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The voice becomes threatening. “State your name—”
“No.”
“Give the message, for fuck’s sake, otherwise they’ll kill us,” Ned snarls.
“I don’t care if I die,” I say.
“Well, I do, so just give the fucking message!”
The hand tightens its grip. “Speak!”
I can feel the muscles in my neck going into spasm and fear flickers inside me.
“My name is Amelie Hawthorpe,” I say, trying to keep my breath even. “This is a message for Jethro Hawthorpe. If you don’t pay up, your son will die.” I take another breath. “So don’t pay up, he deserves to die, he’s a m—”
The air shifts in a flash of movement as Ned slams into the side ofme. I feel my chair toppling, hear the man cursing as my neck is ripped from his grasp. I hit the floor and stars explode in my head.
When I next open my eyes, I’m in my room. I groan, close them again. Despite the pain in my head, I smile. Ned isn’t coping; his privilege and wealth, so powerful on the outside world, mean nothing in here. Here, we are equal. But I am mentally stronger.
I sit up, wincing. My face throbs with heat and when I touch my fingers to my skin, I find the puffiness of a large bruise down the left-hand side of my face. And farther up, above my temple, a lump the size of a small egg, the result of being knocked to the ground by Ned. It hurts, but it was worth it. My only regret is that the video they were filming will never be sent.
I grope for the blanket, glad it’s still there. After my performance, they could have taken it from me. I wrap it around me, stand up. But I’m so dizzy that I quickly crouch down, and crawl to the bathroom on all fours. Perching on the rim of the toilet, I wet the washcloth, lather soap into it, and wipe my face, wincing at the feel of rough towel against tender skin. It’s only now, in the dim light, that I realize my vision has been affected by the fall. Everything is hazy, as if I’m looking through a piece of gauze. Concussion, I have a concussion.
I want to weep. My act of defiance means I’ll have to postpone my next escape by several days. I realize something else: what I said in the basement might have felt good, but it was foolish.
When the man comes with my tray, I appeal to him.
“Just promise me one thing. When Jethro Hawthorpe pays the ransom, don’t release me with Ned. Take him to wherever you agree to take him but drop me off somewhere else.” He’s moving away, I reach for his arm, my fingers brush his sleeve, then dangle in midair. “Because if you release me at the same time as him,” I call after him desperately, “he’ll kill me!”
The key turns in the lock. He’s gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
PAST
I waited silently in the library, giving Ned time to calm down, thinking about what I’d overheard. If it was Justine he’d been talking about, why did he say that she wasn’t pressing charges? Had she changed her mind? Ned said he’d sorted it out; had he pressured her into withdrawing the statement she made to the police by threatening to fire her if she didn’t?
Leaving the library, I turned right in the hallway and knocked at the next door along.
“Yes?” Ned called.
I went in. The room was huge, with the same tall windows as in the library, and two sets of double doors, a pair to the left, and a pair to the right leading to the library where I’d been a moment ago. Ned was sitting behind a desk the size of a Ping-Pong table, slouched in a black leather chair.
“We forgot to pick up my phone at the airport in Farnborough,” I began. “Is there a phone I can use? I’d like to tell Carolyn I’m back.”
“Sure.” His phone was on the desk. He picked it up, held it out to me. “Here you are.”
I hesitated. I wanted to tell Carolyn about the conversation I’d justoverheard between Ned and his father, but if I walked out of his study with his phone in my hand, he might be suspicious. And I didn’t want him to guess that I knew what he’d done.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the phone from him.
I tapped in Carolyn’s number, glad that when she’d first given it to me, it had meant so much to have someone’s phone number that I’d learned it by heart. I waited for her to answer, planning to ask her, quite casually, if she’d seen Lina and Justine recently, if she’d been for a coffee with them. There would be nothing suspicious in that and at least I’d know that they were okay without asking Carolyn outright.
But she didn’t pick up.
“No answer?” Ned asked, and I realized he’d been watching me.
“No,” I said. “I’ll send her a message.”
