On their way home, James Falconer and Peter Keller agreed not to mention their encounter with the two thugs or talk about it between themselves in the office. It would cause too much chitter-chatter. Also, they did not want Mr. Malvern to hear about it because it would undoubtedly upset him. So they put their heads down the next morning and got on with their work, dismissing their assailants, now in police custody.
By four o’clock in the afternoon James felt tired, and his neck and shoulders ached. He was not used to throwing punches and dodging around like a boxer. It was unlike him to leave the office early, but he felt weary and needed to be at home.
Walking down Piccadilly on this lovely July afternoon helped him. He adjusted his posture, endeavored to stand taller, and made his way to Half Moon Street. Once inside the flat, he relaxed, took off his jacket, and sat down with The Chronicle in the living room.
His hand ached and he rubbed it, closing his eyes for a moment, reliving the rush of adrenaline he had felt on realizing they were being followed. He still carried the scar of the street attack that Sergeant Owen had referred to, that had cost his childhood friend his life. London was a violent city, but he was troubled by this second attack. James’s thoughts turned for a moment to Hull.
Opening his eyes, he read the front page and flipped to the inside. He did not look for his uncle’s byline, because he had only just left for Scotland. Uncle George was joining the press corps on their jaunt to Balmoral to cover the arrival of the Prince of Wales.
Leaning back in the comfortable armchair, James let the paper drop on the floor and closed his eyes again, his thoughts on the queen’s heir.
He had always had a soft spot for their future king and shared his uncle’s opinion that Prince Albert Edward had never been treated properly by his mother.
Seemingly she blamed her son for her husband’s premature death after he caught a chill.
Not valid, his uncle had said at the time, and they both still believed this to be the truth.
Unexpected knocking on the front door of the flat caused James to jump up and walk across the room. When he opened the door, he was totally taken aback. Standing there was Irina, looking lovely in a soft pink silk dress and a matching hat, a lacy shawl hanging from her arms. She had a bright smile on her face.
“Irina,” he exclaimed. “What a surprise. How nice to see you. Do come in.”
“I’m so sorry to intrude like this,” she said, stepping into the room as he opened the door wider and ushered her inside.
She went on, “I did go to the Malvern office, only to discover I had just missed you. I spoke to Natalya, and she gave me your address. She suggested I come here, to give you this.”
Opening her handbag, she took out a small package wrapped in silver-colored paper and tied with silver ribbon. “It’s a gift for you.”
Surprise flashed across his face. He smiled to himself as he looked at the gift, at the same time telling her to sit down in a chair. He took the other one. He opened the package and found himself holding in his hands the most extraordinary icon. It was the face of the Madonna, beautifully painted, and set in an ornate, gold-painted frame. It looked rather valuable to him.
“Irina, this is just wonderful,” James said, the admiration clear in his voice. “Thank you so much. It is very kind of you to give me something so unique. I will treasure it.”
Her face was ringed in smiles. “It’s my pleasure. I’m happy you like it. I found it in one of those old-fashioned antique shops in Mayfair. Most of them have unusual treasures, mostly from Europe. I understand this icon’s provenance is Russian.”
“Then it is even more meaningful,” he said, his voice full of warmth. He had been drawn to this young woman from the first moment they had met. She was younger than her sister and quite a different type altogether, a little softer, rather shy, yet at the same time outspoken when she wanted to be.
For reasons he didn’t quite understand, she reminded him of Mrs. Ward. They did not look very much alike, and there was a big difference in their ages, but they exuded femininity, friendliness, and a quiet sexuality that was most appealing.
He suddenly knew at this precise moment that he wanted her. He was hoping her visit meant she felt the same way. Yet he was also aware he must be cautious, go slowly with her.
Irina said, “By the way, I must explain something to you. Our aunt would like to bring Aubrey Williamson to the supper on Thursday. He is alone in London and available. She feels she needs an escort, you see. Mr. Lorne is still away. Is that all right, James?”
“I would be happy to invite him to the supper, and I understand quite well how your aunt feels. No woman wants to be alone at a dinner. Anyway, it balances the table better. Now we will be six.”
“How shall we handle it?” Irina asked.
“Your aunt can tell him, say he is very welcome, and I will send him a written invitation by hand tomorrow, if you give me his address. That is the proper thing to do.”
Irina answered, “I will write it down for you, and then I must leave. I have imposed on you long enough.”
“Oh no, please don’t go just yet. I so enjoy your company. Or perhaps you have another engagement.”
“No, no, I don’t, actually,” she answered swiftly, wanting to be here with him, although she did not dare say that. She had fallen heavily for James Falconer, wished they could be together.
“It’s settled then, you’ll stay for … I’ll make some tea.” He jumped up. “Excuse me a moment. We only have a woman who comes in to clean—we fend for ourselves with food. My uncle is often out.”
“My mother says a kitchen is a woman’s place and men are not allowed.” She began to laugh, and he laughed with her.
James walked toward the kitchen, and she followed him in, glancing around. “What a nice size it is,” Irina exclaimed, and headed toward the large window. She continued, “It’s so light. I loathe dark rooms.”
James filled the kettle, picked up a box of Swan Vestas and struck a match, and put it to the gas ring.
Turning around, he walked over to the window. “It’s funny, I feel the same way. I too hate dark rooms. I prefer all the lamps blazing.”
“Are you afraid of the dark?” Irina wondered aloud, a brow lifting.
“No. Still, I feel much better when everything is bright and cheerful.”
“So do I.” She looked up at him, and with her head on one side, she asked, “Can I come and cook supper for you one evening?” She had surprised herself, but was glad she had found the nerve to ask.
When he didn’t immediately respond, she said, “Oh dear, that was far too forward of me, wasn’t it?”
“Not at all, I’d be thrilled, absolutely thrilled, Irina.”
“I’m a good cook, and I make some interesting Russian dishes. They are tasty. I adore Russia and the food there, and cooking is my hobby.”
He moved a bit closer to her. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful cook, but the most important part is that you want to come here to be with me, and spend an evening together.”
“Do you like that idea, James?” She looked up at him from under her lashes.
“I do indeed. In fact, I was going to ask you to have supper with me tomorrow, just the two of us.” He took hold of her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “You see, I’ve longed to be alone with you, to get to know you better. I’ve really fallen for you, Irina.”
“Oh, James,” she whispered, turning pink and moving even closer to him. Looking up into his face, she whispered in a low voice, “That makes me so happy, because I have fallen for you … very much so.”
Looking down into her large, dark eyes, he saw the longing in them. It was a yearning for him. Before he could stop himself he bent down and kissed her. She moved into him instantly, her body pressed to his. He pulled her buttocks hard against his crotch. She gasped as she drew her mouth away from his. “I’m overwhelmed by you, James. And you are feeling the same. Your body tells me that.”
When he was silent, she said, “Well, you are, aren’t you?”
“I desire you. I’ve wanted you from the moment we met, and—”
He took her hand and led her back to the living room. “Sit down here next to me on the sofa. I need to speak to you, Irina.”
Baffled as she was, she did as he asked. “Is there something wrong?” she finally asked.
“Everything is right. Oh so very right. However, I must ask you something before we—”
“Obviously it’s something very important,” she cut across him.
“Yes, it is. I know you are young, only twenty-two, and I was wondering if you had ever…” He threw up his hands. “I’m a man, so it goes without saying that I’ve had some experience. And I was—”
“Wondering if I was a virgin,” she interrupted. “That’s what you were going to ask, isn’t it?”
“I was.”
“I have known a man. Only one man, and that was a few years ago.”
He stared at her, discovered he was unexpectedly teeming with jealousy. He wanted to know who the man had been and where he was now. Pushing his jealousy aside, clearing his throat, he asked, “Would you tell me about him? Or is that too difficult for you? Is it rude of me?”
“No, not rude at all. It’s natural you’d want to know. I don’t mind talking about him. He was very kind to me, very loving. Ask me anything you want, James.”
“How old were you?”
“I was seventeen, and he was twenty-nine. He was Russian, a friend of my Russian relatives. He’d known me for years.”
“And this happened when you were in Russia? I know you and Natalya went there a lot to visit your aunt Olga.”
“Yes. Vladimir and I came together at his dacha. He had come to check on the estate, and he came to see Aunt Olga about a horse. When he left, I asked if I could walk with him back to his dacha. He agreed, and when we arrived, he told me we had to say good-bye because he loved me. He said I was too young and also he was married. But Aunt Olga had told me he was in the middle of a divorce. His wife had left him for a woman so I picked a rose in the garden and I gave it to him. I told him I had loved him since I was a little girl. And so we went into the house, and talked, and I just stopped him at one moment because he was afraid. I said good-bye and left the dacha.”
“I suppose he ran after you, didn’t he?” James observed. “And he made you his.”
“That is true. And we were together in his bed. We were … very close for one year, and then he fell ill. It was tuberculosis. Very infectious. Fortunately, I had never lived at the dacha. I couldn’t. Our relationship was a secret. Aunt Olga never knew. Tell no one. That was my motto. Anyway, he went into hospital. No one could go and see him. I never got to say good-bye. Vladimir died.”
Irina sighed. “He was like you, in a sense. He worried about taking my virginity.”
James was silent. At last he said in a low, gentle voice, “I am glad he was a considerate man, and thank you for telling me. I’m sorry for your grief. It must have been a hard time.”
“Thank you. But I was eighteen when he passed away, and now I’m almost twenty-three. Have you had many lovers in your life?”
“No, only one. Her name was Georgiana. She was older than me, a young widow. She was lovely in every way. She had dark hair and violet eyes, and like your Vladimir, she was kind and loving. She made me happy.”
“Is she dead?” Irina asked.
“No. She left where she was living and moved to London, but has left here now because of her health and the pollution from the coal fires, and went to live in the country to look after her sister, who was ill.”
“And you never see her anymore?” Irina probed softly.
“No. And I’ve never heard from her.” He took hold of Irina’s hand. “You remind me of her, in certain ways, in your personality. She made me feel comfortable and so do you. You arouse me as she did.”
He put his arm around her and pulled her closer. They began to kiss each other, their excitement growing. It was Irina who pulled away first. Looking deeply into his blue eyes, she murmured, “Let us stop now. We understand how we feel, that we want to make love. But it can’t be hurried, because the first time must be perfect. And I must have protection.”
His disappointment showed on his face, and she was well aware how hard he was. She said in a whisper, “It will be tomorrow, James. Tomorrow I will be yours.”