God, how long had he been here now, Jack wondered?

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a door creaking open on rusty hinges. He held his breath. At last, was someone coming to release him?

A bright light swept across the room. He caught a fleeting glimpse of two other figures, on the far side, who also seemed to be tied up, gagged and chained to the wall. He tried to call out, but the sound was trapped by the tape across his mouth.

The light went off. He heard the creak of the hinges again, then the sound of a door slamming.

Think, think, think. His mind was spinning. There had to be something he could do.

But what?

Who was this person with the torch? Why were they doing this to him and the two others in here he had seen – a man and a woman? Who were these two people?

He kept on trying to free himself, to yank the chain from the wall, on and on and on, until he was dripping with sweat and too exhausted to continue.

And all the time he was thinking, over and over again. Wondering. Who the hell were his captors? Why were they doing this to him? What did they want?

And an even bigger fear. Kaitlynn. Was it possible these maniacs, whoever they were, were doing the same to her? And to Roy Grace and his family?

He wrenched again, with all his strength, pulling at the ring, and ignoring the worsening pain in his wrists from the ties.

11

Soaked through, his hair stuck to his head, and feeling like a drowned rat, Roy squelched back into the dining room. From a distance, he could see his plate had been cleared away. Madame was no longer there. Her husband sat, silently and without moving, in his wheelchair.

Partly, he was relieved he did not have to eat any more of the foie gras, but at the same time he was starving and annoyed that the brioches had gone.

Cleo turned to him as he stood over her. ‘Any luck, did you get through?’

He shook his head. ‘We’ve got a sodding flat battery.’

‘What?’

‘The car wouldn’t start – the electrics are dead.’

‘How – I mean, it’s almost brand new, and it was fine all the way here, wasn’t it?’

‘Either the battery wasn’t charging, which means the alternator has packed up – which could explain why my phone wasn’t charging – or there’s a short. Right now it’s kaput!’ He shrugged and went over to the man in the wheelchair.

‘Monsieur le Vicomte,’ he said, ‘do you have the number of a garage? We have a problem with our car.’

Their host tilted his head up a fraction. In slurred, broken English, he replied, ‘You have problem with your voiture – your car?’

‘Yes – oui. It won’t start. The battery is flat. Do you by chance have a charger? Or jump leads?’