The Concubine's Secret by Kate Furnivall Page B

eyes lit up. She tossed the cigar butt on to the corridor floor and stamped on it. While Lydia unscrewed the cap, her visitor kicked the door shut and plonked herself down on the spare bed with a force that set the springs twanging.
    ‘Right, little comrade, hand it over.’
    Lydia filled the metal cap to the brim, but instead of passing it across to the woman, she took a sip of it herself and proffered the bottle to Elena, who seized it with relish.
    ‘ Za zdorovye ,’ Lydia said. ‘Good health.’
    Together they drank; Lydia from the cup, Elena from the bottle. The liquid scalded a path to Lydia’s stomach and made her feel instantly sick. She took another sip.
    ‘Don’t hurt him, Elena.’
    ‘Who? My son? Too late for that.’
    ‘No, I mean Liev.’
    ‘Hah! What are you? His mother?’
    ‘ Da . Yes. His mother, his sister and his nanny all rolled into one.’
    Elena laughed and took another swig. ‘He’s a lucky man then.’
    Lydia leaned forward. ‘Is he, Elena?’
    ‘Of course. He’s got you to fuss over him, he’s got your brother to fight with and he’s got me to… well, to spice up his life, shall we say?’ She flexed and rolled her shoulders, making her bosom dance. It was expertly done.
    ‘Comrade Gorshkova,’ Lydia said with a sweet smile, ‘are you by any chance a whore?’
    Elena blinked, inhaled noisily, looked affronted for a moment, then threw back her head and laughed so hard her breasts seemed in danger of bursting.
    ‘Those eyes of yours are sharp as a snake’s, Comrade Ivanova.’ She wiped her eyes on the back of her wrist and tipped another mouthful of vodka down her throat. ‘How did you know? A young creature like you should not be aware of such things.’
    ‘It’s the way you look at men. As if they’re… useable. Tools instead of people. I’ve seen the same look in the eyes of the painted ladies in Junchow.’
    ‘So you think I’m using your Cossack?’
    ‘ Da. And I wonder what for.’
    ‘Well, this time you’re wrong, little comrade. My whoring days are just about over.’ She leaned back against the wooden bed-head, swinging her legs up on to the quilt. ‘Hardly surprising, is it? Look at me now.’
    They both caught her reflection in the mirror, the thighs broad as pillows under her skirt, the stomach billowing in soft folds and the blue knots of varicose veins beneath her stockings. They studied her body as if it belonged to someone else. Lydia had never been invited to take part in such an intimate scrutiny before and found it appealing in an uncomfortable sort of way.
    ‘Some men,’ Lydia said, ‘like big women.’ She was far from certain whether this was true but offered it anyway.
    ‘ Chyort! You are far too young to know what men like.’
    Lydia ducked away from the pale eyes and cursed the steady flow of colour rising up her neck to her face. She hoped the woman would think it was the drink.
    ‘Hah! I see.’ Beaming with anticipation, Elena linked her hands behind her head, which made her bosom rise alarmingly. ‘So who is he?’
    ‘Who is who?’
    ‘The one who sends flames into your cheeks and makes your eyes melt like butter in sunlight. Just the thought of him and your bones turn soft.’
    ‘There’s no one. You’re mistaken.’
    ‘Am I?’
    ‘ Da .’ For a moment their eyes were fixed in a mildly hostile stare, then Lydia turned once more to her belongings on the bed and lifted the hairbrush. ‘There’s no one,’ she said again.
    She could hear the woman drinking more vodka, the swish of the liquid in the bottle, but it was followed by the sound of the cap being screwed firmly back in place. That surprised her. For a while neither spoke and Lydia began to hope she might leave.
    ‘I gave him away.’ Elena was speaking with her eyes shut, her lashes long and thick on her cheeks. They were much darker than her hair. ‘Then I let them take him. What kind of mother does that?’
    ‘You mean your son, the one in the camp. What was