Storm Child (Dangerous Friends Book 3)

by Jennifer Young

  ‘In brief, I mean.’

  ‘Even in brief it would take me a couple of hours. Slavery’s the scourge of our society, Bronte. Surely you know that?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said, over-defensively, because the tone and the cliché made me feel as heartless and right-wing as Andy must now think I was. I could still quote statistical chapter and verse on every aspect of social inequality from my placard-waving days, but no-one could be expected to know everything about all the things that concerned us. There were just too many wrongs and wrongdoers in the world.

  ‘I want to know about what goes on in the UK. What sort there is. Who’s enslaved. How we find them. What people are doing about it. What more we can do.’

  ‘Again, there’s so much.’ She laughed at my naivety. ‘I can’t tell you everything, and in any case, I’m off to do a presentation in ten minutes. But I can point you in the right direction. I’ll email you a few links and you can follow them up for yourself.’

  I had to be satisfied with that, and headed back to my desk on the second floor. As I did so, I took a moment to compose myself, a moment to stare out of the window and breathe deeply.

  A moment in which to spot the same blonde girl who had appeared so frequently outside my flat, loitering at the bus stop over the road. As I watched, a bus — the only one that came along that route — passed, pulled up, moved off again. She was still there.

  Whoever she was, this couldn't be coincidence. Eilidh’s throwaway remark was first into my head. I’m only surprised that Dad never thought to put a private investigator onto you to find out what you’re up to, she’d said.

  Maybe he had. And if he had, I would find out, and I would give him hell. I moved towards the stairs.

  ‘Great to see you, Nick.’ A floor below, the irony in Andy’s tone as he said farewell to Nick Riley stopped me in my tracks. ‘Hopefully this is a conversation we won’t need to have again. Goodbye.’

  I dodged back into the office again, and checked over the road. The girl was still there, still leaning against the railings at the bus stop. For the first time, I stopped to check her out, just as I now knew she must have been doing to me. She could be no older than twenty, with blonde curls cascading down her back, a blue jacket pulled around her thin frame, her hands tucked into her pockets, and an anxious expression fixed on her face. She wasn’t staring into the distance, or examining messages on her phone. She was watching the building.

  How dare he? How dare Dad try and intervene in my life like that? How dare my parents not trust me to make the right decision, when Marcus was a better man than any of them, than any man my sisters had ever brought home?

  I reached for my phone, but even as I flicked it on, I was aware of Andy’s huge personality infringing on the office. When he appeared in the doorway, everyone stopped. Behind him, Mariam hovered in his shadow, trying to pretend she wasn’t there.

  ‘Bronte.’ He stepped aside to let Mariam past him. ‘Do you have a second?’

  ‘Of course. Yes.’ I followed him out into the corridor.

  ‘Any more secrets you want to tell me?’ He placed his hands on his hips and skewered me with an accusing glance.

  ‘I don’t think so. No.’ I pulled myself together. It wasn’t Andy I was standing up to, but myself and my own weakness.

  ‘It’s correct that your boyfriend’s a policeman?’

  ‘Yes. But my private life is private, Andy. I’ve never let it interfere with my job.’

  ‘Are you quite sure? He’s not just any old policeman, I understand. Working in intelligence. Is that right?’

  ‘If that’s what Riley told you, I’m sure he’s speaking out of turn. I don’t know what Marcus does. I don’t ask him, and he doesn’t tell me. And he doesn’t ask me about my work, and I don’t tell him.’

  He hated being challenged. ‘Right now, this is about what I know, not what anyone else knows. Why didn’t you tell me about your involvement in this case?’

  ‘Because I haven’t had the chance!’ I snapped back at him. ‘I haven’t seen you.’

  ‘For God’s sake. You’re here to deal with communications. I can read, and you can write. Exactly what is the problem?’

  I shrank back before him, but my courage didn’t fail. ‘Andy. What happened when we found the body isn’t interfering with my job. Nor is my relationship with Marcus. I have a right to a private life.’

  ‘And I have a right to expect honesty from my staff.’ He scowled at me. ‘This isn’t about me, Bronte. It isn’t about you. It’s about all the vulnerable people we’re trying to help and the attitudes we’re trying to change. Isn’t that worth something to you?’

  ‘It’s worth a lot. Now, perhaps I can get on with my work?’

  He stepped back, his cool gaze flicking over me until his mood switched back to one of troubled reasonableness. ‘I’m sorry again, Bronte. I lost my cool. Yes, of course. Go ahead and get back to work. And don’t take it to heart. I haven’t forgotten what you told me before. Yet again, my passion got the better of me.’ And he backed away.

  I watched him go, with relief. He was right. I had to make sacrifices. But Marcus was something I wasn't prepared to give up.

  Chapter 26

  ‘Another bad day at the office?’ Marcus teased, setting the drinks down on the bar.

  Under his sympathetic gaze, some of the stresses that assailed me melted away, and I sighed in something approaching contentment as I reached out a hand for my gin and tonic. ‘Is it obvious?’

  ‘Pretty much.’ He slid an arm around me, as if he couldn’t bear to wait until later. ‘Or else I can read you like a book.’

  The idea that somebody might understand me so easily, so completely, was luxury. I leaned into his shoulder, for the sheer pleasure of his touch. ‘And you’ll have had a rough day, too, if what I’ve heard is true.’

  ‘Our mutual friend popped in to see me, yes.’ He raised his pint as if he needed it.

  ‘He turned up at Planet People. Did he tell you?’

  He shook his head. ‘I think you can guess he tells me as little as possible.’

  ‘We were supposed to be seeing his press people about what he said to the papers and the telly, but he turned up instead. I think he thought he could catch Andy napping.’

  ‘There’s very little chance of that.’ Marcus failed to meet my gaze, a sign that always reminded me that he was once detailed with checking up on me and my radical friends. If Andy had a complicated back story, Marcus would know every ill-judged, conscience-driven turn of the plot.

  For a moment, I toyed with the idea of asking, but I suppressed the thought. It didn’t matter what kind of twisted soul Andy’s charisma raised in my imagination, as long as he himself was one of the good guys.

  Nick Riley was one of the good guys, too, though sometimes you’d never guess. ‘I’m spitting about it. I was supposed to be in a meeting with them about what Nick said to the papers.’

  Marcus rolled his eyes. ‘I’d have paid good money to see that. How did it go?’

  ‘I don’t know. He wouldn’t have me in it. He made Andy throw me out. He said it wasn’t appropriate for me to be there. Because of you.’

  ‘Yes. That’s my fault.’ Marcus sighed, trying to look as if he regretted it and failing. ‘I put his back up.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Already the world seemed less confrontational, less abrasive. The evening would surely only get better. I reached out to touch his hand, and he closed his fingers on mine for a second before he drew them away. It was always like that — together, then apart. Maybe I’d finally driven him to the point where he, too, saw the odds stacked against any attempt to commit.

  ‘I shared a few thoughts on the way he’s running his investigation, and he seemed to think I was telling him how to do his job. Which, in a manner of speaking, I suppose I probably was.’

  ‘Why? What did you say to him?’

  He shrugged, only very slightly, as if he were evaluating how much he should sa
y. ‘I don’t suppose it’s a secret. You read what he said in the paper, and you saw what I saw out in the snow. That’s all I can base my judgement on.’

  I stopped listening. A flash of red-gold caught my eye, illuminated by the lights in the pub. I fixed my gaze on it like a missile locking onto a target, desperate to be wrong. ‘Oh, God. What now?’

  ‘Bronte.’ Eilidh, with the doting Joe in her wake, swooped across the pub. ‘What a lovely surprise! Joe and I are off to a party in town, and we thought we’d pop in and see you, but you were out. But hey, doll. We pop in here for a quick drink, and here you are. It must be karma. And to think they say she’s a bitch.’

  She turned away from me with a theatrical toss of her head, and extended a hand to Marcus. ‘You must be Marcus. So good to meet you. We’ve heard all about you.’

  ‘I hope it was good.’ He kept a straight face.

  Eilidh held onto his hand rather longer than I liked, engaging him in a staring contest which he had the good manners to let her win. ‘Well, I’m not going to lie. I’ve heard a lot of controversial things about you, and you aren’t exactly the sort of person I approve of as a boyfriend for my sister. But she seems to like you, and I suppose that’s what matters.’

  ‘Let me get you a drink,’ he said, eyeing the bar as if it were his only escape.

  ‘Thanks. That would be fantastic. I’d love a G&T. Joe, do you want red wine? Good. You sit here and keep Bronte entertained. I’ll go and help Marcus with the drinks.’

  Joe, thank God, was good-humoured and easy to talk to. ‘See if he survives this?’ he said to me, watching as our respective partners joined the Friday night scrum at the bar. ‘You’ll have to keep him.’

  Eilidh’s scrutiny, whether Joe knew it or not, was surely only the preliminary shot across the bows in what would be a long and bruising fight. ‘I’ll be the one to decide on that.’ Too late, I remembered not to be too chippy. It wasn’t Joe’s fight, and he’d already been caught in the crossfire of one O’Hara family row.

  ‘Of course you will.’ He patted my arm, keen to keep on the right sight of his in-laws-to-be. ‘Tell me about the new job. Eilidh says you’re working with refugees. Is that right?’

  ‘Only in the broadest sense.’ The last thing I wanted to do was remind myself about how easily my dream job might go sour, just as I was starting to slough off its weight for the weekend. The alternative was talking about Marcus or Eilidh, so the easy option was a quick rattle through the spiel I used for potential donors.

  ‘We have a broad set of objectives, all related to social justice. Migration and support for refugees are a part of that. But we also want to improve living conditions and change attitudes. Self-help and State help combined are the only way forward.’

  ‘That’s an ambitious plan.’ A half-smile played on his lips as he watched Eilidh, apparently interrogating a resigned Marcus as they waited to be served.

  I could have killed her. There was nothing accidental about this meeting. Resisting the temptation to march over to the bar and slap her, I reined in my tongue for the sake of a long-term view. Marcus was quite capable of charming Eilidh, if there was any chance of her being charmed. I hadn’t lost my mother’s support, even if her reaction to him had been anything but whole-hearted. You have to know your enemy, and I knew every tortuous twist in the mind of mine.

  ‘It is. But there are all sorts of things we can do. We have three strands to our approach — practical, emotional, and psychological. If we only achieve ten per cent of what we aspire to do, we’ll make a huge difference.’

  ‘You need a project.’ Joe was a man to focus on the practical. ‘You could set them up making high-quality handicrafts. Something really authentic and high value. Or jewellery and objets d’art. I’m a great believer that cultural artefacts can make a contribution to wider understanding, and Syrian jewellery is beautiful and distinctive.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’ Suddenly, I saw skinny, sandy-haired Joe with new eyes.

  ‘Oh yes. I have a particular interest in Middle Eastern antiquities.’

  ‘Are there any artefacts left? I thought the whole of that area was just about ravaged.’

  ‘Not all of it. But that’s not the reason they’re so rare. They’re restricted and virtually never available on the open market. Some are legally held in private collections, but very few, and nothing new comes in. That’s why they command such a high price. But good reproduction jewellery could be a fundraiser for you.’

  Marcus, at last, had succeeded in getting served, and led Eilidh back to the table with some relief. ‘Here you go, Joe. It’s a merlot. That’s the best one they do.’

  ‘Marcus is such a charmer,’ purred Eilidh to her beloved, who raised his eyes to the ceiling in mock despair. ‘I can quite see why my little sister fell for his smooth talk.’

  ‘She’s like this with all my boyfriends,’ I said, ostensibly to Joe but largely for Marcus’s benefit. ‘If a poor unfortunate succeeds in overcoming all the obstacles put in front of him, he gets to win the hand of the fair lady.’

  Marcus, who knew my views on traditional values, laughed out loud.

  ‘Not at all. Bronte doesn’t believe in all that anti-feminist nonsense. Do you?’ Eilidh ripped open a bag of peanuts and spilled them out on the table.

  ‘It doesn’t mean you can’t draw an analogy.’ Joe helped himself to the peanuts and winked at me.

  ‘This princess will choose her own prince, thank you.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Eilidh rolled her eyes. ‘It was just a joke. Don’t you ever think it might be nice to have a knight in shining armour ride to your rescue?’

  ‘How are the wedding plans?’ I asked her, in what I hoped was a smart change of subject. And was rewarded by the sight of Marcus, meeting my eye and then turning away to hide his smile.

  *

  Eilidh, limpet-like, stuck it out for a good hour and a half in the pub, despite my own direct resistance, Marcus’s sphinxlike failure to engage, and Joe’s increasing discomfort. Eventually, it was her beloved who let his good manners get the better of him.

  ‘Come on, my love,’ he said, digging her in the ribs. ‘Time we went.’

  She got to her feet and entwined her scarf around her neck. ‘I suppose so. I’m so glad we bumped into you both. Marcus, you have to come home and meet the family. We do a wonderful Sunday lunch. Never dull.’

  ‘Would I be safe?’

  She looked a little shocked at such directness, but she had to smile. Like the rest of us, Eilidh had masses of courage and couldn’t help respecting it in someone else. ‘We’re quite scary, but I’m sure Bronte would be delighted to chaperone you. Though you look as if you can look after yourself.’

  ‘It’s been lovely to meet you, Eilidh, and I’m looking forward to meeting the rest of your family. But I think I’ll wait for the formal invitation.’

  I waited for her to turn away, then neatly stepped in between her and Joe as she made for the door. ‘Eilidh O’Hara,’ I said in her ear, ‘I’m not going to forget what you just did.’

  ‘And I’m not going to forget what he did, either,’ she hissed back, ‘even if he does do that come-and-get-me-I’m-aloof routine. But he’s trouble, and just because he’s bloody handsome trouble, that doesn’t make it okay. You’re besotted, and he’s manipulating you. But you can walk away from him any time you like, and we’ll be there to support you.’

  ‘Don’t you even think—’ I began as we manoeuvred our way out of the door past a group on their way in. And stopped. The blonde girl was there, on the other side of the road. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘No idea. Why?’

  ‘She’s everywhere I go. You said you thought Dad would put a PI on me.’

  ‘I said I wouldn’t be surprised,’ she countered, and took a longer look. ‘She might be that new girl who works in the office. I wouldn’t swear to it. One pretty blonde is much the same as another. Glasgow’s full of them.’

  ‘Just wait until I see him! Wh
o does he think he is?’

  ‘He’s your father,’ she reminded me. ‘He cares about you. But actually it does seem to me that you’ve got someone there who’ll put up a fight for you when you need it. If you’ll let him.’

  I didn’t answer her, too keen to try and catch a glimpse of the girl, but she’d gone in the second I’d wasted in argument with my sister.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Marcus.’ Joe, at least, sounded as if he meant it. ‘See you soon, Bronte.’

  ‘I meant it. Come for lunch on Sunday.’ Emboldened by her second G&T, Eilidh decided to take Marcus on.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he defended himself, deadpan. ‘I’ll be taking my granny to Mass.’

  ‘Marcus Fleming,’ I said, when Eilidh had tucked her hand into Joe’s and allowed herself to be towed along the street. ‘May you be forgiven. That was an out-and-out lie.’

  ‘Let’s get home,’ he said, under his breath and into my ear. ‘You can cook us a quick omelette and I’ll pour us a glass of wine, and we can have an early night.’ His arm tightened round me, signalling intent.

  ‘I’m looking forward to that. After the day we’ve both had.’

  ‘Yes. Before we were interrupted,’ he said, his gaze following Joe and Eilidh as they disappeared from sight on the way up towards the city centre, ‘I was going to tell you what I think our mate Nick ought to be investigating.’

  ‘I think I know.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Slavery,’ I said, ‘isn’t it?’

  ‘There. It’s as obvious to you as it is to me. Vulnerable people with no language skills and a desperate desire to be away from somewhere, for whatever reason. It’s easy to persuade them that they’re on the wrong side of the law, and before they know it that’s exactly where they are. Trapped.’

  ‘Sex slavery,’ I said, armed with all the knowledge I’d gained in my quick trawl through the internet that afternoon. ‘Domestic servitude. Forced labour. Debt bondage. Organised crime.’

  ‘Yes. That’s the one I think Nick should be looking at. And of course, in a way he is, except that he won’t believe that slavery can take place under his very nose and in his own community. He only sees an incomer stealing rather than working. I see a kid so desperate to escape that he risked his life in a storm. And lost.’