Chapters (45)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- Prologue
- 2046
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- About the Author
‘Water, miss?’ Harry rumbles from the bathroom doorway, seeing the blood drain from her face and wondering why they have put a woman in a POW camp.
‘Easy.’ Ben shoots forward as she sways on the spot and starts to buckle. ‘Sit down, it’s right here.’
She lets him guide her and giggles drunkenly at the thought of Ben Ryder helping her to a chair. ‘Ben Ryder,’ she slurs and looks at him again. ‘You’re Ben Ryder.’
‘It’s Calshott,’ Ben says.
‘Pah!’ Safa bursts out laughing as she sinks down and points a trembling finger up at him. ‘S’not Calshott, it’s Ryder.’ Her hands grip his face. That he shows instant alarm is lost in the fug of her mind. ‘Ben Ryder,’ she says again, stroking his cheeks and staring into the soft blue eyes. Her own eyes fill with tears that spill down her cheeks. ‘Ben Ryder . . .’
‘Calshott,’ Ben says, seeing the drunken, slack look in her eyes. ‘Miss, just rest. I’ll try and get help.’
She saw him. She was the last one who ever saw him. Ben Ryder. The last decent man to have ever lived. Her mind fills with images of the Prime Minister leering and grabbing her. His filthy whisky-tainted breath in her face and the months she took the abuse while knowing there were decent men in the world who did brave and good things. But it’s too much. The shock of it is too much and the last traces of the drugs in her system pull her back down into sleep.
Six
Six
‘Bloody hell,’ Ben says when she finally lets go of his face and slumps back in the chair. She does look familiar. He knows her from somewhere. He looks at the name on the door again. Safa Patel. That’s a distinctive name. He would remember a name like that and especially a woman like this. She is beautiful.
‘She okay?’ Harry asks.
Ben shrugs and steps back. ‘She’s breathing,’ he says. ‘Is there an alarm or something? Maybe we should get an ambulance . . .’
‘Ambulance?’ Harry asks, going straight back to that suspicious glance again. ‘She knows you.’
‘Er.’ Ben pauses and thinks about what he should say and even if he should be saying anything, but Safa stirs in her chair and groans softly as her eyes open again.
‘Water, miss,’ Harry says. There is something about his manner, the way he moves clutching a tiny plastic mug and obviously trying not to scare her by ducking down and holding his hand out to offer the drink. Never before has Ben seen a man trying to appear less threatening.
Safa takes the cup slowly as her eyes start to focus again. She does the same as the other two and sips first then gulps the water down in one long, thirsty drink.