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‘I’m suddenly not hungry,’ I reply quietly, opening the door. ‘I think I need a lie down.’
The old pair smile mildly, both nodding their understanding, as I let myself out of the kitchen. I stand in the corridor for an age, wondering what on earth I’m going to do with myself. What if he doesn’t call? What if . . .
There are so many what ifs, none of which I like. This is going to be torturous. Just wait here, my mind dreaming up all kinds of things? I can’t.
I rush back to the library and replace the leather bound book in the secret compartment and then take myself up to Becker’s apartment. And my hands are in his wardrobe as soon as I make it to his bedroom. And a small suitcase is on the bed soon after that. And my clothes are being stuffed inside a few seconds later.
I’m on my way out the door with my packed case and my passport before my brain has told me what the plan is. Wait for word? Wait here worrying to death whether he’s safe? Whether he’s alive? I don’t think so.
And, actually, if that damn sculpture is there to be found, I want to see my man’s face when he lays his hands on it. I want to see the exhilaration. I want to feel his peace. It’s not just him now, it’s us, and after everything I’ve been through to get to now, I feel like I deserve to experience the climax and know that it’s the end of his mission. I need to know that we can get on with our lives without the mystery of that godforsaken sculpture hanging around our necks.
So God’s speed to me, too.
Chapter 40
I stare at my reflection in the mirror of the ladies’ bathroom at Fiumicino Airport, taking in my new appearance while I chew my lip. I’m wearing a wig – a black, glossy one that’s poker straight to my shoulders with a fringe. I haven’t had a fringe since I was six, and my pasty complexion definitely doesn’t carry jet black very well. But I don’t look like me. My red hair is like a beacon, would be noticed a mile off. Over the top? Not at all. Brent Wilson could be tailing Becker. I can’t risk being seen, especially after his attempt to remove me from Countryscape.
On a deep breath, I have another quick faff with my new hairstyle before slipping on some shades. ‘Perfect,’ I say to my reflection, then I grab my case and head for the taxi rank.
I’ve always wanted to visit Rome – always been desperate to indulge in the ancient city and visit all the places that I’ve read about. But as the taxi takes me through the streets that I’ve longed to lose myself in, my focus is set firmly on the disposable phone that I bought at Heathrow as I programme in Becker’s number. I’m not stupid. He has my phone tracked and bugged, and I know Percy the whizz kid will give Becker the heads-up on my whereabouts. Or Mrs Potts and Gramps will have raised the alarm when they realise I’m missing. Becker would have found out I was on my way to the airport before I made it there, and I know he would have me stopped from boarding the flight one way or another. I’m taking no chances.
It’s still light, though dusk is falling, and I know Becker will be waiting for darkness before he hits the ancient church. We rumble down a cobbled side street, and the taxi rolls to a stop, the driver looking at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘La strada finisce qui. Bisogna camminare il resto.’
My eyebrows pinch once he’s finished firing his jumble of foreign words at me. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian.’
‘The road. It finish,’ he tells me abruptly. ‘You walk now.’
‘Oh.’ I dive into my purse and pull out some euros. ‘Is it far?’
He holds up two fingers and takes the cash. ‘Two minute.’
‘Thank you.’ I get out of the cab, tugging my small case behind me. The air is quite close, the streets busy with tourists. Wandering down the pedestrian zone, my case bumping behind me, I want to glance up and around me to admire the old buildings that are closing me in on the narrow street, but my attention remains trained on the path before me, my concentration acute. Now I’m here, a few nerves are tickling, giving me a moment to pause to consider for the first time what Becker might say when he discovers that I’ve followed him. I hear a lot of swearing in my mind. And I see an angry face. I’ll take his wrath. There’s not much he can do about it now. It seems he’s contaminated me with his thrill-seeking ways. He can deal with it.
The street narrows further for a few hundred yards, and once I’ve bumped my way through the crowds, it opens up onto a square. My pace slows until I eventually grind to a stop, and my head drops back, my mouth open. The sight takes my breath away. ‘Oh my days,’ I whisper to myself, staring at the ancient building, which looks like it could have grown up from the ground. Goose bumps pitter-patter across the exposed skin of my arms, my hands reaching up to my shades and pulling them off. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful but eerie, the exterior magnificent but almost gloomy. It’s a beast of a building, standing proud and powerfully, dominating the piazza, looking almost too big for the space. The small buildings surrounding it look like dolls’ houses, tiny and dainty, and the people wandering around look like mere specks of dust in the shadow of the Pantheon. It’s the most powerful atmosphere I’ve ever experienced, the history that’s seeping from the stone of the structure tangible. I’m rendered paralysed by it.
‘Oh,’ I yelp as something collides with my back and I jolt forward abruptly, being snapped from my trance.
‘Scusa!’ A man takes my arm to steady me. ‘Mi dispiace, non ti ho visto.’
I let him ensure my stability before I reach up to my head, making sure my wig isn’t sliding down my face. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, for what reason I don’t know. He bumped into me.
‘Ah, English.’ He smiles, and I nod, gathering myself as he releases me. ‘Please, I’m sorry. It is quite busy.’ He indicates around us, where crowds of people are all taking pictures or just standing staring up at the beautiful landmark. ‘You are a tourist?’
‘I’m here on business,’ I say on impulse, backing away from him.
He tips his hat and passes me. ‘Good day.’
‘Good day,’ I reply, wandering further into the square, looking around at all the cafes with tables and chairs spilling onto the piazza. I find an empty seat at one of them and settle down, taking the time after I’ve ordered a coffee to go over my plan. It’s quite simple. I’m going to call him and tell him that I’m here. That’s it. But before I face Becker’s fury, I decide to have a few quiet moments to myself, sipping my coffee and absorbing the sight before me. And maybe to build up some courage. Lord, Dad, I bet you’re spinning in your grave.
I drag it out for far longer than I planned, but the company of the Pantheon is beyond spectacular, and not only that, my mind is racing with where on earth Becker will start with his search. The building is colossal. He could be here for months, turn the place upside down and inside-out, and still not find it. If it’s even here to be found.
I sit, relaxed and thinking, until the sun has disappeared beyond the buildings surrounding the old church and a shadow creeps across the square, making it seem more foreboding. More eerie. It’s getting late. I need to call him. Face the music.
I ask for the bill and reach into my bag to retrieve my purse, but after a good few seconds of feeling around, I can’t lay my hands on it. Cursing, I pull my bag up onto my lap and practically stick my face inside. I frown. No purse. ‘Oh no,’ I gasp, my mind giving me a replay of the scene earlier when a man, quite literally, knocked me out of my trance. ‘He stole my purse,’ I say to my bag, looking up and around, my eyes darting as if I might find the dirty little crook. I can’t believe I’ve been pick-pocketed. My whole body slumps into my chair. What am I going to do? I have no money, no cards. ‘Shit,’ I spit, looking over my shoulder to the cafe as I weigh up my options. It takes just a few seconds to figure out that I don’t have many. Well, just one, actually. Run. But just as I’m coming to terms with yet another crime I’m about to add to my ever-growing list of wrongs, something catches my attention
and holds it.
My heart has a little clatter in my chest. It’s no wonder when he’s looking so fucking delicious, his body reclined, his ankle resting on his knee, his Ray-Ban shades in place. He’s a couple of tables in front to the left of me, practically within spitting distance.
My breath audibly hitches, and all worries of the anger I’ll be faced with when he finds out I’m in Rome disappears at the mere sight of him.
I smile to myself, having a careful scan of his suit-adorned physique. His stare is set firmly on the ominous building before us, his fingers drumming the table by the espresso that the waiter has just placed down, and I can literally see his mind racing.
I clear my throat and get to my feet, taking the four paces that get me to the side of his table. ‘Hello,’ I say, looking down at him.
‘I’m taken,’ he mutters, not allowing his line of sight to falter as he reaches for his coffee.
His declaration brings the biggest smile to my face. ‘Well, that’s a shame.’ I sigh, feigning disappointment. ‘I’ve been a naughty girl and need my arse spanking.’
His coffee pauses halfway to his mouth and his face slowly turns up to me. I grin, and Becker gapes, lifting up his shades to reveal wide, shocked, hazel eyes. ‘What the fuck?’ he coughs, dropping his cup to the table and shooting up from his chair. ‘Eleanor?’
‘Hi!’
‘Sweet mother of fucking God.’ He grabs my arm and yanks me down to a seat, looking around nervously. I can’t stop myself. I dive forward and smash my lips to his, and he doesn’t fight me off. I don’t know what’s come over me. Relief? I hear him groan, feeling his tongue lapping gently across mine, before he growls and forces me back into my chair. Reaching down to his groin, he rearranges himself on a few shifts of his body before landing me with the filthiest glare. ‘Explain, princess,’ he orders threateningly. ‘Now.’
All of the nerves I was feeling disintegrate under his death glare. He has a cheek. ‘You explain, you sly bastard,’ I retort sharply, making sure he knows I mean business. I don’t know why I’ve been so worried. It’s him who should be fretting after the stunt he’s pulled. It’s him who should be worried about the wrath he will face. ‘“I need you more than I need the treasure.”’ I parrot his words in a pathetically condescending tone. ‘Yeah, right.’ Leaning forward in my chair, I drill holes in him with my pissed-off glare. ‘Don’t think you can get away with leaving me in London while you play daredevil, Hunt. All or nothing.’
His jaw twitches, and then he pushes forward and gets right up close to my face. ‘Get up,’ he orders, and I slowly rise, never letting my angry eyes waver from his. His hand goes into his pocket and pulls out a note. It reminds me of my little predicament.
‘Oh.’ I smile sweetly. ‘Would you mind?’ I hand him my bill, and he frowns at me. ‘Lost my purse.’
‘You lost your purse?’ he asks, eyebrow hitched in question. My face flames bright red, no matter how hard I try to stop it. He laughs. ‘You got pick-pocketed, didn’t you?’
‘No.’ I pull off outraged incredibly well, considering I’m faking it.
‘I don’t fucking believe it,’ he mutters, rolling his eyes. ‘My wife-to-be got conned. This is the worst day ever.’ He tosses down another note before taking my arm and leading me across the square, constantly peeking around. He isn’t speaking, his anger palpable, and it’s refuelled my nerves. I knew he wouldn’t be happy, but . . . yikes.
Pulling me down an alleyway, he stops, swings me around, and pushes me front forward into a wall. I yelp, knowing what he has planned. I don’t fight. I may as well just get my punishment out of the way. Then I’ll rip him to shreds.
My dress is yanked up, my knickers shoved to the side, and his palm comes down on a punishing, belter of a smack. ‘Fuck, Becker!’ I’m being spun back around in the blink of an eye and thrust up against the wall.
He gets his angry face up close again. ‘I’m fucking furious, Eleanor,’ he whispers menacingly, threading his fingers through my black, glossy bob. ‘And if this isn’t a wig, I’m going to spank you until your hair has grown back and returned to its natural colour.’
‘It’s a wig,’ I murmur, watching as he visibly deflates in relief.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he hisses. ‘And where’s your phone?’
‘I left it at The Haven. Do you think I’m stupid, Hunt? I know your little whizz kid will be keeping tabs on my movements.’
‘I should have had a fucking chip put under your skin.’
My lips twist in annoyance. ‘You fucking lied to me, you scoundrel.’
A wave of realisation travels across his face, one that suggests he’s comprehended just how pissed off I am. Good. Because I’m really pissed off. He won’t turn this around on me. No way. ‘I . . .’ he begins. ‘It’s . . . I . . .’ He stammers all over his words, getting more and more worked up and redder in the face. ‘I prefer you with red hair!’
I snort and push him off me. ‘Yeah, well, I prefer you in London with me, but you’re not fucking there, are you?’
He breathes in deeply and squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘It’ll drive me insane for the rest of my life if I don’t follow this, princess.’
‘I know,’ I reply simply, making his eyes snap open. I pull my bag onto my shoulder and straighten myself out. I spent the entire flight coming to terms with that. ‘So let’s see if it’s there, and then we can get on with our lives together.’
His neck retracts on his shoulders. ‘What?’
‘Let’s find some treasure, Hunt.’ I push past him, my small case bouncing across the cobbles as I drag it along. ‘Where are you staying?’
He doesn’t answer, forcing me to stop and seek him out. He looks a bit dazed.
‘Well?’ I ask.
He shakes himself back to life. ‘Well, what?’
‘Hotel. Where are you staying?’
‘Across the square.’
‘Are you going to show me?’ I cock my head in question, and the hollows of Becker’s cheeks begin to pulse.
Slowly, he flexes his head from side-to-side, rolling his shoulders. Then he strides over and snatches my case from my hold, virtually ripping my arm off in the process. ‘It doesn’t look like I have a fucking choice, does it?’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ I sniff, watching as he stomps off down the alleyway, hauling my small case behind him.
‘Move that arse, princess,’ he spits, and I grin, starting to totter along behind him. ‘Why the fuck are you wearing a wig?’
‘Isn’t that obvious?’
‘It’s fucking ridiculous.’
‘I wouldn’t be wearing one if you hadn’t done a disappearing act,’ I retort indignantly as we breach the end of the alley and emerge onto the square. The sun has completely fallen away, and now the Pantheon is glowing, the surrounding area lit by the bustling cafes.
‘This way,’ he mutters, striding off. I tail him, noting he’s looking around vigilantly. It makes me wonder if he suspects Brent Wilson is loitering somewhere, but I think better than to ask. He might swing for me.
He leads me to a small boutique hotel just off the square, and after the tiny elevator has carried us to the top floor, he exits first, leaving me to follow on behind. Letting us into the last room at the end of the long corridor, he throws my case down on the bed and goes straight to the window, throwing it open and pushing the shutters back. I breathe in my surprise when the Pantheon comes into view over a few dilapidated rooftops, almost close enough to reach out the window and touch. ‘Wow.’ I close the door and wander over, joining Becker. He seems thoughtful as he stares across the tops of the buildings, his stance relaxed. I’m desperate to know what his plan is, what he’s thinking, or whether he’s figured out exactly where he’s going to look. The building is a monster of a structure. ‘Where will you start?’
He jumps next to me a little, startled back into the hotel room from wherever he was. He turns and paces towards the bathroom, pulling his jacket off as he goes. ‘You shouldn’t have come, Eleanor.’
I take myself to the bed and sit on the edge. ‘I’m not going to sit at home worrying about you.’
His head peeks around the door, his fingers working the buttons of his shirt. ‘How did you know where I am?’
‘Dr Vass. She called The Haven after she couldn’t reach you on your mobile.’ My eyes narrow. ‘And I checked your secret hiding place. No map. And then I found Gramps and Mrs Potts, and they didn’t look in the least bit surprised when I told them it was gone. Seems I’m the only one who didn’t know.’
Rather than coming back at me, he just scowls, his glasses dropping down his nose a tad. I scowl right back, daring him to argue with me. He must appreciate my anger because he huffs and goes back into the bathroom without a word. I hear the shower kick in and get up, grabbing my wash bag and making my way to him. I see his naked back disappear behind the shower curtain as I enter.
‘I want you to promise me something,’ I say assertively, dumping my cosmetics on the sink.
‘What?’
I don’t like not being able to see his face, so I reach forward and yank the curtain across. His fingers are in his hair working up a lather. ‘This is it. After tonight, no more. If it isn’t there, you let it go.’ I lose all the anger from my face and give him pleading eyes. I can’t go on like this. The constant wonder, the constant worry. It’ll kill me.
Becker’s eyes bore holes into mine, his fingers still on his head. Then he deflates and sighs. ‘I promise, princess.’
My body shrinks in relief. ‘Thank you.’
He offers a tiny smile. An understanding smile. I return it and go to the sink to brush my teeth. ‘So what’s the plan?’ I ask.