Adding a pair of red suede wedge shoes, Allie slung a small evening bag on her shoulder, laughed at her reflection in the mirror, and went down to give Drake ample opportunity to revise his first impression of her.





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