Read Online The Russian Concubine by Kate Furnivall - Free Book Online

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    ‘Relax, darling. Where’s the harm in a few drinks now and again? It keeps me sane. So please don’t sulk.’
    ‘I’m not sulking,’ Lydia said sulkily.
    ‘My God, I’m so thirsty, I . . .’
    ‘We only have one cup left and no saucers.’
    Valentina burst out laughing, and despite herself Lydia sneaked a smile. Her mother looked around the floor and nodded. ‘You cleaned it all up for me?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Thank you. I bet Mr Yeoman downstairs thought the world was coming to an . . .’ She broke off and stared at the bare patch of wall by the door. ‘The mirror. It’s . . . ’
    ‘Broken. That means seven years bad luck.’
    ‘Oh God, Olga Petrovna Zarya will kill me and charge us twice what it was worth. But the next seven years can’t be any worse than the last seven, can they?’
    Lydia said nothing.
    ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ Valentina murmured, but Lydia had heard those words before. ‘At least the cups were ours. Anyway, I always hated that mirror. It was so ugly and it made me look so old.’
    ‘I’ve made a jug of lemonade. Would you like some?’
    Valentina turned and stroked her daughter’s cheek. ‘That would be heavenly. My throat is parched.’
    When she was sipping the cool liquid out of their one remaining teacup - any glasses had been pawned long ago - she placed a hand on top of her head each time she tipped it back, as if to hold it on.
    ‘Any aspirin?’ she asked hopefully.
    ‘No.’
    ‘I thought not.’
    ‘But I bought these for you.’ With a shy smile Lydia produced from behind her back a chocolate-filled croissant and a long silk scarf in a deep dramatic red. ‘I thought it would look good on you.’
    Valentina put down the teacup on the carpet and took the croissant in one hand and the scarf in the other. ‘Darling,’ she said, drawing the word out like a caress. ‘You spoil me.’ She stared at both gifts for a long moment, then swirled the scarf around and around her throat with delight and took a huge bite out of the pastry. ‘Wonderful,’ she murmured with her mouth full. ‘From the French patisserie. Thank you, my sweet child.’ She leaned over and kissed Lydia’s cheek.
    ‘I’ve been doing some jobs to help Mr Willoughby at school and he paid me today,’ Lydia explained. The words came tumbling out a fraction too fast, but her mother didn’t seem to notice.
    A tiny muscle that had been clenched tight in Lydia’s forehead relaxed for the first time that evening. Everything would be okay again now. Her mother would stop. No more craziness. No more tearing their fragile world apart. She picked up the cup from the floor and took a mouthful of lemonade for herself to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
    ‘Was it Antoine again?’ she asked in a casual voice with a side-long glance at Valentina.
    Instantly she regretted it.
    ‘That filthy bastard, podliy ismennik! ’ Valentina exploded.
    ‘Don’t even speak his name to me. He’s a lying French toad, a sneaky snake in the grass. I never ever want to see him again.’
    Lydia felt a tug of sympathy for Antoine Fourget. He adored her mother. Would have married her tomorrow if he had not already been married to a French Catholic who refused to divorce him and by whom he had four children clamouring for attention and financial support. He always took Valentina dancing on a Friday night and stole a secret hour or two with her during the week whenever he could take a long lunch from his office while Lydia was at school. But she knew when he’d been there. The room smelled different, altogether more interesting, of cigarettes and brilliantine.
    ‘What did he do?’
    Valentina jumped to her feet and started pacing the room, both hands clamped firmly to her head. ‘His wife. She is expecting another baby.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘The cheating bastard had sworn to me he never went near her bed anymore. How could he be so . . . so unfaithful?’
    ‘Mama, she is his wife.’
    Valentina tossed her