‘Good.’ He glimmered her a cool smile as he began to button up his shirt. Of course he was pleased that he could have the evenings with her. He hated seeing her going off each day to wait on men who were doubtless eyeing the luscious swell of her breasts instead of what was on the tray she was offering them. But maybe it was time they started venturing out beyond the bedroom. Stop letting sex blind him to all the differences between them and shine some real life on the relationship. Let him see for himself that there was no real relationship. ‘I thought we’d go out for dinner.’
‘Lovely.’ Rather nervously, she looked at him. Apart from that last night in France, it was the first time he’d taken her out and she didn’t want to let him down. ‘Um, is it somewhere very grand?’
‘Actually, it’s somewhere very un-grand,’ he said softly.
But surely his idea of ‘un-grand’ would still be fairly posh? Zara’s only job that day was a lunchtime business meeting in a vast loft in Soho—which gave her time to go shopping afterwards. She bought a silky green dress from one of the cut-price stores and a string of giant fake pearls and went back to Nikolai’s house to get ready.
Going into the house was always a slightly daunting experience. She didn’t have a key and she knew that his housekeeper disapproved of her—probably remembering her from the night she’d worked there, serving canapés. But she forced a bright smile as the older woman opened the door.
‘Is Nikolai home yet?’ asked Zara.
‘Not yes, miss. Mr Komarov is expected shortly.’
Murmuring her thanks, Zara went upstairs, showered and made her face up and by the time Nikolai came home she was ready and dressed. He paused for a moment in the doorway of the bedroom, his eyes raking over her.
Green suited her, he thought—especially when it skimmed over her bottom like that and allowed him to see a great deal of her spectacular thighs.
‘Why, you look magnificent, angel moy,’ he said softly as he pulled off his tie.
‘Do I?’ She was about to tell him that it was only a cheap dress but then stopped herself. A woman should always keep something back—and mightn’t he think that she was hinting he buy her something more expensive?
‘Mmm. Completely delectable. In fact, I don’t think I’d better risk kissing you in case I change my mind about going out—so give me ten minutes to get changed.’
His car took them to a restaurant in Shoreditch which overlooked the Regent’s Park canal—but the air was sultry and heavy as they stepped onto the baking pavement and Zara wondered if they were due a storm. It was a very simple venue—a large room with scrubbed wooden floors and tables and bare walls—so that all the attention was focused on the green-grey water of the canal which slid past the giant windows. The menu was simple, too—much of the food grown on nearby allotments, according to the enthusiastic young waitress who served them. They ordered risotto cooked with courgette flowers and a big, herby green salad.
‘This wasn’t the kind of place I was expecting,’ said Zara as she took a sip of red wine which tasted of raspberries.
‘And what kind of place were you expecting?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She looked around at the blackboard and the wire basket of lemons on the bar. ‘Somewhere more in the centre of town, I suppose—with crisp white tablecloths and candles and gleaming crystal.’
‘Is that what you would have preferred? ‘
Something dark in his tone unsettled her and she put down her fork and stared at him, her heart beating very fast. ‘We’re not back onto the gold-digger theme, are we, Nikolai?
‘Of course not. I was simply asking a question.’
Was he? She never really knew what he was thinking—just as she sometimes felt she didn’t know him at all. All she ever saw of him were the bits he wanted her to see—the veneer he presented to the world. He was like one of those painting-by-numbers kits she used to have as a child, the picture all grey and indistinct—until portions of it gradually came to life with the addition of various bits of colour. But he gave her no colour to play with, she realised—and maybe she was going to have to dig deeper and find some for herself.
‘No, I would not have preferred somewhere like that—I work in places like that. I like it here. It’s different—and I like the simplicity.’ She ran her fingertip around the edge of her wine glass. ‘Do you have restaurants like this in Russia?’
‘Of course we do. There are restaurants like this all over the world. But only in affluent areas will you find peasant food which comes with a mighty price-tag,’ he commented wryly. ‘That’s one of the many ironies of life, Zara. Those who have known hardship try to recreate it once they have escaped from its clutches.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ Her fingertip halted and she looked up into his eyes. ‘Have you known hardship, then?’ she questioned softly.
His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s this, the beginning of an interrogation?’
‘Interrogation?’ She put her glass down. ‘That’s a slightly heavy way to put it! I can’t deny being interested in your life—why wouldn’t I be when we’ve been spending so much time together—and, besides, you wanted to know about mine, didn’t you?’
Idly, he swirled the red wine in his glass. Maybe her question was another subconscious warning that, essentially, women were all the same. That deep down they wanted to bleed you dry—and if it wasn’t materially, then it was emotionally.
He took a sip of wine, aware that he hadn’t yet changed the subject with the seamless skill for which he was known when anyone
tried to stray too close. Was that because there was something about Zara which made him less inclined to be dismissive about his past? She was not the usual type of woman he had an affair with. She was poor, for a start, yet she was fiercely independent in spite of that. He suspected that she was honourable, too, and much too decent a person to use any private information against him when their affair eventually ended.
Besides, some of his background was already on the record—he supposed that he should be grateful she hadn’t already hit the search engine of her computer to try to find out about him. But nobody had ever managed to put flesh on the bones of his past…and wasn’t talking about a subject he kept so firmly off-limits more than a little tempting?
‘Yes, I’ve known hardship,’ he said slowly. ‘I grew up in a time and a place where hunger and poverty were commonplace.’