The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  "My father said something about you once," I tell her, as she opens the door and steps out into the driveway. I'm feeling unusually bold, and I figure I have to take this opportunity.

  "Did he?" she replies, with a look of absolute fear in her eyes.

  "He said -"

  "I'm sure it's nothing," she says, clearly hoping to cut the conversation off dead. "I hope your studies go well."

  "Is it true?" I ask.

  She stares at me.

  "Is it?"

  She takes a deep breath, and I can see that she's having trouble getting the words out.

  "Bye," I say finally.

  She nods politely, before turning and hurrying away from the house.

  "You old rogue," I say with a smile as I shut the door. I should be angry at my father, but I guess there's no point. He's gone now, and if my mother knows nothing about his affair, I don't see why I should cause her any heartache. Just as I'm about to go back through to the kitchen, however, I hear my phone ring again. When I check the screen, I'm shocked to see that it's Mark. For a moment, I actually contemplate not answering. After all, didn't we say everything we had to say to one another? I certainly don't feel like rehashing things with him again, especially if he's just phoning me to tell me how he doesn't want to talk to me. I can't think of a single reason why I should bother accepting the call, but I press the button anyway.

  "Good afternoon," I say politely.

  "Do you still want to see me?" he asks.

  My heart skips a beat.

  "I've reconsidered," he continues, with a hint of urgency in his voice. "You were right earlier. I'm sorry for how I behaved, and for the things I said to you. Partly, anyway. Maybe I should give you a chance to play the game."

  "What game?" I reply.

  "You know what I mean."

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. My heart's racing, and although I know I should put the phone down, I can't help wondering what he's got in store for me.

  "Let's not turn this into a debate," he continues after a moment. "If you really want to do this, come to the penthouse suite of the Castleton Hotel in Mayfair at seven o'clock this evening. Don't be early, and don't be late. If you don't come, it's over and you'll never hear from me again. If you do come..." He pauses for a moment. "Everything I said earlier still stands, Elly. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, but I'm going to give you the choice. I saw something in your eyes, the very first time I met you, and... well, you caught my attention. As I said, I'm sorry for how I behaved earlier. It won't be safe and it won't be simple, but if you want to come and play the game with me, I'll be waiting."

  "Well, I -" I start to reply, but the line goes dead. I'm left standing in the hallway, stunned by his abrupt tone. I want to call him back and tell him to forget about his stupid game, whatever that means, just so he learns he can't phone me up and summon me in such an arrogant manner. Still, I can't deny that I'm feeling an intense thrill in my chest at the thought of going to meet him. It's already five o'clock, so I'll have to leave soon if I'm going to make it on time. Taking a deep breath, I try to decide whether this is something I really want to do. There's a part of me that thinks it would be a terrible mistake to go to Mark now, and that I'd just be opening myself up to potential heartache. Maybe the smart thing to do would be to back off and forget about him. On the other hand, maybe I don't want to do the smart thing. Maybe I want to do the fun thing, and the exciting thing, and the slightly dangerous thing. Above all, I don't want to be boring. I mean, it's not like it's a matter of life and death, so what's the worst that could happen?

  After quickly calling through to my mother to let her know that I'm going to meet a friend, I grab my coat and head out through the front door. I walk quickly to the Tube station, and I feel strangely confident. After all, how many other people in London tonight are heading off to the heart of the city to meet a new lover? Whatever Mark's got in store for me, I'm ready.

  Part Five

  The Challenge

  Elly

  Today

  I shouldn't be here.

  I really, really shouldn't be here.

  As soon as I step through the door of the Castleton Hotel, I feel as if I'm in another world. No, another universe, where the normal rules simply don't apply. Everything about this place reeks of money: the marble floor is immaculately clean and polished, while the foyer itself is so calm and formal, it's hard to believe I'm in the heart of London; nearby, two men talk quietly to one another, while briefly glancing over to look at me. It's quite clear that they're wondering why I'm here. There's absolutely no way I could ever pretend to have the level of class or sophistication that this place exudes, and anyone who looks at me will see me for what I am: a girl from the suburbs, hopelessly out of her depth in this cathedral to modern money.

  I really, really, really shouldn't be here.

  "Can I help you?" asks a voice nearby.

  Turning, I find that the doorman is looking over at me.

  "Sorry?" I ask, feeling kind of shell-shocked. It's as if a spotlight has suddenly picked me out, and I can't help but imagine people pointing and laughing.

  "Can I help you, M'am?" the doorman continues, fixing me with his beady little eyes. I guess he saw me standing here, looking like a complete idiot, and realized that I don't belong here. Maybe he thinks I've stumbled in by accident; maybe he think I'm a cleaner or a maid who accidentally came in via the front door rather than using the employee entrance at the back; maybe he thinks I'm a scam artist, here to pick the pockets of all the rich people as they pass through the foyer; maybe he thinks I'm a low-class prostitute, hired by a rich guy who wants to bag himself a big of rough for a few hours.

  "I'm just here to meet someone," I say, swallowing hard.

  "I see," he replies, clearly suspicious. "Please go straight to reception."

  Taking a deep breath, I walk across the marble floor, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with the people on the nearby sofas. Ahead, the reception desk staff sit staring at me, waiting for me to come and make a fool of myself. I can tell that they, too, know I don't belong here.

  "Elly?" a female voice calls out. At first I ignore it, assuming that it couldn't possibly have been directed at me, but after a moment I hear footsteps hurrying after me, and someone touches my arm. "Elly?" the voice says again, much closer this time.

  Turning, I see a woman smiling at me. It takes a moment before I work out where I've seen her before: it's Alice, the woman I bumped into the other day and who ended up taking me to lunch.

  "Hi," I say, totally startled. Alice is the last person I ever expected to see here. I definitely didn't think she was the kind of person who'd be at a place like this, but there she is, standing in front of me and wearing a striking red jacket that seems totally out of place against the demure beige tones of the foyer.

  "What are you doing here?" she asks, giving me a big hug. "Oh, what a wonderful coincidence, you walking in here like this! Are you staying at the hotel?"

  "No," I say, my mind spinning as I try to work out what to say. I can't possibly tell her the truth about my plan to meet Mark. I mean, what am I supposed to say? That I'm here for sex with a rich, handsome guy who used to work with my father? A sophisticated woman like Alice couldn't even begin to understand my life right now, and she'd probably write me off as some kind of desperate, obsessive idiot who throws herself at a rich guy just because the opportunity arose. Damn it, maybe she'd be right. "I'm just visiting a friend," I stammer, which I guess is kind of true. "He's staying here."

  "Well that's the most amazing thing!" she says, grinning. "I'm just here for a late tea before heading home, and by tea, of course I mean a gin and tonic. In fact, why don't you let me buy you a drink right now?"

  "Thanks," I say, checking my watch and seeing that I'm due at Mark's door in less than ten minutes, "but I have to get going."

  "Oh, surely you've got time for one drink," she says, grabbing me by the arm and ste
ering me over toward the bar. "Perhaps you can call up to your friend and ask him to come down and join us?"

  "Really, no," I say, pulling away from her. "Another time, maybe?"

  "Nonsense!" she replies. "We can sit and do some people-watching." She leans closer, as if we're a pair of co-conspirators. "Between you and me," she whispers, "there are some mighty unusual types who come into this place. I was rather dreading sitting here and drinking alone."

  "I'm really sorry," I say, "I just have to go up to see my friend."

  Sighing, she smiles and finally seems to accept defeat. "Oh my God, Elly... Oh my God, I'm being so stupid, aren't I? This man you're meeting... This is something romantic, isn't it?"

  I open my mouth to reply.

  "Don't you even try to deny it!" she continues, wagging her finger in my face like some kind of old-fashioned matron. "What was I thinking, trying to butt in on your private time? I must let you get along to your gentleman friend. It's not good to leave a man waiting, although sometimes one can benefit from keeping him eager, if you know what I mean." Grabbing my arm, she steers me over toward the elevators. "Now, do tell him that I send my regards," she continues as she presses the Call button. "Just say you met Alice in the foyer. Everyone here knows me."

  "Sure," I say as the elevator door opens and I come face to face with the bellboy.

  "I mean it," Alice continues as she pushes me into the elevator. "You simply must tell your friend, whoever he is, that Alice said hello. Promise you'll do that?"

  I nod politely as the doors slide shut.

  "Which floor, M'am?" asks the bellboy.

  "The penthouse," I say, feeling totally overwhelmed. "Please."

  "Penthouse coming up," he replies, pressing a button that causes the chamber to start rising.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm. This whole place is kind of suffocating, and as I look over at the back of the bellboy's head, I'm certain that he's silently judging me and wondering what on earth someone like me is doing going to the penthouse. Then again, maybe I'm over-reacting. Am I really this paranoid? When the hell did I develop such a massive inferiority complex?

  "Penthouse," the bellboy says as the chamber stops and the door opens.

  "Thanks," I say, stepping out. At the last moment, I turn back to him and I swear I see a look of disdain in his eyes. "What are you looking at?" I ask.

  "Nothing, M'am," he says as the doors close. "Have a nice evening."

  "It's not what you think!" I blurt out, but it's too late and I'm left standing alone. Turning to look at the door at the far end of the windowless corridor, I realize that the moment has finally arrived. There's no point putting it off any longer: just a few feet away, Mark Douglas is waiting for me to arrive so he can... I take a deep breath, wondering what he's planning. There's a part of me that wants to just turn around and get out of here, and forget about the whole thing. Why bother putting myself through all this pressure and stress? What exactly am I expecting to get from Mark? It's not like I think we're going to be star-crossed lovers, and I doubt I'll even see him again after tonight. Is this just the world's most elaborate booty call?

  Taking a deep breath, I walk along the corridor. When I get to the door, I raise my hand, ready to knock. I'm tempted to stand here and over-analyze the situation yet again, but instead I force myself to knock and wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  After a couple of minutes, I start to wonder whether I've been stood up. Is it possible that Mark is playing with me? Is it possible that he just lured me here so he could laugh when I turn up and get turned away? Perhaps he's far away by now, smiling at the thought of me loitering pathetically outside his door. Just as I'm about to turn and walk away, I hear movement inside the penthouse and a moment later, Mark opens the door.

  "Hi," I say, feeling my chest tighten. My heart is pounding so fast, it's almost as if it might burst. I'm pretty sure that Mark wouldn't be very impressed if I fainted on his doorstep.

  "Hi," he replies, with a hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting, Elly. I was speaking to some colleagues in Tokyo. Please, come in." He steps back. "I won't bite," he adds. "I promise."

  When I enter the room, I'm immediately overcome by the same feeling I felt when I first walked into the hotel: I feel like I don't belong here at all, not in this hotel and not in Mark's world. The place is filled with tasteful, old-fashioned furniture, and over by one of the walls there's some kind of large golden eagle statue. There are paintings on the wall, and over by the large window there's a pair of sofas. This is by far the most luxurious room I've ever entered. Seriously, it's like something out of a movie.

  Taking a deep breath, I manage to pull myself together and focus on the positives: I'm in the penthouse apartment of a high-class London hotel, with a handsome and rich man, and I have no idea what's going to happen next. As I stare around at the opulence of this place, I realize that I'm more turned on than I've ever been in my life, to the point that I can feel myself getting wet. It seems to incredible that I could even be here, and that I might be about to sleep with Mark. Finally, all my crazy fears start to dissipate and I realize I can focus exclusively on this precise moment. Who cares about yesterday? Who cares about tomorrow? I turn and look at Mark, and I realize that the only thing that matters is today.

  "So," I say, taking a deep breath, trying not to let him see that I'm terrified. "Now what?"

  Inspector Matthews

  1895

  Pushing my way through the stiff, un-oiled door, I find myself in one of London's noisiest, sweatiest and most notorious public houses. The King's Arms is known across the city as a haven for thugs, lowlifes and monsters. This is the kind of place where killers like to mingle, quietly discussing their craft; it's the kind of place where a simple disagreement can lead to an argument that results in dead bodies being piled up outside. The laws of the outside world are rejected here, replaced by a law of savagery. The police prefer not to interfere, knowing that they could never set foot in this place. However, tonight I have been called here because there is a man who will meet me only on this hallowed ground. I suppose he is testing me. He probably thinks I won't come.

  He's wrong.

  "Mr. Pope," I say as I finally reach a corner booth, where I find Jonathan Pope quietly reading a newspaper. Pope is a delinquent, a man who seems right at home in a place like this. Unfortunately, he's also one of the finest private investigators the world has ever known, and at this present moment he's the only man who shares my concerns about the activities of people such as Edward Lockhart and Lady Henrietta deHavilland. For now, at least, I need his help.

  "You're late," Pope says as I sit down. He keeps his eyes on the newspaper, barely even acknowledging that I've arrived. "I've been shitting myself with anticipation."

  "I got to the door on time," I reply, bristling a little at Pope's tone. I'm far from a prude, having grown up in the East End, but a man like Pope is a little too rough, even for me. "I'm afraid it took me quite some time to fight my way through the crowd. There were some disagreeable types who simply didn't want to let me pass."

  He smiles. "Many a man has died while trying to complete even that modest journey," he says. "You'd probably not have made it, had I not forewarned my friends here that you would be coming."

  "Forewarned?"

  "You think a stranger can just walk into the King's Arms unannounced? When you walked through that door, you left London and entered a whole new land with its own laws. Ordinarily, you'd have had a knife in your gut before you'd made it ten paces. The people here are suspicious of newcomers. Very suspicious, to the extent that they usually kill first and ask questions later. Fortunately for you, I eased your path with gold. It was the only way, but believe me, I had to give them a lot of gold to let a man like you in here."

  I look up as the barman comes over to our booth and places a mug of beer in front of me. Eying me suspiciously, and with a level of disdain that makes it clear h
e can barely tolerate my presence, he turns and walks away. Looking over at the bar, I see several large, thuggish men casting disgusted glances in my direction; I can quite believe that, without Pope's protection, I would probably already have been set upon. Even now, some of the locals seem to be straining at the leash, scenting my blood.

  "The drink's on the house," Pope says with a grin. "Mr. Wolff knows better than to ask an officer of the law for money. It's his way of welcoming you to the place."

  "He knows that I'm a police officer?" I ask, suddenly realizing the extent of the danger I'm facing.

  "They all know," Pope replies. "I had to tell them. It's best to be honest about such things. They'd have guessed, anyway. After all, it's written all over your face, and you stink of swine."

  "I do?" I ask, feeling as if a knife could enter my back at any moment.

  He laughs. "Can you imagine what the people in this place would do to a police officer if they got their hands on one? My God, they'd have taken their time killing you. They'd have stabbed you a few times, just to get you down onto your knees, and then..." He pauses for a moment. "Well, they might be thugs in here, Inspector Matthews, but they're imaginative thugs, and they've got some decent equipment out back. They've got a special room where they take people they don't like. Let's just say that some of their tools would make a butcher blush."

  Coughing to clear my throat, I decide it's time to get on with the main business of my visit. "I believe we're here to talk about a specific matter," I say. "We share the same concerns about a certain group of people who appear to have been literally getting away with murder for quite some time."

  "And yet I believe you're not free to investigate?" he asks, although I can tell from his smile that he already knows the answer to his question. I wish I could deny his cynical assumption, but on this occasion I cannot.