The Sister Swap Page 13

  ‘He says he’s not Dmitri,’ the policeman was saying suspiciously.

  ‘I know he’s not Dmitri. I never said he was. I said I was asking him about Dmitri.’

  Anne was glad that Katlin had finally come to the conclusion that she owed her lover the chance to acknowledge his son. The newspaper story about the Russian ship’s return cruise to Auckland, on the verge of Katlin’s own visit, had been an omen that her superstitious sister couldn’t ignore, but Anne wished that she hadn’t been the only intermediary that Katlin would trust!

  Rather than contribute to her sister’s apprehension by pointing out that it was quite possible that the man she had spent a single passionate week with had given her a false name, or was no longer on board the ship, or was merely a lowly seaman rather than the dashing officer he had made himself out to be, Anne had accepted the dog-eared photograph of the swarthy, handsome-looking man and agreed to try to see him and personally hand over a letter from Katlin. She was to note his reaction to the letter and carry a message back, if there was one, thus protecting Katlin from the trauma of a confrontation and possibly humiliating rejection.

  Katlin was in her usual state of urgency. She had no intention of hanging around for days in an agony of uncertainty waiting for a written reply or a response to a shore-to-ship message that anyone might intercept or overhear. It all had to be settled now.

  When she had arrived on the wharf Anne had noticed a number of well-dressed people arriving in cars and taxis, and had briefly toyed with the idea of trying to mingle with the crowd that was boarding the ship, but the visitors all seemed to have invitations which were being checked by the officer at the top of the gangplank.

  The unhelpful sailor was now backing away, waving his arms and issuing a rapid stream of aggrieved Russian. Fortunately, from the blank look on the policeman’s face, he understood even less than she did.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Anne. What on earth are you doing here? I thought I told you to wait for me by the gate.’

  Before Anne could react to Hunter’s unexpected appearance she found herself grabbed and grimly kissed. When she was finally released, flushed and breathless, she found that the policeman had tactfully moved away.

  Moments later she was being hustled up the gangplank.

  ‘I can’t do this!’ she hissed at him, hurriedly stuffing the photo of Dmitri into her trouser pocket. ‘I haven’t been invited.’

  ‘I’m inviting you,’ he told her ominously, his voice as tight as the hand clamped around her elbow. Without breaking his stride he dug into the inner pocket of his dinner-jacket to flourish a gilt-edged card at the white-uniformed ship’s officer who was inspecting the invitations.

  Anne surreptitiously checked that the officer bore no resemblance to Dmitri’s picture. She had wanted to get on board, but not like this. She had the feeling that Hunter intended to remain glued to her side.

  ‘What happened, did your date for the evening let you down?’ she asked acidly, remembering that he had left her to stew in uncertainty all day.

  ‘I have some business to conduct. I didn’t want the distraction. Besides, your baby-sitter told me you were going straight out from your evening tutorial.’

  Anne stumbled on the smooth deck, forgetting her mingled annoyance and delight at being labelled a distraction. ‘My baby-sitter?’ she squeaked.

  ‘The woman you had looking after Ivan today. Didn’t she tell you I called in this afternoon between lectures?’

  ‘No, she didn’t,’ Anne said weakly, acquitting Katlin of any deliberate malice. She had probably genuinely forgotten. Ivan, her book and Dmitri were her sole topics of interest at the moment. And to think that Anne had been on hot bricks all day wondering when her two worlds were going to collide, convinced that Hunter was regretting everything he had said and done the night before! ‘What exactly did she say?’

  ‘Not much. She seemed rather scatty and vague. Are you sure she’s reliable?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure!’ Anne snapped, shuddering at the thought of the damage Katlin could have wrought if she hadn’t been vague. But, after tonight, she hoped that there need be no more secrets between them.

  ‘Hunter, I’m not dressed for anything posh. All the other women are in evening things.’ The strong hand on her back continued to propel her along the deck. ‘I’ll make you look ridiculous!’ she warned him desperately.

  ‘You already have, twice in as many nights,’ he warned back, but he turned sharply, pushing her through a brassframed door into a narrow companionway. His black eyes quickly undressed her in the mellow yellow light.

  ‘What have you got on under that sweatshirt?’ he demanded.

  Anne clamped a hand defensively to her breast. ‘A leotard.’

  ‘What colour?’

  ‘Black.’

  ‘Sexy? Low-cut?’

  Her eyes narrowed angrily. ‘None of your business.’

  He fingered the bottom of her sweater meaningfully. ‘I just made it my business.’

  She slapped his hand away. ‘All right, yes, it’s low-cut. So what?’

  ‘Take the sweater off.’

  ‘What for?’ She looked around incredulously. Surely he wasn’t going to start anything here? She knew he was angry, but—

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ With swift impatience he forcibly stripped the sweater over her head, rolled it up ruthlessly small and stuffed it into her capacious black shoulder-bag. Then, while she was still spluttering, he spun her round and began pulling her hair out of its neat plait.

  ‘What the—?’

  When her hair was rippling down around her shoulders he spun her round again, hooked a finger in the low point of the sweetheart neckline of her shiny, sleeveless Lycra leotard and pulled it down another dramatic inch. Her cotton trousers had a high waist and pleats at the front which drew attention to the contrast between her trim hips and the generous curves above.

  ‘Believe me, no one is going to notice that you’re not in regulation evening wear,’ he growled. ‘Especially the men.’

  ‘Well, it’s not my fault,’ she growled back, to hide her chagrin that his actions had been innocent of lust. ‘I didn’t ask to be hijacked out to sea.’

  For a moment she thought he was going to smile but the gleam of appreciative humour must have been an illusion. ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ he informed her tersely. ‘The Russian Trade Commission is having a function on board to celebrate a new Russian-New Zealand tourism deal. Perhaps later you’ll tell me what you were asking for down there on the dock. Or should I say hustling for…?’

  ‘You know I wouldn’t—’

  ‘I really don’t have time to go into it right now,’ he cut her off abruptly, prodding her back towards the open deck. ‘We’re already late. You can explain everything later. For now just mind your manners and try to behave as if you’re a lady…’

  Hunter escorted her to a crowded bar and, suddenly warmly expansive, introduced her—in Russian—to the captain and several officers and various members of the Trade Commission who were impressed by her fledgling language skills. Anne glowed with pride and not even Hunter’s amused condescension could dim her sense of accomplishment.

  Unfortunately, nowhere did she see anyone who looked anything like Dmitri.

  There was a light sprinkling of local celebrities but most of the guests appeared to be fairly anonymous and, apart from a few brief speeches when they moved into a small dining-room, there were few formalities. The main aim seemed to be for everyone to eat and drink themselves into a frivolous frame of mind and soon Anne had forgotten the uncomfortable circumstances of her arrival and was actually enjoying herself, in spite of the fact that Hunter would allow her only one small taste of iced vodka.

  As she had feared, he also stuck close to her side and it was some time before she noticed that the only people they chatted to for any length of time were middle-aged men or couples, yet there were a number of unattached and personable young men present. Was Hunter being mist
rustful or merely possessive? Anne wondered with slightly irritated amusement as he firmly steered her away from yet another engaging male grin. Another of his tricks was to brush a strand of hair back over her shoulder as she talked, the familiarity of the gesture a subtle male signal of protective interest that was silent but extremely effective.

  ‘Am I forgiven?’ he murmured in her ear as they finally rose after a superb dinner that had begun with caviare and piroshki and finished with blinis. Her pretutorial appetiser of macaroni cheese back at the flat hadn’t stopped Anne from enjoying every splendid bite.

  Now, with live Russian folk music playing in the background, there was apparently to be more vodka and vivacity and possibly a chance to escape Hunter’s vigilance.

  ‘What for?’ she asked, aware that there was still a dangerous edge to his politeness, honed by undeniable success of his arrangement of her décolletage.

  ‘Rescuing you from your own folly. You still haven’t thanked me, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She owed him that, at the very least, although she couldn’t resist the qualification, ‘But it might be worth remembering that there are times when people might not want to be rescued from their folly.’

  A brief, brooding shadow crossed his expression, then he acceded self-derisively, ‘Quite so. I’ll try to remember that the next time I’m tempted to play white knight.’

  ‘You were more pirate than white knight,’ Anne commented tartly.

  ‘Once aboard the lugger and the girl is mine?’ His black eyes gleamed at the hackneyed misquote. ‘But the girl is mine already. It just remains to be seen how many others can make the same claim…’

  ‘You already know there aren’t any others,’ she flared, unable to challenge his justifiable arrogance on any other grounds.

  ‘All I know is what you choose to tell me,’ he corrected her, pinning her with his flat black gaze. ‘And sometimes you must admit that your words seem to be very much at odds with your actions…’

  She wasn’t listening. Over his shoulder Anne had seen a new face and all her attention was suddenly sharply focused on the other side of the room. Her hand went instinctively into her pocket and she fingered the creased photograph uneasily, wondering how on earth she was going to handle this with the discretion that Katlin had requested, particularly with Hunter in tow.

  ‘I think I need another vodka.’

  Unfortunately Hunter interpreted her response perfectly.

  ‘Need or want, Anne? Either way I can tell you from bitter experience that Russian courage is no less tenuous than the Dutch variety.’

  Her eyes snapped back to his face, afraid of what hers might have revealed. ‘Did I ask for a psychoanalysis? I just want a drink!’

  He studied her defensive expression thoughtfully for a moment and then said with disconcerting quietness, ‘I’ll get you one from the bar.’

  ‘I’ll just find somewhere to freshen up while you’re getting it,’ she gushed with relief, and made sure that his back was turned before she began wending her way across the crowded room.

  He was wearing whites so he was an officer, and he must have just come off duty because he was making some kind of report to the captain. Anne waited until he appeared to have finished before catching the captain’s eye and smiling prettily.

  On cue he introduced her. ‘Mr Fedorov is one of my senior officers. Dmitri, this is Miss Anne Tremaine. She is here with Hunter Lewis—from the Auckland university…’

  Anne gravely shook hands with Ivan’s father and they murmured a few polite banalities until the captain’s attention was drawn by someone else. It seemed that Dmitri had also been waiting impatiently.

  ‘Anne Tremaine,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You are Katlin’s sister?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘She showed me a photograph of her family once. I only know that when we meet in Wellington she tells me she lives in the South Island. But you are here—can this be a coincidence?’

  He spoke excellent English but his accent thickened with an eagerness that made Anne’s dreaded task much easier.

  ‘I’m living here in Auckland now, and Katlin is visiting me. I have a letter for you.’ Anne felt for her bag, and handed it to him. He was older than he looked in the photograph, nearing forty, she guessed, the lines of experience on his face not detracting from his rugged handsomeness. ‘It might be a bit of a shock.’

  ‘Come. I will read it now.’

  He was almost as forceful as Hunter, Anne thought wryly as she was steered outside on to the quiet deck. A few passengers were promenading, but most seemed to have gone ashore for their first night in a new port. Dmitri stood under a light and scanned the letter quickly. Anne could read nothing from his expression until he looked up and she saw his eyes. They were very bright and wondering, and instantly familiar. He was Ivan, looking out at a world filled with glorious possibilities.

  ‘Where is she?’

  In spite of the fact that she had instinctively liked him, Anne knew she should be cautious. Physically, Dmitri looked very strong. ‘You’re not angry that she waited this long?’

  He smiled, his dark olive complexion warming. ‘She wishes to see me. How can I be angry for that when I have wished it too? I will not hurt her, Anne, if that is your concern. You will take me to see Katlin—and my son. My patronym is Ivanovich, did she tell you that? Ivan was my father’s name. So! We can leave now—yes?’

  Anne shied away from his urgency. ‘Oh, but—’

  Dmitri pounced, hugging her, kissing her on both cheeks with laughing exuberance. ‘Oh, but you must, little sister; that is what you are here for—the letter says so! You must take me home with you…I am off duty until tomorrow afternoon so I have all the long night…’

  Anne couldn’t help laughing at his earnest enthusiasm. She had the feeling that once they got to the flat he would be just as eager to get rid of her. ‘But I’m with someone—’

  ‘The lady means me.’

  The quiet phrase, spoken with silken menace, sliced them apart. They both swung around and Anne groaned inwardly.

  Hunter stood just outside the encircling pool of light, his shadowy form managing to exude even more menace than his voice.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, Anne?’ He moved into the light, holding out her drink in a travesty of pol- iteness. His eyes were deeply hooded, his mouth a square gash in a lantern jaw.

  Anne took the cold glass because she didn’t know quite what else to do. She stammered a bald introduction and on hearing Dmitri’s name Hunter’s expression grew even icier.

  He said something, harshly, in rattling Russian, to Dmitri, who replied in contrasting quiet, even tones that Anne followed easily, ‘She is taking me to meet my son…and perhaps my fate…’

  It said everything and yet Hunter, in his ignorance, misunderstood. Anne touched him on the arm. ‘Hunter, please—’

  His muscles were like rigid steel as he shook her off as if her touch revolted him. ‘You came here to meet him?’

  The clipped question gave her no room to manoeuvre. ‘Well, yes, but it’s not what you think—’

  ‘He’s not Ivan’s father? You’re not going to leave with him?’ His eyes were smouldering with outrage at the realisation that she had merely used him to get to another man.

  ‘Well, yes, but—’

  He said something under his breath. ‘My God, no wonder you were so shocked to see me on the wharf. Did I wreck a secret rendezvous? Why all the furtiveness? Is he already married?’

  Anne sent Dmitri a faltering look. The last of the peppered questions was one that she had meant to ask but had quite overlooked in her relief at finding him.

  ‘No, Anne, I am not married,’ he said, his faint amusement at her uncertainty having a deleterious effect on Hunter’s finely balanced temper. ‘I am very free and available.’

  ‘You’re really going to trust his word on that? You don’t trust me—’ Hunter turned on Anne furiously �
��—and you know a hell of a lot more about me than you apparently do about roving lover-boy here. Why don’t you ask him how many other bastards he’s fathered in his wake—?’

  ‘I have done nothing to be ashamed of!’ Dmitri was as proud as his grim opponent and Anne was alarmed to see his fists bunch at his sides at the blatant insult to his honour. ‘I had no knowledge of the child. It was not my choice to lose touch. I was in love with her—’

  Both men were squaring off and, afraid that there was going to be a fight right there on the deck, Anne rushed to defuse the tension. ‘He’s right—Hunter, please, you’ve got it all wrong. Why don’t you come back to the flat with us?’

  Hunter’s head swung around heavily and he looked at her incredulously, his voice clotted with angry disbelief. ‘No, thanks, I told you I was a conservative. A ménage à trois is just not my scene.’

  Anne blocked a sharply aggressive move from Dmitri. ‘It wouldn’t be that,’ she persisted doggedly.

  ‘What if I asked you to choose? Him or me?’

  She was so taken aback by the absurdity of the demand that she hesitated, only for a heartbeat but it was an eternity too long.

  ‘Quite.’ Hunter slid the verbal knife into the momentary silence and made the slashing excision. ‘That choice was made, wasn’t it, Anne, as soon as you set eyes on him? After that I was just an inconvenience to be got rid of.’ He blistered a sardonic look at the forgotten drink clutched in Anne’s hand. ‘I needn’t have worried about compromising your independence—you’re evidently more than capable of ruthless self-interest.’ He made her a faint, mocking bow. ‘I won’t be hypocrite enough to wish you both a pleasant evening. In point of fact, I hope you both rot in hell!’

  Anne was stiff with shock as she watched him go, every long stride managing to express a searing contempt for those he left behind, or, more specifically, her.

  ‘Do you want to go after him and explain?’ Dmitri asked with discouraging impatience. It was obvious what he hoped her answer would be. ‘He does seem confused about you and Katlin…’