The endless pine forests on the outskirts of the city which had been white with snow the last time she was here were now green, the July sun streaming in across the wide cloudless sky.

The apartment was on the top floor of a blue terrace on Krivoarbatsky Lane, a narrow street set back from one of the wider boulevards, lined with trees. It was a part of town Gabriela knew reasonably well, a short walk from the British Embassy, and the proximity to this aspect of her history both thrilled and unnerved her as they stepped out of the lift and into the flat.

‘Wow.’ Her eyes took in the floor-to-ceiling windows flooding the space with light, the portraits hanging on the wall reminding her of those which adorned the grand staircase at KCS.

‘You like it?’

‘It’s stunning.’ Her voice trailed off as her attention was caught by a nude painting above the fireplace. ‘Ivan …?’

‘You like Modigliani?’

She turned to look up at him. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Why not?’

Layla pulled at Gabriela’s hair in a way that signalled it was time to feed, and grateful for the interruption, she practically fell into the sofa, this time having the presence of mind to take out one of the bottles she had prepared in London from her bag.

It suited her not to ask how much money he had, to put the thought out of her mind despite the considerable allowance that poured into her bank account every month. As far as she was concerned, there was no shame in it, it was a more than reasonable recompense for her loss of earnings. She didn’t factor in that she hadn’t earned a wage for months before they had met. She also didn’t stop to give much thought to how she might justify the portion she syphoned off each month, secreting it quietly into her and Tom’s joint account.

Tom. The moment she thought of him, she felt a jolt. She could go for so long without thinking of him, without thinking of their children, and then – bang – there they were, and for a moment everything else fell away and every part of her stung with the pain of it.

Chapter 57

Gabriela

‘What if she hates me?’

The car was pulling up outside the Ritz-Carlton hotel the following day. Gabriela pulled at the lining of the dress Ivan had bought her on their shopping spree the previous afternoon, at the GUM shopping arcade.

‘She’ll love you.’

‘How do you know? Mothers always hate their son’s partners, it’s the law … Are you allowed babies in here?’

She eyed the opulent displays of champagne as they walked through the lobby with its black marble colonnades, her fingers sweating lightly against the handle of the buggy.