Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence - Shaw Chantelle - Страница 12
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Did he think she was so unsophisticated that she couldn’t handle alcohol? Ella thought irritably. She gave him a cool smile and racked her brains for the name of a cocktail-any cocktail-that she’d heard of. ‘I’d like a Singapore Sling, please.’
His dark brows lifted. ‘Are you sure? The combination of gin and cherry brandy can be lethal on an empty stomach.’
In a minute he’d be ordering her a milkshake! ‘I’ll be fine, thank you,’ she assured him coldly. The waiter left them, and she glanced around the packed restaurant, conscious that for the next hour or so she faced the unsettling prospect of talking exclusively to Vadim. Her nerves felt as taut as an over-stretched elastic band as she cast around for something to say, and she was relieved when the waiter reappeared almost instantly with their drinks.
Vadim lifted his glass. ‘To new friendships…and new experiences,’ he drawled, amusement glinting in his eyes when Ella took a cautious sip of her drink and made a choking sound which she hastily turned into a cough. Once again he was struck by her air of innocence, but in his experience all women were game-players, and no doubt Ella had her own agenda for acting the ingenue. He relaxed back in his seat and studied the menu, but to his irritation he could not prevent his gaze from straying across the table to absorb the delicate beauty of her face, the fragile line of her collarbone and the gentle curve of her pale breasts above her red dress. She was very lovely, and she had invaded his thoughts far too often recently, he mused as the dull ache in his groin intensified to a hot, throbbing sensation that caused him to shift uncomfortably in his chair.
‘As a Russian who appreciates good caviar, I can recommend the Royal Beluga to start,’ he murmured. ‘And for the main, grilled Dover sole with Bearnaise sauce, or the grilled poussin with thyme and lemongrass are both excellent.’
Ella gave up struggling to understand the exotic menu, which featured among other things veal with a wasabi sorbet, and calf’s liver with truffle mash. She could at least recognise caviar, although she had never tasted it, and she loved Dover sole. ‘The caviar sounds fine, and I’d like the sole to follow, please.’
‘I’ll have the same.’ Vadim gave their order to the waiter. ‘And a bottle of Chablis, thank you.’
The waiter walked away, and, needing something to do with her hands, Ella lifted her glass and took another sip of her innocuous-looking red cocktail. It was rather too sweet for her liking, and tasted similar to cough linctus, but the alcoholic punch didn’t seem so strong now that she was used to it. Aware that Vadim was watching her, she gave him a cool smile and took another sip.
‘So, how old were you when you discovered your musical talent?’ he queried.
‘My mother gave me my first violin when I was four, but I was picking out tunes on the piano from as soon as I could climb up onto the piano stool.’ Ella smiled softly. ‘My earliest memories are of hearing my mother play. She was a truly remarkable musician, and I feel very privileged to have inherited a little of her talent.’
‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’
‘No.’ Ella paused. ‘Mama developed a serious heart condition soon after I was born, which meant that she couldn’t have any more children. We were very close,’ she revealed huskily. ‘Music created a special bond between us.’
Vadim gave her an intent look. ‘I believe you said you were a teenager when she died? It must have been hard to deal with such a tragedy when you were so young.’
After more than a decade Ella still wasn’t sure she had come to terms with the death of the person she had loved most in the world, but the conversation was straying into an area of her life she never discussed with anyone, so she gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘It’s in the past now. And at least I’ve been able to follow Mama’s dream. She never had the opportunity to perform.’ Ella’s voice hardened. ‘Especially once she married my father. But she always hoped I would have a successful career as a violinist. Before she died she set up a trust fund and left instructions for my musical education,’ she explained to Vadim. ‘Thanks to my mother I’ve studied under some of the best violin tutors in the world.’
‘And do you enjoy performing? Was your mother’s dream also your dream?’ Vadim asked softly.
Ella frowned at him. ‘Of course it was…is. What a strange question. Music is my life and I love playing.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’ Vadim shrugged. ‘It sounds a little as though your life has been dictated by your mother from beyond the grave. I merely wondered whether you had ever considered a different career, or whether you truly have a burning ambition to be a successful soloist.’
‘My life is not dictated by my dead mother,’ Ella denied furiously. ‘She just wanted me to have the chances that she never had, and I’m glad I’ve been able to fulfil her dream.’ A solo career was her dream too, she assured herself, trying to ignore the voice in her head which pointed out that, although she loved playing as part of an orchestra, she did not enjoy the mind-numbing stage fright she suffered as a soloist. As for ever considering a different career-it was true she had briefly considered studying law, after she had been inspired by a talk at school given by a human rights lawyer. But she had quickly dismissed the idea. Music was her life, and she felt honour bound to follow the path her mother had planned for her.
‘Mama hoped I would have a successful career so that I would be financially independent and never have to be reliant on a man, as she was on my father,’ she said quietly. ‘Music has given me that independence, and I regard that as my mother’s greatest legacy.’
It was the second time she had intimated that she had issues regarding her father, and although Vadim never took an interest in the personal lives of the women he dated, he couldn’t deny he was curious to learn more about Ella.
‘After your mother died, I assume your father brought you up? Did you have a close relationship with him?’
For a second Ella pictured her father’s cold, thin-lipped face, and the expression of undisguised dislike in his eyes on the few occasions when they had met. He had known that she’d hated him, and with his warped sense of humour and cruel tongue had found it amusing to taunt and provoke her, aware that her fear of him prevented her from voicing her feelings about him.
She suddenly became aware that Vadim was waiting for her to reply. ‘No.’ The single word snapped like a gunshot, and, seeing his surprise, she added hastily, ‘I was away at boarding school, and he preferred to live in his villa in the South of France rather than at Stafford Hall, so I didn’t see him very often.’
She could tell that Vadim wanted to ask more, but to her relief the waiter reappeared at their table with the first course. The caviar was heaped in a crystal bowl, which was set in a larger bowl filled with crushed ice, and as Ella stared at the small, shiny, black fish eggs, her appetite vanished.
‘Um…this looks delicious,’ she mumbled when the waiter set a plate of small buckwheat pancakes in front of her.
Vadim hid his smile. ‘Have you actually eaten caviar before?’
Honesty seemed the best policy. ‘No,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘I’ve heard it’s an acquired taste.’
‘It’s the food of the gods,’ he assured her. ‘The proper Russian way of eating it is straight off the spoon, accompanied by a shot of frozen vodka. But, seeing as you are a caviar virgin, I think we’d better forget the vodka so that you can experience the ultimate pleasure of the taste and texture in your mouth.’
Ella felt her face flood with colour, and she wondered if Vadim had guessed that her virginity did not only encompass eating caviar. She watched him scoop a few of the shiny black eggs onto a glass spoon, and her eyes widened when he leaned across the table and held the spoon inches from her lips.
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