“Film it?”
“Just for us. He likes to watch.”
Evgeny threw some money down on the table and drew Lydia away by the elbow.
For you, Milan, she thought, clattering down the gallery stairs behind the Belarusian. I hope you appreciate this.
Chapter Seven
Budapest, Hungary
One month later
From the hotel window, Lydia could look out across the Danube to the castle on the Buda side of the city. She took in its ancient winding paths and turrets before turning to Vanessa, her roommate, and sighing with appreciation of the beauty around her.
“What a place,” she said.
“The Paris of the East,” remarked Vanessa, unpacking toiletries from her suitcase and ranging them on her bedside table. “Or so they used to say.”
“How many times have you been here?”
“This is my third, I think,” said Vanessa, wrinkling her brow. “These tours all become a bit of a blur after a while.” Her expression softened and she smiled at the younger woman. “But you never forget your first. We’ve got a whole day to ourselves before rehearsals start tomorrow. Why don’t you get your coat and I’ll show you some of the sights?”
Lydia bit her lip, looking away.
“I promised Milan…”
Vanessa sighed heavily, thumping a can of deodorant down on the table.
“Oh, of course you did. Milan.”
“I know you don’t approve—”
“Damn right I don’t.”
“But he’s good to me, Ness. He’s never done anything to hurt me. We’re happy.”
“Secretly happy. Don’t you ever ask yourself why you can’t make your relationship public? He isn’t committed to it, Lyd. Don’t kid yourself he ever will be.”
“Perhaps I just want sex,” said Lydia belligerently. “Perhaps I’m not necessarily looking for happy ever after.”
“Just as well, because you won’t get it, not from him.”
Just because you didn’t, thought Lydia rebelliously, but she didn’t say the words. She liked Vanessa, despite her pursed lips on the matter of Milan, and valued her opinion.
“I must admit,” she said, looking back out to the cityscape, “I wish he’d drop all this crap with Mary-Ann. She doesn’t deserve it. Sometimes I physically itch to write to the trustees.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I can’t be the one to rock the boat. I’m the newbie here. Why don’t you tell them?”
“If I grass Milan up my life won’t be worth living. But he likes you—seems to even care about you. Perhaps he’d forgive you, if you spilled the beans. Made it look like an accident, or a drunken confidence…”
“Don’t, Ness. I can’t do it. Don’t make me feel bad.”
Vanessa shrugged. “He seems to have eased off her a bit lately, anyway.”
It was true. Rehearsals over the month of March had been relatively pleasant with only occasional spanners thrown into the works by her jealously intense lover. She had a feeling, though, that he might be saving up his big guns for this tour.