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‘Need or want, Anne? Either way I can tell you from bitter experience that Russian courage is no less tenuous than the Dutch variety.’
Her eyes snapped back to his face, afraid of what hers might have revealed. ‘Did I ask for a psychoanalysis? I just want a drink!’
He studied her defensive expression thoughtfully for a moment and then said with disconcerting quietness, ‘I’ll get you one from the bar.’
‘I’ll just find somewhere to freshen up while you’re getting it,’ she gushed with relief, and made sure that his back was turned before she began wending her way across the crowded room.
He was wearing whites so he was an officer, and he must have just come off duty because he was making some kind of report to the captain. Anne waited until he appeared to have finished before catching the captain’s eye and smiling prettily.
On cue he introduced her. ‘Mr Fedorov is one of my senior officers. Dmitri, this is Miss Anne Tremaine. She is here with Hunter Lewis—from the Auckland university…’
Anne gravely shook hands with Ivan’s father and they murmured a few polite banalities until the captain’s attention was drawn by someone else. It seemed that Dmitri had also been waiting impatiently.
‘Anne Tremaine,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You are Katlin’s sister?’
Her eyes widened. ‘How did you know?’
‘She showed me a photograph of her family once. I only know that when we meet in Wellington she tells me she lives in the South Island. But you are here—can this be a coincidence?’
He spoke excellent English but his accent thickened with an eagerness that made Anne’s dreaded task much easier.
‘I’m living here in Auckland now, and Katlin is visiting me. I have a letter for you.’ Anne felt for her bag, and handed it to him. He was older than he looked in the photograph, nearing forty, she guessed, the lines of experience on his face not detracting from his rugged handsomeness. ‘It might be a bit of a shock.’
‘Come. I will read it now.’
He was almost as forceful as Hunter, Anne thought wryly as she was steered outside on to the quiet deck. A few passengers were promenading, but most seemed to have gone ashore for their first night in a new port. Dmitri stood under a light and scanned the letter quickly. Anne could read nothing from his expression until he looked up and she saw his eyes. They were very bright and wondering, and instantly familiar. He was Ivan, looking out at a world filled with glorious possibilities.
‘Where is she?’
In spite of the fact that she had instinctively liked him, Anne knew she should be cautious. Physically, Dmitri looked very strong. ‘You’re not angry that she waited this long?’
He smiled, his dark olive complexion warming. ‘She wishes to see me. How can I be angry for that when I have wished it too? I will not hurt her, Anne, if that is your concern. You will take me to see Katlin—and my son. My patronym is Ivanovich, did she tell you that? Ivan was my father’s name. So! We can leave now—yes?’
Anne shied away from his urgency. ‘Oh, but—’
Dmitri pounced, hugging her, kissing her on both cheeks with laughing exuberance. ‘Oh, but you must, little sister; that is what you are here for—the letter says so! You must take me home with you…I am off duty until tomorrow afternoon so I have all the long night…’
Anne couldn’t help laughing at his earnest enthusiasm. She had the feeling that once they got to the flat he would be just as eager to get rid of her. ‘But I’m with someone—’
‘The lady means me.’
The quiet phrase, spoken with silken menace, sliced them apart. They both swung around and Anne groaned inwardly.
Hunter stood just outside the encircling pool of light, his shadowy form managing to exude even more menace than his voice.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, Anne?’ He moved into the light, holding out her drink in a travesty of pol- iteness. His eyes were deeply hooded, his mouth a square gash in a lantern jaw.
Anne took the cold glass because she didn’t know quite what else to do. She stammered a bald introduction and on hearing Dmitri’s name Hunter’s expression grew even icier.
He said something, harshly, in rattling Russian, to Dmitri, who replied in contrasting quiet, even tones that Anne followed easily, ‘She is taking me to meet my son…and perhaps my fate…’
It said everything and yet Hunter, in his ignorance, misunderstood. Anne touched him on the arm. ‘Hunter, please—’
His muscles were like rigid steel as he shook her off as if her touch revolted him. ‘You came here to meet him?’
The clipped question gave her no room to manoeuvre. ‘Well, yes, but it’s not what you think—’
‘He’s not Ivan’s father? You’re not going to leave with him?’ His eyes were smouldering with outrage at the realisation that she had merely used him to get to another man.
