With the car slowing down, we had arrived at a set of wrought iron gates.
“It looked like a country estate! There were horses in the field and hills dotted with sheep b-but...”
“Go on. What else did you see?” Hannah prompted.
“A house, a huge mansion. Neat hedges, a long driveway running up to the entrance.”
“So how did the other girls react?”
“They were as amazed as I was. None of us could believe it! What were we doing at this great posh country house in the middle of nowhere?”
Picturing the driveway, I caught my breath; for there, in the distance emerged a cloud of forest. At first it was indistinct, just a green smudge on the horizon.
“Okay, so you were in a car,” Hannah prodded, “six of you. You were driven some distance and no longer in London but a country estate.”
“That’s right,” I croaked.
My mind struggled at this point but something else was out there, a vision that manifested itself gradually until it jolted me in its magnitude.
“Maisie, what is it?”
My breath had quickened as I observed the view from behind the car window. The forest shimmered closer but it was no longer the forest I was fixated on.
“A cluster of oak trees.”
They rose up without warning. Hugged the fringe of the forest as if guarding it.
“I-I’m starting to remember the party, too. The adults making a fuss of us, admiring our dresses and our hair. They led us into a lovely lounge and we played games, we listened to music. We were dancing and having fun...”
The infectious notes of ‘Push the Feeling On,’ by the Night Crawlers piped through the room as we gyrated around on the carpet. At the same time, shadows drifted in and out of my mind’s eye, a scattering of smiling adults. It was such a surreal atmosphere and something about the merriment seemed forced.
“They were there for a reason. Observing our interaction perhaps, as if to build up some profile for the adoption services?”
Yet the feeling was short lived.
The unexpected sight of Mr. Mortimer twisted a sudden knot of dread in my belly.
“What was he doing there?” I gasped. That was when I spotted the punch bowl. It triggered a timely warning, and I remembered what Joe had said.
‘Come on now, girls, drink up. It’s nearly time to drive you home.’
His toad-like eyes slithered over me, monitoring every sip I took. In fact if it hadn’t been for the squawk of another girl’s laugh, he might not have spun around when he did, but for a moment, his scrutiny slipped.
“I tipped the rest of my punch into a flower vase,” I said defiantly.
Only when we departed from the house did those trees make their lasting impression. Their fat, writhing branches formed an ugly silhouette.
“It was creepy,” I choked, my throat so dry I could barely force the words out. “I sensed a presence out there, as if a hundred eyes were following us...”
What I also realised was how quiet the car had become before a raw, paralysing fear consumed me. For there, lingering beyond the oak trees, stood a lone figure, the flutter of a cloak in the gloom.
“A hooded shadow,” my voice echoed.
Everything felt like a game now, some eerie fantasy world, where I was the only player. A dreamy silence enveloped me and I felt the strength of that figure’s stare. But as the mouth of the forest yawned, a single track was illuminated, twisting its way into the heart, where I knew an even darker thicket of trees was awaiting us.
Little whimpers escaped my throat; I was powerless to stop them.
“No, please... this isn’t happening... not now.”
“Take it easy,” Hannah murmured. “You’re safe, Maisie, remember? No one is going to hurt you... time I brought you back now.”
But even as I clawed my way back to consciousness, a distant face peered through the darkness. It blew the breath out of me, yet that face... that chiselled profile of the man I had seen earlier. Could he and Mortimer be allies?
******
Heart thumping, I unlocked the door to my flat, unable to believe what my subconscious mind was telling me. The sight of Joe hovering in the lounge stalled me.
“Hi, Maisie,” he greeted me. “How did you get on?”
Drifting towards him on autopilot, I wanted nothing more than to hug him. Yet the atmosphere between us felt strained.
How could I explain?
Something felt different since last weekend, and with Joe and Jess in a relationship, I knew the dynamics had shifted.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I eased myself into the sofa.
“You know we were trying to figure out the truth behind those parties? I regressed as far back into my childhood as I dared.”
The frown on his face deepened. “You sure you’re up to telling me this? D’you need a glass of wine first?”
I risked a smile. “Sounds like a plan, but only if you’ll join me.”
The sincerity in his eyes was enough to melt my resolve, and before I knew it, the details were pouring out faster than I could hold back; memories of Mortimer and his silver-haired ally. I had witnessed them colluding in the corridor, but with images of oak trees interwoven into the aftermath of that strange party, I had emerged from the scene even more confused.
“You saw him,” Joe pressed.
“Yes, but I’m not sure where he features. I didn’t see him at the house or the party, only something creepy came to mind when we were driven to the forest. Everything seemed surreal. I felt sleepy and it was dark...”
I sensed his stare as I chewed the skin around my fingernail.
“I’m glad you’re here, though. At least we can talk about it...” Another smile forced its way onto my lips. “So no Jess tonight?”
“Jess is at a works do and I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.” His brow furrowed into a frown again. “Maisie, are you sure you’re okay about me and Jess having a fling?”
“Of course,” I chuckled. “Why shouldn’t I be? You deserve a love life the same as anyone, but is it just a fling?”
“Who knows? Between you and me, I think she’s looking for a bit of adventure in her life...” and turning on his heel, he let loose a smile. “So no, I’m not seeing Jess ‘til tomorrow. Now where’s that wine hiding?”
I felt my heart squeeze.
That sweet, lop-sided smile... the one characteristic that would always endear him to me.
“Great,” I responded joyfully. “Then let’s get fish and chips tonight. I don’t really fancy cooking.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
London
Thomas sighed to himself, tucking the news cuttings into his dossier. At least the stories were starting to diminish now. But what a terrible scandal to blemish the walls of Westminster, and just when he was gaining some prominence.
Rising to his feet, he checked his reflection. Large bay windows allowed the mid-morning light to flood in, illuminating his features. Despite his sixty-two years, he boasted a full head of hair, as glossy as polished silver, and today of all days he wanted to cling to that confidence.
So when the clock struck eleven he was ready for them.
Lingering by the window, he saw a van pull up, and recognising the pink and white logo assigned to the ‘Gleam Gals,’ he felt a glow touch his heart.
A week ago, he could not believe his fortune when two girls had turned up at his apartment. Poppy’s friends had indeed turned out to be everything a distinguished gentleman could wish for, but never in his life had he expected such beauties.
Abby wore her jet black hair in a tidy bun; Abby whose sweeping black lashes and pink lips reminded him of a pin-up. Tanya, on the other hand, was unmistakably the quieter one with a pale dewy complexion and platinum-blonde hair. But the one feature that mesmerised him was her eyes; large, round and the iciest light blue, their striking impact had stayed with him.
Yes, he had a lot to thank Poppy for, recommending this do
mestic agency.
“Girls!” he greeted them warmly. “Come on in!”
Abby peeped up saucily from beneath her sooty lashes. “Good morning, Sir, and how are we today?”
“Very well, thank you,” he murmured. “All the better for seeing you, my dear. And how is little Tanya?”
A lock of hair had strayed onto her cheek bone and helpless to resist, he spiralled it around his finger to tuck it behind her ear. Staring back brazenly, she returned his smile but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, glacially cool, as they swept over his suit.
“Mr Parker-Smythe,” she purred with the trace of an East European accent. “You look smart. Are you going out today?”
“I have to be in Westminster by noon,” he beamed, “but please! Make yourselves at home. You know where the tea and coffee is and I bought some chocolate chip cookies. If you could just give the place another good sweep and dust...”
The words dried on his lips as the girls exchanged glances, and only then did he notice something strange, almost conspiratorial in their behaviour.
He watched in a dream as they swayed before him in their long, black coats then slowly began to unbutton them. One by one the coats fell to the carpet, a sight that nearly floored him. For beneath those coats were not the pinafores he remembered. Today they were wearing short black dresses, teamed with frilly white aprons and seamed stockings.
“Oh, my darlings!” He gasped with pleasure. “I was only joking when I said I’d love to see you in French maids’ outfits...”
How regrettably short was his time with them. Wary of their presence, he engrossed himself in paperwork. Yet they flickered on the periphery like butterflies, one fair, one dark, the essence of every red-blooded man’s fantasy.
But given his age and position in Parliament, he dared not be caught staring. His fleeting remark about French maids’ outfits had never been meant seriously, though he was touched by their efforts to please him. Indulging his little whims reignited a sense of empowerment in him, and when the taxi turned up, he stole a last glance in the mirror.
Satisfied that he looked immaculate, he stepped outside.
But just as the taxi was leaving, a movement sharpened his senses; a shadow so subliminal it would have been easy to miss. Thomas raised his head. And although the youth loitering on the corner appeared preoccupied - hand glued to his mobile, head bowed under the rim of a black hoodie - why was he struck with the impression this person had been waiting for him?
Thomas swallowed, hand clawing at his collar to loosen his tie.
Please not a journalist.
He should have known that as soon as he became a public figure, he would be subject to closer scrutiny. Now here he was, a member of the House of Lords, and there were two girls in his apartment. Two girls dressed up like tarts.
******
“Are you ready for this?” the caller prompted.
“I see no reason why not.”
“Then go for it. The wheels have been set in motion.”
The man’s breathing grew heavier as he pictured his quarry.
Pity he had turned his back on their enterprise, too puffed up with his own flimsy ideology to reap the rewards.
Watching from the sidelines, he had witnessed the man’s every career move. Leaping from branch to branch to the top of his tree until he had at last ascended to power.
Yet it was he who would have the last laugh.
“Have you been following the stories in the papers?” he couldn’t resist musing. “It appears the authorities are closing in now.”
“Good,” his accomplice whispered, “the timing couldn’t be better. All those high establishment figures, associated with a historic abuse scandal... The police are leaving no stone unturned, and I bet the press will have a field day.”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
Since falling from grace, he had faded to a ghost of his former self, but now, finally, the balance of power was about to shift.
If all went as intended, the girl would be easy prey soon. Yes, she was the one he had always wanted, a treasured bloom ready to be harvested, and he could not wait to see their long awaited plans fulfilled.
“Only one more obstacle stands in our path,” he added sharply.
A prick of anger lanced his thoughts as Joe Winterton arose to haunt him.
“Yes, I know and you’ve been very patient,” his ally placated him. “We’ve waited too long to allow a skank like him to worm his way into Maisie’s life. So let’s do what you suggested from the start, shall we? Deal with him once and for all.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
What Maisie did not realise was that Joe had been thinking about her too.
Cycling to work before dawn, he would never forget that wistful look when she had returned from her therapy. Yet it wasn’t what she had told him that tugged a knot in his chest, as much as what she hadn’t.
Pausing at the end of the avenue, he eased his bike onto the pavement to avoid the roundabout. A violet glow infused the sky, melting away the darkness. Despite the lack of traffic, though, the configuration of roads looked daunting. He crossed the Chichester Road with caution before leaping back onto the saddle.
Riding north, he felt a breeze wash over his face, his thoughts creeping back to Maisie.
She couldn’t be cut up about him and Jess, surely?
If it hadn’t been for that baleful threat on Instagram, she might never have invited him to stay. But with the fuse between them ignited, he couldn’t get enough of her now. Neither knew how long the affair would last, but it didn’t alter the way he felt about Maisie.
Continuing past the Bognor War Memorial Hospital, he sped up to the main Shripney road without delay. An arc of headlights occasionally split the darkness but as his thoughts wandered, they were drawn inevitably to the threats online.
The trolls were still out there, polluting his Twitter feed with their poison.
The black car, on the other hand, had been markedly absent since Maisie’s last sighting, but it all pointed towards some criminal faction.
Staring ahead, he circumnavigated the final roundabout. One more stretch of road and he would reach the pedestrian crossing opposite Sainsbury’s.
Then the unexpected belch of an engine broke the tranquillity.
Joe flinched. Seconds ago there had been no one on the road; if there had been, the sound would have emerged more gradually. He could never have known how sharply he stood out, but as the vehicle crept behind him, something else struck him.
Where was the gleam of headlights?
Joe glanced around, then wished he hadn’t as the menacing bulk of a transit van emerged from the shadows. A dart of fear pierced his senses and he pedalled faster, but it was impossible to react quickly enough. With one almighty burst of the accelerator, the van cut across in front of him, giving him no choice but to mount the pavement. Wheels jolting over the curb, he could barely think straight.
How the hell was he supposed to dodge a van?
But everything happened suddenly, wheels wobbling as he experienced a horrible loss of gravity. Thrown to the ground, Joe landed heavily, the panic in his mind spiralling, the van driver revving harder...
“Stop!” a scream finally exploded from the opposite side of the road. “What the fuck d’you think you’re playing at?”
An aubergine fleece registered, the sight of a colleague belting across the main road. Recognising the heavily built driver known as Colin, Joe heard the blare of a car horn. Saw another rescuer pull into the roadside.
The next time he forced his eyes open, the van had vanished, thank God.
“Christ, mate, are you okay?” Colin spluttered.
Drawn by the commotion, more people began to emerge in the dawning light. A slam of car doors echoed around him like thunder.
“Call the police!” someone hollered. “An ambulance!”
“No - n-no,” Joe mumbled, finding his voice at last, “i-it’s alright, I’m not badly hurt but can
someone help me across the road to the warehouse?”
Giddy with shock, he felt the hands of his colleagues on him, lifting him, and he slowly struggled to his feet.
No, he wasn’t badly hurt as far as he could tell.
By the time they escorted him to the warehouse, though, the pain started to kick in. His left knee throbbed from crashing onto the tarmac. Touching the side of his face, he winced at the sting of grazing and when he examined his hands, he saw beads of blood oozing from his palms, glints of gravel embedded in the cuts.
With a resigned sigh, he limped towards the sink where his boss was already waiting. Vicky’s face tightened as she sifted through the first aid box; his colleagues must have updated her by now.
“Joe,” she began softly. “I think we need to clean up these wounds, don’t you? And have you seen the state of your badge?”
Glancing down at his dusty fleece, he could have laughed out loud. His name badge, though cracked and hanging by its pin, was the least of his worries. Turning the cold tap on, Vicky tore a sheet of paper from a roll to dampen it. Rivulets of blood soaked the paper, turning it pink as the truth finally sank in.
“Look, I know what happened,” she murmured, her voice so low it was drowned by the commotion in the warehouse. “Colin told me. He witnessed the whole thing from the car park, and you might as well know he’s notified the police.”
A surge of delayed terror came shuddering down his spine. “The police?”
“Yes,” Vicky said, still quiet, “and with any luck those lunatics will be caught and arrested but what about you?”
He felt a lump in his throat but swallowed it back hard.
“I have to ask – and don’t take offence – but when you were in prison, did you make any enemies?”
“No,” Joe spluttered. “This ain’t got nothing to do with prison!”
“Okay,” she sighed. “Sorry, but you have to understand my concerns.”
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