The Hunt for Sonya Dufrette by R.T. Raichev Read Free Book Online

designer. All her clothes are made by Oscar de la Renta, couturier to Nancy Reagan and Princess Grace of Monaco, among others, Mrs Falconer had informed me. Both Veronica and her husband Anatole (also of Russian extraction) spend most of their time commuting between Florida, London, Rome and the South of France, in each of which they have houses. Fabulously rich, Lady Mortlock had said. They have their own jet, apparently, also a yacht.
    (Vorodin — corruption of ‘Borodin’?)
    Well, the Vorodins are the epitome of cosmopolitan sophistication — slim, suave, accentless, with those glowing perma-tans. Though I understood them to be thirty-nine and thirty-eight respectively, they look barely out of their teens. They give the impression of being typical jet-setting wastrels and professional bon vivants. The kind of people who have drawing rooms that take half an hour to cross, Monets and Picassos hanging in the lavatory, truffles and Beluga caviar for dinner, which they eat with a spoon. However, looks can be very deceptive. Lady Mortlock told me that they were generous to a fault, philanthropists with a number of charities named after them. Most of the charities are for children.
    As Sonya and Miss Haywood passed by, Veronica said, ‘She looks like an angel, doesn’t she? Such a sweet little girl. Helplessness personified.’
    ‘I always thought angels looked confident and a bit smug - if Christmas cards are anything to go by. What is wrong with her exactly, do you know?’
    ‘She is said to be autistic. I wish Lawrence and Lena would do something about it. They haven’t really seen “everybody”. It doesn’t all start and end with Harley Street. There are good specialists abroad ... If I had a child like that, I’d love her more than I would a normal one!’ Veronica spoke vehemently, with genuine passion. ‘A mentally handicapped child is a very special child — a gift from God. A child like that would help me preserve my humanity — would prevent me from getting spoilt, keep me to the ground.’
    How odd it is that one woman should consider a gift what another describes as punishment.
    ‘I love children, so does Anatole,’ Veronica went on. She had been a beauty queen and an actress, but she spoke simply and naturally, without the slightest trace of affectation. I found myself warming to her. ‘We don’t have any children, sadly. Do you?’
    I told her I had a boy of Sonya’s age. Her face lit up. ‘A little boy! How wonderful for you. And he is — fine? He is in good health? I am so glad! You must be very happy. I’d love to meet him. What’s his name?’
    ‘David. I nearly brought him here with me.’
    ‘Oh, why didn’t you? I must send him something — some little present. How about a pair of platinum cuff links with the initial D?’
    ‘Oh, that’s very kind of you but I couldn’t possibly -’
    ‘Of course you can. It’s nothing. He can use them when he grows up. I have them in my room. We always carry two boxes full of cuff links that have all the letters of the alphabet on them. I carry the ones with A to K, Anatole has the rest. We present them to deserving little boys. I hope you won’t think us too peculiar!’ She laughed. ‘We have things for girls too.’ A shadow passed over her face. ‘We’d give anything to have a child. If you only knew what it means to us — ’ She broke off, then changed the subject. ‘Twiston is a lovely house, isn’t it? One thing we haven’t got is an English country house. Sorry, this sounds terribly spoilt of me!’
    ‘It is the kind of place exiles think of when they dream of home,’ I said.
    ‘Beautifully put... Perhaps one day I will buy this house and live in it.’
    Lawrence Dufrette had strolled along and he was joined by Miss Haywood and Sonya. We watched him pick up Sonya and swing her round by her hands, making her scream with laughter. He then put her on his shoulder and unexpectedly broke into song.
‘Some to make hay, Dilly,