Trafficked by M. A. Hunter

Author:M. A. Hunter [Hunter, M. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008443313
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Chapter Twenty-Three

Now

Weymouth, Dorset

Is there anything more idyllic than the warmth and comfort of your own supple mattress, whilst the air fills with the smell of crisp bacon and fresh coffee? I’m certain I’m dreaming until I hear Rachel knock gently against the door.

‘Peace offering,’ she says, when I’ve rubbed my eyes, and straightened. ‘It was a crappy thing for me to do, using your name and influence to pacify my editor, and I wanted to thank you for not slamming the door in my face and sending me packing yesterday.’

She’s making unnecessary puppy dog eyes at me, though there really isn’t any need; if she hadn’t turned up yesterday, I wouldn’t have driven to Poole and we wouldn’t have discovered what may or may not be the site where Aurélie has been restrained for so many years. Besides, anyone who brings me tea and bacon in bed can’t be all bad.

‘I didn’t realise I had any bacon in the fridge,’ I say, beckoning her in.

‘You didn’t; I went out early and picked up a few bits and pieces. Do you realise how bare your kitchen was? When you suggested we get fish and chips on the way home, I just assumed it was because you couldn’t be arsed to cook.’

I know she’s right, and I instinctively look away to hide my shame. I’m not making excuses, but things have just been so manic these last couple of weeks, what with me spending so much time in London supporting Jack, and then the commitments of the Anna Hunter Foundation, that groceries have been the last thing on my mind.

‘I’ll transfer you some money for the food later,’ I say apologetically.

‘Oh no you won’t! It’s the least I can do, especially as you’re letting me crash here. Anyway, I have expensive tastes when it comes to wine, and there’s no reason you should have to foot the bill for that!’ She grins and hands me the tray. ‘Take this, will you, and I’ll go grab mine.’

She returns a moment later carrying a mug and a small plate. I bite into the bread and salivate as my taste buds are tickled by the saltiness of the bacon.

‘I think this needs to become a new tradition,’ I say, swallowing the mouthful. ‘You’re free to crash here as often as you like but you must make me bacon sandwiches every morning!’

‘Deal!’ She nods. ‘How are you feeling after yesterday? It took me ages to get to sleep; kept thinking about what it must have been like to live underground with no fresh air or natural light. I mean, can you imagine what something like that would do to someone?’

I know what she means. It might help explain some of the odd behaviour I’ve seen Aurélie display in the hospital. It also has me wondering how Anna would react to such conditions. When we were growing up, she hated being trapped indoors. She loved being outside, and on rainy days during school holidays she would be miserable as sin until it was dry enough to go out again.

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