The Russian's Ultimatum (13 page)

‘Couldn’t you have adopted?’

‘That’s what Yana suggested, but I’m afraid adoption is not a route I will go down.’

‘Your father adopted you,’ she pointed out softly.

‘And wasn’t I made to know it? Hardly a day went by when Marat didn’t rub my nose in the fact that he shared Andrei’s blood and I didn’t, that I was the cuckoo in the Plushenko nest. Andrei himself used the fact of Marat being his blood to undermine my point of view about bringing him onto the board at Plushenko’s.’ He raised his shoulders. ‘I can’t do that to a child. I won’t see another person suffer for their blood not being the same as the family they live with.’

‘How ridiculous.’

Whatever reaction he’d expected from Emily, scorn most definitely was not it.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he refuted tightly.

‘Rubbish. You have your mother’s blood for a start—’

‘Which meant nothing to her when she took Andrei and Marat’s side.’

‘You put her in an impossible situation. What was she supposed to do? Tell you that your irrationality was justified? I don’t care what your father said, I’m certain he never meant it in the way you took it. He worked his fingers to the bone to keep you alive. If that isn’t love then I don’t know what is. For goodness’ sake, he even got his hands on black market copies of
Top Cat
for you to watch when you were too weak to do anything else. Blood doesn’t come into it.’

Her words were like tiny barbs being thrown at his skin, all landing straight in his chest. It took all his control to stop his hands from shaking.

He’d always been able to temper his anger but now...now he could feel it slipping.

She’d
done this to him. He didn’t know how or why but Emily pushed buttons in him that no one else could even find.

‘You think because we’ve made love that you have a right to tell me how I should
feel
, is that it?’

‘I never said that. There are thousands—millions, for all I know—of orphaned children in this world begging for a family to love them, and you won’t consider taking one of them in and building a family of your own because of Marat’s jealous attitude towards you.’

‘You do not know what you’re talking about.’

‘Then explain it to me.’

‘I don’t have to explain anything to you.’ He stared down at her. She gazed right back, her eyes full of hurt, but also full of a powerful anger. ‘I’ve explained this much because after everything we’ve been through over these past few days I thought I owed you an explanation. I can’t give a woman a baby and I will not be party to an adoption. Eventually, resentment rears its head and snap—’ he snapped his fingers for emphasis ‘—the end of the relationship follows along with the mourning for wasted years. I couldn’t give Yana the baby she wanted but in my arrogance I thought my love would be enough for her. It wasn’t. She turned into a shell of herself and I won’t—I can’t—do that to you too. I won’t watch the light in your eyes die.’

All the anger emanating from Emily’s pores dissipated. She tilted her head, shaking it slowly. ‘If Yana
had
loved you enough then you really
would
have been enough. Yes, I want children, but if I fell head over heels in love with someone who couldn’t have them I would cherish the relationship for what it could give me and not what it couldn’t.’

‘You mean you would do what you have always done and stifle your desires for someone else’s sake,’ he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

‘I feel sorry for you,’ she surprised him by saying. ‘Love isn’t a tick-box or a competition. I
know
I need to reclaim my life for myself but I will always be there for the people I love. I’ve let my father’s depression and the way it affects me take over my life, always feeling I wasn’t enough. I need to stop thinking like that and remember the good times with him, because when he’s well our relationship is great.

‘
That’s
what I meant about cherishing a relationship for what it could give me rather than what it could not. And if I loved you, Pascha Virshilas, I wouldn’t care about your sterility so long as you loved me back, and so long as I knew you would always be there for me.’

‘But that’s you all over, isn’t it,
milaya moya
? And it’s that life and passion you contain within yourself that lets me know I am right about this. I would not wish for all that life to die out. You deserve to have it all.’

‘But not with you,’ she finished for him softly.

‘No. Not with me. I can’t give you it all. All I can give you is unfulfilled dreams that will eventually eat into your soul and destroy you.’

‘Then I guess there’s nothing else for us to say,’ she said quietly. Reaching up, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. ‘I hope one day you can look in the mirror and see a man who deserves to have it all too.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

E
MILY
HEARD
THE
front door open.

She took a sip of her lukewarm coffee and pushed her plate of half-eaten chicken pie to one side. She wasn’t hungry.

She’d hoped with all her heart that her father getting out of bed was the first step towards recovery. But her return had set him back.

She’d returned to the house late last night, so had waited until the morning to give him the good news about the money and relay everything else Pascha had said. There had been no reaction, not even when she’d told him his job was there for him to go back to if he wanted.

He’d spent the day in bed.

She’d spent the day making phone calls and waiting for James to get back from work. It wasn’t as if she had a job to go to. As she’d suspected, Hugo had fired her. The letter had sat on the sideboard waiting for her return. No severance pay. Nothing. She kept waiting for the devastation to hit her but, to her surprise, all she felt was relief.

It felt good to feel something. The only other emotion she felt at that moment wasn’t even an emotion. It was numbness. She felt empty, as if she’d been drained of all the things that made her human.

‘Hi, sis,’ James said, stepping into the kitchen and heading straight to the oven where his dinner was keeping warm. ‘Good trip away?’

‘It was very...productive.’ He didn’t know about her job situation. Not yet. He could wait a little longer.

‘Right. Well, I’ve rebooked my trip to Amsterdam and I’ll be leaving on Friday.’

‘When are you going back home?’

‘After I’ve eaten this.’ He winked at her, taking the seat opposite her at the kitchen table. ‘I’ve missed my flat.’

‘Funnily enough, I’ve missed mine too.’ Emily waited for him to swallow his first mouthful. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Did it hurt?’

For once she didn’t laugh at her brother’s quip. ‘This can’t go on. We can’t fix Dad on our own—no,
I
can’t fix him on
my
own. He needs professional help and he needs it now. I’ve phoned the doctor to get the ball rolling about getting proper home care for him.’

James eyed her shrewdly. ‘What’s brought the big change on? I thought you were adamant we didn’t need outside involvement.’

‘I was wrong. And I was wrong to give up my flat. I’ve given my tenants their month’s notice. I’ll be moving back in as soon as they’re out. From now on, you and I are going to share responsibility for Dad.’

She didn’t wait for a reaction, simply got up and reached for a shelf stacked with her mum’s old cookbooks. She pulled one down and lobbed it on the table next to him.

‘What’s this?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘That, darling brother, is a sign from your little sister that it’s time to grow up and learn to take care of yourself. Oh, and seeing as I cooked dinner, you can do the clearing up.’ This time it was Emily’s turn to flash a wink before heading out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

When she reached the landing, she took a deep breath.

That had been easier than she’d anticipated. There was definitely something to be said for not giving the other person time to answer back.

She heard the creak of her father’s door and turned to find him standing at the threshold in his pyjamas, his eyes watery.

‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ he said. And just like that, her slightly lighter mood plummeted.

* * *

Pascha sat in the back of his Lexus gazing absently out of the window.

It had all gone to hell.

Everything.

His driver turned the corner onto the road that housed his London office. A flash of curly black hair made him do a double-take.

Craning his neck for a better look, he soon realised the Monday morning street was so thick with bodies he must have imagined it.

He’d imagined he’d seen her a handful of times that day already. And a dozen the day before, when he hadn’t even left his house.

If he was to see her now, in the flesh, he didn’t know how he would react.

They pulled up outside his building and he got out, heading inside.

As usual, he was greeted by a bustle of activity. Normally he enjoyed the vibrancy and energy. Today he could do without it.

Today he wanted to be alone.

He didn’t know what had propelled him to leave St. Petersburg late on Friday evening and come to London. After his confrontation with Marat, he could have gone anywhere. Why here?

Ignoring all the welcoming although still nervous smiles, he went straight up to his office. As he punched in the code to his office floor, he remembered he still hadn’t changed it since Emily had sneaked in.

Cathy, the executive secretary he’d inherited when he’d bought Bamber Cosmetics, was there to greet him. His PA must have warned her to expect him.

‘Can I make you a coffee?’ she asked once the pleasantries were out of the way.

‘No. I don’t want any visitors or calls today either.’ He swept into his office, closing the door firmly behind him.

The morning dragged.

He’d spent the weekend in his London home doing nothing but going over the events of the preceding week in his mind, which had culminated in his disastrous encounter with Marat.

He rubbed at his eyes with his palms and got to his feet. He needed to find some energy. Regardless of what had happened with Marat, he still had a business to run. More coffee should do the trick.

In his private room he switched the coffee machine on and read an email from Zlatan.

He was about to pour his coffee out when movement on the monitor caught his attention.

He stared. And stared some more.

No. He wasn’t seeing things. There really was someone in his office. A pixie with a cascade of curly black hair.

Eyes fixed on the monitor, he took long, deep breaths and swallowed away the enormous lump that had formed in his throat.

Only when his composure was assured did he pour his coffee out and step through the door to her.

‘You seem to be making a habit of breaking into my office,’ he said, striding over to his desk.

Emily was sat on the visitor’s seat. As he passed her he caught a waft of her earthy honey scent. He tightened his grip on his cup, glad to place it on his desk as he took his seat.

Finally he could look at her properly.

What he saw made his heart wrench and his stomach dip.

She looked dreadful—really dreadful. Her skin was pale, her eyes red-raw, her hair even wilder than usual. She wore a deep-red jersey dress and thick black tights, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist as if for warmth or protection.

‘I’m sorry for having to break back in,’ she said, speaking tentatively.

‘Evidently not sorry enough or you wouldn’t have pulled the same stunt twice,’ he said icily.

She blanched. ‘I needed to see you. I didn’t want this conversation over the phone. Cathy let me know you’d come in. She said you weren’t accepting visitors so I waited until she went on her lunch break before sneaking in.’

‘You know Cathy?’

She nodded.

And, just like that, everything fell into place: Cathy was the mole. His own executive secretary had given Emily his schedule and the code for the floor.

And, as all the pieces of the jigsaw slotted together, Emily’s face crumpled as she realised what she’d given away.

‘Oh, please, please don’t punish her. Please. She did it for my family. She’s worked here as long as my dad has—years ago, she was his secretary. She was my mum’s best friend and used to babysit me and James. Please don’t sack her. It’s my fault. She didn’t want to tell me anything but I used emotional blackmail to get your movements and the code out of her.’

Pascha held up a hand to stop the torrent of words spilling from her lips.

He had too much to think about as it was; his brain was overloaded. ‘I will think about Cathy later. Tell me why you’re here.’

A fat tear rolled down her cheek. She let it fall all the way to her chin.

He would
not
react to it. He would not react to her.

She reached into her large handbag and pulled out an envelope which she handed to him.

Wordlessly, he opened it. Inside was a cheque made out to him for the sum of a quarter of a million pounds.

‘What is this?’

Emily’s chin wobbled, her lips trembling, her eyes filling. ‘It’s the money I blackmailed you into paying my father. His bank account was credited late last week. I couldn’t figure how to return it. Pascha, I... My...’

He waited while she tried valiantly to compose herself, hating that he had to fist his hands to stop them reaching out to her.

‘You...were right all along,’ she finally dragged out, her words stark. ‘My father stole the money.’

Emily was still having trouble digesting it. For the past few days she’d thought of little else. She’d been so certain her father was innocent—one-hundred per cent positive. Doubt had never entered her head.

It wasn’t just her father’s actions she was trying to comprehend, though. The magnitude of what
she’d
done had hit her too.

She’d broken the law. She’d wilfully broken into Pascha’s office with the sole purpose of stealing his files...had been prepared to use blackmail to get what she wanted...and for what? Because she’d wanted to fix her father.

Because she wanted him to love her when he was in the darkness as well as the light.

She couldn’t fix what was in his head any more than she could fix him if he broke his leg. It was time to accept that.

‘I already knew your father had taken the money.’

That shook her. ‘You did?’

‘It took Zlatan five minutes to learn that the money trail led straight to an account held by Malcolm Richardson.’ Something that looked like sympathy flickered in his cold eyes before he cast his gaze back down to the sheaths of paper spread out before him.

Why
was he being so cold?

Why wouldn’t he look at her?

‘He gave the money to the hospice Mum spent her last days in.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me.’

‘How long have you known?’

‘Zlatan told me an hour before the beach party.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she whispered. ‘Why did you transfer all that money into his account when you knew he was guilty?’

‘Your father is ill. I do not want the money back and I will not be pressing charges.’ To compound his point, he picked up the cheque and ripped it into little pieces. ‘Keep this money. Use it to pay for full-time nursing care until he’s well enough to care for himself.’

‘It’s too much,’ she whispered.

‘As far as I’m concerned, this is the end of the subject.’ He indicated the door. ‘Go home and tell your father he has nothing to fear from me. I wish him nothing but the best.’

What was
wrong
with him?

There was something...unkempt about him. A barely contained anger she hadn’t picked up on initially because she’d been too full of the need to purge herself of her guilt.

He picked up an expensive-looking pen and made a mark on a sheet of paper. ‘Emily, I have a full schedule.’

‘Too full to spend ten minutes with me?’

‘Yes. Please leave.’ He picked up a folder and opened it.

Legs shaking, she stood.

He really was dismissing her. After everything they’d been through, he was dismissing her as if she were nothing but a lowly employee.

Something inside of her went
ping
, a rush of fury that fired out of her fingers and had her leaning over his desk to wrench the folder from his grasp and toss it in the air.

As it fell to the floor, dozens of pieces of paper fell from it, floating and landing around her.

‘What the hell did you do that for?’ he snarled, his face contorting.

‘I had to do
something
to get your attention. You’re acting as if I’m nothing to you, as if I’m some stranger who’s parked herself in your office. You won’t even look at me!’

‘That’s because looking at you...’ Whatever he was going to say, he cut himself off, punching his desk with a roar.

Shock at his response rendered her mute. All she could do was stare at the man she loved and watch the unprecedented fury flow from him like a torrent.

Something was badly wrong.

‘Why are you still here?’ He got to his feet. ‘I told you to leave.’

‘What is
wrong
with you? Did something go wrong with the Plushenko deal?’

It was the mention of the word ‘
Plushenko’
that sent Pascha’s fury erupting through his skin.

Because of Emily, he’d finally understood that family meant more than pride.

Because of Emily, he’d gone to his brother with the truth, believing that this time things could be different.

He’d lost it all. Any hope of redemption and forgiveness was gone.

He’d laid everything on the line, revealed that he was the face behind RG Holdings. Revealed his need to make amends for their father’s memory. When he’d finished his speech, he’d extended a hand. ‘So what do you say?’ he’d said. ‘Are you prepared to draw a line under the past?’

Marat had stared at his hand before his thin lips had formed into a sneer. He’d pushed his chair back and got to his feet. ‘I told you two years ago that I wouldn’t sell the business to you. I would rather it went to the dogs than fall into your hands.’

How had he ever allowed himself to think that this time things might be different?

There had been no point in prolonging the meeting. He knew Marat, knew the entrenched look in his eyes. Pascha’s reasoning had been disregarded. To try any more would have been akin to trying to reason with a toddler. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way. I wish you luck in finding another investor.’

He hadn’t reached the door when Marat had pounced, pinning him to the wall. ‘
You
,’ he’d spat. ‘It was always about
you
. No money for anything, not even the basics, because it all went on keeping
you
alive, the cuckoo in the nest who didn’t belong there.’ He’d abruptly let go and stepped back, throwing his hands in the air. ‘And look at you now—rich and handsome. All that chemotherapy didn’t even stunt your growth. You got everything.’ His eyes had glittered with malice. ‘But you didn’t get Plushenko’s. And you never will.’