Moonlight on the Thames Read online

  Dmitri glanced at her. He stopped along the bridge, leaning against the railing. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud. She stood beside him looking out at the skyline towards the east, a jagged line of buildings, cranes and bridges. From the wicked sharp point of the Shard at London Bridge to the elegant dome of St Paul’s Cathedral across the river. A steady stream of cars and buses crossed Waterloo Bridge.

  ‘When we first came here from Russia,’ he said, ‘we had almost no money.’ Nicola could barely hear his voice over the wind and traffic noise. ‘We didn’t know anyone or have any place to go. We had to sleep rough – near Victoria bus station.’

  ‘Really?’ she said, a little shocked, and ashamed of her earlier reaction.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘For us, it was a very different world and we were not in any way prepared.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  He shrugged. ‘My mother was determined to make a life for us. She found work as a cleaner, and I worked also. Two jobs – at a restaurant in the day and at a club at night. My sister was looked after at the shelter. And then, when my mother met Phil, things got better still. We got visas and a nice place to live. We were very lucky, but not everyone is.’

  Nicola looked beyond him to the homeless people on the bridge. Huddled up against the chill, against the thieves and predators who might exploit them. Watching people pass – tourists snapping selfies, hardened Londoners like herself, working, or just wanting to get from point A to point B. Whereas Dmitri saw what she didn’t – or didn’t want to see. The idea of him suffering felt raw, and sobering. She gave in to her natural inclination – to get angry.

  ‘Are you trying to make me feel guilty?’ she challenged.

  ‘No, of course not.’ He looked at her, and once again the intense look in his eye gave way to humour. ‘Well, maybe just a little.’

  ‘It won’t work,’ she said, softening a little.

  ‘No?’ He laughed then. ‘That’s good. But now it’s your turn,’ he said. ‘Tell me more about you.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’ Nicola said.

  ‘Everything,’ he answered. ‘But tell me as we walk.’ He took out his phone and checked the time on the screen. ‘Your next penance awaits.’

  10

  Control. That was the key – the thing that was going to get him through this. Control of his feelings, of what he said and didn’t say. Keep things friendly and light; stay detached. Keep her as far out of her comfort zone as possible.

  It shouldn’t be difficult. Everything would go to plan. They’d spend the day together. Have a good memory. Part as friends.

  It was difficult.

  The moment she’d walked into the church, with her flaming hair, guarded eyes and dangerous body, he’d felt something significant. It wasn’t her looks or her sex appeal – not just that, anyway. Maybe it was the darkness he sensed inside her, hidden away beneath that beautiful exterior. A loneliness that resonated with his. Or maybe he was only imagining it – projecting himself on to her. He didn’t know for sure, but either way, he had to be careful.

  They walked side by side to the end of the bridge and down the steps to the embankment. Villiers Street was bustling with shops, restaurants, and people, as they walked up to the top and turned right on to the Strand.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Nicola said.

  ‘It’s my turn to ask questions now,’ he teased. ‘But I’ll make it easy for you. Tell me about the things that are important to you – like your work.’

  ‘That’s not—’

  He laughed, enjoying her look of outrage.

  ‘OK, then.’ She parried by launching into an overview of the finance firm where she worked, layering on the corporate speak. Her job sounded high-powered and glamourous, and it was obvious that she was hoping to confuse him. It worked. He did, however, manage to ask a few questions and hoped he didn’t look like a complete idiot.

  ‘Anyway,’ she finished, ‘it’s a job. It suits me.’

  ‘Smart and dedicated,’ he summed up, steering clear of more descriptive words. ‘I like that.’

  ‘Well, yes.’ She blushed.

  ‘And you live in Richmond-upon-Thames?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I mean… wait – how did you know that?’ Her eyes narrowed like a cat’s.

  ‘Someone in the choir spotted you on the train,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid they call you “The Heckler”.’

  ‘What? Who called me that?’ She looked at him with such shock that he couldn’t help but laugh. ‘That’s awful,’ she said. ‘Why are you laughing?’

  ‘I’m just saying that you made an impression.’

  Her eyes brushed his and he felt a delicious electric charge. If only things had been different… But they weren’t. He had to remember that.

  They continued to walk, crossing the busy intersection at Aldwych. A little further on, Dmitri took her arm and manoeuvred her towards a giant archway. She stopped, and he sensed her tensing up. They were standing on the pavement just outside the entrance to Somerset House. Beyond the arch was the ornate white façade of the building that now housed the Courtauld Gallery. The giant courtyard in front had been transformed into an outdoor ice skating rink.

  ‘No, Dmitri, really, I can’t.’ Nicola gasped.

  ‘You have never skated before?’ he said, a little concerned.

  ‘Not since I was a girl.’

  ‘Yes, Nicola. If I were to make a guess, I would say that for you, many things fall in that category.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I think you just told me.’

  With a look of sheer indignation, she crossed her arms. ‘OK, where do we go?’

  ‘This way.’ He steered her directly to the front of the long queue and spoke to the person on duty. That person went to get the manager – the man that Dmitri had phoned from the church to make the arrangements. They had a brief chat, and Dmitri thanked him for helping out at such short notice. They were issued with their tickets.

  ‘Now, we must get some skates,’ he said. ‘What size do you wear?’

  ‘Six,’ Nicola croaked.

  Dmitri took her over to the bench and gestured for her to sit down. He crouched down and unzipped her boots, taking them from her feet. Touching her, he felt that spark again that made his mouth go dry. But the look of shock on her face was worth it. He got up quickly and took off his own boots. Then he went to the counter and exchanged their boots for two pairs of ice skates. While he was there, he took off the Santa hat and put it in his bag (enough was enough) and put his bag in a locker.

  He came back and handed her the pair of heavy blue skates. Her lips were pursed as she shoved her feet in and did up the metal toggles.

  Dmitri tightened his own skates, and then stood up, offering her his hand. She rejected it, instead popping up herself and finding her balance on the rubbery mat surface. ‘Just a minute,’ she said. She waddled like a penguin over to another window just past the skate hire. At the café window, they were selling coffee, tea and mulled wine.

  When he came up beside her, she had ordered two ‘winter warmers’ – mulled wine in a cup with a cinnamon stick. Dmitri changed his to an espresso.

  ‘Too early for you?’ she said, colouring a little.

  ‘I don’t drink alcohol,’ he said. ‘But you go ahead.’

  He handed her the warm paper cup of wine, watching her breathe in the smell of the spirits rising to her nose. He downed the espresso in one gulp and left the empty cup on the counter.

  ‘Thank you for the coffee,’ he said. ‘Now, are you ready to skate?’

  ‘Let’s get it over with.’ She looked bemused, but up for it. Her cheeks glowed with the cold and he wanted – way too much – to touch her. He put his hands in his pockets.

  The rink was already crowded as they made their way out on to the ice. She was still holding the paper cup of mulled wine. As soon as she stepped out on to the ice, her whole body tipped and wavered. His instinct was to reac
h out to her, but he kept it in check, letting her find her balance. She clung to the side of the railing, as children, families, beginners and expert skaters whizzed, careered and fell all around them. She finished the wine and left the empty cup at the side. Her eyes were bright and he was pleased when she grabbed on to his arm tightly, taking small, awkward steps along the ice.

  ‘Yes, you’re doing it,’ he said, loud enough to be heard over the voices and eighties music. As she began to relax into it and get a rhythm going, he began to enjoy it too.

  On the ice, Dmitri felt solid and in his element. He’d loved skating as a boy – the freedom, the speed of it. He and his friends had all tried to outdo each other with jumps and spins, often landing flat on their bottoms, but it had been fun nonetheless.

  ‘Don’t go too fast,’ she said. ‘Please.’

  Dmitri slowed down, feeling instantly protective of her.

  They made it once around the ice. For a second or two, she let go of his arm, but then she hit a bump in the ice and quickly grabbed back on. A few steps later, she hit another bump and he put his hand on hers to steady her. He glanced at her face. She wasn’t smiling, but her green eyes were soft when they met his. He felt pleasantly warm and very aroused.

  All of a sudden, a few feet in front of them, a small boy holding on to his parents’ hands lost his footing and pulled both parents to the ground. Dmitri tried to stop, but a freight train of skaters from behind pushed into them like falling dominos. Nicola shrieked as she took the impact. Dmitri tried to pull her to him, but her legs were gone from beneath her and they both went crashing down. The ice came up cold and hard underneath his bottom. He landed with his legs in a V-shape and her between them, his arms wrapped around her waist. She leaned against him and he didn’t let go immediately. Having her in his arms, the smell of her hair on his face, the feel of her soft, delicious body…

  She burst out laughing. Instantly, he let go of her. ‘OK, big shot,’ she said, putting her hand on his knee. ‘Now what? I don’t think I can get up.’

  ‘Here, let me.’ Dmitri tried to pick himself up, but at the last second, she pulled him off balance back down on to the ice. He looked at her in surprise, and then started laughing too.

  She took out her phone and while they were both still down on the ice, held it out in front of them and snapped a photo. Dmitri caught a glimpse of it before it went off the screen. He had a silly look on his face, and her face was only half in view, her cheeks flushed, hair everywhere. She was about to take another photo when a group of teenagers ploughed into them and ended up in a heap on top of them. Dmitri managed to clear them to the side and get up. He helped her to her feet, and she shoved her phone back into her pocket.

  They skated around some more; she kept a firm grip on his hand. When she said she wanted a rest, he left her at the side of the rink and went to the centre of the ice, making a schoolboyish show of trying to impress her with spins and little jumps. She was smiling, so maybe it worked. Not that it mattered.

  This is not a date, he reminded himself sternly. It felt like one, though.

  An announcement came over the loudspeaker that the session was ended. Dmitri left the ice a little reluctantly. He helped Nicola off the rink until she steadied herself on the rubber matting. They changed out of their skates and Dmitri got their boots and his bag.

  ‘You’re a really good skater,’ she said as she took off her skates and put her boots back on.

  ‘I did a lot of skating when I was a boy,’ Dmitri said, happy that she’d noticed. ‘And then, later on, in Moscow. The river used to freeze over. You could just walk across.’

  ‘It sounds like you miss it,’ she said.

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘Do you miss it?’ she pressed.

  He considered this as they went out. ‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘I suppose, after all these years, I think mostly of the good things. There are things I remember that seem so beautiful now, though I didn’t appreciate them at the time. I miss the friends I had, and I miss my father.’ His voice caught as he reflected. ‘My sister says that I am too sentimental. She remembers the bad things: the noise and stink of the block of flats, the clouds of mosquitoes in summer, the freezing showers in the winter – when there was any water at all.’

  ‘Ugh. I think I’m with her on that one.’

  ‘Yes.’ He laughed. ‘You women like your creature comforts.’

  ‘That’s for sure.’

  They exited the courtyard through the archway. He was relieved when she didn’t ask anything further. They walked on, going east towards the Square Mile. There was a part of him that wanted to tell her everything, end this charade right now. This pretence that it could lead somewhere, that getting to know each other was anything more than a prelude to goodbye. Now, he knew he’d made the wrong decision when she’d come to the church. That was the moment when he should have been stronger. He should have invited her out, then and there. Bought her a few drinks, taken her to bed, let things come to a brief and final conclusion. It would have been so much simpler. But he’d chosen the second option – get to know her, risk letting her get under his skin.

  ‘So now what?’ she said, breaking the silence. ‘What’s next on your Christmas Torture Trail, Dmitri? Selfridges? Hamleys? Oxford Street?’

  ‘No,’ Dmitri said. ‘I had planned for us to go to lunch. But not in a place like that.’ The tight nervousness in his chest eased a little, which allowed in the inevitable sadness. This day would never survive the next stop.

  ‘No?’ she said. ‘Then where? There’s not much around here, is there?’ They walked past the church of St Mary le Strand and Kings College, towards the Royal Courts of Justice. Here, there were no crowds of Christmas shoppers, skaters or family theatre-goers. Just a few people waiting at a bus stop.

  ‘No.’ He stopped and turned to her. ‘There is not much here. And the next stop… well, it’s less pleasant than the others.’ He forced himself to smile. ‘So, if you want to leave, Nicola, I’ll release you.’ He prayed that she would go; hoped, more than anything, that she would stay. Christ, what a mess.

  She gave him a guarded look, and for a second, he thought he could glimpse the workings of her mind, thinking exactly the same as he was.

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ Nicola grumbled. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘This way.’ He pointed to a road that lead down towards the river, and took her hand again. ‘It is not far.’

  11

  Nicola followed Dmitri down the road towards Temple and the river. What was the mysterious next stop that he had planned? If it did involve lunch, her stomach was much too turbid to contemplate food. The skating – her worst nightmare – had turned out to be fun, even if she’d had to cling to Dmitri’s arm the entire time. He’d liked that, she thought. And then when they fell together and she landed between his legs, she knew. The whole experience had made her feel strangely giddy.

  And all that might have been fine. The problem was, that as the day went on, she found herself liking him more and more. He’d clearly had a fascinating life, even if, she suspected, there was a lot he was holding back. When she’d accepted his invitation, she’d been intrigued and in the mood to take a risk. But she didn’t want him to leave any impression on her. If it wasn’t already too late.

  Further down the road, Nicola could smell food and hear the clatter of plates and cutlery, but there was no sign of any restaurant. Then she noticed the abandoned trolleys, piles of cardboard and dirty blankets. Her senses reeled from the smells: sweat, filth, unwashed clothing.

  Dmitri stopped in front of an unmarked doorway. ‘Here we are.’

  ‘Wait a minute, where are we?’ Nicola said.

  ‘Central Connection.’

  ‘What’s that?’ She frowned.

  ‘A homeless shelter,’ he answered matter-of-factly.

  ‘A homeless shelter? You brought me to lunch at a homeless shelter?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. The mischievous smile from earlier was back. �
�It is their Christmas lunch. And I’ve said that you will help with the serving. Of course, if you are hungry, we can eat, also. The food is actually quite good.’

  ‘I’m supposed to serve lunch?’ She glared at him.

  ‘Penance, Nicola.’ He gestured for her to go inside. She stood there for a moment on the threshold. After what he’d told her on the bridge, it really was too late to back out now.

  The doorway led to a lower-ground-floor hall. At one end of the room was a small stage with a knackered-looking upright piano in front of it. People were sitting at the long tables – mostly men, but also a few women, and even some children. They were eating from heaping plates of steaming stew with Yorkshire puddings and Brussel sprouts. Above the tables, someone had hung a few strands of foil snowflakes that were engulfed by the giant room.

  Nicola felt her stomach roiling from the smell of the food and the churning mixture of pity and distaste she experienced whenever she saw a homeless person even from afar, let alone this close up. It all brought back memories of her dad, his breakdown, and how sick she had felt watching the change in him. If it hadn’t been for her – dealing with the bill collectors, begging his boss to give him another chance, pouring bottles of whisky down the sink – he might well have ended up someplace just like this.

  Nicola had almost made up her mind to turn around and go out again. But just then, a huge bear of a man with a thick black beard peppered with grey came up to Dmitri.

  ‘Dima!’ he bellowed, giving him a hard clap on the back. ‘You came.’

  ‘Of course,’ Dmitri said. ‘You knew I would.’