Chapter 4

Lida is Russian Orthodox. That's significant in a number of ways, but cropped up for the first time as we approached Christmas. You see, the Orthodox Church celebrates Christmas on the seventh of January, after the Western Church is thinking of Epiphany on the sixth – that is, 'Twelfth Night', the festival of the visit of the wise men to the infant Jesus – when most of us are taking down our decorations. She explained that to me, diffidently, as I was asking what she'd like to do for the holiday. It didn't bother me to put off the celebration for just under two weeks; we just had to stock up for the holiday and have a frozen bird for the big meal. Fresh birds are sold just a day or so before the twenty-fifth, and I didn't fancy keeping one that long without cooking it.

Lida went to the vsenochnaya ('All night') service, though she didn't stay for all of it. The local Orthodox congregation met in the Anglican Cathedral; the services tend to be long, especially at major festivals. Kitty loaned me her car so I could collect Lida and take her home when she was ready – we arranged that I meet her at one in the morning.

"Schastlivogo Rozhdestva. Happy Christmas," Lida said as I held the door open for her.

"Happy Christmas, Lida. Enjoy the service?"

"Yes, I did. It was good ... to ... worship in Russian. But ... I do not know ... I felt ... detached. That is it. Detached." She got in the car and I closed the door.

The cat greeted us, noisily, as we entered the house and wound in and out of our legs so we were in peril of tripping over. Lida stopped at the foot of the stairs.

"I think I will go straight to bed, Geoff. Thank you for collecting me from the church. Thank you ... for taking me in..." then, she leaned in and stretched up to softly kiss my lips.

"Sleep well," I said. "I'll see you in the morning. Sleep as late as you like, won't you?"

She smiled. "We'll see." I watched her climb the stairs. She would have been about five months at that point, I suppose, and was beginning to slow down. I sighed, and went about the little jobs I did before retiring myself.

I don't need much sleep, and I was down in the kitchen preparing the turkey – a small turkey, by the way – in fact I'd finished stuffing it and so on, had it in the oven and was just sitting down to a morning cup of coffee, when Lida appeared; it was about eleven o'clock at that point. She was in jeans (with a stretchy panel in the front, of course) and a t-shirt. Her nipples were tenting the fabric, and a small strip of tummy was showing. "Good morning, pretty lady."

She smiled and lowered herself onto a chair.

"Breakfast?"

She nodded. Okay. Not very talkative this morning.

"Muesli? Tea?"

She nodded again, with another smile.

I got the necessary items and put them on the table by her, boiled the kettle and made tea.

She took a couple of mouthfuls of the cereal, sipped her tea. "Geoff?"

Oh! She speaks! "Yes, pretty lady?"

She frowned then and didn't speak for a minute or two, holding a spoonful of cereal just above the bowl. "Do you think I am a ... a ... slut?"

"What?! No!"

She replaced the spoon in the bowl. "Do you really think I am pretty? Or are you just saying that?"

"I think you are very pretty, Lida."

"I do not understand..." She was shaking her head, but then she went back to eating her breakfast. I finished my coffee and began peeling potatoes, which I would parboil and put in with the bird to roast. I did that and made a start on the Brussels Sprouts.

"Can I help?"

"I don't mind. It's nice just having you here, actually."

"I don't understand," she repeated.

"You can peel me some carrots, if you like."

"Okay."

It didn't take long with both of us working to prepare the vegetables, then we took drinks into the lounge to exchange presents. For the most part, tokens. Lida obviously had little money to spare and I didn't want to embarrass her. But I did give her two tickets to a performance of Stravinsky's 'Firebird'. Now, I'll just say Stravinsky is not one of my favourite composers, but I knew Lida loved that particular piece.

She opened the envelope and her eyes widened. "Thank you! Two tickets?"

"I thought you'd like to take a friend."

"Oh..." Long pause. "Are you my friend?"

"I hope so. I really do."

"Will you come with me?"

Sit through all of the Firebird? In a public place? Oh, dear.

"Isn't there anyone you'd rather take?"

Her face fell and I cursed myself. "You're ashamed to be seen with me."

"Not at all! Lida, I'd love to come with you. It's just, it's like ... taking your father out ... isn't it?"

"You are not my father. I don't even remember my father. Your people have a saying; 'A good man is hard to find.' Geoffrey Brown, you are a good man. You are the first man I have felt I can trust since..." she trailed off, stroking her bulge absently.

"Then I am honoured. Honoured with your trust, and I will be honoured to escort you."

"Geoff ... can I have a cuddle?"

"Absolutely." I agreed immediately ... because I wanted to hold her close. But there was a little voice inside telling me I was heading for trouble. Oh, but she felt good against me. I had to bite my tongue so as not to blurt out something that would undoubtedly embarrass both of us.

I'm going to skip over the next few weeks. It's not that nothing happened, just that nothing relevant to the story happened. We fitted together quite well, got on with our work, shared the chores and, more and more often, she snuggled up to me in the evening. She would kiss my cheek as she headed off to bed. I was happy she was so comfortable with me, but...

She wore a simple maternity dress for the ballet; I wore a dark suit. She tucked her arm into mine and walked demurely beside me. As we entered the auditorium, I glanced down and our eyes met because she was looking up at me and smiling.

The concert wasn't nearly the ordeal I anticipated, partly because, being forced to pay attention to the whole work, music, choreography and dancers, I was forced to appreciate the virtues of it. Not that I would ever listen to a CD of it from choice, you understand. But also partly because I was with Lida.

As we left, she was almost skipping. But for her pregnancy, I'm sure she would have been. As it was, she pressed against my arm and I could sense the warmth of her even through our coats. I was heading for the taxi rank, but she pulled me away.

"It's not far. I want to walk. With you."

Okay, it was January, and it was cold, but it was dry and there wasn't much wind. We were reasonably warmly dressed, so why not? Of course, she couldn't stride along anywhere near my usual pace. In fact, I found myself with my arm round her shoulders and hers round my waist, resting on my hip, so we were strolling rather than walking and it took a lot longer than usual to get home.

"I don't want to go to bed, yet," Lida told me as we took our coats off. "Would you mind making me a cup of tea and getting yourself a glass of Scotch? I want to sit with you for a while."

I wasn't in a hurry to end the pleasure I was experiencing, either, so I did as she suggested.

"You're so kind to me, Geoff. Why?"

"Well, I got to really like you when we chatted, so when Kitty asked if I could help you, I was happy to do so..."

"Yes ... you took me in and gave me a home. It made sense at the time, I think. But you've gone far beyond that, haven't you?"

"I suppose so. But as I said, I like you, and you need a break. I wanted to give you one. You're intelligent, beautiful, caring, sensitive ... did I mention beautiful?"

She smiled. "I think it is more than that, Geoff. Why would you look at a woman pregnant with someone else's baby and say she is beautiful?"

You know what they say about engaging brain before opening mouth? "Because I love you." The words were out before I could stop them. I waited for Lida to get up and walk away, but she didn't.