Chapter Two
Aster became aware of lying on a sofa. It was daylight outside and the light was shining in around the edge of a pair of large, heavy curtains. She didn’t know where she was and rolled over in confusion. By the side of the sofa was a pint of water, a blister packet of painkillers, and a bucket.
Groaning, she leant over for the ibuprofen. Her head was splitting, and she was desperate for some water. The last thing she remembered was chatting to a mountain of a man about books. What had happened after that? She was under a blanket. Pushing it back, she saw with relief she was still wearing all her clothes, even her shoes. Sitting up, she waited for the nausea to subside. Her only memory was of her first drink, causing her to flush with shame. Had she been drugged? How could she have been so stupid? She groaned. Everyone knew the dangers of drinks being spiked, but Aster had never thought to have fallen prey to such a despicable practice. Not her. Not clever, suspicious, cautious Aster.
There was a knock on the living room door and she froze. Where was she? There was a window behind her. If she stayed quiet, she would slip out that way when the person at the door went away.
The door edged open and the man from the night before peered around. When he saw she was sitting up, he smiled. Aster grabbed at the blanket and pulled it up to her chin.
‘You’re okay. I think someone spiked your drink last night.’ He took a step into the room but stayed by the door.
Aster just stared at him.
‘I thought it would be best just to get you to a place of safety.’
Aster remained silent. He was huge, and she was terrified that she wouldn’t be able to fight him off. She looked around the room. At the end of the sofa was a brass candlestick. At least she had a weapon.
‘Here, I made you a tape to reassure you.’
He inched into the room and placed a memory stick on a low padded footstool.
‘It’s internal security footage. I thought it would help you see nothing happened to you last night.’
Could she grab the stick and then get to the window before he could? She shook her head. She wanted to look behind her, at her potential escape route, but she wasn’t taking her eyes off him, no matter how nicely he smiled.
‘Look, I’m going to make you some breakfast.’ His voice was soft and slow, like he was talking to a cornered animal. ‘You follow the sounds of the radio when you’re ready. I’ve already been out to get some croissants and the coffee is brewing.’
He walked slowly back out of the room and left the door wide open. Aster waited until she could hear the radio in the distance and, throwing the blanket off, she grabbed the memory stick. The sudden movement made her feel queasy and spinning sharply, she threw up into the bucket and then paused, panting. Taking another gulp of water and another two painkillers, she edged towards the door.
As she peered out into the corridor, she could hear a deep baritone voice singing along to the Spice Girls, of all things. Across the hallway was a waxed wooden door with a white painted frame. The corridor boasted a nicely furnished interior, complete with a wide rug that ran along the length of the parquet floor and led directly to a front door. Looking in the direction of the music, a flight of stairs headed to the floor above and the hallway continued towards the back of the house. She could make out another turning in the staircase down to a lower floor. Creeping away from the singing, she edged towards the door. Turning the handle as carefully as she could, she swung it open into the blinding sunlight.
She blinked and put her hand up to her eyes, trying to shield them from the light, and then just as quietly pulled the door shut behind her. She was at the top of a small flight of steps with two neat bay trees in black pots at the bottom. It was a quiet residential street with large town houses opposite her and parked cars along either side of the street. Holding on to the wrought-iron banister, she climbed down the steps and ran along the pavement as fast as possible until she ran out of breath and paused. Bent over her hands on her knees as she wheezed in the city air. Her bag was still slung across her body. She placed the memory stick in it and pulled out her phone. That would tell her where she was, but her frustration and panic mounted as she stared at a dead screen. She couldn’t stop though. She needed to get as far away as she could. She couldn’t risk him coming after her. She needed to be safe. She needed to think. Panicking, she tried to jog, but the pain in her head intensified and she stumbled back to an unsteady walk. She tried her phone again, desperate for some clues as to where she was.
‘Excuse me!’
Aster looked up quickly and squinted at an elderly woman dressed in a Chanel two-piece suit, walking some sort of yapping rug on a lead.
‘I’m sorry,’ stammered Aster, ‘I’m lost, can you-’
‘You’re drunk, is what you are. Get away or I’ll call the police. This is a respectable neighbourhood.’
Aster swore at her in language that she hoped seriously lowered the tone and lurched away from the woman. A delivery driver across the road shouted at her, laughing at the exchange. She limped across the road, shrieking in alarm as a cyclist swerved to avoid her and treated her to some of his own Anglo-Saxon.
‘You alright, love?’ asked the driver, who had jogged over to guide her across the road. She shook his arm off in alarm and tried to walk away from him. Why had she thought he could help? She couldn’t trust anyone, just needed to get home. The daylight was killing her eyes and she tried to walk, sheltering her face in the palms of her hand squinting out, trying to see anything familiar.
‘Hello?’
Aster turned quickly, her brain swinging and crashing in her skull as she saw the delivery driver had followed her.
‘Can I help? You don’t look so good.’
‘I’m lost. I want to go home.’ Even in her befuddled state she knew how pathetic she sounded.
‘Where do you live?’
Aster shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
‘What about the area? No need to give me your actual address. Or I can call the police for you if you want?’
She looked at him properly now. He was in his forties, going bald but artfully combing his hair in an attempt to delay the inevitable shave. The zip on his brown jacket pulled tightly across his belly and he was smiling kindly at her, concern evident in his expression.
‘I live near Hyde Park Corner tube station.’ She didn’t, but she knew her way home from there.
He smiled and nodded.
‘Well, that’s okay then, you don’t have far to go.’ As he gave her directions, she could feel his words literally tumble out of her mind. All she could remember was to take the first right.
‘I can drive you?’
‘No!’ Alarmed by his offer, Aster turned swiftly, trying not to panic. She stumbled again, nauseous from the sudden flare of pain in her head, and she hurried off down the road and turned right. Looking over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following her, or indeed the man in whose house she had woken. Eventually, she spotted some familiar landmarks and finally her familiar family townhouse stood proudly in the street, waiting to welcome her home.
Foix Place was a four-bedroomed terraced town house arranged over four floors in the heart of Mayfair. Her sister, Nicky, kept urging that the family sell it, but so far, the rest of the girls had resisted, and at the moment, it acted as Aster’s UK residence. Running up the steps, she put the key in the lock and then, twisting, fell into the house. Slamming the door behind her, she slid the security chain and the deadbolt and then ran to the loo where she threw up again and then, pushing herself into the corner of the bathroom, hugged her knees and began to shake.