Page 73 of The Unseen (Echoes from the Past #5)

London, England

Valentina set aside the storybook and gently brushed a blond curl away from the child’s forehead.

He looked peaceful in sleep, his cheeks rosy with good health.

He’d exhausted himself running in the park and fallen asleep before she even finished the story.

The midafternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow onto the sleeping boy.

At five, he was intelligent, precocious, and surprisingly artistic.

He could already pick out a melody on the piano in the parlor and had asked for music lessons.

Valentina had stared at the baby for hours, desperate to find some hint of Alexei in his round face and blue eyes, but she could never be sure.

Ian Murdoch had been fair as well, with light blond hair and blue eyes, and she’d heard that French letters weren’t one hundred percent effective against pregnancy.

She’d never know the truth, so she’d given up trying to find it.

Misha, which meant “little bear” in Russian, was hers and hers alone.

He was her reason for being, her pride and joy, and she would love him enough for two parents and give him the security every child needed.

She’d refused to hire a nanny and had taken care of him herself until he turned three, but then decided that Misha would be just fine with his aunt and grandmother while she took a couple of classes to better her knowledge of English. Reading novels wasn’t enough.

Valentina would have liked to see him again but didn’t think it appropriate to seek him out at his workplace.

Things had changed for them both, and even though she missed her friend, it was time to let go and focus on her new life.

She had a child to raise and several businesses to run.

Her days were full, but her nights were long and lonely.

Several eligible bachelors had tried to spark her interest, but although they were all nice men, she simply couldn’t bring herself to agree to a date.

She wasn’t ready to open her heart to anyone, or give her trust to someone who might not be worthy of it.

She tried not to think about Alexei. She mostly succeeded during the day, but when she lay in bed at night, her love-starved body ached for his touch and she wondered if she’d done the right thing in driving him away.

But life had moved on for Alexei as it had for her.

The summer after Misha’s birth, Valentina had sent Tanya and Elena to Paris to visit with Alexei’s family.

She’d known Alexei would never return to England, but she hadn’t given up hope of a match for Tanya.

She knew them both well enough to believe they’d be happy together, once the ghosts of the past were finally laid to rest. She’d given Alexei sufficient time to grieve his loss, and Tanya was more woman than girl by the time she turned seventeen, and more than ready for the highs and lows of her first romantic relationship.

Valentina sighed. Tanya and Alexei were expecting their first child in September.

She was happy for them, truly she was, but she was glad Tanya had gone to live with Alexei in Paris after their wedding because seeing them together on a regular basis would be more than she could bear.

She’d barely survived the wedding and cried herself to sleep on their wedding night, tormented by the knowledge that while she tossed and turned in her lonely bed, Alexei was making love to his adoring new wife.

She hadn’t seen him since, but his face was burned into her memory, his voice still so familiar when she dreamed of him, and his touch so intimate as to make her cry out with longing.

She was only twenty-five, but she felt like a woman of eighty who spent her days reminiscing about her youth and reliving past glories.

She knew it was time to move on but simply couldn’t find the strength to let go.

Valentina let herself out of Misha’s room and walked quietly down the corridor, so as not to wake him.

She’d go downstairs and have a cup of tea in the garden.

Maybe read a while. She came face-to-face with Mrs. Nemirovsky just as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

The housekeeper seemed to be waiting for her.

“There’s a gentleman to see you, Mrs. Ostrov.”

“I’m not expecting anyone. Who is it?”

The housekeeper handed her a card. “Stanley Swift, Swift Publishing,” Valentina read. “I have no idea who he is.”

“Shall I ask him to leave?”

“No. I’ll see what he wants.”

Valentina walked into the parlor. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a man standing by the window, looking out, hands clasped behind his back.

He looked just like Alexei had the day he walked back into her life.

Except this man was dark, his curly hair neatly trimmed and his olive skin illuminated by the afternoon light streaming through the window.

He turned around and Valentina’s face broke into a joyful grin.

“Stanley Swift?” she asked, laughing as she came forward to take his outstretched hands .

“I anglicized the name to suit my new role as respected publisher. What do you think?” Stanislav asked, grinning.

“I think I like it, Mr. Swift. It suits you.”

“How have you been, Valentina? How’s your boy?”

“I’m well, and Misha is a delight.”

“And the rest of your family?”

“My mother is well. She’s resting at the moment. Tanya is married and living in France, and Kolya is still at school. He’s thirteen now,” Valentina added. “And you? How’s your wife? Do you have any children?”

“Esther died two years ago, giving birth to our first child. The baby died with her. The cord had been wrapped around his neck and he suffocated during the birth.” Stanislav spoke the words calmly, but Valentina saw the depth of his loss in his eyes.

He was still grieving for his family, and trying to come to terms with the injustice life sometimes dished out.

“Oh, Slava, I’m so sorry. How awful.”

“It was. I didn’t love Esther when I married her, but I had grown to care for her and her death left me paralyzed with grief. The only thing that kept me going was the desire to start my own publishing house someday. Max and I are partners in our new venture.”

“How is Max?”

“He’s married, with two children, and Sarah is expecting her first. They are happy,” Stanislav added, the desolation in his voice underlining the fact that he wasn’t.

“Would you like some tea? We can have it in the garden.”

“That would be lovely. ”

Stanislav followed Valentina out into the garden and took a seat across from her. They made small talk until Mrs. Nemirovsky brought out tea and a plate of freshly baked scones, accompanied by clotted cream and strawberry jam. A small jug of milk was next to the saucer of lemon slices on the tray.

Valentina reached for the milk and added some to her tea. “I’m embracing the English ways,” she said in response to Stanislav’s look of surprise.

“You’ll never see me refuse a freshly baked scone,” he said and helped himself to some jam. “Valentina, I’m very happy to see you, but this isn’t purely a social call, although I’ve thought of coming by many times.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You were grieving for your husband and coping with motherhood on your own. It didn’t seem appropriate. Besides, I don’t think Esther would have liked it. She was jealous of you.”

“She had no reason to be.”

Stanislav blushed and looked away. “She had every reason,” he said softly.

Valentina bowed her head and smiled. She’d guessed at Slava’s feelings for her but never gave them much thought.

He came from a poor Jewish family and she was the daughter of a Russian count—not exactly an acceptable match in anyone’s eyes.

But now they were both widowed, and although she went to church regularly, she no longer had any faith in God.

He’d let her down too many times, and she still hadn’t forgiven him.

It seemed that Stanislav hadn’t fared much better in the faith department, since he was here on a Saturday afternoon when he would normally have been observing the Sabbath with his family.

“Valentina, I know you are busy running your late husband’s businesses, but you really enjoyed writing your column and you were very good at it.

You understood what was important to women, both young and old.

I thought you might like to try your hand at journalism again.

I’ve come to ask you to write for my new publication.

It’s a weekly magazine for women, only this time it’s in English, and it has much wider circulation.

You can write under a pseudonym, if you like, to maintain your privacy. ”

“I’m through hiding, Slava. I would love to write for your publication, but I will do so under my own name. I might shorten it to Tina, though. Sounds more anglicized.”

“I’m thrilled to hear it. I’ve hired a young woman who’s recently returned from Paris to cover fashion, and a homosexual screenplay writer to spice up the society pages, but I’d like you to report on current events and their impact on women’s lives.

In the past, you did it with such insight and compassion. ”

“All right. I accept. When is my first assignment due?”

“How about next Saturday?” Stanislav asked.

“Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner.” They were talking about her article, but the hope in his hazel eyes betrayed him.

He was asking her on a date. Stanislav set down his teacup, sat up straighter, and lifted his chin, as if preparing himself for the blow of rejection.

“Won’t your family object to you having dinner with a shiksa?” Valentina asked, cautiously probing the situation. Where Stanislav came from, there was no worse fate for a mother than her son courting a gentile.

“Valya, I’ve done my duty to my family. I married a girl of their choice, I’ve supported my parents and looked after my siblings until they were ready to stand on their own two feet.

But I’m thirty now. I’m widowed, and I finally have something to call my own.

I will live my life on my own terms, and if my family cares for me, they will accept that. So, is that a yes to dinner?”

Valentina smiled into his eyes. She didn’t think she’d ever feel at ease with anyone but Alexei, but she trusted this man, and she liked him.

He had integrity, determination, and most of all, genuine warmth and compassion.

Dinner didn’t obligate either one of them to anything, but as they gazed at each other in that shady garden, they both knew it did.

If she said yes, there’d be no going back for either of them.

“Yes,” she said, her voice clear and firm. “Yes.”

Slava’s eyes lit up and his shoulders slumped with relief, and suddenly, Valentina knew with unwavering certainty that if she told him the truth of what had happened to her, he wouldn’t condemn her, nor would he think any less of her.

She’d never burden him with the knowledge of what she’d done, but knowing that she could made all the difference. And maybe in time…

*

Get it here, or read on for an exclusive extract!