The door is wide but low. She has to bend over to examine it and feels her spirits plummet. A padlock. She should have known Tryste would never leave it unlocked, even if it was hidden. And she won’t find the key in the basement. On the other hand, the lock feels old when she touches the rough surface, maybe even as old as the door itself. She quickly walks over to fetch the brass candelabra and holds it up so she can have a better look at the rusty padlock. Yes, definitely old, she confirms. I could probably break it if only I had the right tools. Or any tools. She looks around, holds the candelabra up above her head to try to find a thin, sharp object she might be able to use, but can’t see anything.

He could be back any minute, she thinks frantically and feels the sharp pounding of her pulse in her throat. He’s probably going with Helena to make sure she does what she’s told. Puts on my coat, my hat, my scarf and drives my car onto the ferry. But then he’ll be back. If Helena manages to catch the seven-thirty ferry, he’ll be back within the hour, she realises and feels her hands go cold with desperation. I’ll never make it.

Her eyes dart around the shadowy room, looking for something, anything. She stares at the steel door, imagining it opening and seeing his outline in the doorway. A new idea comes to her. Maybe I can barricade myself in here, draw things out? The door opens in, so if I pull up the table and topple the rest of the shelving units . . .

And just as she’s thinking that, something on the bottom shelf on the wall across from her catches her eye. Or course!

*

It’s impossible, she realises after a few futile attempts to angle the tip of the corkscrew into the keyhole. In frustration, she tugs at the rusty padlock and lets out a stream of curses. So close. So God damn fucking close! She punches the lock and feels pain radiate through her hand – and something else. She reaches for the heavy brass candelabra again, holds it up and leans forward. This time, the sudden surge of hope doesn’t draw a scream. The lock may be impossible to break, and it’s securely fastened to the door. All the screws are still there, but the wood around them shows signs of age. She pushes on the lock again. Yes, there is a slight movement there.

Worried that using the corkscrew as a lever might end up breaking it, she scratches at the wood around two of the screws with the tip instead, wiggling and pulling the lock as she goes. She keeps at it, refusing to check her watch, hacking, carving, wiggling.