How I coveted their simple means. My life had been like that once, or so I’d been led to believe. Now, looking back, it seemed incredulous to me my marriage had diminished to an intricate cover-up for my husband’s trafficking of illegal girls and drugs.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Glenda’s cheeks crimsoned. She yanked me aside. “What if someone saw you?”
Heat rose into my earlobes. I swallowed down my Irish temper and, through half-clenched teeth, allowed my British cool to kick in. “It never occurred to me Robert might be on those men’s boat. Besides, I only popped my head out.”
“You have no idea how long his tendrils are, do you?” Glenda grabbed my elbow and sat me down hard on the bench. In a hushed voice, she chided me while Sally and Everett chatted above with their friends.
I knew she had my best interest in mind, so I took it, head bent. “I am sorry, really.”
“Never you mind. But, from here on out, do as I suggest. It’s for your own safety.”
I swallowed hard. “Glenda, what will happen? Can I still get my flat in Bath and go to work? I’d really like to be a docent at the museum.”
She tapped her earpiece in case I’d forgotten she had the thing. “Yes, the museum job is yours. Word is you’ll have a roommate to guard you. They’ve leased a cottage instead.”
“A roommate?”
“Yes. She will be studying fashion for her Masters.” Glenda pointed to her chest. “Surprise!”
I shook my head. “You? Really?” This idea of sharing quarters after living alone made me somewhat hesitant, but then again, I’d gotten to know her a bit and actually liked her. She had a streak of daring in her, despite her adherence to all things protocol. And, she had great taste in clothes. Something I didn’t have. I’d missed out on that gene somehow.
“Bath is full of museums, my dear. There’s an Asian Art Museum, the Museum of Fashion, and one about the solar system, I think.” She flipped her wrist. “All that outer space scientific stuff.”
My enthusiasm effervesced again. Bath sounded like a fascinating place, and to have her as my watchdog might not be a bad idea after all. It beat the sun-glassed goons from the plane shadowing my every move.
I laughed. “Can we get a cat?”
Glenda’s smile faded. “They told me about Tom Cat. I am sorry, dear. You must miss him dreadfully. Of course, we’ll find you a new kitty. I’m rather fond of tabbies, myself.”
There appeared a sudden catch in my throat. “What else did ‘they’ tell you?” Why did everyone in espionage have to be “they?”
Her lips curved into a matronly smile. “Practically all, I imagine. Were those tears last night for Tom?” She cocked her eyebrow. “I don’t mean the cat.”
I lowered my eyes, suddenly aware of the water, which lapped the side of the boat in sync with the beat of my broken heart. The sunlight shimmered on the ripples caused by the gentle rocking of the Lady Dundas. How peaceful this appeared, as if out of a Tennyson poem. I began to whisper from memory,
“Willow white, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot…”
Glenda chimed in as she clutched my hand,
“Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers,
The Lady of Shalott.”
Her face softened. “I doubt you’ll float to your demise, as in Tennyson’s poem, my dear.”
I shrugged. “I hope not.”
Her eyes clouded. “Niamh, I can’t guarantee Lancelot will ever come to your rescue. You see, his armor is rather tarnished at the moment.”
“I know.” I stared at the river.
She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Yes.”
My hopes bounced around in the empty chambers of my heart in time to the boat’s movements along the water. Perhaps divine intervention might help? I cast my prayer over the glistening reflection of the Avon and hoped it flew to heaven.
* * *
It occurred to me Glenda had not mentioned Andrew in our plans. I turned back to her “Glenda, you never told me where Andrew…” The footsteps of our hosts sounded. I buttoned my lips together and reached for a newspaper.
“Well, we’re off again. Will be in Bath before dinner.”
“Dinner?” I mouthed.
Glenda leaned in and whispered. “A late lunch, my dear Niamh, the main meal.”
My mouth formed an “O”. Thank goodness. Something about the English countryside made me ravenous. My stomach didn’t wish to wait until dusk.
Sally returned to her knitting, her cat nestled in her lap. Everett puttered upstairs, in tune with the Lady Dundas’ motor, as he steered us downstream. In a bit, he pounded on the roof. “Lock comin’ up.”
I scrambled to the window to view the banks of the river turn into planks of petrified wood and concrete. The boat slowed to a soft putt-putt-putt as it entered the lock.
Glenda laughed. “Alright. I give.” She motioned me forward. “It’s probably safe enough to have a quick peek as long as we’re below the banks. But once the locks open, we’ll dash back in here and watch from the windows.”
Acting the giddy child, I raced up the stairs and breathed in the river air. Glenda followed on my heels.
Giant iron gates, tugged by men with ropes, closed as the water level began to adjust. Within minutes, the boat’s gentle rocking slapped the water against the walls of the lock. Under my feet, I detected the hull rising. The sides of the riverbank diminished. When the floodgates opened, water gushed like a bathtub overflow into the new level of the river.
“Oh, my. Glenda, look.” I pointed to the banks. To the side, a fawn-colored rock house with a paddle wheel perched on a knoll. A chimney protruded out of its gray shingled roof on each end. A wooden fence in rows of x’s surrounded the modest garden. Varying heights of flowers splayed in a haphazard, yet obviously planned, arrangement of color. On the rise of the bank above the house, a smattering of sheep grazed. “Oh, to live there.”
Glenda chuckled. “Yes, it is a rather quintessential mill, isn’t it?” She shrugged. “Probably costs a pretty pound or two.”
Sally, who had joined us, clapped her hands and laughed. “Oh, that be for sure, now.”
Everett called down from on top of the roof. “Wait until you see the Weir at Bradford. Built around the time you yanks fought for your independence. We’ll stop there for a bite to eat. Have wonderful ice creams at a shop right along the bank.”
“But, we’ll need to make sure the coast is clear, as they say,” Glenda whispered into my ear. “Time to get below.”
Glenda and I returned to the cabin while Sally and Everett chatted above. I sat next to her. “Have you heard from Andrew?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. He’s dropped off the conversations.” She tapped her earpiece. “But he’d told me to run to this specific boat. I guess, being from this area, he knew these folk would help us out. Lacock is his home town. He’d find a place to hole up.” Again the pat on the arm. “No worries, hmm?”
* * *
Two more locks and about an hour later, our host called us up top. “The city of Bradford is up ahead. It’s something you’ll want to see.”
“Oh. Yes. The bridge.” I peeked out from the opening and sat on the stairs that led to the deck. Off to the left, another river mingled its ripples into the Avon.
“That be the Bybrook.” Everett pointed with his pipe as he spoke over the chug of the engine.
Glenda tugged my blouse to motion me inside.
“Just a bit longer? I want to see the bridge he talked about.”
“Well, okay. But after a quick glimpse, back in you come.”
I gave her an eye roll and a curtsy. Sure, her job entailed my safekeeping, but Glenda acted as overprotective as a nervous nanny. Those goons were long gone by n
ow. Andrew had probably taken care of them.
“There she be.” Everett motioned me forward to join him.
Ahead, the Putteney Weir appeared. I rambled up the stairs onto the deck, ignoring Glenda’s hiss. The ancient, multiple-arched bridge resembled a medieval rock fortress with a three story square tower flanking the bank. As we maneuvered under the main arch, the smell of fish and algae assaulted my nose. The underside glowed like a flickering fire as the river reflected on it in a webbed pattern. Echoes of water hitting stone gave almost a hollow sound. I leaned back against the railing and tilted my head up to watch the hypnotic patterns. Ripples, sloshed by the wake of the boat, spritzed my spine.
Suddenly, vice grips grabbed my elbows and pulled me overboard into the shadowy waters. The undercurrents drowned my scream. In the murky swirls above, Glenda leaned over the boat’s edge, arms outstretched. Strong hands yanked me deeper as an oxygen mask pressed over my nostrils and mouth. I struggled, but burly arms wrapped around me and flipped me over. My knees scraped against the submerged stones of the bridge’s buttresses. Hard ties latched my hands and feet from flaying free. Two men in wetsuits and scuba gear locked elbows with me and dragged me away from the boat’s wake like a fish in a net.
CHAPTER TWENTY
My knees burned and my shoulder blades pinched in pain. The men towed me along through the deep waters of the Avon for what seemed like hours. In reality, it was probably about five minutes or so. My eyes stung with held-in sobs as I gasped in the oxygen from the mask. River pressed around me in an opaque green. Small bits of aquatic vegetation floated by my face as a fish darted underneath me. I felt a tug to the left and then, like a seal out of the tank, the men dragged me to the bank. The oxygen mask yanked away as they tugged me into a sitting position.
“Help…”A huge hand squelched my scream. I chomped down on it and its owner yelped. Another person backslapped me, which flopped me to the ground. My mouth filled with mud, soon mingled with my own blood. My body lifted as two gorilla-like minders dragged me along the grass. Somewhere in the process, I lost a shoe. They didn’t seem to care. Twigs and leaves scraped between my toes. My knees felt as if they were on fire.
“Stop!” I screamed. “Stop. I’m hurt.” I spit out mud and suckled my now swollen lip.
“Let her go.”
I glared in the direction of the deep male voice that oozed authority with a well-groomed and continental accent. Definitely European, but not from any one country. As I squinted in the sunlight, a man with graying temples in a charcoal suit came into view. A chunky diamond ring adorned one hand, a Rolex watch the other arm, which he now crossed in front of him.
I sat down, scrunched my knees to my chest and peered into his countenance. “And you are?”
“Michael.” He tipped a slight bow. “At your beck n’ call m’lady.” A sneer spread up one side of his mouth. I had the sudden urge to slap it off, but my tethers prevented it. Instead, I continued to suck my lip.
“Get her a towel, and take her to the car, so we can apply some ice to her mouth.” Before his barked command finished, hands lifted me again. Terry cloth wrapped around my shoulders as they yanked me towards a black car with tinted windows. Maybe to ease the sheer terror racing through my skin, my mind thought of something quirky. Why are they always black with darkened windows? Feds, cartel—they all must have the same auto dealer.
The back door opened and a heavy hand slammed onto top of my head to bend me down inside. I scooted into the seat as my well-dressed gentleman companion slid in the other side. Who was this guy?
“So. Michael. Who do you work for, and where are you taking me?”
He dabbed the corner of my mouth with his hankie. “Tsk, tsk. Demanding, aren’t we?”
I jerked my face away to keep him from detecting any fear in my expression. Don’t cry, Jen. Don’t cry. My heartbeat thumped the order into my ears. I closed my eyes and sucked in a long breath.
Michael laughed. “Good girl. You have spunk, I’ll give you that.”
A little click sounded, then another. Michael lowered a panel. The car had a wet bar. He plopped come ice cubes into the hankie, twisted it. “Here, this should help your mood.” He gently placed it to my lip. The freezing temperature stung, but after a minute, began to dissipate the pain.
I raised my tethered hands and took the compress. Through swelled lip and tongue I uttered, “Thank shoo.”
Tiny crow’s feet widened as his grin reached to his cheeks. “My pleasure.”
“You haven’t answered my questions.”
Michael winked. “I know.”
I thrust my backbone into the leather upholstery. “Fine.”
A guttural laugh gurgled up his throat. “Is it, now?” He banged against the door and called out. “Let’s go, gentlemen. He’s waiting.”
The vehicle rocked back and forth as my ears filled with two loud slams. I realized the minders had climbed in, stripped of their wetsuits. Both wore black shirts and pants. The motor kicked over with a high-powered varoom.
My attention focused on Michael. “And, ‘He’ would be whom?”
He shot me a look, which I interpreted to mean I’d discover soon enough. The window pane between us and the goons whirred shut as the car engine revved.
My posh and proper custodian wrapped the plush beach towel tighter around me like a papoose. He tapped the glass which separated us from the driver. “Turn up the heat back here. She’s shivering.” His face turned to me. “Close your eyes and rest my dear. We have a good half-hour’s ride.”
I couldn’t see well through the tinted glass windows. Even if I had a clear view, I wouldn’t have a clue where I was. So, between jet lag, the chase yesterday, and the crack of dawn arising this morning, my mind obeyed. I snuggled down, warm inside the terry cloth cocoon, as the soft whoosh of the car’s heater filtered over me.
* * *
Gravel popped. My body swayed. I realized, during the muddled zone between sleep and awake, we’d left the highway and were now on a dirt road. I craned my head and tried to peer through the gray-tinted, possibly bullet-proofed panes of the limo. Blotches of shadows overhead meant we traveled on a tree-lined lane. Soon after, the car swerved and came to a halt. The automobile’s glass whirred down to reveal a typical English manor in tan rock with tall arched windows flanked by sculptured bushes. Concrete lions crouched on either side of the massive half-mooned front stoop. A man in a non-descript dark uniform came around the vehicle to open the door.
“Take her to Mary, Charles. See that she is bathed and dressed. Oh, and her scrapes and bruises tended to. We don’t want the master to think anyone man-handled this damsel, now do we?”
Charles gave us both a quick bow.
Michael opened his blade and in two swoops released the plastic restraints from my hands and feet. He swiveled to get out on his side. “Charles will make sure you are settled. I have other issues which need my attention. Later, my dear.”
When he turned to close his car door, I wiggled my fingers. “Ta-ta.”
Again, the guttural laugh erupted.
* * *
I guess as far as English manors go this one ranked two notches below grand. Definitely Tudor architecture. Perhaps the possession of some minor duchy. Nonetheless, it was enough to catch my breath. The entry hall, lined with dark judge’s panels of mahogany, led to a sprawling staircase. Well-worn pastel oriental carpets depicting tropical plants and birds lay on marbled floors. They must have been a couple of centuries old. A runner of dusty mauve flowed up the stairs, and a brass bar tucked into each crook of the rungs. Paintings of long ago ancestors glared from their poses, separated by chest-high marbled columns holding sculptured busts or ferns. A fire crackled in an enormous fireplace in a room off to the left.
Charles led the way up the stairs, along with one of the minders who pulled me long by the crook of my elbow. We turned down a hall, carpeted in oriental runners over slats of dark wood. Bureaus, an occasional chair, more busts on ma
rble stands, and mahogany doors at least ten feet tall peppered either side. Large gilded-framed paintings hung over the whitewashed walls above the wainscoting. A middle-aged woman, I assumed to be Mary, waited halfway down from us. She also wore nondescript black, calf-length, buttoned down shirt dress. As we drew closer, I recognized her. Andrew’s aunt from the bakery. I stopped in midstride.
The man released my elbow as she bounced a quick courtesy. “Hello, Mrs. Manning. This way.” She gave me a wink and then sharp looks, which told me I better be quiet and obey.
I shuffled barefoot behind her, clutching my towel tighter around me. When I glanced back, Charles rocked on his heels against one of the walls. My guardian-goon joined him, a pistol stock tucked inside his black jeans’ waistband. My knees wobbled at the sight, but I kept walking.
Mary opened one of the massive wooden doors to a cheery bedroom decorated with a feminine flair.
“Come in, ma’am, and get out of those wet things.”
“Thank you.” I gathered she didn’t want me to say anything else.
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
I entered the room. A mahogany four-poster bed dominated one wall, and a tufted settee perched in the crux of the tall leaded-glass bay window with diamond-shaped panes. Scooped, pink velvet drapes cascaded on either side, held back with satin ropes. The faded embroidered upholstery pattern danced with flowers in shades of pinks, blues, and greens on cream. Brass tacks followed a blue brochette, which outlined the mahogany rope-like carving along the peaked hump of the settee back and around its curled arms. Flanking it, two Queen Anne chairs in powder blue reigned. Fresh flowers in a crystal bowl sat on a doily in the center of the oval coffee table, also Queen Anne.
Legitimate Lies Page 9
