‘Take care of yourself, Emilia.’ The woman patted a bewildered Emilia’s shoulder like an old friend as she rose unsteadily to her feet, then shuffled back towards the hospital entrance.
Ted began to speak again. ‘We’re almost home. Is it ringing any bells …? Sorry, I need to stop asking you that. It must be irritating.’
It was but Emilia didn’t respond.
The car slowed as it reached a set of white wooden gates, at least two metres in height. White rendered walls hid everything from view behind them. Ted pushed a button on the dashboard screen and the gates opened, allowing them access to a cobbled driveway. The car made its way downhill until the road behind was out of sight. Ahead lay an expansive, modern house made up of three large glass-fronted cubes.
It took Emilia by surprise. Ted had prepared her for the interior’s appearance when he had FaceTimed her, but he had downplayed its extensive grounds. He parked the car under a cantilever cube, and Emilia was momentarily startled by the appearance of someone opening her door.
‘It’s okay, Josef works for us,’ Ted reassured, sensing her alarm.
‘We have staff?’
‘Just Josef and a few security staff.’
‘Welcome home,’ Josef began in a gruff European accent. His attire was casual but a bulge in his jacket pocket suggested he might be armed. It made Emilia uneasy and she wondered why Ted needed security personnel who carried weapons. She followed her husband through a set of double-aspect smoked-glass front doors, along parquetflooring framed by grey concrete walls and into a reception room. The windows offered uninterrupted views of the countryside. Ahead of her was a forest and to the right, a tennis court and a swimming pool complete with pool house.
‘And this is all ours,’ she muttered. It was impossible not to be taken aback by the property’s splendour. However, she could not remember any of it.
‘We bought it from the executors of an estate belonging to that actress Sofia Bradbury,’ he said. ‘You won’t remember, but she was caught up in the car-hacking anarchy I told you about. After she died, her estate wanted a quick sale. We bought it cheaply, razed the original buildings and designed this replacement ourselves.’
Emilia allowed herself to be seduced by an imagined memory; of being talked through an architect’s three-dimensional blueprints which then came to life with the aid of a table’s projection. Then she watched as excavation machines ploughed the earth to create the space to lay the foundations.
Do not trust your husband, a voice echoed, bringing her out of her daydream.Ted means no more to you than I do.
A familiar chill returned to Emilia’s spine. Either the stranger or Ted was lying to her. Why should she trust that woman over Ted, the man who’d dedicated so much time in trying to help her remember the past? He had not done anything to deserve her doubt. But how did that woman know who either of them was? And why would she say it if it wasn’t true? Emilia reached into her pocket and brushed her fingertips against the business card again.
She followed Ted into the kitchen area. Each work surface was immaculate and clutter free, without a visible drawer handle or plug socket. The exception was a refrigerator door decorated in brightly coloured magnets. The names of countries, cities and towns were emblazoned acrossthem, from hotels in Las Vegas to Dubai and the Seychelles. Amongst them were garish souvenirs from British towns that appeared out of place amongst the far-flung venues. It was a peculiar hint of personality in an otherwise clinically furnished house.
‘They’re my fault,’ Ted admitted, sensing her confusion. ‘It started as a joke gift when I went to Italy for work and bought you one. And then it became a tradition – everywhere I went without you, I’d buy you a magnet.’
She reached out to move one. ‘Best if you don’t,’ Ted said quickly, his smile shifting as he put his hand out to stop her. ‘Some of them are broken and will fall off if you move them.’
Emilia nodded. ‘Do you mind if I explore the rest of the house alone?’ she asked. ‘This is a lot to absorb all at once. Just for now, I’d like to do it on my own.’
‘Of course. Take your time. I’ll be in the office when you’re ready. It’s downstairs on the … never mind, you’ll find it.’
As Emilia set off on her own journey, she examined abstract artwork hanging from vast white walls; she picked up sculptures and ornaments arranged on sideboards. She inhaled perfumes in a dressing room framed by rails of clothing, shoes and handbags. She scrolled through playlists on a speaker system and looked through brands of food inside the pantry. She took in deep breaths, allowing the concrete, mortar and wood to seep into her lungs. Finally, she leafed through wall-to-ceiling bookshelves. Amongst dozens of medical and chemistry textbooks, photobooks on architecture and art, sat a leather-bound collection of Shakespeare’s plays.
Emilia hesitated as something inside her flickered to life. She saw herself inside a shop by table after table of electronic gadgets. She was choosing a tablet furthest away from the entrance, but where the doors remained in her line of sight.
She logged on to the ReadWell book message board but the image wasn’t clear enough to recall what she was typing. She became aware of heavy footsteps approaching her and leaped into action. Emilia pulled her arm up at a ninety-degree angle and hit whoever it was in the face with the back of her fist. Her assailant barely gasped before she elbowed him hard in the stomach, then turned quickly and caught his leg with her foot, causing him to fall onto his back. Then she grabbed a long, sharp silver object from her back pocket, mounted him and held it above his head.
‘No, please!’ he choked and she hesitated. Blood poured from her young assailant’s nose into his mouth, down his chin onto his white T-shirt. There, she read his name badge: ‘Timothy – sales assistant’. Neither of them moved, each equally bewildered by her actions.
The recollection, if that was what it was, faded to black like the end of a movie. But before she had time to dwell on it, a vibration against her thigh alerted her to a text message on a phone Ted had given her. It was from him and simply read: I love you.
How can you love me?she thought.You don’t have the first clue who I am because neither do I.
She glanced at the time – an hour had passed and her possessions had not brought her any closer to whom she’d been. So Emilia made her way back down a flight of stairs, passing a basement gym before reaching the only room she’d yet to set foot in – Ted’s office. Two muffled voices came from behind the door. Instead of knocking, she pressed her ear against it.
‘Keep your eye on her,’ said Ted. ‘Do not let her out of your sight. And don’t let her leave the grounds alone.’
‘Do you have reason to think she might run again?’ came the second.
‘I don’t know. It depends on how much she remembers.’
‘And if it all comes back to her?’
