Oil billionaire, Sergei Antonovich, travelled behind tinted
windows in a big black glossy four-wheel drive. Two
car-loads of bodyguards flanked him, in front and behind.
Such a sight was worthy of note en route to a remote Russian
village like Tsokhrai. But everyone who saw the cavalcade
pass knew exactly who it was, for Sergei's grandmother was
well known locally, and her grandson always visited her on
Easter Day.
Sergei was looking at the road that he had turned from a
dirt track into a broad highway to facilitate the
transportation needs of the coach-building factory he had
set up to provide employment in this rural area. In the
winters, when once he had lived here, the road had been
thick with mud and often impassable by anything more
sophisticated than a farm cart. When it had snowed, the
village had been cut off for weeks on end. Sometimes even
Sergei still found it hard to believe that he had spent
several years of his adolescence in Tsokhrai, where he had
suffered the pure culture shock of an urban tearaway plunged
into a rustic nightmare of clean country living. At the age
of thirteen, he had been six feet tall, a gang member and
embryo thug, accustomed to breaking the law just to survive.
His grandmother, Yelena, had been barely five feet tall,
functionally illiterate and desperately poor. Yet Sergei
knew that everything he had become and everything he had
achieved in the years since then was down to the
indefatigable efforts of that little woman to civilise him.
The convoy came to a halt outside a humble building clad in
faded clapboards and sheltering behind an overgrown hedge.
The bodyguards, big tough men who wore sunglasses even on
dull days and never smiled, leapt out first to check out the
area. Sergei finally emerged, a sartorial vision of elegant
grooming in a silk and mohair blend suit that was superbly
tailored to his broad-shouldered powerful physique. His
ex-wife, Rozalina, had called this his 'annual guilt
pilgrimage' and had refused to accompany him. But his visit
was enough reward for the elderly woman who would not even
let him build her a new house. Yelena, Sergei reflected
grimly, was the only female he had ever met who wasn't eager
to take him for every ruble she could get. He had long since
decided that extreme greed and an overriding need to lionise
over others were essentially feminine failings.
As Sergei strode down the front path towards the dwelling,
villagers fell back from where they were gathered in its
doorway and an awe-inspired silence fell. Yelena was a small
plump woman in her seventies with bright eyes and a
no-nonsense manner. She greeted him without fuss, only the
huskiness of her voice and her use of the diminutive name
'Seryozh' for him hinting at how much her only grandchild
meant to her.
'As always you are alone,' Yelena lamented, guiding him over
to the table, which was spread with a feast of food to
satisfy those who had just finished practising a forty-day
fast in honour of the season. 'Eat up.'
Sergei frowned. 'I haven't been—'
His grandmother began to fill a large plate for him. 'Do you
think I don't know that?'
The bearded Orthodox priest sitting at the table, which was
decorated with flowers and painted eggs, gave the younger
man who had rebuilt the crumbling church tower an
encouraging smile. 'Eat up,' he urged.
Sergei had skipped breakfast in anticipation of the usual
gastronomic challenge that awaited him. He ate with
appetite, sampling the special bread and the Easter cake.
Throughout, he was approached by his grandmother's visitors
and he listened patiently to requests for advice, support
and money, because he was also the recognised source of
philanthropy in the community.
Yelena stood by watching and concealing her pride. She was
wryly aware that her grandson was the cynosure of attention
for every young woman in the room. That was understandable:
his hard-boned dark features were strikingly handsome and he
stood six feet three inches tall with the lean powerful
build of an athlete. As always, however, Sergei was too
accustomed to female interest to be anything other than
indifferent to it. His grandmother had a fleeting
recollection of the lovelorn girls who had dogged his every
step while he was still a boy. Nothing had changed; Sergei
still enjoyed an extraordinary level of charisma.
Sergei was mildly irritated by his female audience and
wondered how much Yelena had had to do with the surprising
number of attractive well-groomed young women milling about.
His concentration, however, had only to alight on his
grandmother, though, for it to occur to him that she looked
a little older and wearier every time he saw her. He knew
she was disappointed that he had failed to bring a girl home
with him. But the women who satisfied his white-hot libido
in his various homes round the world were not the type he
would have chosen to introduce to a devout old lady. He
recognised that she was desperate to see him marry and
produce a family. It would have surprised many, who saw
Sergei solely as an arrogant, notoriously cold-blooded
businessman, to learn that he actually believed that he
owed it to Yelena to give her what she wanted.
After all these years, what thanks had Yelena yet reaped
from taking a risk on her once foul-mouthed and defiant
grandson? While her guardianship had turned Sergei's life
and prospects around, life for her had remained very tough.
His immense wealth and success meant virtually nothing to
her, yet he was her only living relative. Her husband had
been a drunk and a wife-beater, her son had been a car thief
and her daughter-in-law an alcoholic.
'You worry about Yelena,' the priest noted sagely. 'Bring
her a wife and a grandchild and she will be happy.'
'If only it were so easy as you make it sound,' Sergei
quipped, averting his gaze from the excess of cleavage on
display as a nubile beauty hurried forward to pour him
another coffee.
'With the right woman it
is that easy!' The priest
laughed with the pride and good humour of a family man who
had six healthy children.
But Sergei harboured a deep abiding aversion to the
matrimonial state. Rozalina had proved to be a very
expensive mistake. And, more significantly, even a decade
after the divorce he could not forget the child she had
aborted to protect her perfect body. He had never told
Yelena about that, as he had known it would have broken her
heart and troubled her dreams. He also knew, noting the
depth of the lines on her creased and weathered face, that
she was on the slippery slope of life and that time was of
the essence. Some day there would be no one left to tell him
that the noise of his helicopter landing nearby had
traumatised her pig and stopped her hens laying. It was a
bleak thought that made his conscience stab him. Who had
done more for him and who had he rewarded least? If any
woman deserved a bouncing baby on her lap, it was Yelena
Antonova.
Sergei was still mulling over the problem that afternoon
when his grandmother asked him if he ever ran into Rozalina.
He managed not to wince. He was a loner, he always had been,
and he found personal relationships a challenge. He loved
the cut and thrust of business, the exhilaration of a new
deal or takeover, the challenge of cutting out the dead wood
and increasing profit in the under-performers, the sheer
satisfaction of making a huge financial killing. If only
marriage could be more like business with clear-cut rules
and contracts that left no room for misunderstandings or errors!
An instant later, his high-powered brain kicked up a gear
and he thought,
Why not? Why the hell shouldn't he
choose a wife and get a child by the same means in which he
did business? After all, trying to do it the old-fashioned
way had been catastrophic.
'Is there anyone?' Yelena asked with a guilty edge that told
him she had been holding back on that question about his
private life all day.
'Perhaps,' he heard himself say, holding out a thread of
hope or possibly a foundation for a future development.
And, that fast, the plan began forming. This time around,
Sergei decided, he would take the professional practical
approach to the institution of marriage. He would draw up a
list of requirements, put his lawyers in charge and urge
them to use a doctor and a psychologist to weed out
unsuitable applicants for the role he envisaged. Of course
the marriage would be short-term and he would retain custody
of the child. He immediately grasped the dichotomy of his
preferences. He didn't want a wife who would do anything for
money, but he
did want one prepared to give him a
child and then walk away when he had had enough of playing
happy families for Yelena's benefit. But somewhere in the
world his perfect matrimonial match had to exist, Sergei
reasoned. If he was specific enough with his requirements he
would not even have to meet her before the wedding.
Energised by that prospect, and once back behind the privacy
of the tinted windows of his four-by-four, he began to make
bullet points on his notebook computer.
When Alissa saw her sister, Alexa, climbing out of a totally
unfamiliar fire-engine-red sports car, she was filled with a
lively mix of exasperation, bewilderment and impatience.
Even so, a strong thread of relief bound all those disparate
emotions together and she hurtled downstairs, a tiny slender
blonde with a mass of silvery pale hair and clear aquamarine
eyes.
She flung open the front door of the cottage and the
questions just erupted from her in a breathless stream.
'Where have you been all these weeks? You promised you'd
phone and you didn't! I've been worried sick about you!
Where on earth did that fancy car come from?'
Amusement gleaming in her eyes, Alexa strolled forward. 'Hi,
twin, nice to see you too.'
Alissa hugged her sister. 'I was going out of my mind with
worry,' she admitted ruefully. 'Why didn't you phone? And
what happened to your mobile phone?'
'It broke and I got a new number.' Alexa wrinkled her nose.
'Look, things got very complicated and I kept on deciding to
wait until I had something more concrete to offer
you—and then when I finally
did have it, I
thought it would be easier to just come home and tell you
face to face.'
Alissa stared at her sister, not understanding and not
expecting to, either. It had always been that way because,
although the girls had been born identical, it had been
clear from an early age that below the skin they were two
very different personalities. Alexa had always been the
single-minded, ambitious one, quick to fight and scrap for
what she wanted, and she made enemies more easily than she
made friends. Alissa was quieter, steadier, occasionally
tormented by an overdeveloped conscience and altogether more
thoughtful. At twenty-three years of age, the sisters were
less obviously twins than they had been as children. Alexa
wore her long silvery blonde hair sleek, layered and
shoulder length while Alissa's was longer and more usually
confined in a ponytail. Alexa wore fashionable, often
provocative clothing and revelled in the attention men
awarded her, while Alissa dressed conservatively and froze
like a rabbit in headlights when men homed in on her more
understated charms.
'Where's Mum?'Alexa asked, flinging her coat down in a heap
and walking into the kitchen.
'She's at the shop. I came home this afternoon to do the
accounts,' Alissa confided, putting the kettle on to boil.
'I gather you got a job in London.'
Alexa gave her a rather self-satisfied smile and leant back
against the kitchen counter. 'Of course I did. I'm a whizz
at selling luxury cars and I've earned a lot of commission.
How's Mum?'
Alissa pursed her lips. As good as she's ever going to be.
At least I don't hear her crying at night any more—'
'She's getting over it? About time,' Alexa pronounced with
approval.
Alissa sighed. 'I don't think Mum's ever really going to get
over it—particularly not while Dad's parading his
fancy piece round the village. Or with all this debt still
hanging over her, not to mention having to sell her home
into the bargain…'
Alexa gave her a wide smile. 'Well, I was going to ask you
whether you wanted the good or the bad news first. On the
way here I stopped off at the solicitor's and told him to go
ahead and agree a financial settlement for the house. I also
gave him enough money to settle the bills. Prepare yourself
for a surprise: I've got the cash to pay off our bastard of
a father!'
'Don't talk about Dad like that,' Alissa said uneasily while
she struggled to accept the dramatic assurance that the
other woman had just voiced. Although I agree with the
sentiment.'
'Oh, don't be so mealy-mouthed!' Alexa urged tartly. 'Mum
loses her son and my boyfriend in a ghastly accident, nurses
Dad through his cancer scare and what's her reward? Dad
takes off with a hairdresser young enough to be his daughter!'
'You just said you've got enough money to pay off Dad and
more for the bills—how is that possible? You've only
been away three months.' Alissa was frowning. She wanted so
badly to believe it was possible, but her native wit was
telling her that even though Alissa was a terrific
saleswoman she still didn't have that kind of earning power.
'You could say that I went for a new job with a big cash
payment up front. As I said, there's enough to settle all
Mum's bills and pay off Dad,' Alexa repeated, keen to make
that salient point again.
Alissa was wide-eyed with disbelief. As well as enough to
buy that car outside
and renew your designer wardrobe?'
Alexa's smile evaporated as she gave her twin a cool
accusing scrutiny. 'You've already noticed the label on my
new coat?'
'No, it just has that look. That sophisticated look that
expensive clothes always seem to have,'Alissa advanced
ruefully. 'What kind of a job pays that much money?'
'Didn't you hear what I told you?' Alexa demanded thinly.
'I've saved our bacon—I have enough money to sort out
all Mum's problems and give her back her
self-respect and security.'
'That would take a miracle.' Alissa was convinced that her
sister was wildly exaggerating the case.
'In today's world, you have to compete and work
very
hard and make sacrifices to bring about a miracle.'
At that reference to making sacrifices from a young woman
who had never demonstrated the smallest leaning in that
direction, Alissa stole a troubled glance at her sister. 'I
don't understand.'
As I said, it's complex. For a start I'm afraid I had to
sort of
borrow your identity.'
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