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“What is it?” he asked again.
“Making every minute count,” she said. “It will never be quite like this again.”
His arms tightened around her; he was already aroused.
She closed her eyes so that, even in the faintest illumination, he would not see the conflict in them. Whether he felt it in her body or not, she would have to pray that he read it differently.
* * *
—
In the morning, while he was out of the cabin at the toilet, she had two minutes in which to look in his clothes for any clue. There was nothing, just polished leather. She was at once disappointed and relieved. Could he possibly have committed a true list to memory? Or was there not one, apart from the one he had given her? His whole purpose was to incriminate the people most valuable, to destroy people’s trust in even the best. A different kind of betrayal altogether. With shaking hands, she replaced the belt exactly.
She was brushing her hair when he came back.
“I hope your shoes are comfortable,” he remarked. “We’re going ashore.” He glanced at her face.
It did not appear a very interesting port. It was in the center of a half-moon bay, with wharfs along the center and shipbuilding yards to the north. It seemed busy enough. There were five ships that Elena could see from the deck of their own, all loading or unloading cargo, and several heavy-duty cranes, some standing idle, others like long-necked dinosaurs bending and turning slowly. The town behind the harbor was small, but it would afford the only chance she had of escape.
“Looks all right,” she answered with a smile. “And it will be good to get off the ship and be able to walk more than twenty feet in a straight line.”
It was about half past ten when they were safely tied alongside the harbor, and they made their way past the piles of unloaded cargo to the street.
Elena had her bag with her passport and cameras, money and the comb. Her nerve might not hold, at least not well enough to fool him. She must not panic, but she had no idea of where the next port might be, or even if they would go ashore again. It must be at this one that she acted. She would walk with him as far as he wanted to go, making light conversation as naturally as possible. She would have to take her chance when she could, perhaps when they stopped at a café for a meal. She would go to the ladies’ room, or whatever was provided. It was the only opportunity to be alone she could rely on.
Aiden walked close beside her, taking her arm occasionally. It was absurd. In the past, she would have been thrilled to have his undivided attention, his presence so close she bumped into him if he turned too sharply.
They looked in shop windows, stopped at stalls with all kinds of goods in them, but they both knew without conversing that they had no money to spare.
They had lunch at an outdoor café. The food was edible—fish and stale Italian bread, cheap house wine—but to Elena it all tasted like cardboard.
She was turning over in her mind where she would go. There would not be any kind of British authority here; the place was far too small to warrant even a consul. If she turned to anyone for help, what would she say? The crew already thought she was lightly balanced; Aiden had seen to that.
But if she didn’t make a break now, what other chance would she have? She could not deny that Aiden would soon be on to her. He knew her too well. Her own body might betray her at the next intimate touch.
He would kill her. He would have to. Otherwise, she could tell MI6 about his success as a double agent, and his life would be over. She had to do it. Now.
They were done with their meal, the sunlight bright on the floor and on his hair.
She pushed back from the table and stood up. “Excuse me, I must go to the ladies’ room before we leave.” She pulled out some money from her purse and put it on his plate. Without waiting for his response, she walked between the tables and across the floor to the passage leading to the toilets. Would he be watching to make sure she came back? How could she evade him?
She used the facilities quickly, not knowing when there would be another chance, then came out and glanced at the dining area. Aiden was talking to the waiter and paying the bill.
It was now or never. She stepped out the back door, ran across the yard with its rubbish bins and storage shed, and into the street. It didn’t matter which way she ran, as long as it was away from here…and the front door.
How long would he wait for her? When he knew, he would be furious. It would all be in the open then, no more pretending about anything. Her life depended on getting away! She was shaking as the reality of it struck her, and she almost missed her footing on the cracked pavement. She must not run; it would attract attention. People would remember a woman running. One walking, they might not.
Elena had very little idea where she was going, or who she could ask for help. She still had some money left, perhaps enough to pay for lodging and a fare to somewhere else.
She crossed the road, hoping to lose herself in the crowd. On a side street, he would see her at a glance. This street was full of villagers, shoppers, women with children. For once, the blond hair was a disadvantage. The sun shone on it and made her stand out among darker heads. It was like a beacon.
She was nearly at the bus station when she saw him. Of course, he would have had the same thought: he knew her!
She stepped back into a doorway before he could turn in her direction and see her. But she also knew him. She must think. What would he do? What plans would he follow, what mistakes would he make?
What could she do that he would not foresee? What did he know of her? What might he have learned? That she was more resourceful than he had thought? Far braver than she used to be? But was she really any wiser underneath the brave new surface?
What choices had she? To stay in the crowd? Try to get out of the town on the first flight to anywhere? Or stay here overnight, sleep somewhere, and then try in the early morning? Nothing seemed any clearer. She went back into the crowd, bumping elbows with women who were carrying shopping baskets and overtired children, with many hours of work still ahead of them.
