Dangerous Relations (12 page)

“I'm just glad she's going to be okay,” Nancy said.

“If there's anything else we can do, let us know,” George offered.

“Actually, there is,” Hayden said. “Now that Nat's resting easy, Vera and I could use a ride back to the circus grounds. There's a rehearsal this afternoon. It'll be just Katrina and me, but the show always goes on.”

“Sure. We'd be glad to,” Nancy said.

“Just wait while I run down to the nurses' station and tell them we're going,” Hayden said.

“Okay,” Nancy said. “I'll wake Vera.” Nancy stepped into the room. Vera's face, in sleep, had lost its sternness. Her features were soft, pretty in a faded way. The high cheekbones, the firm chin, the parted lips were familiar.

Nancy stared at her a moment longer, puzzled by the familiarity. She glanced from Vera to Natalia and back again. The sudden realization was like an electric current going through her. “Of course!” she whispered.

To double-check, she looked through the contents of her shoulder bag for the copy of the clipping of Irina and her chauffeur. They shared too many similar features for it to be a coincidence. She pulled out the faxed photograph and looked from Irina to Vera.

They were sisters! Nancy thought. Vera and Irina were sisters.

Now was the time to press her. Vera was exhausted, her guard was down. If the truth was
going to come out, it would come now. Nancy had to seize the element of surprise.

She slipped up to Vera's chair, leaned down, and said in a whisper, “Mrs. Neverenko!”

Vera's dark eyes flew open.

“I have a picture here of Natalia's parents. Look at it, Mrs. Neverenko. Look at your sister, Irina!”

V
ERA SHOT A
frightened glance at the sleeping Natalia, then bolted into the hallway. Nancy quickly followed and put out a hand to stop Vera. The woman turned. “How did you know?”

“It isn't important,” Nancy said quietly. “What matters is that I've learned who Natalia's father is. He's Victor Bykov, Irina's chauffeur. Now I need to know everything you know about him.”

Vera looked through the open door where Natalia lay sleeping. In an agonized whisper, she asked, “Why must you do this?”

“Natalia has a right to know,” Nancy said. “You've misled her from the beginning. And somehow, these secrets you're keeping are endangering her.”

Vera's eyes filled with tears. “You don't understand!”

“Then explain it to me, and help keep your daughter safe.”

Vera turned her head toward the room again, then pleaded, “Let us speak of this later. I don't want her to hear. Not this way.”

Nancy was sorry for Vera, but she knew she had to be firm. “Let's go, then. I'll drive you home, and we can talk there.”

For a moment the old fire flashed in Vera's eyes. Then she saw Hayden striding toward them, and the anger quickly turned to an anxious plea. “Not in front of Hayden, either. Please!”

There was nothing to be gained by forcing the truth from Vera in front of Hayden. But it was a tense ride back to the circus. Nancy was glad when she and her friends finally were seated in Vera's kitchen.

“Do you really think it is old secrets threatening my Natalia?” Vera asked, her hands trembling as she folded them on the table.

“I think it's possible there's someone besides you who doesn't want Natalia to find her father,” Nancy said. “That may be what's behind these attacks.”

“Then you should stop looking! Stop asking questions!” Vera said in a panicky voice.

“It's too late for that,” Nancy said. “The only way we can protect Natalia now is to figure out
who is trying to keep her from learning her father's identity.”

“If I tell you what I know, will you promise to keep my Natalia safe?” Vera demanded.

“I'll do my very best,” Nancy said.

“All right.” Vera took a deep breath. “Irina was my younger sister. She and Victor Bykov were childhood sweethearts.”

Nancy was startled. “We thought he was American.”

Vera shook her head. “Victor was Russian. He defected two years after marrying my sister. He became an American.

“Irina was beautiful and gifted.” Vera's voice gained strength as she talked. “Victor was a homely man with big ears and big feet—and big dreams. Irina was only sixteen when they married.”

“Sixteen!” Bess exclaimed. “That's so young!”

Vera nodded. “Victor was eighteen. He drove a truck, and he dreamed of freedom. Crazy dreams. Irina had dreams, too, but she was sensible. She worked hard at ballet. Soon she was a principal dancer. The better she became, the more Victor pressed her to defect to America. She refused. Victor became angry and said he would go without her. ‘Go!' Irina told him. ‘Perhaps I will see you there when I come to dance.' ”

Vera was wadding a paper napkin in her hands.
“The stupid oaf left her! But it was hard for Irina. We thought she would go to prison for Victor's defection. And she certainly would have, had she not had such a rare talent.”

“What happened?” asked Nancy.

“Just before Victor's defection, Irina had auditioned for the Bolshoi. There are very very few dancers who even get an audition,” Vera added, pride creeping into her voice. “And they wanted Irina. She was accepted. But first she had to denounce her husband and divorce him.”

“She did that?” Nancy asked, thinking of the photograph showing the laughter Victor and Irina shared.

“Yes.
She
suffered for what he had done,” said Vera, with pain in her voice.

“Did Victor keep in touch?” Nancy asked.

“He tried,” Vera said. “He wrote secret letters, under a false name, and sent them to friends who passed them on. Few letters came through in those years. But the ones she received were pleas for her forgiveness. Irina did not write back. It was too dangerous.

“Five years later, the Bolshoi visited America. Irina was the prima ballerina. When she arrived in New York, Victor was waiting at the airport with a limousine. He told those with the Bolshoi that he would be Irina's chauffeur as they toured the eastern cities. He led them to believe the United States was providing the service.”

“That took courage,” said Nancy, trying to get a feel for the kind of person Victor Bykov was. “Where'd he get the car?”

“It was his. When Victor first arrived in New York, a widow befriended him. She had a chauffeur business left to her by her husband. Her son was only eight, too young to run the business. So she hired Victor. Three years later, when the woman was dying, she asked Victor to raise her son as his own. He promised to do so. In return, she left the business to Victor.”

“Did Irina recognize Victor?” Bess asked, and Nancy could see that she was hanging on to every word.

“Of course! Irina loved his boldness. In just a few days, he won her heart all over again.

“When the company moved on to more distant cities, Victor could not go,” Vera continued. “But in three months, the company returned to the East for a final engagement in New York.”

Her eyes darkened with pain. “If the troupe had flown back to Russia without coming east again, it would have spared Irina much shame. For beneath all of his success, Victor was still the stupid oaf he had been at eighteen.”

Nancy wondered if that was a fair judgment of Natalia's father. “Perhaps he had changed.”

“He wanted Irina to think so,” said Vera bitterly. “When she told him she was pregnant, he pretended he was pleased. He urged her to
defect. He told her they would be the happy American family.”

Vera's mouth twisted. “The boy Victor called his son was twelve at the time. He was not pleased to hear of the coming baby, nor did he like Irina. But Victor convinced Irina it would all work out, and with a baby coming, Irina agreed. Somehow the Russian embassy learned of her intentions. The very next day, the KGB showed up at the rehearsal. They took Irina away and whisked her back to Russia—where she was imprisoned.”

The tragic injustice of it twisted at Nancy's heart. “Someone must have turned her in. How many people knew her plans?”

“Only two. Victor and the boy. Irina thought the boy alerted the embassy.”

“You visited her in prison?” asked Nancy.

“I was allowed to see her a few times. She longed for word from Victor. Thinking it might comfort her, I wrote to him four times. But no word came. He had deserted her again.”

Vera added sugar to the cup of tea Bess had quietly made. But there was no way to sweeten the bitterness of her memories.

“Irina was released just before giving birth to Natalia. She had not had proper care. After the baby was born, she got pneumonia. She knew she was dying. She knew Piotr and I were to go to America with the circus. It was her wish that we
take Natalia with us and see her safely into Victor's hands,” said Vera in a tight, dry voice.

“You never adopted her, did you?” asked Nancy softly.

“I wanted to, but it was not what Irina wanted,” said Vera, her voice trembling. “And Piotr felt a dying wish should be honored.”

“Didn't the government object to your taking the child out of the country?” asked Nancy.

“They didn't know,” said Vera. “When Irina died, we paid the doctor to say that she had died before giving birth. We hid Natalia for three months before leaving for America. We got her out with the circus, but we didn't know if we would be turned back for having a child without proper papers.”

“How brave,” Nancy said softly. She felt humbled by the strength and courage of such people. “What happened next?”

“People helped us, people who cared about freedom. They made it all right. They asked what name did we want on the papers for the baby. Piotr said we should put Bykov. That was how Irina would have wanted it.”

Nancy watched the sadness on her face as she stared into her teacup. “I remember that afternoon matinee in New York. Piotr was a small man, and so agile! When they performed the human pyramid, he was the one who vaulted to the top.

“After the matinee, we quarreled bitterly,
Piotr and I. He was going to call Victor and turn Natalia over to that stupid oaf,” she said harshly.

“A man who would desert his wife twice had no business with a helpless baby, I told him. Only when I threatened to run away with the child did Piotr compromise. He said he would test Victor. He sent Victor one of Irina's ballet slippers by courier and pinned a circus ticket to it. If Victor did not come to the performance, we would never try again to reach him. But if he came—” Vera paused and dabbed tears from her eyes. Tenderly she said, “Piotr wanted to give Victor a chance. I should not have vexed him—it ruined his concentration. I think he was scanning the crowd to see if Victor had come.”

“Had he?” Nancy asked, spellbound.

“I never found out.” Tears ran down Vera's face. “Piotr missed his last trick. He died instantly of a broken neck.” She paused, her voice breaking. “I was out of my mind with grief. Natalia was all I had left. I took her and ran.”

Gently Nancy pressed a tissue into Vera's hand.

“Even after I found a job with Marshall and he helped me gain asylum, I was fearful that Victor might track me down. So I changed my name.”

Hating to press her, yet needing the answer, Nancy said quietly, “Vera, is there anyone who has anything to gain by keeping Natalia from hearing the things you've just told us?”

Slowly Vera's red-rimmed eyes met Nancy's. “I
am the only one. If she hears these things I've kept from her . . .”

“Trust her love,” Nancy said, though the words seemed inadequate. Patting Vera's hand, she added, “I've got just a few more questions. Do you have any idea where Victor Bykov is now?”

Vera shook her head.

Nancy paused, thinking. Within the whole story, one slim possibility existed. The boy Victor had raised. The one who Irina thought had betrayed her. “Do you know the name of the boy Victor raised?” she asked.

Vera hesitated. Nancy reminded her, “As soon as she's well, Natalia will be completely vulnerable to whoever it is who wants her dead. Please, if you know the boy's name, tell me!”

“Dickie,” Vera said finally. “Dickie Smith.”

Nancy's pulse raced. Dickie! A nickname for Richard. Was it too big a leap?

Or could Bykov's adopted son be Richard Smith?