by Georgia Rose
“Grayson, control your breathing and you will control your fear, I promise you. Do as I say, now. Take a deep breath...” I inhaled as deeply as I could “…and let it out slowly.” I let it out, my chest shuddering, then I took in another breath and exhaled it again, trying to steady myself. The runway loomed ahead.
“Thank God, Emma...that’s better, calmer.” I could hear his sigh of relief through the headset. His voice was steady again. “Okay. We’re going to do a circle round before attempting the landing.”
I wiped my eyes and wet cheeks with the heel of my hand. All I wanted to do was land and get this over with, but I croaked a feeble “Okay” into the mouthpiece. Flying onwards, Trent led me round in a large circle. He used the time to soothe me, to get my mindset as close to being in the right place as it was possible to be before lining me up again on the approach. I tried to gather my thoughts again, but I was beyond being capable of that. I glanced anxiously across at Cavendish and Trent, acknowledging the thumbs ups they gave me. Then I looked forward and took a deep breath.
The jets disappeared from my side. Trent had explained they would have to leave me to make sure I didn’t get caught in their jet-stream, but he didn’t stop talking to me, guiding me in, repeating his earlier instructions, calmly correcting my approach as I ignored the flashing lights, the onlookers, the audience. I said a silent prayer to a God I no longer believed in as I followed every direction. I thought of the precious cargo I was carrying and the man waiting for me.
The plane shuddered as I brought it in. It lurched as I tried to correct the descent, tried to keep it even, overcorrecting one way, then the other, my mouth dry. There was a jolt as the wheels hit the tarmac too hard, bouncing back off and coming down again more gently until finally, finally, finally we stopped, and it was over.
“Don’t move, Emma, I’m coming to get you.”
I couldn’t have moved if I’d tried. Frozen in place with fear, even the relief at finally coming to a standstill was not enough to thaw me. Vehicles started to surround us, blue lights flashing as they came into view, people spilling out on to the tarmac. I watched the jets touch down further up the runway then turn and taxi back, stopping so I could see the passengers leap out and run.
I’d already heard a commotion coming from the back, the door being pulled open, people clattering up the steps, but I didn’t look back.
Trent appeared at my shoulder with soft words to warm me as he prised my hands from the control stick. He removed the headset and undid my harness before lifting me from my seat as if I weighed nothing. People were filling the rear section. I saw Cavendish hugging his family and others hunched over the prisoners as Trent carried me through the cabin and out of the door, chilly early morning air hitting my face.
Coming down the steps I was vaguely aware of people, vehicles, flashing lights around us. People with questions pushed forward as I buried myself in Trent’s chest, and he ignored it all, intent only on reaching his truck. Then he kissed my cheek, murmuring that he’d be back shortly. I was shocked that he was leaving me. I desperately felt the need to cling to him and not let him go, but he lowered me to the ground and I stood on shaking legs.
“Keep her warm, make her drink and don’t leave her,” he commanded, then turned and walked off.
Someone wrapped a blanket round my shoulders. I looked up to see Carlton, remembering Trent had said he’d be waiting. He opened the rear door of the truck, helping me up and on to the seat before handing me a bottle of water. Then he climbed up beside me, wrapping me in his arms as he held me close.
I’d not taken my eyes off Trent’s passage back through the gathered throng, and I watched him now as he talked animatedly with the police, hands firmly planted on his hips when he wasn’t gesticulating. He was not looking happy at all. I sipped at the water. I was so thirsty I wanted to gulp it down, but didn’t trust my stomach to hold on to it for long if I did.
“The horses are all okay, Em. They’re back in the stables. Greene, Burton and Young went to get them earlier.” He told me what he knew I wanted to know, but I couldn’t reply. I resorted instead to freeing my hand from the folds of blanket and taking his in mine as I held him tightly. Satisfied with this we sat, my head in the hollow of his shoulder as he rested his cheek against my hair, not seeming to care how filthy it was.
Trent was back within minutes, and after asking Carlton to drive he came and held me. I curled into his chest, only waking as we drove into the yard. Four heads over the stable doors were all I needed to see as Trent helped me out. As I walked unsteadily towards the cottage Susie threw herself at me, and I collapsed to my knees as I took her in my arms and held her close, my face buried in her coat.
Stanton and Bray were waiting in the kitchen for me. They told me I might feel some discomfort as they dealt with my wounds. I felt nothing. My split eyebrow was cleaned, the edges held together with butterfly stitches, my neck wound similarly treated. My jacket and shirt were cut from me, the cloth soaked and eased gently away from the laceration on my arm which stung and continued to ooze blood until it was anaesthetised and stitched. Bray checked the rest of me, cutting away my jodphurs as she cleaned the flesh wound. While they worked they chatted, trying to put me at ease, but I wasn’t able to respond. I was as though an invisible wall was shutting me off from what was going on around me. When both were satisfied nothing further needed attending to, they left us with dressings for the wounds to be put on once I’d been in the bath that had been run by Trent.
I ate the toast put in front of me and drank disgustingly sweet tea, which I’d thought was an old wives’ tale, and heard promises made of more to eat later when I’d feel more like it. Just as well – it was all I could do to keep the toast down.
Soon Trent and I were on our own, and I went through to the sitting room to see the damage. Most of the panes in the window had been broken. The office was the same. The walls were pockmarked by bullets, and I wondered how Carlton had survived.
Then Trent took me upstairs, helping me to undress before I stepped into the deep, warm bath. He washed me as if I were a child, shampooing my hair, his fingers gently massaging my scalp, then rinsing the dirt and soap away. Then he soaped the rest of me, soothingly caressing my skin before he joined me in the bath. Getting out, we wrapped ourselves in big, fluffy towels, and I put a hand on his shoulder, my fingers touching the skin already darkened to purple-black, matching the bruises on his ribs. I checked over his beautiful body, taking in a wound on his leg, another on his arm. He stopped my hand, covering it with his as I looked at him, and he murmured, “It’s okay...I’m okay,” then, kissing me softly, he led me to the bedroom, drying my hair before putting me to bed. I lay shivering, despite the heat of the day, and unable to close my eyes until he’d crawled in behind me, curling his warm body around mine. I fell asleep feeling his protection surround me.
We woke as the sun was going down; long fingers of pink streaked the sky as night closed in on the day we’d missed. Sleepy and tousle-haired, we ate tomato and basil soup that had been left for us, together with thick doorsteps of fresh white thickly buttered bread which melted deliciously into the soup when dunked, adding to the creamy richness. This was followed by a pasta dish that I picked at while Trent ate ravenously, both of us feeling better as we replenished our bodies with goodness and energy. We ate in silence, neither needing to talk. I couldn’t. I hadn’t spoken since landing. Trent accepted this, not asking anything as he took me back to bed and we crashed out again.
I woke in the night, gasping as my eyes jerked open at the sight of Orlov’s knife coming towards me. My heart hammered as I jolted awake, and adrenaline pumped through me. I took a deep breath, then lay back as I realised I was safe. I felt Trent’s arm around me, his hand spread across my stomach, tightening to hold me closer as if even in his sleep he’d felt me flinch. Turning over in the bed towards him I pressed my body up against his as he woke, responding to me as I knew he would, happy to give me whatever I needed becau
se he loved me.
Chapter 11
I slept late the next morning, my head still woozy and my body tired. Trent lay beside me, not long awake himself, asking nothing of me. We ate a lazy breakfast before showering and dressing. It was already late morning and I wanted to go and look at the horses, but on approaching the back door I found I didn’t want to leave the cottage. Fear swept through me at the irrational thought that dangerous men could still be lingering on the estate.
“Trent” was my first word, unsteadily spoken. He was sitting at the table drinking his coffee, but he rose unquestioningly, threaded his fingers through mine and led me outside with Susie in tow. The horses had been put out to grass and, feeling safer having him with me, I went to the paddock to check on them. The hot sun blazed down on us, humidity levels already high. I let go of Trent and checked on each horse, though I was mostly concerned for Monty who was least able to cope mentally with the situation he’d been put in. He jumped slightly as I approached, and it was plain to see he’d lost weight drastically, his ribs showing clearly though he was grazing well, and I hoped he’d bounce back quickly. The others were fine and happy to greet me as I interrupted their grazing. I checked Regan’s wound which had been cleaned and dusted with antiseptic powder. I was pleased to see it looked dry and already on the mend and he then stood patiently as I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him, breathing in the dusty horse smell I found so comforting.
I walked back to join Trent, surprised that he wanted to stay there rather than return to the cottage. I leant on the fence next to him and we surveyed the peaceful scene in front of us.
“I’m sorry, Em,” he murmured rather awkwardly, not looking at me but at somewhere in the distance.
“Sorry for what?”
He hung his head, studying the ground in front of him, his foot scuffing a path through the longer grass. “For everything you’ve been put through.”
“It was hardly your fault, Trent.”
“I feel responsible, Em. All that talk about protecting you, but when it came to it I wasn’t able to...” His voice tailed off.
“You couldn’t be everywhere...your duty was to Cavendish. That’s who was under threat.”
“I can’t help feeling I had my priorities wrong.”
“You didn’t Trent. You did what you had to do, and as I’ve told you before I don’t need protecting.” I said this in order to help him feel better, but it wasn’t the truth. On this occasion I had needed him. I had needed him to protect me. I remembered how many times since our escape on the horses I’d wished he’d been there helping me, looking after me. Instead I’d spent that time not even knowing if he was still alive, believing my biggest fear had been realised. I’d been independent for so long it was hard for me to acknowledge, even to myself, this need for his protection, and now wasn’t the time to mention it to him. I didn’t want to make him feel any worse than he clearly already did. He didn’t respond, but looked subdued as I continued, “You came for me, Trent, like you said you would. I couldn’t have got through it without you,” and then he smiled rather half-heartedly.
“I should have done better.”
Returning to the cottage, we continued our recovery, resting and eating interspersed with brief conversation. Trent tentatively started to ask questions, drawing the information out of me as I answered him and asked my own questions in return, bringing each other up to date with what we’d been through.
Everything was comfortable until the evening when Trent took a call on a phone from his pocket. It was my phone, retrieved from the gravel where it had been thrown from the plane. His, I’d found out, had been destroyed by a bullet meant for him. I watched the transformation from calm to anger as he reacted to the call, swearing loudly at the messenger who I suspected was Cavendish. I was surprised; usually so calm and controlled it was so out of character. Still cursing, he ended the call, then realising I was listening tried to pretend nothing was wrong.
“Tell me,” I insisted, and he came to sit next to me on the settee, taking my hand firmly. I guessed this was going to be bad.
“Orlov and the other two have escaped.”
Fear flooded through me as I croaked, “How?”
“They were being transported between the police station where they were being interviewed and prison, and the convoy was intercepted. I knew they wouldn’t take the threat seriously and be appropriately equipped. The result? Three policemen and two prison guards dead, and others wounded.” Clearly frustrated, he leapt up and paced the room as he continued, “I told them of the dangers. I told them other gang members were on the loose and wouldn’t leave them to be locked up. I told them, and they wouldn’t listen. I even offered for our people to step in to take over. They would’ve been better prepared, better equipped for the situation, but the powers that be would have none of it. And this is the result, a bloody mess.”
“Will they be coming here?” I asked, my anxiety rising. Trent took in the look on my face then came and knelt in front of me, his hands on my thighs as he tried to reassure me.
“No, of course not. They’ll be out of the country by now – you don’t need to worry about that.” But I’d already pushed his hands away and gone to the back door to make sure it was locked. Susie followed me back into the room, watching me as I checked out of the front, currently paneless, windows, peering up and down the lane.
Trent called to me to come and sit down. He held me tightly, murmuring into my hair, “You’re safe now, Em, no one’s coming for you.”
A short while later he disappeared out to the yard, and I watched him pacing and speaking furiously into the phone, making call after call until eventually he came in and collapsed on to the settee where I was trying, unsuccessfully, to read a book.
I looked at him, waiting for an update. He let out an exasperated sigh before giving me the gist of his calls. Following the attack on the convoy taking the men to prison there’d been no definite sighting of any members of the organisation in the country.
“That doesn’t mean they’ve left, Trent.”
“No, but they’ve been hit badly. They lost several people here and are going to need to regroup. Having lost the element of surprise they’re not going to try this again soon...if at all,” he added as an afterthought.
“So what happens now?”
“I’ve put a few calls out abroad, and obviously SIS are monitoring all intelligence that comes in. We should soon hear something regarding their whereabouts.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think they will have gone to ground, getting back home as quickly as possible. Their mission was a failure and they will have been humiliated by their defeat. Orlov particularly,” he finished, though he wasn’t gloating.
Now was the moment to bring up something Orlov had said that had bothered me. Looking down at my book, I muttered, “He said you were just like him, that you behaved just like him. You’re not like that, are you?” I couldn’t believe it, but I didn’t know what he got up to when on a mission, and I hated to think what he might have to do.
“No, Em, I’m not like him, not at all.” I could hear the anger in his voice at the accusation. “I don’t go around threatening women and children, using them as pawns like he does in his sick games. I take on the people who deserve it, the ringleaders, the ones who are in the wrong. Not the innocent. At some point, not now but at some point in the future, our paths will cross again, and he won’t get away next time.”
We kept to ourselves, and I was happy to only have his company. That was until the following day, when he said we’d been invited to the Manor for the evening. An informal get-together, was what he called it. I imagined something small and quiet, but later, as we approached the office, Trent stopped me and apologised.
“I’m sorry about this. I tried to stop them, but trying to stop Grace is like trying to hold back the sea. If it’s too much we’ll leave...okay? You let me know.” And I was left wondering what I was letting mysel
f in for.
Walking into the office felt like walking into an ambush. I knew Grace wouldn’t have planned to make me feel awkward, but even so an uncomfortable hush descended as all those assembled turned towards us, no one quite sure how I would take the surprise. I could feel the frisson in the atmosphere and had the horrible feeling my arrival was that of an expected but rather disappointing guest; one that they were desperate to cheer or clap, or something equally embarrassing, but were having to hold themselves back.
Cavendish welcomed me warmly as Grace, breaking ranks, leapt forward and threw herself into my arms, to be joined by Sophia and Reuben. I was so pleased to see they were all well and their exuberance was so infectious that I found myself smiling, and relaxed for the first time.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome,” I muttered, fighting back tears. When she eventually relinquished her hold on me I saw she was doing the same. Cavendish, bolstered by the smile on my face, turned to the room, raised his glass, and said, “To the best decision I ever made!”
Laughter broke out and the audience, taking it as their cue that I wasn’t about to have a melt-down or bolt for the exit, started clapping, quietly at first but quickly building to a crescendo of claps, cheers and general whooping from the boys. Trent hugged me to him, grinning as I blushed horribly with embarrassment.
“Thank God that’s over,” he said as I exhaled with relief and Wade handed us a couple of beers. I was quite comfortable actually, now the awkwardness of our arrival was over. It was strange, but the experiences I’d been through, the fears I’d faced, had given me a renewed confidence in this crowd, as if I were one of them – no longer the outsider.
It looked as if this was to be a rerun of the meeting held only a few weeks before, though it felt much longer ago than that. Grace and Cavendish joined us at the drinks table as the noise level increased again. I noticed they held each other’s hands, and wondered if, like us, they were feeling the need for that constant reassurance.