Czytaj książkę: «Mission To Seduce»

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?’