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She did ask for permission.
He said no.
An emphatic no.
O Zot. The door buzzes and Alessia steps into a grubby hallway and heads up the flight of stairs. At the top is a waiting area with cushion armchairs and a coffee table. The door to one of the offices opens, and a tall, well-built man with a shock of blond hair comes out to greet her. “Alessia Trevelyan, I’m Paul Maddox.” He has bright blue eyes that coolly assess her as his large hand engulfs hers in a firm handshake.
Alessia swallows, trying not to feel intimidated.
“Please, come this way.” He ushers her into a small, cluttered office that his broad shoulders seem to fill and directs her toward a chair in front of a wooden desk piled with papers. Alessia takes the seat and waits for him to sit down. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Trevelyan?” he asks as he glances at her wedding ring, and she knows he’s appraising her. She’s glad she’s worn her new tailored trousers, cream silk blouse, black jacket, and Gucci loafers.
“I’m looking for a missing person and want to trace a family.”
“Are these related?”
“No. I’m trying to find a girl who was trafficked to England from Albania, and I’d like to trace the family of an English woman. Her name was Virginia Strickland.” From her purse, she pulls a small faded black-and-white picture of her grandmother as a young woman—in pearls, a dark sweater with short sleeves, her head cocked to one side, her smile lighting up the frame. She hands it to Maddox.
“I see, Mrs. Trevelyan. Two cases. Let me take some notes.”
* * *
After my meeting with Oliver, I call Tom and ask him if Alessia’s mission to track down her friend is a fool’s errand or if it’s possible to find someone after they’ve been trafficked into the country.
“Well, this is a challenge,” Tom says after I’ve explained the situation, and I can almost hear the cogs in his brain whirring. “How many women?” he asks.
“I believe there were six, including Alessia.”
“Dreadful business.”
“Yes. Alessia tried to get the others to run when she did.”
“Where was this?”
“All I know is that it was a motorway service station.”
“It’s possible we could track the girls down—tall order, mind. I need more information. I can make inquiries with the police. I have a contact. You know him. Remember Spaffer from school?”
“How could I forget him?” Charlie Spafford had been a fearsome bully. No wonder he joined the plod.
“He’s a highflier at the Met. I’ll call him. I think he’s with the organized crime division. He may know something about the traffickers you apprehended in Cornwall. I’ll see if there are any leads that may direct us to find the girls.”
“Sounds like a plan, but I don’t want your inquiry to lead back to Alessia.” We don’t need Sergeant Nancarrow breathing down our necks.
“I hear you, old boy. I had no idea that poor Alessia’s experience was so traumatic.”
“She needs to be kept out of this. She was here illegally.”
“Understood. I want to talk to her, though. If she has any recollection of where she was, we could work out which service station and some of the girls may still be in that area.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Roger that.”
I roll my eyes. You can take the man out of the army. “Thanks, Tom.” I end the call and check my phone for the millionth time for any messages. There’s still nothing from my mother.
What the hell is wrong with her?
And I know deep in my bones it’s because she despises me. She always has. It was always Kit. Kit. Kit with her.
I used not to care, but now it cuts deep, and I wonder what I did when I was young to inspire such contempt.
Fuck it. To hell with her.
There are, however, texts from Caroline.
You went to Loulou’s without me!
How do you know?
You’re all over the Daily Fail.
WTF!!!
Yes. Staggering into the night.
Drunken Earl with Mystery Wife?
Hell.
Just ignore them.
They’re still calling here.
Blake is deflecting.
Good.
I miss going out.
How long do I have to stay in purdah?
That’s up to you.
I’ve had an invitation to Dimitri Egonov’s party.
It’s on Saturday.
Are you going?
I’ve always thought he’s a bit dubious.
His father is anyway.
Are you ready to face the world again?
My phone rings. It’s Caro.
“What?” I ask.
“I think I’m ready. It’s sweet of you to care.”
Shit. In a fraternal way, Caro! I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.
“I’m not sure I could bear another night in,” she continues. “And Dimitri knows how to throw a party. Everyone will be there.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“In fact,” she says with the enthusiasm of a new idea, “this might be the perfect place to launch Alessia.”
“She’s not a boat!”
Caroline laughs. “Listen, Maxim. Everyone will be there. It’s perfect. And she’ll need a new frock. Something ultra-glamorous. Please let me take her shopping!”
