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What now?
It better not be a reporter.
In the hall, I answer the intercom. “Hello?”
“Hello. Alessia. Please,” a soft, hesitant feminine voice rasps.
“Who is this?”
“Friend. Alessia friend. Please.” A quiet desperation in her tone raises the hairs on my neck. English is not her first language. “Sixth floor. Use the lift.” I buzz her in.
We’ll see who this is.
* * *
Tabitha hugs Alessia. “It’s been such a pleasure to get to know you these last few days,” she gushes. “Please, please stay in touch.”
Alessia returns her hug. “I will. And yes, it’s been lovely. I feel I have made a friend.”
“And we both know how to sit correctly. Deportment is important,” Tabitha mimics their tutor and Alessia laughs.
“And I know the difference between a salad and dinner fork. My life is now, um…complete.”
Tabitha grins.
“I have to go. Maxim will be waiting.”
“Don’t stay in Cornwall forever. Please keep in touch.”
“I will. Goodbye.”
Alessia gives quick farewells and handshakes to her other classmates, and she’s out the door and onto the street. There she waves down a cab and gives the cabbie her address.
* * *
I open the front door and wait for the lift to arrive. When it does, a young, slight woman steps out onto the landing. She has long, dark hair and dark eyes that regard me warily, and I suspect they’ve seen too much of the world.
“Hello,” I offer cautiously. “Can I help you?”
“Alessia?” She’s a little breathless. From nerves? I don’t know. She’s pretty in an understated way, but stands awkwardly in mismatched clothes at a distance from where I am, and I recognize the same reticence that Alessia used to have with me… with men.
Christ, where did that thought come from?
“She’s not here, but she’s on her way home.”
She frowns, and I step aside and gesture toward the inside and the hallway. “You can wait in here. What is your name?”
“Me?” she asks.
“Yes. Your name. I am Maxim.” I place my hand on my chest.
“Bleriana,” she says.
“Bleriana!” I exclaim, beaming. “Alessia has been looking for you. Come in.”
She tightens her fists as if she’s steeling herself and regards me with dark eyes that hint at harrowing secrets beneath their sheen.
Fuck.
I offer her a reassuring smile because I don’t know what else I can do while she takes a moment to decide whether or not to come in, and whether or not to trust me. Nervously, she licks her lips, and it’s either curiosity or desperation that wins, and she steps past me and into the flat. I stand well back, not wanting to freak her out in any way, and close the door. In the hallway, I fish out my phone and call Alessia. Her phone rings and rings, then goes to voicemail.
Damn.
I text her under Bleriana’s watchful gaze.
I have a surprise for you.
Come home.
Mx
PS—A good surprise.
“I think Alessia is on her way home. She shouldn’t be too long.”
Bleriana stares with dark, haunted eyes, a little like my wife used to.
What has this young woman been through?
“Do you speak English?”
She nods, then shakes her head in response.
“Okay. Do you want a drink?” With my hand, I motion a cup at my lips.
“No. Thank you.” Her voice is hesitant and soft, and her arms are crossed in front of her—I suspect to try to make her already slight frame look smaller. She’s trying to be invisible.
Oh, sweetheart. I see you.
“Come. You can wait in here.” I head down the hall, hoping that she’ll follow, which she does, and I motion her into the drawing room. “Sit.”
Bleriana perches on the edge of the sofa, stiff and scared, radiating a tension that I can’t even imagine. She clutches her hands in her lap while her wide eyes dart everywhere, taking in her environs. I wonder if she’s looking for an escape route.
I stand in the doorway, wondering what the hell to do or say.
“Um. Are you hungry?” With my hands, I motion eating.
She frowns, then nods, and then shakes her head.
Of course—she’s Albanian.
“Yes. No?”
“No.”
I check my watch. “Alessia. Here soon.”
* * *
The cab pulls up outside the building, and Alessia steps out and pays the cabbie. In the foyer, she has to wait for the elevator, and Alessia suspects that Mrs. Beckstrom has returned from walking Heracles, judging by the time it takes to come from the top floor. While she waits, she fishes her phone from her bag. There’s a missed call and text from Maxim.
A surprise?
Alessia smiles to herself, intrigued, as she finally steps into the elevator. She’s excited to get to the Hall. Perhaps the surprise is something to do with Cornwall.
She opens the front door, and Maxim is standing at the end of the hallway, dressed in suit pants and a white shirt. His hair is tousled, his eyes bright green, and he smiles, relieved to see her.
