“Indeed.”
“Where would you like your breakfast?”
“Breakfast?”
“Sir, Jessie’s made you breakfast. French toast. Your favorite.”
Oh. I wanted to get back to Alessia.
Danny, sensing my hesitancy, gives me The Look over her glasses. The Look that made me, Kit, and Maryanne quail as young kids.
You settle down now, children, and eat your supper. Or I will tell your mother.
She always played the Mothership card.
“I’ll take it in the kitchen with you and the rest of the staff, but I have to be quick.”
“Very good, sir.”
* * *
Alessia’s wrapped in towels to dry off after her shower. In the walk-in closet, she rummages through the clothes that Maxim bought her a few days ago. She cannot seem to shake her apprehension. She jumps at every strange noise she hears. It’s rare for her to be on her own. At home in Kukës, her mother was always around, and in the evenings her father, too. Even in the Brentford house, when she lived with Magda, Alessia was seldom alone; either Magda or Michal was there.
She wills herself to concentrate on the task at hand. After all, she has her new clothes. She decides on the black jeans with a gray top and a pretty pink cardigan. She hopes that Maxim will like what she’s chosen.
Finally dressed, she picks up the hair dryer and switches it on, its high-pitched whir filling the silence.
* * *
When I enter the kitchen, it’s crowded and humming with the early-morning banter of some of the staff, Jenkins among them. Seeing me, they all stand as one, a frankly feudal display of deference, which I find irritating. But I let it go. “Good morning, all. Please. Sit. Enjoy your breakfast.”
There are various pleasant mutterings of “my lord.”
During its heyday, Tresyllian Hall would have employed well over three hundred and fifty staff, but now we manage with twelve full-time and about twenty part-time employees. We also have eight tenant farmers, whom I met on my recent trip. They raise livestock and various arable crops across ten thousand acres. All organic. Thanks to my father.
By Trevethick tradition the outdoor and household staff eat at separate sittings. At this moment the assistant estate managers, the gamekeeper, assistant gamekeeper, and the gardeners are enjoying Jessie’s cooked breakfast. I note that mine is the only plate with French toast.
“I hear you’ve had a break-in, sir,” Jenkins says.
“Sadly, yes. It’s a massive pain in the arse.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, milord.”
“Michael about?”
“Dentist this morning. He says he’ll be in around eleven.”
I bite into my breakfast. The melt-in-the-mouth goodness of Jessie’s French toast takes me back to my childhood. Kit and I talking cricket scores or bickering about who was kicking who under the table, Maryanne’s nose in a book…and Jessie’s French toast served up with stewed fruits. Today it’s apple with cinnamon.
“It’s nice to have you here, my lord,” Danny says. “I hope you don’t have to rush back to London.”
“Police just arrived. I’ll find out a bit later.”
“I’ve let Mrs. Blake know about the burglary. She and Alice can pop round from the house to your flat and clear up.”
“Thanks. I’ll ask Oliver to liaise with her.”
“Are you enjoying the Hideout?”
I give her a swift grin. “Very much. Thank you. It’s very comfortable.”
“I hear you had a successful day yesterday.”
“It was fun. Thank you again, Jenkins.”
He gives me a nod, and Danny smiles. “That reminds me,” she says. “There were two very unsavory characters who came calling for you yesterday.”
“What?” She has my immediate attention, and everyone else’s in the room. She pales.
“They were asking after you. I told them to bugger off, sir.”
“Unsavory?”
“Rough-looking, sir. Aggressive. From Eastern Europe, I think. Anyway—”
“Fuck!” Alessia!
* * *
Alessia pulls the brush through her hair. It’s finally dry enough. She switches off the hair dryer, feeling ill at ease and wondering if she heard something. But it’s only the sound of the crashing waves in the cove below. She stands staring out the window down at the sea.
Mister Maxim gave her the sea.
She smiles remembering her antics on the beach. The rain is easing off. Perhaps they could go for another walk on the shore today. And back to that pub for lunch. That was a good day. Every day here with him has been a good day.
From downstairs she hears the scrape of furniture on the wooden floor and hushed male voices.
What?
Has Maxim brought someone back to the house?
“Urtë!” someone grates in a strangled whisper. It’s her mother tongue! Fear and adrenaline sweep through her body as she stands frozen in the bedroom.
It’s Dante and Ylli.
They’ve found her.
Chapter Twenty-One
I tear down the lane, clattering over the cattle grid and pushing the Jag to go faster. I have to get back to the house. I’m finding it hard to breathe. My anxiety is a weight pressing on my chest.
Alessia.
Why did I leave her at the house? If something has happened to her…I will never forgive myself.
My brain works feverishly.
Is it them? The bastards who trafficked her? I feel sick to my stomach. How the hell did they find us? How? Maybe they were the fuckers who burgled my flat. They found information on the Trevethick estate and Tresyllian Hall. And now they’re here. Asking questions. The fucking nerve of them, coming to my house. I grip the steering wheel.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.
If they locate her at the Hideout…I’ll never see her again.
My panic mushrooms.
She’ll be dragged into a horrific underworld,
and I’ll never be able to find her.
No. Fuck. No.
I swerve down the lane toward the Hideout, spraying gravel into the hedgerows.
* * *
Alessia’s heart is pounding, her pulse thumping in her ears even as the blood drains from her head. The room spins once, twice, and her legs start to shake.
She’s in her worst nightmare.
The bedroom door is open, and she hears their whispers downstairs. How did they get in? A creak on the stair galvanizes her into action. She sprints into the bathroom and quietly shuts the door. With shaking, clammy hands, she locks it behind her while she gasps for air.
How did they find her?
How?
She’s dizzy with fear. Feeling powerless, she quickly scans the room looking for something to use to defend herself. Anything. His razor? Her toothbrush? She picks up both and slips them into her back pocket.
But the drawers are empty…there’s nothing there.
All she can do is hide. She can only hope that the door will hold until Maxim returns.
No. Maxim!
He is no match for them. He is one man—and they are two. They will harm him. Tears well in her eyes, and she sinks to the floor as her legs give out under her. She leans against the door as human ballast in case they try to break it down.
“I heard something.” It’s Ylli. He’s in the bedroom. When did her own language become so terrifying? “Check that door.”
“You in here, you fucking bitch?” Dante calls out, and rattles the bathroom door, testing the handle. Alessia puts her fist in her mouth to stop from screaming, and tears trickle down her cheeks. Her body starts shaking. Her terror is overwhelming. And she pants, taking in shallow breaths. She’s never felt so frightened. Not even in the truck that brought her to England. She’s completely impotent. She doesn’t know how to fight, and there’s no escape from this room. And, she has no way to warn Maxim.