Lewi's Legacy Read online

  ‘I’m just going up for my bath, now love’ she said, much softer and tenderer than he was used to hearing. He followed her with his eyes as she walked slowly up the stairs, and he didn’t hear the door shut.

  Louis’s head was spinning as he ate his meal. And decided to finish it as quick as he could and escape outside before anything else could happen. He felt some relief as he finished his meal and went into the kitchen to put his plate in the sink and get a glass of water to wash it down. Then disaster came, the ceiling banged twice. He gulped down the water and opened the kitchen door quietly. He was half out of the door, when it banged again, louder and three times this time.

  He stood at the bottom of the stairs and shouted. ‘Susan’s out till late Mrs Gilbert’ hoping that would suffice.

  ‘Yes I know Louis, don’t worry, I’m quite decent. I just want you to do something for me.’

  ‘Can’t it wait; I was just going out and..’

  ‘No it can’t wait. Come upstairs now!’ She interrupted him and sounded agitated.

  Sheepishly he slowly and reluctantly climbed up the stairs looking at the slightly ajar bathroom door and then very slowly pushed it further open to reveal her in the bath with her arms folded over her breasts, barely covering them. Her whole body was shiningly wet with the bubble bath, but he tried not to look.

  ‘Look Mrs Gilbert, I don’t think this is right can’t you wait until you get out of the bathroom?’

  She pulled a soapy sponge from the water between her legs and handed it towards him, revealing a full breast partly obscured by the bath foam. Once again he tried not to look but there was no mistaking the shape, and the suds hung over her brown nipple.

  ‘Just give my back a rub with this and that’s it Louis, please.’ She pleaded with him.

  He took the wet sponge and went around the end of the bath, and as far away as he could, he barely touched her back with it. Most of all, he just wanted to get out of there.

  ‘No Louis, you don’t do it like that.’ She took the sponge and turned full facing him and made a circular action with it.

  He stood shocked, looking at her large breasts moving in unison with the action of her arm. She didn’t flinch as he stared, and turned around for him to start rubbing again.

  He resigned himself to the fact that the only way he could get out of the bathroom was to do her bidding and started rubbing her smooth back more vigorously. He was then finished with this area and was about to drop the sponge when she lifted her arms up for him to wash the underarm area. As he again did her bidding she lay back and got hold of his hand, holding the sponge, indicating to him to proceed to her chest area.

  Now it was too late to stop. Annie now had him at her mercy, but none was given. She introduced the young man into a full session of oral sex, with her acting as a voracious predator. When she finally released him from the bathroom, he was sick and disgusted with himself.

  He went into his bedroom, quickly changed into fresh clothes and ran downstairs, and out of the kitchen door. As he walked down the road, the whole episode went round and round his head, and left him with a deep feeling of betrayal.

  Before this had happened he considered Annie as a mother figure, one he had never had, but now all that had changed. That image had gone forever!

  7 Aladdin’s Cave

  A Russian vault

  The first thing that Victor noticed after he had arrived back at home in Burley was the utter quietness. Living in his garret in Kensington was quite the opposite. Day or night the noise from four floors below, reached his little window and was magnified many times over. On first moving to the flat it was a shock at first, but after a short time the brain seemed to ignore all but the most extreme, as in the case of the recent head on crash he had witnessed. He heard of cases where people live almost beneath a railway line yet never seemed to notice the noise. Back in Burley therefore his brain was waiting for the sounds that didn’t come, unsettling him when he needed the rest. His mother and father were quick to pick up on this, so they just gave him space knowing that he would open up in his own time. Sally, his dog was expecting to resume their walks, especially on the moorland that backed onto the cottage, her favourite place.

  The one thing he was looking forward to more than most was resuming the Sunday lunch routine with his parents at the Queens Head in Burley. The big difference on this visit was that he could now treat them for a change. Even Sally received a large meat laden bone, compliments of the pub’s chef. This was the right environment for Victor to tell them what it was really like in his job, particularly the demands that the six oligarchs had put on his time, but they were pleased to hear that he was able to keep them under control. This showed his great maturity in the face of a stressful career. They discussed the fact of Victor’s constant travel, a particular concern for his mother, but he assured her that he was mainly associated with the major cities in Europe and America, never in any potential hot spots in the Middle East.

  By the fifth day at home Victor was falling into the ‘Burley’ routine. At ten in the morning he was settling in the old parlour, reading the Telegraph but not really taking it in, letting all of the reported bad news float over his head. In fact he was only half awake as his faithful dog was lying across his feet as she always loved to. It was utter bliss. The telephone burbled in the hall and Harry, just passing, picked it up. ‘Victor!’ He shouted, and his son dragged himself of the comfy chair and sloped into the hall. His father had his hand on the receiver. ‘It’s Mikhail and he sounds agitated.’

  Victor took the receiver and faked a happy tone of voice. ‘Hi Mikhail, how are you we haven’t caught up for a while.’

  The voice on the other end of the line was far from happy. ‘Victor, when can you be in London, I need to speak with you.’

  ‘Look Mikhail, this is my first holiday for a whole year, and I was hoping that everyone would respect that.’ Victor was much sharper and more direct this time.

  ‘There is much going on, Victor. If you have read today’s newspapers, there are things happening that concern your work, will you come to see me, this week would be good?’

  ‘Yes of course Mikhail if you put it like that. Shall we say at twelve, midday tomorrow at your offices?’ Victor asked.

  ‘Thank you my boy, give my love to Harry and Fay will you? By the way Lydiya instructed me to send her love to you, whatever that means? See you tomorrow Victor, goodbye.’ The call was terminated quickly, not allowing Victor to respond.

  His parents both stood by the phone listening, trying to guess what Victor would be doing. He turned to his mother and gave her a hug.

  ‘I love you, mum.’ He turned to his dad and asked, ‘can you please scan the Telegraph for me dad and see if there is any news relating to what I am doing with those Ruskies and let me know?’ His dad nodded as Victor put on his heavy boots and pulled a sweater on, Sally was already waiting for the door to open.

  Expecting to have their son home for a whole month, and then only having him for just five days, was a blow, but not entirely unexpected. After lunch they waved him off in his newly acquired BMW sports car, whilst Harry was holding on to Sally, who strained to get into the cockpit with her beloved master. He had soon disappeared down Pound lane on his way to get to Kensington before dark.

  Settled back in his flat, his father rang him to say that the report in the paper suggested that some of the Russian billionaires who had settled in London were being sought by their government officials to get them to return to Moscow. Apparently those who made their fortunes out of commodities in Siberia had illegally escaped the payment of taxes to the Russian Revenue service for untold amounts. The report went on that two Oligarchs had disappeared already and three were planning to return to Moscow in the hope that if they capitulated and coughed up their dues, they would escape the harsh consequences.

  The next day, Victor was waiting to be called into Mikhail’s office at the allotted time, and he was greeted warmly by him apologising for
the curtailing of his holiday. He asked the young man what he knew about the recent events and Victor related his father’s appraisal of the situation with the oligarchs, from the previous day’s Telegraph.

  ‘Although there is still one of your clients in London he has told me that there will no longer be any collecting of artefacts and he will not need your services.’ Victor rose from his chair as if to leave and stretched out his hand. Mikhail however remained seated and held up his hand and shook his head. ‘I may have something else that might interest you my boy. I wish to show you something in another part of this building Victor. Would you please follow me?’

  Mikhail then led him out of his office into a lift leading to the basement. They walked along a thick red carpeted corridor which led to just one door, guarded by a very large ‘official’ duly armed with an automatic weapon. The diplomat nodded his head at him and he immediately unlocked the steel door and stood aside as they walked in. Some might have called it a small room; others would have said a large vault. There was little room to stand in, as it was virtually full of all sorts of works of art and collectibles. After a quick glance around, Victor immediately recognised many of the pieces that he had obtained for the billionaires in the previous year.

  Mikhail explained the task to Victor. He was asked to catalogue all the items in the room with as much detail as possible, and his best estimate of the auction value. He also asked Victor to tell him how long it would take to complete the task. Victor asked Mikhail to leave him in the room so that he could assess it for himself and he agreed that Victor could take two hours for the assessment.

  The room was literally an Aladdin’s Cave with approximately three hundred items covering all sorts of categories, from ancient to modern, from paintings to huge bronze statues looking as if they weighed in at half a ton. In order that the whole collection could be put in the room, many items had had to be stacked anonymously against the wall, with no respect to their value or prone to damage. At the back of a stack of paintings there stood a Tisson, pushed up against a Velasquez. His assessment took the whole of the two hours and then he banged on the door to go back to see Mikhail with his answer.

  ‘Well Victor, tell me what you think you can do.’ Mikhail asked him.

  Victor firstly told him that to do the job well he must ask to get the whole collection in a much larger, air conditioned room without delay, as the paintings alone would deteriorate to such an extent that they could lose a great deal of money at the auction. To do the cataloguing properly he would need a table and chair and a computer with internet access.

  ‘How long will you need?’ Mikhail asked without any compassion.

  ‘Are you in a hurry then, Mikhail?’ Victor asked

  ‘I cannot tell you how much time there is until you tell me your answer.’ The Russian did not smile and he looked a little impatient.

  ‘If you can meet all these requirements, I can do it in three weeks, at best two and a half.’

  Mikhail looked pensive for a moment and then said, ‘For reasons that I cannot tell you right now, you must work in the current room. I will provide you with a laptop for your work and a line to our restaurant for food to be sent, and you will take just one week.’

  ‘No way, Mikhail, it is not possible.’ Victor was insistent. His face was set.

  ‘If you do this for me Victor, I will make sure that you will be well rewarded for your efforts, in fact I might say handsomely. Do you trust me to do that my boy?’

  ‘All right, when do you want me to start?’ he asked much more meekly.

  For the first time he saw the softer side of the normally serious Russian as he rose from his chair and came round to Victor’s side. Mikhail smiled broadly and placed his arm around Victor’s shoulders.

  ‘I will say this to you my boy, when ever my little Lydiya comes to dine with us, do you know what she talks about?’ Victor held his breath fearing the worst. ‘It is you Victor, all she can talk about is you!’ he shouted, laughing loudly and his grip on Victor’s shoulders became like a vice, he could hardly breathe, but when Mikhail released him, he looked up at the big man’s laughing face and nervously laughed with him.

  The week had passed and he was entering the vault for the last time, as usual opened by the expressionless guard. Victor had surprised himself with how well he had done with the work. Particularly on the first day, he decided to search out the items that he personally had purchased at various auctions and surprisingly that accounted for well over half of the whole collection.

  This was most encouraging for Victor, having completed so many, and only the first day over. The next day however proved most difficult as many of the other works were unknown to him, and this was where the real work began. For the next three days he consulted his books and various university records, but the progress was painfully slow, especially when he compared it to the first day’s effort.

  On the fourth morning he made an attempt to see Mikhail and was met with a stone wall. He considered that the diplomat might see his point of view about needing more time to complete. He smiled to himself as he was told that no way could he be seen that day and reminded of his arranged appointment at six the following evening.

  By the evening of the fourth day he felt a little desperate but suddenly came up with an idea. Checking that the door was closed, he laid out about thirty items that he really could not get anywhere with and took photos of them with his mobile phone. He then transferred them to the laptop, and after checking all were on, he subsequently deleted them off the phone memory.

  Leah-May at Bonham’s had become a particular good friend of his, she was a genius at identification of obscure collectibles and he knew her email address by heart. She was also the soul of discretion so he knew she could be trusted to ask no questions. He sent her the pictures asking for identification only, as he would deal with the valuations himself. After checking the sent box on his emails, he made sure that he had completely deleted all traces of the email to her, including any in the recycle bin. He bit his lip for a moment realising what he had done considering how secretive his employer was, and hoped that Mikhail didn’t check. A reply from Leah was waiting for him at his flat, she had categorised the items as well as listing the full description for him. He replied with grateful thanks saying, ‘I owe you one darling Leah, if you know what I mean V.’

  He then printed the whole list of the thirty items on one page and then subsequently deleted both the message and answer completely on his own laptop, just in case.

  Safely in the vault for the last day, he listened for the door to close behind him and took the list, folded into a small square in the back pocket of his jeans and proceeded to add the new treasure under each of their categories, at the same time putting the best value on them. The printed email list from Leah had to be disposed of somehow, and he stood staring at it for some time. Slowly he tore it into as many pieces as he could, placed them all on his chair and mixed them up. Then he separated them into as many pockets that he had in his jeans, and placed them flat in each pocket so as to avoid any visual impact.

  On completion of this task he surveyed the collectibles that were left, about fifteen of them all told. He decided that rather than make excuses, he listed then as clearly as he could, under a separate category title ‘Unknown Items’, at the same time placing them in a separate little area in the room.

  For the final time he banged on the steel door which kept him captive with the treasures. As the door opened and the guard stood aside for him to pass he said.

  ‘Glad that’s over Boris.’ Victor said as he passed by the guard.

  The man never flinched, whether he understood or not, Victor just shrugged and walked by. He had an idea that for good presentation he would ask the stern faced receptionist to print the whole report for Mikhail.

  ‘For my meeting could you please print out this report?’ Victor placed the laptop on the desk.

  The woman looked at him horrified, so he took the hint and head
ed for Mikhail’s office. He knew there was no chance that he should knock on the office door, so he just parked himself on the chair at the side of the door with the laptop on his knees.

  The half hour that passed was not helping Victor’s nerves, as he imagined that maybe Mikhail had knowledge of him sending his email out from the Embassy, without permission. Or maybe Lydiya had been more graphic about his ‘last lesson’ with her, and retribution for either misdemeanour would be forthcoming. He visualised a firing squad, or being down a salt mine in Siberia.

  The door finally swung open and he was ushered into the vast office carrying his precious information. The diplomat sat behind his huge desk as Victor approached and passed over the laptop. The Russian clicked the screen open and surveyed his report.

  ‘I thought you might like to have the catalogue printed, would that help you?’ Victor asked meekly.

  ‘Do you have totals of each category values Victor?’ he asked bluntly ignoring the young man’s suggestion. ‘No matter, I can at least do that.’ He continued to scan the report, occasionally raising his eyebrows, but mostly, giving nothing away.

  The tension continued to build up in Victor’s brain as he waited quietly. It was so tense that he was just about to say about Leah-May, when Mikhail suddenly looked up.

  ‘Congratulations Victor, I really did not think that you would complete this task in the time that I set you. This is what I wanted, and more than I expected.’

  He pulled open a draw from the desk and pulled out a bottle of vodka and two small cut glass tumblers. He then filled the tumblers with the clear liquid, picked up them up, and handed one to Victor, nodding in approval. Mikhail knocked his straight back in true Russian tradition and waited for his visitor to do the same. Victor held the glass for a second and copied. Suddenly a fire hit the back of his throat like hot coals and he coughed. Watched by the Russian he stifled the next cough which made his eyes water profusely. Mikhail rushed around his desk and gave Victor a slap on the back.