Turning Point by Barbara Spencer

Author:Barbara Spencer
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 781783067978
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd

Sixteen

They were running along a dual-carriageway, a busy ring-road that circled the city. In theory, it allowed through traffic to bypass the congestion of the shopping streets. In practice, it made little difference, traffic expanding as fast as throughways were built. Along the centre of the dual-carriageway ran an unbroken concrete strip, tall lampposts like tree trunks sprouting up every fifty metres or so. On the near side, a narrow pavement overlooked council allotments and, beyond them, a forest of roofs, and the reason for the continuous stream of heavy traffic.

Scott scanned the road ahead searching for a possible way off, running the bike through a series of traffic lights with no right-turn. Frustrated, he cautiously edged his way through the long line of cars, slowing to a crawl as traffic ground to a halt. Behind him, horns broke out over the steady rumble of a dozen idling engines.

Noticing a left-hand turn some twenty metres away, Scott stepped the bike around the stationary cars ignoring a battery of angry looks. Lined with terraced houses, a hopscotch pattern in yellow and grey stone accompanied the bike downhill, mirroring the direction of the dual-carriageway; the narrow road made narrower by a line of parked cars. At the bottom of the hill, Scott spotted a T-junction, a couple of vehicles waiting to turn into it, their progress stalled by a procession its participants waving placards and chanting. Impatiently, he crawled to a stop. Anyone stuck behind that was going nowhere fast.

‘At least we know why the traffic,’ Hilary said.

She got off the bike rubbing her haunches.

‘Feeling better?’

She gave a nod and taking off her helmet handed it to Scott, fiddling with her hair. Scott smiled. It was odd how a change of clothes and hair colour could affect someone’s personality. In Natasha’s borrowed jacket and with dark hair, Hilary appeared quite the stranger; even the shape of her face seemed different, more vulnerable somehow, ringed by its halo of dark chestnut hair, the bossy fair-headed agent vanished. Scott glanced down noticing that Tulsa’s pistol was no longer tucked into the waistband of her jeans.

‘What did you mean back there about giving-up? You’re not serious, are you?’

Scott flipped up the guard on his visor, his smile edgy. ‘It’s the only way…’

‘No!’ she flashed back. ‘You can’t – not on my account. Park the bike somewhere and we’ll get a train to London. The American Embassy – they’ll shelter us.’

Scott took her hand in his. It was warm. ‘I want to, Hilary, believe me, I want to. But I’m almost sure it was the embassy that betrayed Dad and me in Geneva.’

Hilary looked shocked, her face under its dark mop drained of colour.

‘Watch where you’re going, you effing twerp – you nearly ran into us,’ a voice bellowed.

Scott glanced back over his shoulder. A group of youths had spilled into the side-road, their placards made from squares of brown cardboard stapled to a wooden pole, thick black marker pen used to write the slogan ‘up with the monarchy.

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