The Russian's Ultimatum(4)

Now the ball was back in his court.

After what felt like an age, he gave a sharp nod. 'I will agree to your   demands with regards to your father, but you will disappear until my   buy-out is complete. If at any point you find an opportunity to talk and   are stupid enough to take it, our deal will be null and void and I  will  personally ruin the pair of you.'

* * *

Pascha pulled up outside the house in the London suburb Emily had given him as her address.

'You live here?' The cosy, mock-Tudor house was nothing like the home   he'd imagined she would have. 'This is my father's home,' she answered   shortly. 'I rented my flat out and moved back in a month ago.'

'That must have been a come-down, moving back in with your parents.'

She fixed him with a hard stare. 'Do not presume to know me or know   anything about my life. Give me twenty minutes. I need to arrange some   matters and get my stuff together.'

He opened his door before returning the stare. 'I'm coming in with you.'

'You certainly are not.'

'I'm not giving you a choice. Until we get to your destination, you're not leaving my sight.'

The fire running in her eyes sparked. 'To be clear, if you say or do   anything to upset my father then our agreement can go to hell.'

'Then you will be the one dealing with the consequences.'

'As will you.' Before his eyes, her face transformed, the hardness   softening to become almost childlike. 'Please, Pascha. He's in a very   bad place. You probably won't even see him but, if you do, please be   kind.'

He'd never had any intention of upsetting her father. All the same, he   found himself agreeing to her heartfelt plea. 'I will say nothing to   upset him.'

And, just like that, she went back into her hard shell and jumped out of the car. 'Let's go in, then.'

He followed her through the front door and into a spacious yet homely house.

'Dad?' she called, shouting up the stairs. 'It's only me. I'll be up in a   minute with a cup of tea for you.' Not waiting for an answer, she   headed into a large kitchen-diner, put the kettle on and reached for the   house phone.

Pascha grabbed her wrist before she could dial the number. 'Who are you calling?'                       
       
           



       

'My brother. I told you, I have things to organise. Now, take your hand off me.'

Not trusting her an inch, he complied, stepping back far enough to give   them both a little space, but remaining close enough to disconnect the   call should she try anything.

'James?' she said into the receiver. 'It's only me. Look, I'm sorry for   the short notice, but I need you to come and stay with dad for the next   week and not just tonight.'

From the way she sucked her angular cheekbones in, and the impatience of   her tone as the conversation went back and forth, she wasn't happy  with  her brother's responses.

Emily was clearly a bossy big sister but beneath it all he heard genuine   affection. He could well imagine her ordering her brother around from   the moment of his birth.

His mind turned to the man he'd always regarded as a brother, the same   man who would sooner drive Plushenko's-the business he'd inherited from   their father-into the ground rather than sell it to Pascha.

While Pascha had openly hero-worshipped him, Marat had never made any   secret of his loathing for Pascha. When Pascha had been seriously ill   and death had been hovering, real, Marat had wanted him-the boy he'd   liked to call the cuckoo in the nest-to die.

Emily's conversation ended with her saying, 'Mandy's around during the   day if you need to go into the office. I'm only asking you to come for a   week-you'll be fine. Amsterdam will still be there when you get back.'

She disconnected the call and immediately put the receiver back to her   ear, dialling yet another number. This time, she relayed that an   emergency had come up and asked whoever was on the receiving end to tell   someone called Hugo that she needed to take a week's leave of absence.

'Are you done?' Pascha asked when she'd replaced the receiver.

'Yes.'

'No boyfriend to call?' He didn't even attempt to hide his sarcasm.

In response, she threw him the hardest look he'd ever been on the   receiving end of, and in his thirty-four years that was saying   something.

'No.' With that, she went back to the freshly boiled kettle.

'I take my coffee black with one sugar,' he informed her as she tossed a   teabag into a mug, poured hot water onto it, followed by a splash of   milk, and gave it a vigorous stir.

'That's nice.' She picked up the mug and swooped past him.

'It is good manners to offer guests refreshments.'

She came to an abrupt halt and spun around, somehow managing not to   spill a single drop of tea. 'You are not a guest in this house and you   never will be.'

For a moment, Pascha seriously contemplated forgetting his promise to   send Emily somewhere safe and simply lock her in a sound-proof cupboard   for a week.

Keeping close to her tail, he followed her up the stairs. When they   reached the top, she turned back to him. This time she whispered,   although she still perfectly managed to convey her hatred towards him.   'This is my father's room. Do not come in. Seeing you might just tip him   over the edge.'

'Then keep the door open. I want to hear what you're saying.'

'You'll find our conversation scintillating.' She rapped her knuckles on   the door, pushed it open and stepped over the threshold into a dusky   bedroom, curtains drawn.

'Hi, Dad,' Emily said, speaking in such a gentle voice he could easily   have believed it was someone else talking. 'I've made you a cup of tea.'

Pascha watched as she went to the window and drew the curtains back.

'Let's get some air in here,' she said in the same gentle voice, opening   the window. 'It's a beautiful day. Honestly, Dad, you would love it  out  there. It really feels like autumn now.'

The daylight streaming into the room allowed Pascha to spot the   full-length mirror on the wall, which gave him a perfect view of the   still figure in the bed.

With Emily keeping up a stream of steady, gentle chatter, the figure   slowly rolled over and lifted his head an inch before slumping back   down.

Pascha's jaw dropped open to see him.

Malcolm Richardson was unrecognisable from the man he'd suspended just a month ago.

He looked as if he'd aged two decades.

A stab of something Pascha couldn't place jabbed in his guts.

It wasn't long before Emily re-joined him. 'Get a good look, did you?'   she shot as she sidled past and over to a room on the other side of the   landing.

'Don't be facetious,' he snapped, speaking through gritted teeth. 'When will your brother be here?'
                       
       
           



       
She hadn't been exaggerating. Her father really was in a bad way.

'As soon as he finishes his meeting.'

'And he can care for your father?'

'Yes. He runs his own business-he's a financial advisor and sets his own   schedule. The next-door neighbour pops in during the day when she  can.'

'We need to make a move soon,' Pascha said, trying to ignore the new   insistent jabbing in the pit of his stomach. However much his conscience   might be turning on him, he couldn't let Emily stay. The risk was too   great. 'We have a flight slot to fill.'

'You're taking me abroad?'

'Yes.'

'I expected you to leave me in a dungeon somewhere.'

'That's a very tempting thought.'

She opened the door with a scowl. 'You can come in, but only because I don't want my dad finding you out here.'

Emily took a deep breath and admitted Pascha into her room.

He made no comment, just stood there taking it all in.

To her chagrin, she was embarrassed for him to see it. She'd done her   best, but comparing it to the sterility of his office made her see all   the flaws. It was as tidy and as organised as she'd been able to manage   but it was hard cramming an entire life into a childhood bedroom.

She thought with longing of her cosy flat, could only hope her short-term tenants were treating it with respect.

She pushed the thought aside. It could be months before she was able to   move back. Torturing herself wouldn't change her circumstances.

'It's going to take me a while to get my things together,' she said, mentally shaking herself. 'Feel free to take a seat.'

'And where am I supposed to sit?' he asked. The small armchair in the   corner was piled high with old clothes she planned to recycle into   something new.

'On the floor?' she suggested with faux sweetness, yanking open the wardrobe door, glad she could hide her flaming cheeks.

Her room wasn't messy but it was filled with so much stuff. A lifetime's   worth. If she didn't need to keep James's room free for the times he   came to stay, she would appropriate it.