AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m vaguely mulling over what the ‘interesting tale’ might be but the drone of the approaching chopper interrupts me. I excuse myself and promptly dismiss Felix Fuller from my mind. I need to formulate my strategy for when I get to Caraksay.
CHAPTER14
Ruth
What the hellwas all that about?
I stare at the door for several minutes, half expecting Jack to materialise through it, full of apologies. It’s a fanciful notion, and I relinquish it soon enough.
Jack Morgan doesn’t apologise or explain. He takes what he wants, does as he likes, then moves on. If he has regrets, he keeps them to himself.
I have no idea what I did wrong, and I’m not about to waste mental energy trying to second-guess it. In any case, I need a pee.
I crawl out of bed and grab a robe, then I pad over to the en suite. I deal with my immediate needs, then decide to hop in the shower. By the time I emerge my stomach is growling. I hope my breakfast won’t be too long, but I guess that all rather depends on whether anyone has the time to see to me.
I’m halfway through getting dressed when there’s a tap on the door. I open my mouth to tell them to come in, then realise it’s not really up to me. It’s locked. Whoever’s out there can decide for themselves whether they come in or not.
Sure enough, the bolt scrapes back, and the door cracks open. A male voice calls out for permission to enter. With luck, it’ll be my morning tray of Earl Grey. Since I expressed a preference, Jack has instructed those who bring my meals to serve tea rather than coffee. He can be considerate if he feels like it, and grumpy as fuck the rest of the time.
I pull on a sweater, then answer. “Yes. It’s okay. I’m decent.”
The huge guard, Moses, appears round the door carrying a tray. He nods to me, then sets it down. “The boss had to go out. You’re to use the buzzer if you need anything.”
I suppose I should thank him. He’s only doing his job, after all. But I don’t feel like it, so I wait until he’s gone and the bolt clunked back in place before I wander over to my tray.
I groan, disappointed to see a flask of coffee there. Clearly the big guy didn’t get the memo. Still, the eggs are fluffy and the toast is still warm, so I decide to tuck in to those first and worry about my tea later. I take the food over to the window and eat it looking out over the gardens.
The sound of rotors has become fairly commonplace while I’ve been here, so I ignore the drone and continue my meal. I can’t see the helicopter but I do hear it land on the other side of the house, then take off again almost at once.
I decide to try the coffee anyway, but it’s even stronger than usual and far too bitter for my taste. I grimace and put it down.
I have to wait a few minutes before anyone responds to the buzzer, but eventually Moses returns. He doesn’t knock this time, just lets himself in.
“Did you want something else, miss?” He eyes the tray, noting what I’ve eaten. I’m sure Jack must receive reports.
“Tea, please.”
He frowns, shrugs, picks up the tray, and lumbers out.
Almost twenty minutes later, there’s still no sign of my tea. I buzz again. How long does it take to boil a kettle, for Christ’s sake?
Forty minutes, it would seem.
Eventually, over an hour since I requested it, the door opens again, and a different guard enters with a tray. I tell myself it’s lucky I wasn’t having some sort of genuine emergency. There’s a large pot of tea, a mug, and a jug of milk. Better late than never, I suppose, but I restrict my comments to a polite ‘thank you’ as the guard disappears through the door.
They may have made me wait for it, but the delicate aroma is mouth-watering. I have no idea what blend of Earl Grey they use here, but it tastes exquisite. And horrendously expensive.
I grasp the handle of the teapot and reach for the cup.
I’ve no idea how I managed it. I’m not normally clumsy. But one moment I’m tipping the pot to pour my first cup, the next I somehow splash most of the cupful across my wrist. I let out a scream, jerk my hand away, and manage to spill even more into the tray which promptly upends into my lap.
“Jesus!” I leap to my feet, sending the whole lot crashing to the carpet. My hand throbs. My knees, too, though they were protected a little by my jeans. The back of my hand and my wrist are turning a vivid shade of crimson before my eyes.
“Christ! Shit!” I hop around, alternately shaking my injured hand, then hugging it to me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
The door slams open with a crash. A woman rushes in. I’ve seen her before, just once, soon after I was brought up from the cells. She’s a doctor, I think. She takes in the scene, then dashes over to me.
“What happened? How are you hurt?”
