Nine

If I had deliberately wanted to flush out the people following us, and eventually lose them, I would never have thought of renting a car at a suburban shop.  I had to wonder what James Bond would have done in similar circumstances.

But it worked.

Driving out of the carpark onto the main street, it wasn’t difficult to see several people caught unawares.  And on their cell phones making calls.

And it was Emily’s last-minute brainwave to cover the car’s registration plates so if they were to take a photo, they would not be able to track it.  Well, not straight away.  It was she who said London had a lot of CCTV cameras, but on the way to the carpark, she had checked out where they were, those that she could readily identify, and we could avoid.

Something I learned about Emily that I didn’t know; she was a computer nerd, and a hacker of sorts, not one of those dark web experts, but she knew enough to dig around in places most people wouldn’t go looking.

That skill might just come in useful.

And, for a few minutes, maybe an hour, we revelled in the thought we may have outwitted them, whoever ‘them’ was.

It was late afternoon when we finally found a hotel with a carpark, a long way from Cecile’s flat in Earl’s Court, and on the other side of the Greater London region in Mile End Road, not very far from the Stepney Green underground station, the result of Emily searching the web for a hotel with a carpark, and near public transport.

She also had our luggage delivered from the airport a little less than two hours from the moment she made the call.  I think I may have remarked that I might just employ her as my travel agent when I started my European odyssey, but she had fallen asleep, way past exhausted.

I wasn’t far behind her.  We had a long day tomorrow, if today was anything to go by.

I woke to the smell of coffee and that more interesting aroma of burnt toast.

There were shopping bags on the table, and it looked as though Emily had been up and around for a while.

I looked at my watch, it was not much past seven, and not an hour I found myself up back home.  I had an apartment in the city, and it was a ten-minute walk to the office, so early rising was not a necessity.  My parents lived in the suburbs, and more than an hour by public transport, and two by car.  It was the reason I moved.  I didn’t want to spend quarter of my life travelling to and from work.

Of course, London was so much larger than where I came from, and definitely not a place I would want to live, or work, despite the advantages that Cecile had tried to impress upon me.  And don’t get me get started on driving around London.  Yesterday had been harrowing, and left me, at times, shaken.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Emily put a coffee plunger on the table, two cups, a plate of toast, bowls, and the cereal that was my favourite, though how she knew was anyone’s guess.

“You’ve been busy.”

“I like to get some exercise every morning, so I combined it with a shopping expedition

I had not attended this type of domesticity in a long time, at least not since I left home.  I had grown accustomed to being on my own, and that might have contributed to Cecile and I drifting apart.  It probably also had a lot to do with my awkwardness with girls, and rather than try to get over it, I just avoided them.

But, somehow, Emily was different, perhaps because she was younger and hadn’t been blunted by the vicissitudes of life.  She had finished school, and as far as I was aware, didn’t have a real job, preferring to spend her time pottering in her father’s office.

I had thought, much like in an 18th century romance novel, she was waiting for the right man to marry, but there were not too many of those running around these days.

Something else I just realised; how well I seemed to like being at ease in her company, much more so than when I was with Cecile, always on my guard not to say or do the wrong thing.

“I find going to a grocery store a trial, which is why I eat out a lot.”

She shook her head.  “You’re just lazy, like everyone else your age.  Convenience over practicality.  And you should think about doing some exercise.”

I could feel the eyes of the appraiser upon me and shivered.  It was good that I could not read her thoughts, but if I could, perhaps some might be considering those extra pounds that had found their way onto my frame after I stopped playing tennis and squash.

“I promise I’ll think about it.”

“Better still, I don’t think it’s all that safe to be jogging the streets in this neighbourhood early in the morning, so you can come with me as my protector.”

She saw my look of disdain, or was it the thought of having to exercise.

“Cheer up, I don’t go very fast.”

The sound of the phone vibrating on the table interrupted that thought, and conversation.

It was a private number, so I assumed it was the man from the day before.

“Yes?”

“Trafalgar Square, by the column, 12:30 pm today.”

It was the man’s voice.

“We’ll see you there.”

The call was disconnected.  Short and to the point.

“We have a lunch date.”

Before I could reach out to pick up my cup of coffee, the phone rang again.

Also a private number, I assumed it was the man ringing back with a change of plans.

“Yes?”

“We need to talk.”

A woman’s voice this time, not one that was familiar.

“About what?”  I was surprised, and didn’t have time to work on a better comeback.

“Your Cecile.  She is over her head.”

Aside from stating the obvious, who was this woman, how did she know about Cecile, and more important, how did she know my cell number?

“Who the hell are you?”

“The London end of the team that recruited her.  Time is of the essence, so we’ll come to you.  We’ll be there in half an hour.”

That line went dead before I could ask another pertinent question, how did she know where we were?

“Who was that?”  Emily had been oblivious to the turmoil I was feeling.

“Someone else who wants to talk about Cecile.”

“Who?”

“No idea, but the word reruited popped up, whatever that might mean.”

“Here?  No one knows we’re here.”

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps we should leave, like, right now.”

“No.  I have a feeling that we might find out what Cecile is up to.”

And, in the back of my mind, several small, associated details clicked into place.  At the time they didn’t make any sense, but now, in a bigger context, and given the circumstances, I think I knew now why she had come.

And, more importantly, I realised she had been dropping breadcrumbs for me to follow long before she had left.

…

©  Charles Heath 2024

Eight

So, not to sound like I was a snotty loser, when Cecile had first told me about Jake, the man I assumed was her new boyfriend, I said he was too good to be true.

He’d been sent to Australia to work in a branch of his father’s company as a learning experience on the way to bigger and better things.  He was just the sort of man she thought she wanted, not the slow and steady wins the race type, but someone who would, and literally did, sweep her off her feet.

Our last conversation, when she told me I was not the man of her dreams, she didn’t exactly identify him, but I knew who she was talking about.  She had fobbed me off several times, so I followed her and lo and behold, there was the man himself.

All she had to do was tell me we were done, but she didn’t, and exactly why she hadn’t remained a mystery.

That he had led her down a very dangerous path, well, I might have carried a grudge, but we had been together since childhood, and my feelings for her were not easily extinguished, not to the point I would take her back, but I would find her, and save her if she wanted to be saved.  After that, I would be the tourist for a while before going home.

Or if I got the travel bug, tour Europe for a while.

From the moment I’d told Emily about our separation, she had gone quiet.  Had she known about it?  If she knew that we were no longer together, why did she think I would come with her on this mission?  Get us back together?  We were going to have to talk about this, and the fact Cecile and I were done, and sooner rather than later, in case she got the wrong idea.

I was not the knight in shining armour, not anymore.

As for this Jake character, just who the hell was her.  If he was not who he said he was, and his parents were bot the people she was expecting, was he just some cheap imposter, after he money.  Her parents were wealthy, yes, but not overly so, and certainly not the sort who could pay a hefty ransom.

All of this would make sense if he was a conman.  And if that was the case, perhaps the man in the pin stripe suit was his accomplice.  I would call him soon once we were resettled in another hotel.

In the meantime, we had to make sure we were not being followed.

After spending an hour confusing even ourselves where we were, we stopped at a café.  Coffee and a rest, along with a consultation with the map, and an internet search of small hotels, on the other side of town, one that required a few changes of train and/or bus.

We had said little except to agree or disagree which way to go, until now.  I could see that revelation about Cecile and her new boyfriend had struck her, and I began to believe that Cecile had neither told her, or told anyone else about Jake.

That made sense too, if he didn’t want her to tell anyone ‘Just yet’, until they got home.  For a girl with so much common sense, how could she have been so easily led astray?

After the coffee and a cake was delivered to the table, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“Dragging you here on this odyssey.  If I’d known you two had split up, I would not have been so insensitive.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought she had.”

“Do you know who this Jake is?”

“Only saw him once, and he was devilishly handsome.  Adonis would have had trouble competing with him.”

Did that sound like sour grapes?  Probably.  The first time I saw him, I knew I had no chance.

“That’s not her type.”

“Apparently it is now.”

She took a moment, eyed the cake, and mentally calculated the number of calories it contained, in exactly the manner he elder sister did, then asked, “Why did you come?”

“I still care about her, and what happens to her.”

“Even after she dumped you?”

I had forgotten Emily could be quite blunt sometimes, and now that she had learned of our split, she wasn’t taking it well.  That may have had something to do with the fact she took the credit for us getting together, all those years ago, when I might add, she was about five.

I’d been part of the furniture for almost all of her life, so I guess it was hard to take.

“Well, when we find her, I’m going to give her a very stern bollocking.”

If, and/or when, we found her. 

We still had to find a new hotel, get our luggage from the airport, Figure how to find our way to Jakes last known address, and make a call to a man called Sid Jackson, though he didn’t look like a Sid to me.

An idea occurred to me, and rather than having to rely on public transport, not that in London it wasn’t far better than anything we had at home, I remembered seeing a rent-a-car place not too far back.  A car might just be the thing, and in one respect, just the move they might not be expecting.

Something else had just occurred to me too.  Why had Cecile left this trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow, when she had made it quite clear she didn’t want to be with me anymore?

I guess it was a question I’d have to ask when we finally found her.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

Seven

If I had deliberately wanted to flush out the people following us, and eventually lose them, I would never have thought of renting a car at a suburban shop.  I had to wonder what James Bond would have done in similar circumstances.

But it worked.

Driving out of the carpark onto the main street, it wasn’t difficult to see several people caught unawares.  And on their cell phones making calls.

And it was Emily’s last-minute brainwave to cover the car’s registration plates so if they were to take a photo, they would not be able to track it.  Well, not straight away.  It was she who said London had a lot of CCTV cameras, but on the way to the carpark, she had checked out where they were, those that she could readily identify, and we could avoid.

Something I learned about Emily that I didn’t know; she was a computer nerd, and a hacker of sorts, not one of those dark web experts, but she knew enough to dig around in places most people wouldn’t go looking.

That skill might just come in useful.

And, for a few minutes, maybe an hour, we revelled in the thought we may have outwitted them, whoever ‘them’ was.

It was late afternoon when we finally found a hotel with a carpark, a long way from Cecile’s flat in Earl’s Court, and on the other side of the Greater London region in Mile End Road, not very far from Stepney Green underground station, the result of Emily searching the web for a hotel with a carpark, and near public transport.

She also had our luggage delivered from the airport a little less than two hours from the moment she made the call.  I think I may have remarked that I might just employ her as my travel agent when I started my European odyssey, but she had fallen asleep, way past exhausted.

I wasn’t far behind her.  We had a long day tomorrow if today was anything to go by.

I woke to the smell of coffee and that more interesting aroma of burnt toast.

There were shopping bags on the table, and it looked as though Emily had been up and around for a while.

I looked at my watch, it was not much past seven, and not an hour I found myself up back home.  I had an apartment in the city, and it was a ten-minute walk to the office, so early rising was not a necessity.  My parents lived in the suburbs, and more than an hour by public transport, and two by car.  It was the reason I moved.  I didn’t want to spend a quarter of my life travelling to and from work.

Of course, London was so much larger than where I came from, and definitely not a place I would want to live, or work, despite the advantages that Cecile had tried to impress upon me.  And don’t get me get started on driving around London.  Yesterday had been harrowing, and left me, at times, shaken.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Emily put a coffee plunger on the table, two cups, a plate of toast, bowls, and the cereal that was my favourite, though how she knew was anyone’s guess.

“You’ve been busy.”

“I like to get some exercise every morning, so I combined it with a shopping expedition

I had not attended this type of domesticity in a long time, at least not since I left home.  I had grown accustomed to being on my own, and that might have contributed to Cecile and I drifting apart.  It probably also had a lot to do with my awkwardness with girls, and rather than try to get over it, I just avoided them.

But, somehow, Emily was different, perhaps because she was younger and hadn’t been blunted by the vicissitudes of life.  She had finished school, and as far as I was aware, didn’t have a real job, preferring to spend her time pottering in her father’s office.

I had thought, much like in an 18^th century romance novel, she was waiting for the right man to marry, but there were not too many of those running around these days.

Something else I just realised; how well I seemed to like being at ease in her company, much more so than when I was with Cecile, always on my guard not to say or do the wrong thing.

“I find going to a grocery store a trial, which is why I eat out a lot.”

She shook her head.  “You’re just lazy, like everyone else your age.  Convenience over practicality.  And you should think about doing some exercise.”

I could feel the eyes of the appraiser upon me and shivered.  It was good that I could not read her thoughts, but if I could, perhaps some might be considering those extra pounds that had found their way onto my frame after I stopped playing tennis and squash.

“I promise I’ll think about it.”

“Better still, I don’t think it’s all that safe to be jogging the streets in this neighbourhood early in the morning, so you can come with me as my protector.”

She saw my look of disdain, or was it the thought of having to exercise.

“Cheer up, I don’t go very fast.”

The sound of the phone vibrating on the table interrupted that thought, and conversation.

It was a private number, so I assumed it was the man from the day before.

“Yes?”

“Trafalgar Square, by the column, 12:30 pm today.”

It was the man’s voice.

“We’ll see you there.”

The call was disconnected.  Short and to the point.

“We have a lunch date.”

Before I could reach out to pick up my cup of coffee, the phone rang again.

Also a private number, I assumed it was the man ringing back with a change of plans.

“Yes?”

“We need to talk.”

A woman’s voice this time, not one that was familiar.

“About what?”  I was surprised and didn’t have time to work on a better comeback.

“Your Cecile.  She is over her head.”

Aside from stating the obvious, who was this woman, how did she know about Cecile, and more importantly, how did she know my cell number?

“Who the hell are you?”

“The London end of the team that recruited her.  Time is of the essence, so we’ll come to you.  We’ll be there in half an hour.”

That line went dead before I could ask another pertinent question, how did she know where we were?

“Who was that?”  Emily had been oblivious to the turmoil I was feeling.

“Someone else who wants to talk about Cecile.”

“Who?”

“No idea, but the word reruited popped up, whatever that might mean.”

“Here?  No one knows we’re here.”

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps we should leave, like, right now.”

“No.  I have a feeling that we might find out what Cecile is up to.”

And, in the back of my mind, several small, associated details clicked into place.  At the time they didn’t make any sense, but now, in a bigger context, and given the circumstances, I think I knew now why she had come.

And, more importantly, I realised she had been dropping breadcrumbs for me to follow long before she had left.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

Six

I was about to tell Emily not to open the door but for some reason, I simply stood there unable to do anything.  It was not shock or fear, but a hesitation.

Emily looked at me, perhaps for approval, then looked through the peephole in the door.

“Who is it,” I asked, finally finding a voice.

“I can’t see him clearly but it looks like the man in the pin-striped suit, that chap who got in the elevator with us.”

Why wasn’t I surprised.

“What should I do?” she asked when I hadn’t said anything.

I was not sure what to think, but from first appearances, he didn’t look like an assassin, or very dangerous, but what did I know about assassins?  Or dangerous people?  “Let me answer the door.  You stand just out of sight until we find out his intentions.”

“You don’t think…”

“I’m trying not to think right now, but please, just stand out of sight of the door, and have your phone set to call emergency, just in case.”

Another knock on the door, not impatient but nonetheless insistent, motivated her to do as I’d asked, and I took her place at the door.  When she was in place, I took a deep breath, exhaled, and then opened the door.

It was, indeed, the man from the elevator.  I decided attack was the best form of defence.  “You were in the elevator.  Give me one reason why you couldn’t speak to us then?”  It came out exactly as I’d intended, a harsh tone from someone who was annoyed.

“Forgive me, but I wasn’t sure that I had the right person.” A placatory tone.

“How did you know what room to come to?”  He hadn’t followed us, or at least I didn’t think so, but he could have discreetly kept an eye on us.

“I was told you would be here.”

“By whom?”  The only person who knew we would be here was Cecile, though she could not know when.

“Your friend said you would be here.”

“Which friend?”

I could see that he was now getting impatient, his expression changing from genial to annoyance. 

“We should not be discussing this in the hotel corridor.”

“Perhaps not, but I don’t trust you, and until you tell me what this is about, the hotel corridor is where you’re staying.  I’ll ask again, which friend?”

“Cecile Battersby of course.”

Right name, but it could still be a bluff.  Her name would be in the hotel computer system, information that could be bought by a clever adversary.

“Describe her.”

“Alas, I have not met her.  I have been sent as an intermediary.  This is a rather delicate matter, and not one that I wish to discuss in the hotel corridor.”

“Then I suggest you call me when you are in the open in plain view with other people place, but it will not be here, in this room until I’m satisfied I can trust you.”

I could tell by his expression it was not the answer he was looking for.

He took out his cell phone.  “I assure you, you are in no danger from me, but if you insist.”

I gave him my number and he put it into his phone.

“You will be hearing from me soon.  Let’s hope she does not suffer because of this.”

With that cryptic remark, he left, and I closed the door.

“What do you think he meant by saying she might suffer?  Suffer what?”

“It’s just a means to try and scare us into doing something we might regret.  We have no idea who he was, or what he wanted, and I was certainly not going to let him into the room.  I’m sure we’ll soon find out.”

He might have been a public servant.  Don’t they wear pin-striped suits and carry umbrellas?

A stereotype, I thought, that everyone had of the British, but this one was lacking the third element, a bowler hat.

“Let’s wait and see.  But, in the meantime, since whoever he represents knows where we are, let’s get out of here, just in case.”

Her face registered the exact same fear level I was feeling. 

Once again, I found myself asking the impossible question, what had she got herself mixed up in?

I looked through the peep hole and saw that our section of the passage was clear.  I was taking a gamble that he’d left, and if the coast was clear, we would be leaving via the fire escape, just in case he had the elevators monitored.

I opened the door and looked up and down the corridor.  Clear.

To Emily, I said, “Let’s go.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

Five

Five minutes, and a backlog of customers, a new clerk, her name tag ‘Betty’, arrived and began processing the others.  I could see behind me, the Concierge pick up the phone and while listening, he was looking directly at me.

When he hung up, he disappeared into a back room, and when he returned there was another man with him, one that looked like a plain clothes detective, and as they were talking, they were looking at us.

Two suspicious people turn up with no luggage.  It was still at the airport, I’d intended to have it delivered to Cecile’s flat, but it was clear we would not be able to stay there.  Should I go over and ask him to arrange for its delivery?

I was about to go over to him when Wendy reappeared with an envelope in her hand.

She passed it across the counter.  “This was left for you two days ago.  We also have a reservation in your name.  I assume you are here to check-in?”

I looked at Emily and she nodded.

I turned back to Wendy.  “Yes.” 

Knowing how check-in worked and having to prepay for the room, I was pulling out my credit card to pay, hoping it wasn’t going to cost a small fortune.

Wendy saw me, and said, “The room has been paid for a week, sir.  It’s next to your friend’s room.”  I saw her process two keys, and then handed them to me.  “I trust you will enjoy your stay.”

I put the envelope in my pocket, and we crossed to the elevator lobby.

While we were waiting for the elevator, Emily said, “She was anticipating your arrival.”

“More likely hoping I would come.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your sister and I had a falling out before she left to come here.  We were supposed to get through the internship at the company before making a decision of what would happen next.  I had thought we might get married, but she didn’t quite want what I thought we both wanted.  It’s basically the reason why she came here.  It’s also the reason she found someone else, I suspect.  I refused to come over and join her.”

“When was this?”

“Three months ago.  I’m sorry but I didn’t tell anyone.  I was still coming to grips with having my hopes dashed.”

The lift doors opened in front of us, and three people stepped out, one of who gave me what I thought was a curious look.  The elevator empty we stepped in and I pressed the floor button.  The doors almost closed when an umbrella end was thrust in, causing the doors to reopen.  A man in a pinstripe suit and bowler hat stepped in.

“Sorry, thought it was empty.”

The doors closed.  He didn’t press any button so I assumed he was going up to the same floor as us.  He had what looked to be a key in his hand, so was another guest.

It didn’t stop my imagination working overtime.  I gave Emily the ‘don’t talk’ look hoping she understood what I meant.

The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors rattled open.  The man with the umbrella dashed out and turned left, striding purposefully up the passage.  We stepped out and checked to see which way the room was.  The opposite direction, thankfully.

Emily didn’t say another word, but for the length of the passage, until we reached the room, she looked over her shoulder several times, perhaps looking for the man in the pin-striped suit.

I used the key to open the door, ushered Emily in, and then looked up and down the passage to see if anyone was about, then stepped in and let the door close.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“Did it strike you as odd that he waits until the last second to get in the elevator?”

“Probably a man in a hurry.  Are you going to be suspicious of everyone?”

“Until I know what’s going on, yes.”

There was nothing in the room.  Smallish, twin beds, an expensive mini bar, and towels and toiletries for two.  And it was quite warm.  Like most old places, the warmth came from a hot water radiator underneath a fading painting of rural England.

Everything looked as though it was as old as the hotel itself.  I thought I could detect the aroma of metal and wood polish.

I pulled the envelope out of my pocket and sat on the end of the bed.  On the front, it said ‘to be hand-delivered to [name]’ in Cecile’s writing.  Clue number two in what was beginning to look like a treasure hunt.

“James,

Well, if you’re reading this, it means matters have gone from bad to worse, not that I thought they could.  Enclosed is a card with Jake’s last known address on it.  I had a choice of two and went to the other.  I suggest you start there and find Jake.  He will know where I am.

Cee”

Emily looked at me.  She had read the note over my shoulder.  “Seems we have a mission, shall we go?”

It was that precise moment there was a knock on the door.  Not a friendly knock from room service or housekeeping, a knock that had trouble behind it.

I looked around the room, not sure why I was doing it, because there was no escape hatch, nor would we be going out the window.

As my eyes returned to the door, Emily was already there, hand on the handle.  It was too late to say no.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

Four

I’d been to London before, mot with Cecile but my parents on an end of school graduation present.  My father had called it a mission to see how the other half live, and why, in his opinion our country didn’t need a Queen to be our head of state.

A Republican, not a royalist.  But it had done little to change my opinion, simply because it didn’t matter to me who ran the country, all positions of any colour were equally as useless.

But I remembered the trek over London, seeing the horse guards, number 10 downing street, the houses of parliament, Westminster Abbey and Buckingham palace.  A whirlwind of ancient buildings that had been in existence long before our country had been discovered.

A little of that sense of awe I had then came back when passing by Trafalgar square and heading down Whitehall as far as Whitehall place.

If we were not on a mission, I would have liked to spend more time exploring because the last time had been so quick and disjointed.  My father had not been one for being a tourist.  Neither, apparently, was Emily.

In sight of the hotel, I felt a shiver go down my spine, either a sign of the cold weather or there was something wrong.

I stopped suddenly and turned.  Emily nearly crashed into me, eliciting a grunt between disapproval and annoyance.  “What is the matter with you?”

She turned also to see what had caught my interest.  She was too late, but I hadn’t.  Two people, what looked to be a man and a woman, had almost managed to blend into the background, but not before I caught a glimpse of them.

They were familiar in the sense that I could swear I’d already seen them before, way back at Trafalgar square trying to act like tourists, which was what caught my attention.

“There’s nothing there, you’re jumping at shadows.”

I still kept an eye on that direction, waiting to see if they showed themselves.  They didn’t, but that didn’t mean they were not there.  And if they were following is, I was leading them to the hotel where if we discovered nothing, they no doubt had the resources that could.

Better I didn’t lead them there.

“Believe it or not, there’s two people following us and I’m not going to lead them to the hotel.  We are going past it and onto the gardens, then along the riverside to the Houses of Parliament if we have to, to lose them.”.

It took a combination of the cold weather and luck to shake off the people following us.

In fact, by the time I realized they were no longer there, I had begun to believe it was just a case of nerves and imagination.

We’d walked quite a distance up the Embankment, almost to Westminster Abbey before coming back down Whitehall.  Even with snow lightly falling, there were the intrepid tourists vying to get their photos taken with the Horseguards standing in guard duty.

It was not a job I could do in all sorts of weather, but standing still on a day that is cold, snowing, or worse raining, would be debilitating, if not impossible.

Emily had not said very much while we dodged and weaved, and, to her, it must have seemed comical.  And after I said I thought we were in the clear she said, “Are you sure you’re not suffering from an overactive imagination?”

At that moment, in the middle of Whitehall with the snow coming down, her comment seemed valid.  “That’s quite likely, but I honestly thought I saw someone, possibly two people more than once.”

“There’s a lot of people out and about, so seeing them more than once doesn’t necessarily mean they’re following us.”

True, but it was better to be safe than sorry.  And I had a very bad feeling we were going to run into them again.  Whatever Cecile had done, it had to be serious if she was trying this hard not to be found.

It didn’t take long, after walking a brisk pace in the cold, spurred on by the fact the snow was falling more densely, and it was getting harder to see anything through the white shroud before we reached the hotel again.  I checked again, waiting a minute or two, just to make sure we’d got away from them before escorting Emily through the door.

Once inside, after shaking off the snow, it was considerably warmer.  I notice then my hands had begun to freeze, and stepping back into warmth cause a tingling sensation through them.  Another hour and they’d be iceblocks.

We took off our coats and went over to the reception counter.

The check-in clerk with the name tag ‘Wendy’, hung up the phone, the call she was on completed, then turned her attention to us.

“How may I help you?”

“I’m hoping you have a guest here named Cecile Robinson.  She would have checked in four days ago.  My name is James Bentley and she was expecting me.”

Wendy typed the name into the computer.  It took about a minute before her expression changed, possibly indicating she’d found something.

“I’ll be just a moment.”

Without waiting for my response as she went through a door almost behind her, onto an office of sorts.  I could see two people in there just before the door closed.

The reception desk manager, or security.

I just hoped she wasn’t calling the police.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

Three

It was dark, the curtains had been closed, but even in that light, we could see the flat was a mess.

Emily went in first, then I followed.  She switched on the light, and that mess we had seen, was the product of one or more people systematically searching and basically trashing the place.

Emily was shocked, muttering, “What the hell happened here?”  She then went to look at the other rooms.

I made a closer inspection of the room.  None of the furniture, some moved, some overturned, showed signs of there being a fight, as there was no blood anywhere.  If she had left before this, even after it, she had not been physically assaulted enough to cause bleeding.

I was not sure if that was a consolation.

Emily returned.  “Just as bad everywhere else.  I need to call the police.  Dad gave me a number to call.”  She pulled out her mobile phone, and then searched for the note with the number, going into the other room.

That was the moment there was a knock on the door.  It wouldn’t be Cecile knocking on her own door, but hopefully someone who knew her.

I opened the door to see a middle-aged woman who looked like she had rushed to get there.  Her face was flushed, and her breathing was heavy.  And there was a flustered air about her.

Before I could get a word in, she asked, “Are you James Bentley?”

How could she possibly know who I was?  I nodded.

“Then this is for you.”  She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a letter-size envelope and held it out.

“Did you know her?”  It was possible she might be able to help us finding her.

“No.  Two days ago, she pounded on my door and gave me that letter and said a man of your description would arrive within three days.  Here you are, and here it is.”  She shoved the envelope in my hand.  “That’s all I know, don’t bother me again.”

With that she was gone, apparently from a downstairs flat judging by the sound of her feet on the stairwell steps.  I closed the door.

“Who was that?” Emily asked, coming back from the other room, phone call finished.

“A woman with a letter from Cecile.”  I held it up.

“Did she have anything else to say?”

“Just that giving me the letter was the extent of her involvement.  I’m guessing by her manner; she was scared doing even that.  It just reinforces the notion that Cecile is probably in serious trouble.  What did the policeman have to say?”

“He’s sending a couple of detectives to look into the matter, and that we shouldn’t touch anything.  You should read the letter.”

I opened the envelope and took out a single page.  It had been haphazardly folded in haste then straightened out again, and the writing that I could see was hers and had been written in haste.  The paper had been ripped crookedly off a pad.  I looked around the room and saw the pad on the floor, near the table where the phone had sat.

I picked it up off the floor and kept it to one side, thinking it might have something useful hidden on the top page running a pencil over the paper to see if there was writing on the previous page, a trick I’d learned from watching TV.

Emily was waiting impatiently for me to read the letter, and I could see her restraining herself from snatching it out of my hand.

It said, and reading it out aloud for Emily,

Jimmy,

If you are reading this then it’s the worst possible scenario.

I began to suspect Jake was not what he seemed to be about a month ago, and then, one night, he came home, bleeding from a bullet wound.  He said it was not serious and refused to go to a hospital.

He left two days later and didn’t come back.

I then went looking for him, only to discover he didn’t work where he said he did, his parents were not who he said they were, and none of his friends didn’t really know anything about him.

Two days after he went missing, some men came to the door and told me, quite emphatically, to stop asking questions.

Or else.

After they left, I wrote this and gave it to Mrs Williams with specific instructions to give it to you when you came to the flat, in case something happened to me.

Since you’re reading this, it has.

I will be packing an overnight bag and going to the hotel you and I once said we would stay at if we ever came to London.  I will leave another note there if I’m able.  Just ask at the front desk first.

I will try to send a text if and when I can.

Cee

So, text sent, it was a serious situation.  And, I noted, she had called me Jimmy, knowing how much I hated being called that.

Emily fired the first question, “What the name of this hotel?”

“We will be going there, right after we deal with the police when they arrive.”

“We have to go now, while the trail is still hot.”

The trail was anything but hot.  This mess looked to me like it had been here for a few days, or more.

“Patience.  The fact she texted us tells me that she will not be at the hotel, and there might not be another letter waiting.  And, if there is, it’s not likely to help us much, unless she gives us the name and details of this Jake character.  Perhaps the police might know something about him.  Whatever the case may be, we will have to report her as missing.”

“Might that be wise in the circumstances?”

Were there circumstances I missed, or did Emily know something I didn’t.  After all, she had insisted, before I got the text message that we should go to Cecile’s flat and check if she was there.

“What did I miss?”

“She is trying to tell us the fewer people who know about this the better.  That’s what I inferred.  She didn’t give us the police contact, her mother did.”

It was something I hadn’t considered.  That said, was there also an inference we couldn’t trust the police.

“We’d better be careful what we say when the police arrive then.”

“Agreed.  Also, you check the pad, I’m going to look in her secret hiding spot.  She might have left something for me.”

A secret hiding spot.  Cecile had never told me about that.  I tried not to look disappointed.  Perhaps I failed.

“It’s a sister thing.”  Then she disappeared into the bedroom.

Emily, I knew from the past, wasn’t the most patient of people, and Cecile often said she often ventured where others feared to tread.  I was going to have two battles on my hands, the first, trying to find Cecile, and the second, curbing Emily’s self-destructive streak.

Fortunately, there was another knock on the door.

Hopefully, it was the police.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

Two

I opened the door and was about to welcome them in when I saw a man, about six foot ten tall, 250 plus pounds, and tattoos leaking out of his overly tight collar and ill-fitting shirt.

Not the police.

“I think you have the wrong flat,” I said.

I went to close the door, but a size 20 shoe was blocking it.

“Where is Jake Mistrale?”

Heavily accented English, this man was a thug of the worst order.  There was nothing polite about his manner.  I needed to think quickly some way of getting rid of this man.  He was more than likely the one who tossed the flat before we arrived.

“I’ll tell you what.  We can keep talking, you could do something really stupid and break-in, and we can wait for the police to arrive.  I’m sure I’m not the only one who would like to know who you are, and who you work for.”

“You are bluffing.  There is no police.  Where is Jake?”

“I have a question, where is Cecile?”

He looked surprised.  “I do not know who this Cecile is.”

“I think she was Jake’s friend, and they are both missing, and I think you know where she is.”

We both heard the footsteps on the landing, just before reaching the floor.  The man looked sideways in the direction of the stairs, then, without waiting to see who it was, started walking in the opposite direction.  There must be another flight of stairs around the back.

Then two men appeared at the top of the stairs.  These men definitely looked like the police.

Both seemed to be surprised I was outside in the passage, perhaps to greet them before stepping into the room.  Another two, a man and a woman, dressed in protective clothing, followed them.

The first introduced himself.  “My name is Detective Inspector Chandler.”  The other man, now beside him, pulled out his warrant card, as Chandler said, “DS Williams.”

Hearing voices, or perhaps wondering what had happened to me, Emily came out into the passage.

“Ah, you must be Emily.  I spoke to your father about two hours ago, and he said you should be here.  Now, I will need you to remain outside while the forensic team does its magic.”

With that, the two forensic officers went in, and DS followed them, putting on a pair of rubber gloves.

“We didn’t touch anything, by the way.”  She then pulled a photo of Cecile out of her bag and handed it to Chandler.

I was waiting to see if she mentioned the note Cecile left.  If she did, I would hand it over, if she didn’t that would be our starting point.  If we didn’t make any progress, I would give it to Chandler and let him get on with the job.

He looked at it.  “I take it this is recent?”

Emily nodded.

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“We know she had a boyfriend named Jake who was not who she thought he was, that she was here a few days ago, and perhaps some of the others living here might know something.  We were going to start knocking on doors, but now that you’re here, we’ll get out of your hair and let you do your job.  I’ve put my phone number, and James too, just in case you can’t get me.”

Chandler turned to me.  “Where do you fit in?”

“Jake’s last name was Mistrale, by the way.  As for me, I’m an old family friend.  I received a text message a few days ago, which seemed rather odd, so we came over to see if everything was alright.  As you can see, when we saw this, things are not alright.”

“Do you have that phone with you?”

I did but I was not sure I wanted to give it up, but a glare told me I had to.  I found the text message and gave him the phone.

“Can we hang on to this until tomorrow?”  He gave me what looked like a business card with his address on it.  “You’ll be able to pick it up tomorrow morning.  I’ll get the tech guys to see if they can trace where that message came from.”

“No problems,” I said with a measure of reluctance.  Although it was unlikely, she might try to call or text again.

“Now, there’s nothing more you can do here.  I’ve got your numbers, and I expect I’ll see you tomorrow morning, by which time we should have made some progress.”

Nothing left to say, he went into the flat.

“Time to go,” Emily said.  “We have to get back to the hotel.”

It was loud enough that Chandler would hear her, but I knew what she meant.  Time to go to the hotel that featured in the note.

When we reached street level and outside of the block of flats, I had to ask, “Why didn’t you mention the note?”

“Because we would have to give it to him and lose the one clue we had.  If it doesn’t pan out then we can say we forgot about it, no harm done.  Telling him would only stop us from the investigation, and, if the police go there, anyone who might be able to help us would be less likely to help the police.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that, but it was a valid point.

“So, where is this hotel?” She asked with a touch of impatience in her tone.

“A fair distance away tucked away not far from Whitehall and past, if I’m not mistaken, Horseguards Parade.  We might get to take in a bit of British history in the process.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

One

Stations, and particularly for me, railway stations, had a special meaning.

It was not the practicality of the place, where many, many passengers began or ended their journey, whether to or from a holiday or place of work or something else.

It was not the fact many people worked there, in the cafe, as ticket sellers or collectors, as station assistants helping with the mail, parcels or other types of freight, or just there to assist passengers.

For me, it was a reminder of an ending, an end to the life I once knew and had hoped would last forever.

It was where I said bon-voyage to a very special person, hoping as the train pulled out of the station it was not a goodbye.

Three months later I received a text message that said, basically, she was not coming back, that she had met someone special.

Oddly enough I was at the very same station when I received that fateful text and after a hour’s contemplation, and a sudden realization that I had mentally prepared myself for the inevitable, and in fact had talked about it with her sister Emily, not three days before.

She had told me then she had received a very strange email from Cecile, almost as if it hadn’t been written by her, a prelude to that of not returning home.  She, too, had received a message similar to mine.

We thought it odd, but it was not out of character for her, and although it raised concerns with her parents Emily, and I, thought no more of it.

Not till nearly three months later when both Emily and I received another text, from a blocked number somewhere in England that simply said, “help cee”.

‘Cee’ was a name she had shared with Emily and I and would never necessarily give to anyone else to use, not unless she was very close to them.  Not even her parents could use it.  I had considered it was miss-sent, that it was for her ‘new’ friend and not me.

Not until there was a knock on the door of my apartment, and found Emily, and a packed bag, on my doorstep.

“Something is very wrong,” she said without preamble, then barged past, one of her suitcase wheels running over my foot.

I closed the door and leaned against it.  “What are you talking about?”

“You would have got the same message.  She would not use Cee to anyone other than us.”

She flopped down on the best seat in the room, looking tired and exasperated.

“I thought it was miss-sent.  A new boyfriend that’s keeping her there, surely she would accord him the same privilege.”

“You’re joking.  How long did it take you, before she told you?”

I’d known her since grade school, but it was not until we graduated from university, she accorded that privilege.  But she was right.

“OK.  So why did you come here?  If she’s in trouble, there’s not much I can do from here.”

She dug into a voluminous handbag, pulled out an envelope, and waved it in the air.  “We’re going to London.  Tonight.  Pack a bag.  Your passport is current, and I’ve got all the necessary documentation sorted.  You know my dad; he just made a few calls.”

I thought about it for a minute or two.  London was a large city and the odds of picking up her trail after so long was remote, even if we received the message in the last 24 hours, nor did it mean it emanated from London, but could be from anywhere.  Obviously, she knew something I didn’t.

“You know where that message came from?”

“Yes.  When that message was sent, it was near where she was living.  Dad has been talking to the police over there and said she was not home when they called.  It’s the first place we’re going once we get there.”  Then, a second later, she said, “don’t just stand there, get packing.”

It was like an expression I’d heard often, going from one extreme to the other.

When we left it was the middle of summer and coming down from a high of 42 degrees Celsius, to when we landed at just after 6 am to a temperature that was below zero.  We felt the first force of it going up the gangway, then delayed the full force of the weather until we got off the underground at Wimbledon.

Early morning on a workday people were flooding into the station on their way to work, only to discover delays.  We’d seen the snow come, first in a trickle and then a steady downpour that only eased off when we arrived.

It stopped just as we came out of the station onto Wimbledon Hill Road, and from there it was a short walk to Worple Road.  At least, if it held off long enough, we would get to her flat just cold, not wet and cold.  To be honest, the snow was a novelty for us, because where we lived, it didn’t snow.  We had to go to the mountains a few hundred miles away for that privilege.

But the fact it wasn’t snowing didn’t make it any more pleasant.  If anything, the exertion needed to traverse the icy pathways and nearly slipping over several times made it worse.   Emily wasn’t impressed that she had to carry her case instead of being able to drag it, and it certainly didn’t improve her temper.

For the distance, about a half-mile, it took longer than expected because of the weather and the state of the path.  Added to that, it just started to snow again, lightly at least, but we made it, went inside, and shook off the snow on the ground floor foyer, then went up the stairs to the third floor.

Her flat was 3c and overlooked the main road.

Emily opened the door and we both stood back as the door swung open.

It was not what we expected.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024