Read Online INCEPTIO (Roma Nova) by Alison Morton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alison Morton
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couldn’t keep hold of a sandwich box if it was Velcroed to them. With skin buffed clean of any emotion and a tight smile ending one millimetre above her top lip, O’Keefe had seemed perfect. The last time he’d seen such a hard face was the madam in the projects he’d been forced to live in when his mother had drunk them into debt.
O’Keefe had been lucky picking up the girl again – but to have fallen for the pregnant switch? Twice?
Jesus!
He longed to get hold of the girl. He’d enjoy scaring her half to death. He’d have her roughed up first; then an overnight stay on a filthy mattress in a cold, unlit room and she’d sign anything. He slid the inside of his hands against each other, slowly, crossways as if they were caressing each other. Just a little pressure on her soft white neck and it would all be over.
XV
Upstairs, I let myself in. My hand shook, making the drapes flutter when I pulled them aside to peer down into the street. O’Keefe’s car had vanished.
Where was Conrad? Had they taken him? Maybe I was dumb to have tried calling him. These people were probably intercepting my phone and my mail. Maybe they had deported him already. Or worse.
Despite the danger and anxiety of the last few days, he had made me feel excited to be alive. More than anyone else, ever. But, just as important, he was the key to me learning who I really was.
Next morning, I woke early with my stomach in knots and my head heavy with the sleeping tablets I’d made myself take. After I called in sick to the office, citing a cold with fever, I dressed in jeans, tee and sneakers, and stuffed money and cards into my purse. I planned to go find a public phone and try call Conrad again. If I didn’t get through, I’d contact their legation or go back to Gianni’s.
Looking sideways through the drapes, I couldn’t see any watchers. I thought I knew now how to spot them. But who was I kidding?
I was stretching out my hand to grab the door handle, when somebody knocked. Catching my breath at the interruption, I peered through the spy hole and saw a distorted figure in a brown uniform. I hesitated. They knocked again. I decided to open the door.
‘Sign here, please.’ He thrust a padded envelope at me. I signed and he hurried off. My hands trembled as I opened the envelope. Inside was a tall, narrow book: The Complete Illustrated Map and Guidebook to New York Kew Park . It opened naturally at the first map page. Running down its length, an eighth-inch-wide ribbon of paper was jammed up against the gutter. I nearly missed it. I eased it out, dreading tearing it. Tiny black marks turned out to be handwriting: P. 109 A fine spot to take pictures 11.30, Tues. Destroy this note. C .
He was still here. Alive.
The rest of Monday went by in a cross between nightmare and hallucination. I tried to focus on mechanical tasks like laundry. I even attempted to read a book, but the letters ebbed and flowed in front of my eyes without making any sense. I went to bed early and was up just after six, unrefreshed and overwrought. I called and spoke to Hayden’s PA, saying I couldn’t get in but that Amanda could follow my projects through. I hated loading it onto her; she was my friend as well as my colleague.
On Tuesday morning, I gritted my teeth and dawdled up the path in the park. I made myself recite the details of each shrub and flower individually in order to stay slow; I knew the name of every one. The elaborate techniques practised in spy films didn’t seem so stupid now.
At eleven twenty-five, I sat down by the pool at the north end. The soft, quiet retreat, reminiscent of original woodland, was so calm. I lay back on the grassy bank, watching sunshine dribble in between the willows, listening to the sound of ducks splashing. I shut my eyes.
‘Darling, here you are.’
I sat up so quickly my head swam.
Conrad. A fake cheery smile plastered on his face. He knelt down and kissed my cheek. ‘Smile,’ he whispered.
O’Keefe had been lucky picking up the girl again – but to have fallen for the pregnant switch? Twice?
Jesus!
He longed to get hold of the girl. He’d enjoy scaring her half to death. He’d have her roughed up first; then an overnight stay on a filthy mattress in a cold, unlit room and she’d sign anything. He slid the inside of his hands against each other, slowly, crossways as if they were caressing each other. Just a little pressure on her soft white neck and it would all be over.
XV
Upstairs, I let myself in. My hand shook, making the drapes flutter when I pulled them aside to peer down into the street. O’Keefe’s car had vanished.
Where was Conrad? Had they taken him? Maybe I was dumb to have tried calling him. These people were probably intercepting my phone and my mail. Maybe they had deported him already. Or worse.
Despite the danger and anxiety of the last few days, he had made me feel excited to be alive. More than anyone else, ever. But, just as important, he was the key to me learning who I really was.
Next morning, I woke early with my stomach in knots and my head heavy with the sleeping tablets I’d made myself take. After I called in sick to the office, citing a cold with fever, I dressed in jeans, tee and sneakers, and stuffed money and cards into my purse. I planned to go find a public phone and try call Conrad again. If I didn’t get through, I’d contact their legation or go back to Gianni’s.
Looking sideways through the drapes, I couldn’t see any watchers. I thought I knew now how to spot them. But who was I kidding?
I was stretching out my hand to grab the door handle, when somebody knocked. Catching my breath at the interruption, I peered through the spy hole and saw a distorted figure in a brown uniform. I hesitated. They knocked again. I decided to open the door.
‘Sign here, please.’ He thrust a padded envelope at me. I signed and he hurried off. My hands trembled as I opened the envelope. Inside was a tall, narrow book: The Complete Illustrated Map and Guidebook to New York Kew Park . It opened naturally at the first map page. Running down its length, an eighth-inch-wide ribbon of paper was jammed up against the gutter. I nearly missed it. I eased it out, dreading tearing it. Tiny black marks turned out to be handwriting: P. 109 A fine spot to take pictures 11.30, Tues. Destroy this note. C .
He was still here. Alive.
The rest of Monday went by in a cross between nightmare and hallucination. I tried to focus on mechanical tasks like laundry. I even attempted to read a book, but the letters ebbed and flowed in front of my eyes without making any sense. I went to bed early and was up just after six, unrefreshed and overwrought. I called and spoke to Hayden’s PA, saying I couldn’t get in but that Amanda could follow my projects through. I hated loading it onto her; she was my friend as well as my colleague.
On Tuesday morning, I gritted my teeth and dawdled up the path in the park. I made myself recite the details of each shrub and flower individually in order to stay slow; I knew the name of every one. The elaborate techniques practised in spy films didn’t seem so stupid now.
At eleven twenty-five, I sat down by the pool at the north end. The soft, quiet retreat, reminiscent of original woodland, was so calm. I lay back on the grassy bank, watching sunshine dribble in between the willows, listening to the sound of ducks splashing. I shut my eyes.
‘Darling, here you are.’
I sat up so quickly my head swam.
Conrad. A fake cheery smile plastered on his face. He knelt down and kissed my cheek. ‘Smile,’ he whispered.
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