Page 77 of The Unseen
Valentina smiled grimly as she finished her work. It served Dmitri right not to have a proper funeral, and to be left to rot like an animal carcass with no signs of respect or prayers for his soul. He’d been a horrible man, a ruthless predator, and he deserved no sympathy from her. She collected Dmitri’s clothes and the nearly empty decanter, along with the lye tub and the string, and left the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Now all she had to do was move the massive wardrobe in front of the door to the bathroom, and no one would ever suspect there’d been a room there.
She set down the decanter and tossed the clothes on the bed, then tried to move the wardrobe. It wouldn’t budge. It was way too heavy for one person to move. She tried again and again, but couldn’t move it.
Frantically, Valentina began to take everything out of the wardrobe. There were suits, shirts, coats, and hats. The items weren’t heavy in themselves, but taking them all out made adifference. After nearly an hour of inching the wardrobe along, she finally managed to push it in front of the door. The floor got a little scuffed, but if she shifted the rug, no one would notice. She quickly replaced all the clothes in the wardrobe, except for a few season-appropriate items, which she tossed into a valise Dmitri used when travelling. She added his wallet, which she emptied, and his passport to the contents and took the valise to her room. In the morning, she would weigh the valise with a few stones and dump it in the river. It would never be found, but even if it was, it’d be proof that Dmitri had been set upon by hooligans, who’d disposed of the evidence after taking what they wanted.
By the time Elena and Tanya came down to breakfast just before nine a.m., Valentina was already in the kitchen, boiling eggs and making tea. She should have been exhausted, but the terror she’d experienced had kept her wide awake long enough to see to every detail of her plan. She went about her day, keeping up a pretense of normalcy for as long as she could. Just before dinner, she claimed a terrible headache and retreated to her room, where she collapsed onto the bed without undressing and fell into a dreamless sleep.
FORTY-THREE
For the next few days, Valentina lived in abject terror. She imagined that every motorcar driving down the street belonged to the police, who were coming to arrest her. Every footfall was that of someone heading to Dmitri’s room. Every time the telephone rang, which thankfully didn’t happen often, she feared it was the factory manager calling to inquire after Dmitri’s whereabouts. She walked past Dmitri’s room first thing every morning, sniffing experimentally. She couldn’t smell a thing but opened all the windows nonetheless, claiming that it was a good time to air out the house. The weather was glorious, so no one questioned her desire for fresh air.
Valentina desperately tried to maintain a façade of normalcy, but she felt queasy throughout the day and could barely manage to keep any food down. Her hands shook when she attempted to prepare the meals and she nearly sliced off her finger while peeling potatoes for supper. Any unexpected noise sent her into a mindless panic, and her head throbbed, the pain blurring her vision and making her irritable.
“Goodness gracious! What is the matter with you, Valya?” Elena asked when she walked into the kitchen to find Valentina trying to bandage her bleeding finger.
“I just don’t feel well,” Valentina mumbled. It was no use pretending everything was well, especially when her voice sounded as tearful as that of a little girl who’d fallen and scraped her knee.
“It’s that time of the month, isn’t it?” Elena laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you let me do that?”
Valentina held out her hand and Elena bound her finger and skillfully tied the ends of the gauze.
“I hope you cleaned it first.”
“Of course, Mama.”
“Go lie down for a little while. Tanya and I will take care of supper.”
Valentina scoffed. Elena had never cooked anything in her life, much less an entire meal.
“I’m not as useless as you think, Valya. I can manage to boil a few potatoes. And since you’ve already prepared the chicken and set it to roast, all I have to do is keep an eye on it. I think I can be trusted not to burn it to cinders.”
“Of course you can, Mama.”
Elena leaned down and kissed Valentina’s forehead. “Go on.”
Valentina nodded and sprang to her feet. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but an hour alone in her room, where she could give vent to her fears and maybe even have a good cry, would be a welcome reprieve from having to put on an act and pretend nothing was amiss. The strain was getting to her, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d give herself away.
Valentina closed the door behind her and stretched out on the cool sheets. The window was partially open and a pleasant breeze cooled her flushed cheeks. The funeral was tomorrow. The mere thought of forging an entry in the register nearly made her sick, but she forced herself to close her eyes and breathe deeply until she was in control once again. The rest of her life, assuming there would still be a life left to live, hinged on tomorrow. She’d committed murder and hidden the body. Forgery and fraud would be a walk in the park compared to what she’d already had to endure.
FORTY-FOUR
DECEMBER 2014
London, England
Pale winter sunlight streamed through the windows of the small Italian bakery. The air was thick with the heavenly smell of roasting coffee and freshly baked pastries. A plump, dark-eyed young woman maneuvered between the closely packed tables, deftly carrying a tray loaded with Quinn’s decaffeinated cappuccino, Rhys’s espresso, and a plate of almond biscotti. She beamed at Rhys as she set the espresso in front of him, but ignored Quinn.
“No cheesecake today, Mr. Morgan?” the waitress purred.
Rhys shook his head. “Not today, Giovanna.”
“Mama made it fresh this morning,” she replied, giving Rhys a winsome smile.
“I’m sure it’s to die for, but I don’t think I can fully appreciate it today. I’ll have it next time. Promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Giovanna tossed her abundant hair playfully and walked away, swaying her ample hips in a way that would have made Sophia Loren nod with approval.
“I think you have an admirer,” Quinn joked as she reached for a biscotto. Rhys had taken her to this little bakery the first time they met, and the cheesecake, which he’d insisted she try, truly was to die for. “Why no cheesecake today? You love the way they make it here.”
