The Price of His Redemption

‘Because,’ Daniil explained, ‘on the rooftop there is a helipad.’

‘Oh!’ She had never been in a helicopter before. ‘Are we flying back tonight?’

‘I think we are expected to stay but I am going to keep the pilot on standby all night. I really don’t know how it is going to go.’

They took the elevator to the foyer, Libby’s shoes clipping away, making a noise on the marble floor, and, no, it didn’t annoy him.

‘We just have to stop in my office for a moment. I need to pick up the gift.’

‘What did you get them?’ she asked. He didn’t answer at first and when they were in his office Libby blushed as she remembered what they had got up to at the desk.

‘I’m not sure what Cindy got for them,’ Daniil answered, and pointed to a large beautifully wrapped gift and picked up a note beside it. ‘A ruby vase apparently.’

‘A ruby vase?’ Libby groaned. ‘Have you no imagination?’

‘I don’t. Well, at least not where my parents are concerned, and Cindy certainly doesn’t have one.’

‘You sent her out to get your parents their gift?’

‘Of course I did.’

Libby, who could happily spend a day thinking about the perfect gift for somebody, was appalled and suddenly terribly concerned about what had happened to the present she had bought him. ‘Where’s the present that I got for you?’ she asked.

‘I think it’s in my drawer,’ he said, and then watched as she opened it up and rummaged through for a full minute.

‘No, it isn’t.’

Daniil stood there as she opened his drawer, surprised by his own non-reaction. Had anybody else done the same he might possibly have had their hands off.

‘I don’t know where it is, then,’ he said. ‘The cleaner must have moved it.’

Libby pouted. She didn’t believe him for a moment. ‘Should we go up?’ she asked.

‘We’ll just wait here,’ he said. ‘I’ll get a text when he’s ready for us.’

Daniil walked over to the window and looked out at the bright late-afternoon sunshine and Libby could see the tension in his shoulders. ‘Are you nervous about tonight?’

‘I’m not nervous...’ he said in a rather scoffing voice, but then he checked himself. It wasn’t her fault how he felt right now. He had woken early this morning and taken himself to his club in the East End, where he had trained hard and then sparred, yet it had done little to relieve his mounting tension. That was the reason for the bruise over his eye and he was glad that Libby hadn’t demanded answers. No, nervous wasn’t the word and he tried to find the right one. He did not turn and look as he told her exactly how he felt. ‘Dread.’

Libby, who was perched on his desk, felt the happy bubble she was floating on deflate on his behalf. ‘I’m such a selfish cow,’ she said, jumping off the desk and going over to him. ‘I was so excited to see you that I never stopped to think just how hard this—’

‘It’s fine,’ he interrupted. There was no need for an apology and he told her another truth. ‘Despite how things are, I was looking forward to seeing you, too.’

For Libby, his open admission was unexpected.

It felt like opening the kitchen cupboard and finding a bar of chocolate when you were quite sure that you didn’t have any.

And then Daniil elaborated on why he was dreading tonight and that, too, was unexpected. ‘I’d better give you some background.’

‘You don’t have to,’ she said, because she could sense his reluctance. ‘I’m very good at winging it.’

‘I’m going to be making a speech tonight so you will hear some of it anyway and I want you to know, before we arrive, why the evening might not be an easy one,’ he said. ‘As you know, I’m adopted.’

Libby nodded.

‘I lived in an orphanage until I was twelve years old. Apparently my parents had tried for a very long time to have a baby and eventually they did—they had a son and his name was Daniel. He was their only child but he died when he was twelve and they missed him so much...’

Libby bit her tongue.

‘They had hoped I would be like him. The trouble was, not only did I not speak the language—’ he gave an extremely uncomfortable shrug ‘—I was very institutionalised when I arrived in England. I liked routines. Even though I was used to sharing a room, we all had our privacy. No one really touched anybody else’s things. If someone was quiet, that was respected. It was very different when I came here. My parents felt they could come uninvited into my space, that they, or their maids, could touch my things. I wanted my meals at a certain time, that was all I knew. I didn’t want their lavish food and to be grateful for the nice things they gave me. I didn’t want to play tennis...’