“Dear God.”Laurie's mobile was upstairs on the kitchen table.He made a dive for the hallway, pulling the woman after him.In thedoorway she baulked.“What is it?”he asked her, reaching for thephone.“Come in.I won't hurt you.”
She was very pale.“This is...hishouse.Yours and Alexandru's.Ican't come inside.”
“All right.Just...wait there, please.For God's sake don'tdisappear again.”The events of two years ago had burned the numberfor the Scotland Yard Interpol office deep into Laurie’s memory.Hedialled.Kucharski had given him a direct line.The female voicethat answered sounded startled, as if it seldom rang from theoutside.“Christine Foster.Who is this?”
Laurieflashed back to his father's house, to a sturdy, compassionatepolicewoman who had stood between him and Sir William, and hadbacked the old man down.“Constable Foster?I'm Laurence Fitzroy.Idon't know if you remember me, but—”
“As if I'm ever likely to forget.”
“Right.”Laurie sat down on the stairs.“I know we messed youabout last time.You and your office screwed me over too, nottelling me about...Never mind.He has Clara this time, I'm sure ofit.You have to help.”
“Your sister, Clara?Who has her, please?”
“Stefan Petrica.”
“He doesn't, Laurie.”
Why thehell was she so calm?Distracted, too, as if something moreimportant was demanding her attention.There was a voice in thebackground—high-pitched, alternating screams with volleys ofEnglish and French, as if Interpol had caught a bilingual weasel.“Jesus,” Laurie exploded.“I'm reporting the abduction of a child!Your lot didn't see fit to let me know that Petrica was back inLondon.And I'm sorry about John Kucharski, but...Look, just helpme now, all right?”
Fostersighed.“You'd better let go of her, Elena.”
The linewent briefly dead.Then it opened again, to the same wild torrenthe'd heard in the background.Laurie closed his eyes, sparks ofrelief dancing.Since Marielle's breakdown, Clara had spent so muchtime with Aunt Elise that the voice of her passions had become afusion of English and pure Languedoc French.“Clara.”
“Laurie!Make them let me out of here!Je suis emprisonnée ici!Il faut sauver Sasha,et—”
“Clara.”
It was atone he took with her so seldom that it still had power over her.She cut herself off, dragging in her breath in a sob.“Oh.Laurie...”
“Quieter.In English.Half an octave down.”
Her effort of control was almost audible, an anguishedcreaking down the line.“He left.He said he wouldn't but he did,after hepromised.”
“Who left?Sasha?”
“Yes.He left the house in San Marco.”
“What do you know about it?Why aren't you Jane Eyre inSeattle?”
“I saw the video clip.”
Laurie'sblood congealed.“Oh, no.”
“Notsawit—they wouldn't let me—but I knew what it was.I had to getto him, to tell him everything you told me in the churchyard at MrsG's wedding, just so he'd know why you —”
“You told himwhat?”
“Your secrets, Laurie!”She was scaling back up her halfoctave, desperation cracking her voice.“So shoot me!You shouldhave told him yourself.Now he's gone, and these bastards herewon't let me out, and—”
“Clara!Mind your language.”
She gave a kind of chuckling wail.“That’s what he said too.He was sogood.Heminded it so much—what you did with that other boy—but once he knewabout Stefan, it was like it didn't matter to him any more, notreally.He just wanted to...”
Shefaded off.Laurie said her name, his heart aching at the muffledrasp of her sobs.Then Foster picked up the line again.“Stillthere, Laurie?”
“Yes.You have her.Thank God...”He pressed the heel of onehand against his brow.“Why is my sister in Interpol custody,please?”
“It seems that Sasha's promises to stay at home didn't convinceher.Instead of taking a flight back to Seattle, she insisted onwaiting at the airport until the next plane for London departed.When she saw Sasha boarding, she threatened to yell kidnap unlessDracinsky bought them tickets and got them onto the sameflight.”
