Watching Her: A Gripping Thriller Novel With A Twist

by Emmy Ellis

  “Here, let me give you my business card.” I tugged out my purse and flipped it open. I scanned the cards, wondering where my glossy Blooms, Quality Floristry for the Discerning Customer, Claudine Montague-Fostrop had gone. I frowned and ran the tip of my finger over four gold credit cards. There’d been several last time I’d looked.

  Suddenly I spotted their shimmery silver edge. They were stacked, back to front, in their little slot, that was why I hadn’t seen them.

  I drew one out then popped my purse back into my bag. “Here. If you give me a call and leave your name, then I’ll have your number and I’ll be in touch.”

  “Call you?” She appeared confused.

  “Yes. Call me, soon, with your phone so that your number comes up on mine, then I can save it. That’s my number on my card. Then we can do business. Lots of business.”

  “Lots.” She swallowed and stared at the fancy business card that had a black orchid swirling around the writing.

  “Yes. If I can I’ll organise transportation of your ixoras. We’ll pack them on sand to keep them dry and free of mould and use special nutritious gel around the base.”

  “Claudine Montague-Fostrop.” She studied the card then shook her head. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. It’s a great product. People in London are going to pay handsomely for it, and I will pass on that return to you.” I smiled. “Make sure you call me soon.”

  “I will.” She nodded eagerly. “Please, keep that one. A gift from me to you.”

  I glanced once more at the tall flower I was holding as though a delicate parasol. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Very sure. I will call, now.” She picked up her phone.

  “Good. I’m sure it will be a pleasure doing business with you.”

  I turned, a burst of satisfaction bubbling up inside me. It felt good to spread Father’s wealth around the world.

  My phone trilled, and I let it ring. I’d save her number later.

  Amongst the sea of dark faces and dreadlocks, I spotted a pale one with moon-white hair. It belonged to a man with insipid, ethereal eyes topped with silvery eyebrows, and he was staring my way. I couldn’t see his whole face, just the upper section, like the milling crowd had given him a bandit’s handkerchief to wear.

  He was fascinating, and I paused to stare unashamedly, hoping the crowd would part and I’d be able to see the rest of him and satisfy my curiosity.

  His eye contact with mine was unwavering; he didn’t appear to blink.

  My heart rate sped up. He wanted me.

  I knew it.

  With every part of me.

  Suddenly I was jostled. I gripped the flower and my bag strap, gasping as I stumbled slightly.

  “Get a move on,” someone muttered in a heavily accented, frustrated voice.

  I was cluttering up the walkway. Standing still in a tide of people who were all knocking to get around me.

  The drums picked up again; I hadn’t noticed they’d stopped. The clattering music shook my body, vibrating in my chest and echoing through the arteries in my neck.

  Staggering a few paces forward, I put my hand out, fearing I’d fall. I didn’t. Once again moving with the crowd, now through a waft of smoke coming from an old drum functioning as a fish barbeque, I looked for the ghost man.

  He was nowhere to be seen. His swift disappearance made me realise he was a pro at what he did. There one minute, gone the next. Someone I shouldn’t be toying with.

  I coughed. The fishy smoke caught in my throat. It stung my eyes. Squinting, I spotted a break in the crowd. It was too much. I wanted out. I was being crushed, disorientated. I wasn’t in control, and that worried me.

  I spun around, my bearings off their axis.

  Where was the ocean? The woman who’d given me the flower?

  The volume of the music cranked up a level, reaching an excitable crescendo. My breaths were coming fast. The sanctuary of the hotel was calling.

  It seemed so far away.

  Dampness seeped onto my palm. I’d squeezed the stem of the flower so hard I’d crushed it.

  “Claudine.”

  “What?”

  I spun to see who had spoken but only saw a large lady with an ample bosom, holding a child with a running nose. She frowned at me for stopping abruptly.

  “Sorry,” I said, trying to see past her.

  A man had spoken my name?

  But there was no one at the market I knew.

  Or was there?

  I glanced left then right. Was elbowed to the side of the pathway, up against a stall, its table sprawled with wooden jewellery. My hip bumped it, hard.

  “Oi,” the owner said, grasping a large display which was wobbling violently and shaking the beaded necklaces.

  “What? Please, I’m sorry.” God, I was going to be sick. Claustrophobia had gripped me, was strangling me, coiling in my guts.

  I remembered that strange man. His weird, unblinking eyes.

  I dragged in a breath. I had to get out of here.

  Slipping down the side of the stall and all but bouncing off one that reeked with the scent of vinegar, I emerged into a quiet spot.

  “Claudine.”

  I whirled around and came face to face with Sutton. His baseball cap was pulled low, and his usual big sunglasses reflected my scared face. The collar of his white linen shirt was turned up.

  He was scowling at me. His mouth, even visible through his beard, was set in a sharp, straight line.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, gripping my upper arms.

  I dropped the flower.

  He glared. “Have you got a bloody death wish?”

  Chapter Four

  “Look, you,” I said, not wanting Sutton to know how rattled I was. “All this following business is quite wearing, you know.”

  He ignored me, grasping my wrist and leading me away from the throng. I was pleased about that, of course I was, but annoyed that I’d needed saving. I’d allowed a silly little thing like a crowd to unnerve me—and that wasn’t my style. Perhaps, even though the ghost man had intrigued me, he’d also scared me. His stare… Eyes similar to glass, with no emotion in them. I shuddered, trotting behind Sutton as though I were a dog on a lead.

  That annoyed me, too.

  I threw Sutton’s hand off my wrist, but he grabbed it again, holding firmer this time. My skin pinched between his fingers—not an unpleasant feeling, more along the lines that I was safe while he was holding on to me. He veered towards open-air seating opposite the market and chose a spot close to an outdated, caravan-like café. The chairs were positioned so that our backs would face the rusting metal below a dirty window that clearly hadn’t been washed in a while. It had me questioning health and safety standards.

  “Sit,” he said and pushed me down into a hessian, rickety-framed chair. “And don’t bloody move.”

  The way he stared at me made me actually want to obey. Interesting. Plus, I needed to catch my breath. To get myself in order after my silly relapse. God, I’d felt as young as a child again back there. Ridiculous.

  He went to an opening at the other end of the caravan, a hatch where a couple of women in headscarves were serving. They had big smiles, and one stirred what smelt like goat stew, her movements languid. That was the thing here, people were unhurried, nothing to rush about for. Sutton chatted to them, his body side-on so he could keep an eye on the crowd, I suspected, the good bodyguard that he was. Then he came back to me, two pop cans in hand, and I cringed at the thought of drinking too much sugar. Still, I was thirsty, and it was the thought that counted.

  “Here.” He handed me a can then tossed a wet wipe inside a foil wrapper onto the table. “Clean the rim.” He sat beside me, hunching forward, a predator ready to spring.

  “Worried about hygiene now, are you?” I wiped the can, my heart rate finally dropping.

  “And other stuff. People kill in the most unusual ways.”

  I stopped cleaning to stare at him. The reality of what he’d
said prodded at my nerves. Was he a real spy then? Someone who dealt with truly awful things? My quip about James Bond earlier didn’t seem so funny now. Then again, maybe Sutton was just playing at being a spy. Perhaps he wanted me to think he was more daring than he was.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, finishing off with the wet wipe then opening the can. Much as I hated to admit it, the drink was glorious.

  He tutted. “That can could have poison on the rim.”

  “Well, that’s okay, because I hadn’t planned on licking the rim. Though, of course, if you’re into that kind of thing…”

  He sighed, giving me a bold glare from beneath lowered eyebrows. “I’ve told you before—stop it with the innuendoes. They’re not amusing in situations like this.”

  “I do beg your pardon,” I said in an attempt to sound contrite. “So what’s a hunky man like you doing in a place like this?”

  His eyebrows went even lower, so I was in no doubt he didn’t find that amusing either. Wonderful. I’d been saddled with a stick-in-the-mud. Sexy, but still a stick-in-the-mud.

  “You know why I’m here,” he said. “But if you need reminding, I’m here because you absconded—”

  “Absconded!” A peal of laughter rippled out before I could stop it. “I’m a free woman, so absconded is not the right word. I changed my mind, that’s what I did. I decided I didn’t want to search through my bag with you. I wanted to visit the market, to be on my own. Is that against the law?”

  “Your father’s law, yes.”

  “Sod his law. He doesn’t rule me.”

  A flicker of something I couldn’t define scudded across his eyes. Was he hiding information? I was sure of it, but then again, was I just being paranoid? And the question was, did I want to know what secrets were hanging about in his mind? What he knew about my father that I didn’t?

  “Listen.” I poked him in the chest while he studied the people sitting outside the café. “Either you give a description of who’s following me, or I’m going back to the hotel complex. If I don’t know who I’m meant to save myself from, how do you expect me to survive in this suddenly suspicious location?” I was being flippant, but really… Maybe he wanted me to fall at his feet, grateful he’d come to my rescue, but if Father had told him what type of person I was, Sutton couldn’t expect any other reaction.

  “This is all one big joke to you, isn’t it?” He cast his gaze farther afield, to those people milling past stalls or browsing the goods.

  “Life is a joke.” I hadn’t meant to let that come out, but it had, so now I had to deal with the consequences, if there were any.

  He frowned hard, not looking my way. “What do you mean?” He’d sounded distracted, as though he wasn’t interested in my response.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said.

  I sipped my drink. A thin woman at a fruit stall raised her hands in what appeared to be anger. Multiple bracelets slid from her wrists to just below her elbows, and her mouth worked, her teeth bared, venom in her eyes. The stall owner shook his head, and the woman jerked her fist then walked away. Someone else was also having a bad day then.

  “It matters to me.” He gave me his attention, although it didn’t seem totally on me.

  “It matters to you because it means keeping your job.”

  “There is that.” He glanced away, back to the market. “But I’m not in the habit of allowing a woman to be…used in games.”

  “Games? Ha! Surely you realise my father does nothing but play games.”

  “If they’re games, they’re damn dangerous.”

  Well, that hadn’t sounded too good. His tone had been ominous, and his words made me uncomfortable. I’d prided myself in knowing all the facts about the man who had raised me—and that had been challenged now—and this man, this spy, had me questioning what I did know about my father. What games did he play that I wasn’t aware of? And did I even want to know?

  “I see.” I twisted the pop can around for three rotations then crossed my legs. My sarong got caught up between them, and the fabric pulled down. Normally that wasn’t a bad thing, but, unusual for me, I tugged it back up again. Being exposed at the moment seemed wrong. “You know, this is all utter rubbish.” Anger stewed inside me. I didn’t like these feelings—and I especially hadn’t liked the ones when I’d been jostled by all those people.

  “If only it was,” he said, again with the ominous tone.

  “Listen, if you have something to say, please do just say it. I’ve lived a lifetime with a game-player, and I’m bored of it. Either be open and honest or bugger off.”

  “We can’t talk here.” He finally opened his can then took a long drink. “Not when you have your bag with you.” He nodded at it, where it sat innocently on the floor by my feet.

  “Oh, we’re back to that again, are we? Something was slipped in my bag by a man you’ve yet to tell me about in detail. You know, what he looks like, so I can avoid him.”

  He shifted so his mouth was beside my ear. “Have you ever seen an Albino?” he whispered.

  My body went cold. Goosebumps rattled over my skin despite the heat, and I was clammy. I felt sick and automatically placed a hand to my chest. The damsel in distress. I lowered it immediately. “Why?”

  “Just answer me.” His breath warmed my neck, and it smelt of lemon soda.

  “I don’t have to answer anything.” Why was I stalling?

  “You saw him, didn’t you?” He paused. “And he saw you’d spotted him.”

  I nodded. “And?”

  “He’s the one.” His voice was low. Frightening.

  “Lovely.” I smiled as though what he’d told me was of no consequence. “But at least I’m forewarned now. Thank you for the information. At last.” I was brisk and business-like, refusing to show him any vulnerability. I’d be leaving this place soon, anyway, off to another destination, and if I could give the Albino the slip, all the better.

  “We should return to the hotel, Claudine. I can’t check your bag here. He’s watching.”

  “What?” I blurted, my heart racing. I scanned the crowd but couldn’t see him for the life of me. After picking up my bag, I stood. “Then I’m going. I won’t be a sitting target for a strange man who’s tailing me for whatever reason. And don’t follow me. I’m not interested in having your help.”

  “Don’t be crazy, Claudine. You need protecting.” He stood, too, held his palms up.

  “Listen here.” I waggled my finger at him. “I’m perfectly capable of watching out for myself. Always have done and always will do. And if you follow me now, I’ll scream that I’m being attacked, by you, so the whole bloody market will turn into chaos.”

  I strutted off, anxious, because in order to get back on the path to the hotel I’d have to go through the market again. Sutton was getting on my last nerve talking about bugs in my bag and being followed. Maybe I did need his protection, but right now I’d had enough of the sight of him.

  I entered the crowd where it had thinned and I could see everyone around me. The Albino was nowhere in sight, so I pushed through into a thicker section, shunted around somewhat, but nothing like before. I went on tiptoes. The path was ahead, so I surged forward, intent on getting through the hotel’s wrought-iron gates and breathing a sigh of relief. My time here had been so pleasant until Sutton had told me his little story. I could brain him for ruining it.

  Someone trod on the back of my sarong, and I stumbled then stopped. I twisted to give them what for, but whoever it had been had moved on. The release of the fabric sent me pinging forward, and I slammed into the backs of two tourist men, my cheek sticking to the sweaty bare skin of one. I expected them to rear up on me, but they faced me, smiling.

  “You all right there?” one asked.

  British. Dark-haired.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Someone stood on my sarong.”

  “I can see that.” He lowered his gaze to my chest.

  “Oh dear.” I covered myself once again, confused as to
why I was blushing. Since when had I been embarrassed about flashing? It was this Albino business, that was what it was. It had thrown me off kilter. Bloody Sutton and his conspiracy theories.

  “Need us to see you to your hotel?” he asked.

  Three hours ago I would’ve been the one asking him to walk me back. I’d have made it quite clear what was on offer as his reward. Now, I just wanted to be alone in my air-conditioned room, where I could take a shower and wash the grime of this market—this situation—off of me. The Albino’s stare had dirtied me somehow, leaving a sheen of filth on my skin that needed scrubbing away.

  “No, thank you. Kind of you to ask, though.” I smiled then moved on, shoving through the crowd in a most unladylike manner, one that would horrify Father. But he wasn’t here to see it. Then again, if Sutton was doing his job, he’d be right behind me and could report my actions to Father later. Surely just me telling him to back off wouldn’t actually get rid of him.

  At last the dusty track that ran parallel to the coastline was in front of me, the market and all the people in it behind.

  The path was empty, so I picked up my pace, registering the sound of footsteps following. Sutton’s heavy tread, of that I had no doubt. I felt a little less susceptible to danger now, knowing he was there, and grudgingly admitted that my father had done a decent thing in asking him to tag along on my travels. I thought of the Albino and why he’d decided to join the end of the follow-Claudine queue. What did Sutton know about him that he wasn’t telling me?

  “This is ridiculous,” I muttered. I delved into my bag. I’d call Father. Get the facts once and for all. My heart rate picked up. I hadn’t spoken to him in ages. Calls were never friendly and chatty. We were more about the facts with a few of his sighs of disappointment thrown in for good measure.

  “Bugger.” My phone was out of battery. I dropped it back into my bag.

  Sutton’s footsteps changed, faster now. I turned my head, thinking that it wasn’t his fault he’d been paid to do this. I should stop giving him a hard time. I opened my mouth, ready to apologise, willing to walk beside him instead of stubbornly waltzing off ahead. But Sutton wasn’t behind me.