Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 142043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Hell.
If this tactic doesn’t work, I don’t know what will.
* * *
Alessia has unpacked, cleaned, and put away all the new cookware she and Maxim ordered online from John Lewis. She’s cleaned. Polished. Washed. Everything. The place is spotless. She’s prepped dinner. She’s practiced several pieces on the piano. She’s now sitting at Maxim’s desk, poring over the computer comparing music courses, and making notes. As she considers the merits of the Royal Academy versus the Royal College, her eyes stray to Ticia Cavanagh’s business card perched on the desk. She recalls the lawyer’s shocked statement yesterday.
Others? Did they escape too?
Bleriana’s sweet face, laughing at one of Alessia’s jokes while they were in the back of that awful, stinking truck, rises in her mind. Perhaps Ticia could help find her. She’s a lawyer. She would know. Wouldn’t she?
Ignoring her conflicted feelings—this woman has had carnal knowledge of her husband—she fishes out her phone and dials her number.
“Ticia Cavanagh’s office,” a male voice answers.
“Hello. Um. This is Alessia Trevelyan. I wanted to speak to Ticia Cavanagh.”
“I’ll see if she’s available.”
The line goes quiet but a moment later, Ticia answers. “Lady Trevethick, what can I do for you?”
“Please, call me Alessia. Um…I’m, er…”
“Is it about your husband?” Cavanagh asks in a stilted breathy rush.
“No. No. It’s not. I think…um…your…acq…acquaintance predates me.” Alessia cannot believe that she’s discussing Maxim in this way. There’s an awkward moment of silence, where Alessia hears Ticia inhale sharply.
“I think so too,” she says eventually, and her response is a relief.
To the matter in hand, Alessia.
“I am calling about the other girls who were trafficked with me. I want to find them. Well, one of them at least. If I can find the others, that would be good too.”
“I see. I’m not sure I can help, but what can you tell me?”
Alessia sits back in Maxim’s chair and stares down at her notes. Ticia has given her the number of a private investigator her firm uses. They’re discreet but expensive. She wants to call them; after all, she now has the means. But should she ask Maxim first? By rights, it is his money. Would he approve of the plan? She doesn’t know. Perhaps, like Ticia, he would think it’s impossible as Bleriana and the other girls could be anywhere in the country.
But Alessia has to try.
Also, it will give her something to do.
As much as she enjoys being in the apartment, she’s beginning to feel a little claustrophobic. She needs to get out.
But should she tell her husband?
Her phone buzzes, and it’s as if she’s conjured Maxim to call her just by thinking about him.
“Hi,” he says, and the warmth in his voice heats her heart.
“Hi. How is work?” He left early this morning, and he was preoccupied with something. Alessia assumed it was his work.
“It’s okay. I have a surprise for you. I’m going to text you an address. It’s a short walk from the flat. I’ll meet you there in half an hour.” She suspects he’s grinning. He’s excited about something.
“Okay,” she says, grinning back.
“Thirty minutes.” He hangs up, and a text appears on her screen. It’s an address on Cheyne Walk, meaning she has long enough to make a phone call and begin her mission to find Bleriana.
* * *
I pace outside the house on Cheyne Walk to keep warm and glance up the street to see if I can spot Alessia. Our potential new home is set back behind the greenery of Chelsea Embankment Gardens, which means—provided Alessia likes this place—I won’t have to suffer the watery reflections that occasionally torment me on my bedroom ceiling. I hope she likes it; I think it will serve our needs well.
Through the shrubbery, I catch glimpses of the Thames. Pausing, I breathe in a lungful of air, detecting the muddy tang of the river that’s so grounding and familiar.
It’s home.
When I look, Alessia is heading toward me down the street. Her face lights up when she sees me, and I jog to meet her.
“Hi.” I grab her hand. “Come. I’m excited to show you something.”
Her answering smile lifts my spirits, and I usher her toward an iron gate. She gives me a questioning look, her curiosity piqued as I tap the keycode into the electronic lock. The gate swings open with a creaky protest, and we walk across the flagstones to the gleaming black front door topped by a splendid fanlight.
* * *
Maxim fishes out some keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. “This could be ours if you like it,” he says and waves Alessia inside.
The whole house?
It must be four stories high!
They’re met by a wide sweeping hallway that opens onto a stylish dining room and beyond into an extensive modern kitchen that’s similar to the glass kitchen in Maxim’s apartment. Through the sliding french doors at the end of the room, there’s a neat, manicured backyard, and at the other end of the yard, what looks like another house.