Frankie couldn’t believe that Matron would accept that as fact, but maybe they were short-staffed at the care home and she couldn’t afford to lose anyone. Whatever Matron’s reasons for wanting to believe Suzie Wu’s word over Danny’s, with any luck, a line had now been drawn and this would be the last they heard on the subject. So long as Danny did as he’d been asked.
‘Danny,’ Frankie said, reaching across the table to him and taking his hands in hers. ‘I want you to promise me that you’ll swallow your pride and keep away from Woodside. Will you do that?’
He nodded and then squeezing his eyes shut, he moved one of his hands and pressed it to his chest.
Frankie rose to her feet and went to him. This was absolutely the very last thing her poor husband needed. What she wouldn’t do to protect and wrap him forever in her love.
And oh, how she hated the ghastly woman who had made these vile claims about a sweet and kind man who had visited an old lady out of the goodness of his heart. A heart that Frankie worried wasn’t strong enough to cope with what he had been accused of.
Chapter Seventeen
‘What are your plans for the evening? I don’t suppose you’d like to hop on a plane and fly over from Moscow, would you?’
Valentina laughed at Alastair’s question. ‘I would love to, but don’t forget we are three hours ahead of you, and with what is left of the evening I am going to enjoy a long bath and then go to bed.’
‘What about tomorrow, can I tempt you to abandon your mother and come here? Speaking from a purely selfish point of view, you understand.’
Again she laughed. ‘Tomorrow I’m taking my mother for lunch, and in the afternoon, while she is having her nap, I shall go to the Tretyakov.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s the best art gallery in the world.’
‘Better than the Louvre, or the Uffizi in Florence? Or what about the Hermitage in St Petersburg?’
‘Oh, much better than all of those. The Tretyakov is the home of Russian art.’
‘You mean icons?’
Her tut of derision spoke volumes. ‘One day I will bring you here and you will see for yourself the jewels of art that give me … give me geese bumps.’
He smiled. It wasn’t often that she slipped up, but he steeled himself not to correct her. He must have somehow given himself away though.
‘What?’ she said. ‘What are you thinking? Did I say something wrong?’
‘No,’ he lied. ‘Carry on, tell me about these jewels.’
‘Not until you’ve told me what made you pause.’
‘Goosebumps,’ he said, reluctantly, hating to correct her when his knowledge of French was at schoolboy level and he spoke not a word of Russian. ‘Not geese bumps. That was all.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I will try to remember that. These colloquial words and phrases are so important. I don’t want to let you down in front of your friends.’
‘You could never do that. Now tell me about the art gallery and these jewels that you like so much.’
‘They are not diamonds and rubies, if that is what you are thinking. I’m talking about some of the world’s greatest artists that far too many are in ignorance of, such as Isaac Levitan, Vasisly Vereshchagin, Ivan Alvazovsky, Ivan Kramskoi, Ilya Repin, Konstantin Savitsky, Ivan Shishkin, Alexei Stepanov, Vasily Surikov. Impress me, Alastair, tell me you’ve heard of just one of those.’
He laughed. ‘I’m sorry to confirm your worst opinion of me, but you have all too easily revealed my ignorance on such matters.’ He was going to add that what he knew about art was mostly limited to what Orla had taught him, but thought better of saying that.
‘Hah!’ declared Valentina. ‘In that case I shall educate you. You will be so much more knowledgeable by the time I have finished with you.’
I already am, he thought happily. ‘How much longer do you have to stay there in Moscow? I want you here with me.’
‘Patience, Mr Bossy Englishman, patience and listen to something important.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘Comment?’
