Paul was sizzling the bacon in preparation for his speciality – creamy courgette and bacon pasta – when his phone pinged. Setting the pan aside, he picked it up and checked the incoming text. It was from Alicia, as he’d expected.
How could she resist? His mouth curving into a smile, Paul went back to his culinary task. Patience was definitely a virtue, he decided. And he’d been very patient. Almost seventeen long years he’d been patient, living and working in a climate that didn’t suit him. Not that that was Alicia’s fault. Having sex with undesirable women rather than be unfaithful to her – that, he considered, was Alicia’s fault. The last one had been particularly undesirable, making impossible demands on his time, imagining they were in a relationship. God forbid; the woman was a complete slut, leaving her underwear and feminine things – personal things no man would want to be aware of – all over the place.
He was back permanently now though. The wait would be worth it. Alicia would realise it. Now he was here in the flesh, she would recall – as he had every time he’d set eyes on her when he’d visited the UK; as he did frustratingly every night – how fulfilling their lovemaking had been.
Soon she would be here, where she should be: by his side, sharing the life they were meant to be living together, preparing meals together, experiencing the joys of making love to the soft strains of Rachmaninoff or Wagner in the background. She would be a good wife to him, keeping his house clean and lovingly pressing his shirts while he worked to put food on their table. Paul paused to ponder where they might live. In the country, possibly? A little cottage in Wales, perhaps – somewhere remote and cosy.
‘Pass the wine, darling. I’ve let it breathe.’ He smiled tenderly at the image of her he frequently conjured up to keep him company in the kitchen. An image so tangible sometimes, he could see the tiny fleck in her mesmerising cornflower blue eyes: a small imperfection, which he’d graciously overlooked.
‘To us,’ he said, raising his glass in a toast and then taking a large glug of his wine, before turning to the preparation of the rest of his ingredients. He did hope she wasn’t as faddish as young Sophie with her food. He knitted his brow as it occurred to him they hadn’t had time to appreciate the delights of fine cuisine together.
Ah well, she’d just have to learn, wouldn’t she? She’d soon realise how things worked. Nodding to himself, Paul chopped at the garlic with vigour. He really couldn’t abide faddishness of any sort.
Seventy
JUSTIN
His mouth dry, sweat tickling his forehead, Justin willed the lift to arrive. Sighing with relief when it did, he stepped in and kept his head down until the doors slid closed. Hitting the button for the right level, he wondered what the hell he was going to do next. Radley was hardly likely to open the door if he knew it was him.
Steeling himself as the lift doors swished open, Justin scanned the corridor. Empty. So what now? Pose as a workman? The building was still being worked on. A power supply employee? None of the above, he decided. Without a high-visibility jacket, which he might have thought of if he’d had more time to prepare, he wasn’t likely to pull that off. A buildings’ inspector?
Would Radley have a security camera or just a basic intercom system? Justin had no idea. If it was the latter, then his plan might work. All he needed was to get Radley to open the door enough to ask for ID. That would be enough. It had to work. Justin hadn’t known who his assailant was that night outside the pub. He’d assumed, when it had been established his wallet was intact, that it had been some kind of revenge attack by the aggressive bastard who’d been abusing his girlfriend. But the possibility that it was Radley had crossed his mind. Didn’t he have every reason to seek revenge after his attack on him? Justin hadn’t thought him capable of it then. Now, though, after learning the animal was a rapist, someone who used blackmail to wield his power over the woman he’d raped, a piece of scum who would lure or kidnap her daughter to coerce her further, he believed him to be capable of anything. The man obviously had money enough to hire people to do his dirty work for him, if he was too cowardly to carry it out himself.
If the attack had been something to do with Radley, then Justin would have the element of surprise. He should still be in the hospital. But he wasn’t. He was here. Assuming Radley, who’d clearly been stalking Alicia, had continued to monitor her, thereby establishing they’d apparently split up, this was the last place he’d expect him to be. And if he didn’t have that element of surprise and couldn’t gain access through the open door, then he would just have to kick the fucking thing down.
Hitting the buzzer, Justin braced himself and waited.
Seventy-One
PAUL RADLEY
Alicia had arrived – a little bit late, but Paul would overlook that on the basis she’d had the good manners to text him and alert him to the fact that she would be. Clearly, their daughter had picked up her sloppy manners from her husband. Collecting up his homemade olive dressing, Paul placed it on the dining table alongside his Italian-inspired salad, and then, pleased with the table arrangement, went to greet his long-anticipated visitor.
‘Darling,’ he said, his warmest smile in place as he reached to open the door, ‘I—’
‘You bastard!’ someone rasped furiously on the other side of it.
Sprawling backwards as the door was shoved violently into his face, Paul didn’t stop to wonder what had just hit him. He rolled over, attempting to scramble away from the terrifying intruder advancing towards him.
Gulping hard, his bladder almost failing him, he pulled himself up onto all fours and then to his feet, almost losing his footing as he glanced frantically around for means of escape. He quickly realised his only exit was through the front door, but he stumbled away from there, where some madman, probably armed with a knife, was advancing towards him.
Paul felt sweat saturate his armpits as he imagined what despicable crime this thug might be intent on, and then physically sick as he caught up with him at the patio window.
‘Take anything you want,’ he spluttered, spittle wetting his cheek as the side of his face was rammed forcefully against the glass. ‘Anything,’ he gasped desperately. ‘I won’t try to stop you, just… please don’t hurt me.’
The person behind him, clearly some lowlife, thieving thug of the worst kind, said nothing.
‘I have money,’ Paul tried. ‘In my wallet. There’s at least two hundred in cash. My credit cards are there, too. I’ll give you the PIN—’
Fuck! He trailed painfully off as his face was forced harder against the glass. He was going to smash his cheekbone, deform him for life, the mad son of a bitch.
‘What do you want?’ he said weakly, when his attacker didn’t answer. ‘If it’s electrical goods, I have phones and— Aaargh! Don’t, you’re hurting me!’ he screamed, finding his arm pulled back and jerked high up behind his back. ‘For God’s sake, just tell me what you want!’
The man moved closer, his face right up next to his. ‘My daughter,’ he growled, close to his ear. ‘Where is she, you fucker?’
Shit! ‘I don’t know!’ Paul gurgled, as Justin Cole clutched a handful of his shirt, tightening it at his throat and yanking him back. ‘I have no idea!’
Cole didn’t answer. Hanging on to him so tight he almost choked him, he reached for the locking mechanism on the doors instead. ‘You might want to have a rethink,’ he suggested, pushing him bodily out onto the balcony.
Oh God, no. Realising he was facing his worst fear, Paul struggled to turn away from the fifteen-floor drop, at the bottom of which was nothing but bone-crushing concrete. But Cole was on him, pressing his arm hard across his shoulders, pushing him towards certain death.
‘Where is she?’ he repeated, his tone now menacingly quiet.