It was about ten feet in length and six in width, and, aside from the bed and the simple light fitting, it was almost bare. She guessed that she was underground somewhere, because what looked like a small steel-framed air vent was visible in the top left-hand corner facing her. In the corner opposite that, there was another tiny fixture: a glass bauble in the middle of a metal plate. Most likely some sort of camera.

None of these things should surprise her, she supposed. Whatever your warped reasoning, you didn’t go to the trouble of taking someone prisoner unless you intended to keep them alive, at least for a short time. So, if you were going to hold them underground, they would need air. Likewise, you didn’t just abandon them to their own devices once they were confined; if you had any sense, you’d keep checking on them – hence the camera.

‘Okay …’ she mumbled to herself. ‘So … what … what does that tell me …?’

What do you think it tells you? an inner voice replied. They’re not keeping you alive because they like you, for God’s sake! It’s because they’re going to use you for something!

Abruptly, Lorna threw her attempted rationalisations aside, wanting to shriek and rip out her hair instead. The plain fact was that someone had kidnapped her, dragging her away and unlawfully imprisoning her. God alone knew for what purpose! All kinds of nightmare images flitted before her eyes.

‘Oh, God … please no!’ she moaned, strength and awareness restoring themselves sufficiently for her to make coherent sound. She felt a scream building in her chest. Again, she wanted to rage at the door, to try and kick her way to freedom.

But no, no … she had to resist the panic impulse.

Firstly, it would prevent her thinking clearly. Secondly, it would show whoever was watching that she was now coming around, waking up, and that wouldn’t do at all. Whatever trial lay ahead, she needed much more recovery time than this. It was vital to continue feigning semi-consciousness for as long as possible.

But who were they? How had this happened? And what was the reason for it?

She had some vague memory of an incident on the canal bank and a girl hurting herself, but she couldn’t picture any faces or recall any conversation or violence. Another question was: if they really meant her harm, why wasn’t it happening already? Was that a good sign? Probably not, because an answer suggested itself with indecent speed.

Sex slavery. Transportation overseas to some ghastly harem.

No one would pay top dollar for damaged goods.

‘Oh, God … please …’