If I Had You by Heather Hiestand Read Free Book Online Page B

breathed slowly until both her body and her mind were calm, then put her hand to the doorknob just as it began to turn. She stepped back, clutching Sybil’s jewel case.
    When the door opened, she saw Ivan, just as if he’d been summoned by her thoughts.
    â€œHello, Mr. Salter.” She smiled, not even a little bit shy. More acting. Cinderella, not a mouse.
    Instead of speaking to her, much less teasing her like he had before, he scarcely nodded in her direction before starting his climb upstairs.
    â€œNo kiss?” she asked bravely.
    â€œNo, miss.” He didn’t even turn around.
    Tears pricked her eyes as she rushed into the lobby. It was as if he hadn’t even recognized her.
    A bellboy ran past, almost colliding with her as he called, “Mr. Hiram. Mr. Hiram!”
    Two fashionable girls in fur coats slipped by next, their hats dotted with snow. A nanny hauled along her charge, his dimpled knees red with cold below his short pants.
    They could have been ghosts for all she cared. Her lovely fantasy, destroyed. What a little nothing she was. Why had she thought their flirtation meant something?

Chapter Four
    I van walked past the crates of late winter greens at the greengrocer’s on the ground floor of the building he and his sister lived in. At nine A.M. the local women were busily shopping, scooping up watercress and dandelion leaves and everything else that was edible. The grocer’s daughter smiled brightly at him, and her father scowled. But, dead on his feet, he ignored them both and went through the shop, then unlocked the weather-beaten door in the back that led to the two-room flat above, and slowly climbed the steps.
    He finally had his day off. He planned to sleep and sleep and maybe dream about Miss Loudon in her borrowed Vionnet dress and sexy shoes. Perhaps his dreams would put him in Peter Eyre’s place, his hand on her bare back while the beaded strands belled out behind her on the dance floor. At the very least, he hoped he would hear the tinkling ivories of that talented pianist the nightclub employed and remember the gorgeous smile of music-loving Miss Loudon.
    He and Vera had been saving up for a camera record player. They could get one for about four pounds. Not nearly as fancy as a nice cabinet Victrola, of course, but Vera could take it to parties when she catered her Russian specialties. She might even be able to charge for it, if they had the newest records. They figured they could budget for a new recording a week and build up a nice little collection rather quickly.
    In fact, he’d given her a first record as a Christmas present. He’d bought “It Had to Be You” by Isham Jones and his Orchestra, an instrumental recording that any budding singer at a party could sing over. That would not be Vera, who, as much as she loved music, could not sing. The sentiments of the song, being sad and glad together, fit how he felt about his sister and their lost family. He was glad he and his sister had a chance to start over, but wished the rest of them could have been there too, even if they’d had to stay in Russia. Damn that Ovolensky and his evil denunciation. He wondered if his cousin enjoyed the art and collectibles he’d no doubt plundered from the family dacha. Servants had taken everything portable, but that had mostly been their mother’s jewelry.
    Sergei Bakunin, Vera’s fiancé, greeted him at the top of the stairs. They had known each other as children in Moscow. One day fifteen months ago, Sergei had shown up at their door here in London. In a little while, it seemed as if no time had passed, and he easily fit into their little Russian-centered lives in the East End.
    Over time, though, Ivan had noticed Sergei was political, as political as his sister Catherine had been, though they did not share beliefs. Vera’s views had been changing too, to match Sergei’s. Sergei identified with the White Russians, who wanted a