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The soccer fan glared at Sarah. “Well, if your husband knew how to drive properly, we wouldn’t be in this bloody mess, would we?”
Dylan leaned forward. “Me drive properly? You know you were in the wrong!”
Sarah held his hand. “Dylan, come on, let’s just take his vehicle registration and let the insurance companies deal with it.”
Dylan opened his mouth to reply, but the other guy hadn’t finished. “You Americans, you’re all the same, coming over here and thinking you know best. But we do actually drive on the left here. Just because you’ve got a flashy sports car, it doesn’t mean –”
The guy’s rant was suddenly cut short as something caught his attention over Sarah’s shoulder. From the look on his face, it was a terrible sight. She braced herself. It was going to a hitman, wasn’t it? Her body filled with dread and she scrunched up her eyes. But then she realised she could smell burning. She wheeled round and watched in terror as orange flames whooshed like a geyser from of the hood of Dylan’s car. Panic twisted in her stomach. Time slowed down to a slur as Dylan grabbed her arm, pulling her away and shielding her with his body. But she couldn’t drag her gaze away from the blinding flames and the swarming smoke that was already melting the metal and cracking the windshield.
“Someon
e’s trying to kill us,” she whispered.
“Get inside, sweetheart,” Dylan instructed. “And call the fire department.”
Sarah grabbed her phone from her purse as Dylan let go of her and ran into the street shouting to the other pedestrians to get inside, then he waved at the approaching traffic, telling them to reverse and block off the road. The thick black smoke was billowing in huge spirals now, infiltrating Sarah’s lungs like glass shards and making her cough. The bright orange flames crackled out-of-control as they ripped the car to pieces. Sarah’s eyes wept furiously in the blinding heat, and she realised with horror that the whole thing was a ticking time-bomb – an explosion was imminent. She willed herself to seek safety, but her feet were glued to the sidewalk with fear. She spoke frantically into her phone with the emergency services despatcher, begging them to hurry, then Dylan ran over and pulled her into a little café, as the car – no longer able to stand the pressure – exploded, raining down shattered glass and metal shards all over the now-empty street.
From the safety of the café, they watched as if they were in a cinema, viewing a big screen ahead of them. Detached. Sarah sank the soles of her shoes into the wooden floor of the café, trying to ground her spinning mind. Dylan pulled her into his arms, and she worked on calming her frantic breathing and thrashing heart, relaxing into his comforting embrace.
“I could’ve been in that car,” Sarah said, unable to pull her eyes away from the still-burning wreckage.
“We both could,” Dylan said.
Sarah realised that the man who’d crashed into the back of Dylan was now standing at their side, also captivated by the shattered debris and blinding flames. Without loosening his arms on Sarah, Dylan turned his head and spoke calmly to the man. “Thank you. Thank you for making us get out the car. You just saved our lives by being an asshole.”
The guy stared at Dylan in angry shock. Then he burst into laughter. “Shit, I guess I did. Thank god for your bad driving, eh, mate?”
Dylan chuckled. Sarah felt the world shift surreally around her. What the hell had caused the fire? Her mind tried to focus, but it wouldn’t settle on anything other than the revelation that she was alive. It was like a miracle.
A waiter approached them. “Hey, would you like to come and sit down? I can give you some tea – free of charge, of course. We’ve called the fire service, so they should be here soon.”
“I called them, too,” Sarah said, allowing herself to be guided over to sit at a wobbly wooden table.
Sarah held Dylan’s hand as the caring staff brought over cups of tea and slices of homemade cake. She listened with satisfaction as Dylan and the guy who he’d been so close to brawling with chatted amiably about soccer. It seemed that this man was a life-long Fenchurch United supporter, and he possessed extremely strong views about certain corrupt Russians coming over here and using the club for their own evil profiteering.
“My dad was an avid Fenchurch fan too,” Sarah said. “He loved that club – sometimes more than his own family I think!”
They all laughed at this – readily able to relate. Sarah sipped her tea and allowed herself to feel connected with all the people around her. She was touched by the warmth of these strangers. If someone was trying to kill her, maybe she was somehow being protected by a force-field of benevolence; it made Sarah want to do kind things in return.
Eventually, the firefighters arrived and extinguished the smouldering wreck that had once been a very nice car. Luckily Adam had only hired it for his short stay in London. But that wasn’t the point, was it? Someone had possibly tampered with it. Or planted a bomb… or something – perhaps when they’d been inside with Mikhail? Sarah held Dylan’s hand tight, wishing they could run away to an island somewhere and stay there until Orlov masterminded his own foolish downfall.
The police entered the café and questioned everyone, but Sarah and Dylan refrained from mentioning anything to do with Orlov, Natalia, Mikhail, or Ivan... Then they were free to go. The police towed the wreckage, but before they took it, one of their mechanics investigated the engine where the fire had started.
“It was an electrical fault, sir,” the mechanic explained. “It can happen sometimes. I was driving down the motorway once and the entire front of my van caught alight. Nothing to worry about, but it can be a bit of a shock, can’t it.”
An electrical fault? Even if the police believed that, Sarah knew the terrifying car fire had been much more than a mere accident. She craved to be somewhere secure, and – right now – there was only one place she could feel safe – the building that had been her sanctuary for so long. Her beloved hotel.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It seemed like forever since Sarah had last stepped into the marble lobby of the hotel that she’d given her heart and soul to. The huge space hadn’t changed much in the last few days – it was still a-gleam with its shiny floors and buzzing guests. But she’d changed. And hopefully for the better.
She felt nervous as she strolled over to the lavish reception desk with Dylan, but she relaxed as she was greeted with a gleeful gasp by Judy – the loyal young receptionist who Sarah had shared some lovely chats with over the years.
“Sarah!” she said. “Welcome back. We’ve missed you!”
“Thanks, Judy. It’s nice to see you.” Sarah opened her mouth to introduce Dylan, but someone behind called her name. “Sarah – it’s great to see you back!”
She turned and smiled into the eyes of the deputy manager, Nigel. He reached out and hugged her tight, which made her flinch, because he’d never done that before. She hoped Dylan would guess from his demeanour that Nigel was gay – she knew how possessive he could be at times. She eased herself out of Nigel’s arms, then she realised that other members of staff were drifting over to greet her. There was Jamil – the law student who worked as a bartender; George – the young porter who Sarah had recruited for ‘work-experience’ but who’d stayed for years; and Elsa – the semi-retired cleaner who’d been here since she left school aged fourteen.
