I frown.
The girl has nothing.
“Okay,” I offer. “I’ll take those, and let’s go.” She hands me both bags and still won’t look me in the eye. I’m astonished at how little they weigh.
“Where are you going?” asks
Magda.
“I have a place in the West Country. We’ll go there for a few days while we work out what’s to be done.”
“Will I see Alessia again?”
“I hope so.” But there’s no way on earth she’s coming back here while those bastards are on the loose.
Magda turns to Alessia. “Good-bye, sweet girl,” she whispers.
Alessia hugs Magda and clings to her. “Thank you,” she says as tears begin to trickle down her face. “For saving me.”
“Hush, dear girl,” Magda murmurs. “I would do anything for your mother. You know that.” She releases Alessia and holds her at arm’s length. “You are so strong and brave. You will make your mother proud.” She cups Alessia’s face and kisses her cheek.
“Say good-bye to Michal for me.” Alessia’s voice is strained and soft and full of sorrow. And my heart constricts.
Am I doing the right thing?
“We will both miss you. Maybe one day you’ll come to Canada and meet my wonderful man?”
Alessia nods, but she’s too choked up to say anything else, and she leaves through the front door while trying to wipe away her tears. I follow her, holding all that she has in the world.
Outside on the path, Dene Hamilton surveys the street. Tall, broad-shouldered, with close-cropped black hair, he’s more menacing than his refined gray suit suggests. He’s ex-army, like Tom, and it shows in his alert stance. He’ll work in a shift pattern with another bodyguard who’ll be arriving in the morning. Tom’s people will safeguard Magda and Michal around the clock, and they’ll remain until the two of them leave for Canada.
I stop to shake Hamilton’s hand.
“We’ve got this, Lord Trevethick,” he says, his dark eyes gleaming beneath the streetlamp as he scans the road and misses nothing.
“Thank you,” I reply. It still catches me off guard when I’m addressed by my title. “You have my number. Contact me if they need anything.”
“Will do, sir.” Hamilton gives me a gracious nod, and I follow Alessia. She averts her face when I put my arm around her, perhaps to hide the fact that she’s still crying.
Am I doing the right thing?
With a brisk wave to Magda, who’s standing on the doorstep, and to Hamilton, I lead Alessia to the F-Type. I unlock it and hold the passenger door open for her. She hesitates, her expression strained. I reach up to stroke her jaw with the back of my hand. “I’ve got you.” My tone is gentle, to reassure her. “You’re safe.”
Alessia throws her arms around my neck and hugs me hard, totally taking me by surprise. “Thank you,” she whispers, and before I can respond, she releases me and climbs into the car. I ignore the knot in my throat and put both her bags in the boot and climb in beside her.
“This will be an adventure,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. But Alessia gazes at me, her eyes brimming with sorrow.
I swallow.
I’m doing the right thing.
Yes.
I am.
But maybe not for the right reasons.
I exhale, push the ignition, and the engine growls into life.
Chapter Ten
I turn the Jaguar left onto the A4 and speed along the three-lane highway. Alessia is hunched down in the passenger seat with her arms wrapped around herself, but at least she’s remembered to put on her seat belt. She’s staring out at the passing industrial buildings and car showrooms, but occasionally she wipes a sleeve across her face, and I know she’s still crying.
How can women cry so quietly?
“Do you want me to stop for tissues?” I ask. “I’m sorry I don’t have any.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t look at me.
I understand why she’s emotional. What a day. If I’m astounded by today’s events, she must be overwhelmed. Completely overwhelmed. I think it’s best if I leave her alone to gather her thoughts. Besides, it’s late, and I have to make some calls.
I press the phone icon on the touch screen and find Danny’s number. The sound of its ringtone echoes through the car via the hands-free system. Within two rings she answers.
“Tresyllian Hall,” she says in her familiar Scottish brogue.
“Danny, it’s Maxim.”
“Master Maxim…I mean—”
“It’s okay, Danny, don’t worry,” I interrupt her, with a quick glance at Alessia, who’s now looking at me. “Is the Hideout or the Lookout available this weekend?”
“I think they’re both available, my—”
“And next week?”
“The Lookout is booked for a weekend clay shoot.”
“I’ll take the Hideout, then.”
Appropriate.
“I need”—I glance at Alessia’s pale face—“I need two of the rooms made up and some of my clothes and toiletries brought over from the Hall.”
“You’ll not be staying at the Hall?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“Two rooms, you say?”
I had hoped for one….
“Yes, please. And could you ask Jessie to stock the fridge for breakfast and maybe a snack tonight. And some wine and some beer. Tell her to improvise.”
“Of course, milord. When will you be arriving?”
“Late tonight.”
“Of course. Is everything all right, sir?”
“Everything’s fine. Oh, and, Danny, can we get the piano tuned?”
“I had all of them tuned yesterday. You mentioned you wanted them all done when you were here.”
“That’s great. Thanks, Danny.”
“You’re welcome, my—” I press the OFF button before she finishes.
“Would you like to listen to some music?” I ask Alessia. She turns red-rimmed eyes to me, and my chest tightens. “Okay,” I say, not waiting for her answer. On the media screen, I find what I hope will be a soothing album and press PLAY. The sound of acoustic guitars fills the car, and I relax a little. We have a long drive ahead.
“Who is this?” Alessia asks.
“A singer-songwriter called Ben Howard.”
She stares at the screen for a moment, then goes back to gazing out the window.
I reflect on all my past interactions with Alessia in light of what she’s told me today. Now I understand why she’s been so reticent around me, and my heart is leaden. In my fantasies I’d imagined that when I was finally alone with her, she would be laughing and carefree, gazing at me with adoring doe eyes. The reality is very different.
Very. Different.
And yet…I don’t mind. I want to be with her.
I want her safe.
I want her….
That’s the truth.
I’ve never felt like this before.
Everything has happened so fast. And I still don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. But I know I can’t abandon her to those lowlifes. I want to protect her.
How chivalrous.
My thoughts take a darker turn as I dwell on morbid fantasies of what she might have had to endure and of what she might have seen. This young woman in the hands of those monsters.
Fuck. I grip the steering wheel tighter as anger surges like sulfuric acid in my gut.
If I ever get hold of those men…
My rage is murderous.
What have they done to her? I want to know.
No. I don’t want to know.
I do.
I don’t.
I glance at the dashboard.
Shit. I’m speeding.
Slow the fuck down, mate.
I ease my foot off the accelerator.
Steady.
I take a deep, cleansing breath.
Calm down.
I want to ask her what she’s endured. What she’s seen. But now is not the right time. All my p
lans, all my fantasies will be for nothing if she can’t bear to be with a man…any man.
And I realize that I can’t touch her.
Fuck.
* * *
Alessia tries but fails to stem her tears. She’s dazed, drowning in her emotions.
Her fear.
Her hope.
Her despair.
Can she trust the man sitting beside her? She has placed herself in his hands. Willingly. And she’s done that before—with Dante—and that didn’t turn out so well.
She doesn’t know Mister Maxim. Not really. He’s shown her nothing but kindness since she met him—and what he’s done for Magda is beyond what any reasonable man could be expected to do. Until she met Maxim, Magda had been the only person in England whom Alessia trusted. She had saved Alessia’s life. She had taken her in, fed and clothed her, and found her work, through a network of Polish women who live in West London and help each other.
And now Alessia is traveling miles and miles from that place of refuge. Magda has reassured her that Mrs. Kingsbury’s and Mrs. Goode’s houses would be covered by one of the other girls while Alessia is away.
How long will she be gone?
And where is the Mister taking her?
She tenses. Perhaps Dante is following them?
She tightens her arms around her body. Thinking of Dante reminds her of her nightmare journey to England. She doesn’t want to think about that. She never wants to think about it again. But it haunts her in moments of quiet and in her nightmares. What’s become of Bleriana, Vlora, Dorina, and the other girls?
Please let them have escaped, too.
Bleriana was only seventeen, the youngest of the girls.
Alessia shudders. The song on the car stereo is about living in the confines of fear. Alessia squeezes her eyes shut. Her stomach constricts with fear, the fear she’s been living with for so long, and her tears continue to fall.
* * *
We pull in to the Gordano Services on the M5 just after 10:00 P.M. I’m hungry in spite of the cheese sandwich Magda made for me back in Brentford. Alessia is asleep. I wait for a moment to see if she’ll wake now that the car has come to a standstill. Under the glow from the halogen lights in the car park, she looks serene and ethereal—the curve of her translucent cheeks, her dark lashes splayed out above them, and the stray lock of hair from her plait that curls beneath her chin. I contemplate letting her sleep but decide I can’t leave her alone in the car.