Page 81 of Weeping Roses
“Show me the key.”
I pass him the small key and as he tries it, I almost howl with frustration when he groans. “It doesn’t fit.”
“It must fit.”
I realize I sound ridiculous because that key could be for anything.
“Hand me the other key,” Valentin says with a sigh and I hand it to him with shaking hands.
He inserts it in the lock and the triumphant gleam in his eyes tells me it works and as he lifts the lid, we peer inside with interest.
Several envelopes are lying inside and as we lift them, I notice another box at the bottom. It’s much smaller than the rest and I whisper, “That might be the one we’re looking for.”
Valentin removes it and I note the small keyhole in the front of the box and as he turns the key, the lid snaps open and we peer with interest at what’s inside.
CHAPTER 43
VALENTIN
Polly’s breathing is fast as we peer inside the box. “Do you think this is what they were looking for?” She asks as we stare at the folded envelope that is slightly yellow in age. I notice the Russian presidential logo on the front and my heart beats like a drum inside me.
I pull out the envelope and turn it over, noting that it has been opened already. My fingers shake as I pull out the letter and note the Russian script that causes Polly to groan. “Bother. I can’t read that.”
“But I can.” I remind her and scan the page with a great deal of interest.
I say nothing because there must be some mistake. The words are so sensational it must be. As I stare at the letter, Polly lifts a photograph from the box and says in a low whisper, “Is this my aunt with Marsha Steele?”
It distracts my attention, but my mind is buzzing and as I glance at the photograph, it may as well have punched me in the heart. Polly is holding a photograph of four women and as I reach for it, I swallow hard.
“Who are the other two?” She whispers as we stare at the slightly yellowing image and my voice doesn’t sound like my own as I say roughly, “I’m not sure of the last one, but I know the third one. Very well indeed, as it happens.”
“You know her?” Polly is overcome with excitement, but I am devastated.
She must sense something because she says with concern. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”
I stare at the third woman standing beside Veronica and whisper huskily, “The woman standing beside your aunt is my mother.”
“I don’t understand?”
She looks confused and I wish I could enlighten her, but I’m as shocked as she is.
The photograph is old, the women pictured mere teenagers.
Polly peers over my shoulder. “I wonder how old they were?”
“Eighteen perhaps.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from the photograph, a million thoughts dragging through my mind.
“I can’t believe my aunt knew your mother. I wonder where this was taken?”
Polly is babbling on, but my mind is only half on what she is saying. I have so many questions, not to mention the disturbing document I hold in my hand and Polly says innocently, “So, what does the letter say?”
“It’s nothing.” I’m quick to dismiss it and she snaps, “Don’t treat me as a fool, Valentin. I saw the expression on your face when you read it. It’s obviously something extremely damning by the look in your eye, so don’t you think you owe me an explanation after everything we’ve been through?”
“No. I don’t.” I reply abruptly, tucking the letter and the photograph in my pocket and say roughly, “It concerns Russia, and the words were never meant to be common knowledge.”
I turn and stare deep into her eyes and say firmly, “If I tell you, it places you in danger. If anyone asks, plead ignorance of ever finding the letter. Act clueless and they will believe you, but under no circumstances are you to breathe a word of this outside this room.”