Beep.
“I know where they’re headed. We can pick them up there. I mean it about the girl, Johnson.” But Johnson had ended transmission. That unfeeling bastard. It wouldn’t have surprised Wilson if Johnson rejected his request for time off to attend Julie’s funeral. If it wasn’t good for his career, he didn’t give a damn.
Wilson turned the winder of his watch anti-clockwise to rewind the recording he had made while sat opposite Smith and Jones. The small internal speaker played back part of the conversation surprisingly clearly.
“A simple gold band with a sliver of an emerald in a tiny claw. That sicko Tibbett wouldn’t have given me a fiver for it but it meant a lot to me.”
Yes, Savannah Jones was all right, he decided.
11: Saturday 24th September, 21:30
It was nine thirty in the evening by the time John and Savannah got checked in to a junior suite at the Ritz. At six hundred pounds it was a little more than they were expecting to spend but John insisted that she didn’t worry about it. It was all right for him. He could disappear into another world.
John Smith was a conundrum. On one level he was her hero, rescuing her from the clutches of a perverted sexual predator, and on the other level, he appeared to be a mixed-up creature who needed professional help. Another lost cause - shouldn’t she be running a mile?
She couldn’t help but realise that the more time they spent together, the safer she felt around him. Wondering what John’s thoughts would be on how to best resolve the Christos problem, she decided to see how the night went and make a decision in the cold light of day tomorrow.
With their Harrods bags filled with their used clothes, they headed for the suite having politely declined assistance from the hotel’s staff. John had such a way with words, he was obviously far better educated than Savannah, but for someone with such a privileged upbringing he carried no aura of superiority that many of his kind wore like a royal cape to be twirled in the faces of those less fortunate.
“So how come you didn’t bring your passport?” she asked.
“It’s at my parent’s house. I never use it and I’d probably lose it if they didn’t keep it safe.”
“Just as well we got mine back or they wouldn’t have let us have a room. They will give it back, right?”
“Of course.”
“Good.”
“You’d have thought that paying in cash would have been enough,” John said. “Anyway it’s not a room, it’s a suite!”
Savannah giggled like a naughty school girl. A suite at the Ritz, it was all utter madness but such fun nonetheless. If she could just get Christos off her back who knew what might happen.
“Yes, a suite,” she sang as she twirled along the corridor to their destination. “I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night, and still have begged for more.”
“ My Fair Lady ,” John said, twirling around once. “You’re a bit young for that, aren’t you?”
“My mum and I used to watch it together on video every week. It was her favourite film. Audrey Hepburn was so beautiful.”
“Yes, it’s one of my mother’s favourites as well. I think we watched it together when I was young.”
“Did she put you in a dress?”
“Very funny,” John stopped walking and rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger as if in the deepest of thoughts. “You know, I think she did,” he said, roaring with laughter and spinning around once more.
This was a corridor to a place so grand that royalty would not feel out of place, a corridor where anything was possible, a corridor where dreams and wishes might come true. This moment was the happiest Savannah had felt since losing her mother. She recollected Audrey Hepburn gliding around the staircase, beautiful big dress swishing through the air behind her, her head giddy with the success of the night - just before her world came crashing down around her. An icy shiver shot down Savannah’s
“I know where they’re headed. We can pick them up there. I mean it about the girl, Johnson.” But Johnson had ended transmission. That unfeeling bastard. It wouldn’t have surprised Wilson if Johnson rejected his request for time off to attend Julie’s funeral. If it wasn’t good for his career, he didn’t give a damn.
Wilson turned the winder of his watch anti-clockwise to rewind the recording he had made while sat opposite Smith and Jones. The small internal speaker played back part of the conversation surprisingly clearly.
“A simple gold band with a sliver of an emerald in a tiny claw. That sicko Tibbett wouldn’t have given me a fiver for it but it meant a lot to me.”
Yes, Savannah Jones was all right, he decided.
11: Saturday 24th September, 21:30
It was nine thirty in the evening by the time John and Savannah got checked in to a junior suite at the Ritz. At six hundred pounds it was a little more than they were expecting to spend but John insisted that she didn’t worry about it. It was all right for him. He could disappear into another world.
John Smith was a conundrum. On one level he was her hero, rescuing her from the clutches of a perverted sexual predator, and on the other level, he appeared to be a mixed-up creature who needed professional help. Another lost cause - shouldn’t she be running a mile?
She couldn’t help but realise that the more time they spent together, the safer she felt around him. Wondering what John’s thoughts would be on how to best resolve the Christos problem, she decided to see how the night went and make a decision in the cold light of day tomorrow.
With their Harrods bags filled with their used clothes, they headed for the suite having politely declined assistance from the hotel’s staff. John had such a way with words, he was obviously far better educated than Savannah, but for someone with such a privileged upbringing he carried no aura of superiority that many of his kind wore like a royal cape to be twirled in the faces of those less fortunate.
“So how come you didn’t bring your passport?” she asked.
“It’s at my parent’s house. I never use it and I’d probably lose it if they didn’t keep it safe.”
“Just as well we got mine back or they wouldn’t have let us have a room. They will give it back, right?”
“Of course.”
“Good.”
“You’d have thought that paying in cash would have been enough,” John said. “Anyway it’s not a room, it’s a suite!”
Savannah giggled like a naughty school girl. A suite at the Ritz, it was all utter madness but such fun nonetheless. If she could just get Christos off her back who knew what might happen.
“Yes, a suite,” she sang as she twirled along the corridor to their destination. “I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night, and still have begged for more.”
“ My Fair Lady ,” John said, twirling around once. “You’re a bit young for that, aren’t you?”
“My mum and I used to watch it together on video every week. It was her favourite film. Audrey Hepburn was so beautiful.”
“Yes, it’s one of my mother’s favourites as well. I think we watched it together when I was young.”
“Did she put you in a dress?”
“Very funny,” John stopped walking and rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger as if in the deepest of thoughts. “You know, I think she did,” he said, roaring with laughter and spinning around once more.
This was a corridor to a place so grand that royalty would not feel out of place, a corridor where anything was possible, a corridor where dreams and wishes might come true. This moment was the happiest Savannah had felt since losing her mother. She recollected Audrey Hepburn gliding around the staircase, beautiful big dress swishing through the air behind her, her head giddy with the success of the night - just before her world came crashing down around her. An icy shiver shot down Savannah’s
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