Page 21 of Savage Justice

I place Noah in the centre of the huge bed and locate my clothes from last night. I don’t remember getting undressed, but my things have been neatly folded and placed on an ottoman below the window. I pull them back on, a pair of green khaki chinos and a loose-fitting shirt, my usual attire for working.

Yes, that was it. It’s coming back clearly now. I was in my studio. The children were in bed, and I’d been planning my latest project, sketching out some ideas. It was getting late. Really late. I’d decided to call it a night, so I went into the kitchen to make myself some tea. I remember boiling the kettle, and pouring water into the teapot, and then—

Christ! The hood over my head, out of nowhere. I couldn’t breathe. It was dark, totally black. I could hear him, but I couldn’t see him.

I sink onto the bed, shaking. He would have killed me, I’m sure of that. He came close, but something stopped him. Or… someone.

Who? Why? How?

I draw in several breaths, steady myself. Noah is whimpering in earnest now, getting louder, demanding that his little belly be filled. I clutch him to me and try the door.

It opens. I’m surprised, though I don’t see why I would be. I’m not a prisoner, am I? And Lucy got out okay.

I’m barefoot, but that doesn’t seem to matter. The carpet in the hallway outside is lush and soft, tickling between my toes. I make my way along until I reach a wide, sweeping staircase. I remember this, too, remember being carried up these stairs. I descend with care, listening for any sounds, any sign that I’m not alone here.

I reach the bottom and find myself in an expansive entrance hall. The floor is tiled in black and grey, the walls eggshell blue with decorative plasterwork picked out in gold leaf. It feels like a stately home, the sort of place featured in Hare and Hounds.

Doorways lead off from both sides of the hall. I peep into the closest room, some sort of drawing room with sofas and a huge wall-mounted television. There’s no one here. I step out and quietly close the door. “Okay,” I murmur to Noah, “let’s search a bit further.”

The next door I try is locked, so I move on. Another door opens onto a grand dining room, though from the debris strewn across the huge mahogany table I suspect it is more of a conference room nowadays. I see empty coffee cups, chewing gum wrappers, a few pens and a desk calculator, and a half-empty bottle of Chivas Regal whisky. Clearly, the maid hasn’t turned in just yet.

I close that door and continue on. And I hear voices. Male voices, echoing along the corridor to my right. I might have gone the other way and avoided them, but the clink of crockery draws me in. I venture forward until I reach another open door, this one leading to a kitchen.

And I see Lucy. The relief is near overwhelming. She’s seated at the huge oak table in the centre of the room, beside a man in a sharply tailored suit. A ridiculously handsome man, I have to admit, though why I should register that irrelevant fact is beyond me right now. Opposite them is a boy, about Lucy’s age, and there are two other men lounging against worktops. They’re both hot as hell, too, especially in the expensive business suits they are both wearing. I never believed much in lady porn, until now.

Christ, what is this place?

“Checkmate!” The boy at the table grins.

I register that they were playing chess, and I gather he’s just won.

But Lucy doesn’t play chess. Neither do I.

“Well done. I have to go. Robbie, will you play with Lucy?” The man at the table gets to his feet. “But remember, she’s just learning so give her a chance.”

There follows a brief exchange where the boy seems to think he’s too grand to play with a mere girl. The man sets him right, but there’s kindness in his manner, and both children seem mesmerised. For a moment, so am I.

Then, he sees me lurking in the doorway, and the spell is broken.

One of the men by the worktop straightens to greet me. “Good morning, Molly. Are you hungry? We have toast. Or cereals.”

I shake my head and resist the urge to back away. I need food for my baby. “Nothing for me, thank you. But I wonder, is there anything that I could give my baby? He’s hungry, and—”

“Ruth made this bottle up.”

I whirl at the new voice from behind me. I never heard this man coming. Tall, blond, as beautiful as the rest, he holds out a bottle of lukewarm baby milk.

“She thought he’d be waking about now, so she mixed an extra one. You weren’t in your room, so…”

“Thank you,” I murmur. “I didn’t expect…”

“Our baby girl is about the same age as him,” he offers by way of explanation. “Six months?”

“Noah’s seven months,” I agree. “He’s just starting on solids, but…”

“You can have my seat.” The man who had been playing chess gestures to the empty chair, just as one of the others places a round of toast and a mug of coffee there. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I sink into the chair. “I’ll just feed Noah, then we’ll be off. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.” Which loosely translates as: I’m fucking scared. I need to get out of here…