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“Where are you going, Jane?” Again, the impatience. The sarcastic frustration at what he’d called her ‘childish behaviour’ in their last fight. The fight that had ended their marriage.
“Away from you,” she said firmly, without looking at him.
He sighed wearily. “Fine. Let me know when you’re ready to be reasonable.”
She straightened her spine and walked out of the guest room, without looking at him. It was only when she had pulled the door shut behind herself that she gave into her emotions. A silent cry burst from her, but it was no less powerful for the lack of noise. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and slowly, she let them fall.
Somehow, despite her firmly held belief that Carlo Santini was way in her past, she’d let him back in.
On legs that were trembling, she moved down the carpeted hallway, towards the sanctuary of her own bedroom.
She pushed the door inwards, then leaned against it, with her eyes shut.
When she opened them, she screamed.
Involuntarily, the sound tore through the townhouse, pulling Carlo out of his angry frustration. For this was a blood curdling cry of absolute fear. He sprung from the bed and ran towards the noise, pushing the door inwards and fixing Jane with an urgent gaze of inquiry. “What is it?” He demanded, spinning around and surveying the room. His eyes fell on to her bed. Or, more specifically, on the object in the centre of her bed.
His lips were a grim slash in his handsome face as he surveyed the metallic object, stained crimson with dried blood.
His mind moved quickly. It was undoubtedly the weapon. The instrument that had inflicted the gash on the side of his wife’s head. And it had been put here, in the middle of her most private piece of furniture, in the most private room of the house, by whomever had attacked her. It was, indeed, a message. He or she could reach her.
He turned to face Jane, and when he saw the exhaustion and fear on her features, he felt an odd sense of vulnerability wash over him. An answering emotion, to complement hers.
“Jane, I need you to pack a bag. Quickly.”
Her blue eyes focussed on his face, but it was obvious that she wasn’t comprehending. He shook his head slowly and then moved towards her wardrobe. He opened the doors and examined her assortment of clothes.
Her taste had changed since he’d met her, he couldn’t help noticing. This wardrobe was stocked with elegant, prim outfits in shades of grey, beige and black. Her clothes were bland. Designed to make her look bland? He pulled a few dresses from hangers, then rifled through her drawers until he found her underwear.
He stuffed it all into a shopping bag, then turned back to his ex-wife. She was in the same position she’d been in when he’d walked into the room. Her back against the wall, her hands by her side. She was naked.
He groaned, cursing himself that he could feel attracted to her even in that moment – at the most inappropriate time imaginable.
She was shaking, though, and that realisation subdued any flash of desire he had been feeling.
He walked across to her and laced his fingers through hers. Gently, he tugged her from her bedroom, and returned them to the guest room. Her clothes were where they’d been discarded in haste. He pulled the dress over her head, taking care not to touch her injury.
“I can do it,” she stammered, grabbing for the zip and pushing it upwards. She fumbled but managed to get it most of the way up, then sat on the edge of the bed.
“God, Carlo. Whoever hit me has been in my house.” She looked at him beseechingly. “Right?”
He nodded, as he pulled his own clothes back on. “Yes, cara.”
“Oh, God.” She dipped her head forward, and felt nausea burst through her. “I need to get out of here.”
“Yes.”
Fully dressed, he put an arm around her waist and half lifted her off the bed. “We will leave now.”
His car was waiting downstairs, and Jane didn’t hesitate to return to its luxurious sanctuary. She looked out at her home as though it were a prison. She shivered as they drove off.
“Constable Warren?” Beside her, Carlo spoke into his cell phone. “The man who attacked my wife has been inside her house. I’m sending a member of my security detail to meet you at her address. I expect him to be kept apprised of your investigation.” He paused, to examine his wife carefully. “I am taking Jane somewhere safe.” He reached out and put a hand over hers. “No harm will come to her.”
The car glided through the streets of Kensington, a sleek black beast in the jungle of the city.
“Where are we going?” She asked, as it nudged further out to the west of London.
“Somewhere safe,” he said firmly.
