narrow passage which opened out into a huge, square living area. It was full of designer
furniture – two leather sofas, a big plasma TV on the wall, lamps with triangular-shaped shades, a striped rug on the wooden floor.
Natalia sat on one of the sofas. She looked up at me anxiously.
‘You said you came from Mr Baxter’s house?’ she said.
I nodded, feeling even more bewildered. Allan had said girls were disappearing . . . which kind of implied being kidnapped or made to suffer in some way. But Natalia was clearly living in a
luxurious flat. And, OK, so she was pregnant, which I hadn’t suspected, and she definitely looked tired, but she had just let me in, and could obviously let herself out of the building
– so no way was she a prisoner.
‘What does Mr Baxter want?’ Natalia asked.
I frowned, then I realised that she’d misunderstood me.
‘He didn’t
send
me here,’ I said quickly. ‘I . . . that is, someone told me you might be here, so . . . well, I happened to see the address and I thought . .
.’ I hesitated. It sounded ridiculous to say I was investigating on behalf of a freelance journalist, even if he was my father. ‘I . . . I just came to see if you were all right,’
I finished lamely.
‘Oh.’ Now Natalia was frowning. ‘So . . . how . . . what’s your connection with Mr Baxter?’
Now what did I say? I took a deep breath. ‘The truth is, someone told me that a number of girls had gone missing and . . . and I got it into my head you were one of them. But you’re
obviously not a prisoner here so . . .’ I tailed off again.
Natalia bit her lip. She rested her hands on her swollen belly and stared at me. I got the strong impression she was trying to decide whether or not to tell me something. What was it? She was
dressed in leggings and a lilac top that draped artfully over her bump. Apart from the fact that she wore no make-up, she looked as expensively dressed as Esme. Certainly no kind of victim.
Allan had clearly got the whole thing wrong. I still didn’t understand what the name ‘Miriam’ meant, or why I’d seen other memory sticks with different ‘M’
numbers on them, but, as I stared at Natalia, I suddenly thought I saw the connection between her and Baxter. Something that made sense of everything.
‘Oh.’ My hand flew to my mouth. ‘Oh, it’s
his
baby, Mr Baxter’s.’ My face burned as I thought through the ramifications of this. Mr Baxter was having a
baby with a girl half his age, barely older than me – or Esme. It was revolting. I stood up, wishing I hadn’t come in. Now I had a great big secret to keep from my new friend.
‘Mr Baxter is
not
the father.’ Natalia’s face expressed genuine shock.
To my horror, her eyes filled with tears. She looked down at the floor and her voice wobbled as she spoke.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
I gulped. I
was
sorry for upsetting her, but I didn’t believe Baxter wasn’t the dad. I mean, what other explanation for her living in this nice flat so close to his house
could there be? Still, it was none of my business. I took a step towards the door.
‘Please don’t go,’ Natalia said shakily. ‘I haven’t talked to anyone for months . . . not properly . . .
please
.’ She looked up. The pain in her dark
brown eyes was so intense I could barely meet her gaze.
Now I felt confused again. Maybe she
was
telling the truth.
‘Does Mr Baxter own this flat?’ I said. ‘Does
he
know you’re here?’
‘Yes.’
‘But he isn’t the father?’
‘No,’ Natalia said with a sigh. ‘But he wants my baby.’
‘Sorry . . . I don’t understand,’ I said.
Natalia hesitated. I got the strong sense that she was fighting with herself again. That she knew talking to a total stranger was a terrible risk, but that she was so desperate she
couldn’t help herself.
‘If I tell you,’ she said softly, ‘will you promise to help me?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But what do you need help with?’ I
furniture – two leather sofas, a big plasma TV on the wall, lamps with triangular-shaped shades, a striped rug on the wooden floor.
Natalia sat on one of the sofas. She looked up at me anxiously.
‘You said you came from Mr Baxter’s house?’ she said.
I nodded, feeling even more bewildered. Allan had said girls were disappearing . . . which kind of implied being kidnapped or made to suffer in some way. But Natalia was clearly living in a
luxurious flat. And, OK, so she was pregnant, which I hadn’t suspected, and she definitely looked tired, but she had just let me in, and could obviously let herself out of the building
– so no way was she a prisoner.
‘What does Mr Baxter want?’ Natalia asked.
I frowned, then I realised that she’d misunderstood me.
‘He didn’t
send
me here,’ I said quickly. ‘I . . . that is, someone told me you might be here, so . . . well, I happened to see the address and I thought . .
.’ I hesitated. It sounded ridiculous to say I was investigating on behalf of a freelance journalist, even if he was my father. ‘I . . . I just came to see if you were all right,’
I finished lamely.
‘Oh.’ Now Natalia was frowning. ‘So . . . how . . . what’s your connection with Mr Baxter?’
Now what did I say? I took a deep breath. ‘The truth is, someone told me that a number of girls had gone missing and . . . and I got it into my head you were one of them. But you’re
obviously not a prisoner here so . . .’ I tailed off again.
Natalia bit her lip. She rested her hands on her swollen belly and stared at me. I got the strong impression she was trying to decide whether or not to tell me something. What was it? She was
dressed in leggings and a lilac top that draped artfully over her bump. Apart from the fact that she wore no make-up, she looked as expensively dressed as Esme. Certainly no kind of victim.
Allan had clearly got the whole thing wrong. I still didn’t understand what the name ‘Miriam’ meant, or why I’d seen other memory sticks with different ‘M’
numbers on them, but, as I stared at Natalia, I suddenly thought I saw the connection between her and Baxter. Something that made sense of everything.
‘Oh.’ My hand flew to my mouth. ‘Oh, it’s
his
baby, Mr Baxter’s.’ My face burned as I thought through the ramifications of this. Mr Baxter was having a
baby with a girl half his age, barely older than me – or Esme. It was revolting. I stood up, wishing I hadn’t come in. Now I had a great big secret to keep from my new friend.
‘Mr Baxter is
not
the father.’ Natalia’s face expressed genuine shock.
To my horror, her eyes filled with tears. She looked down at the floor and her voice wobbled as she spoke.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
I gulped. I
was
sorry for upsetting her, but I didn’t believe Baxter wasn’t the dad. I mean, what other explanation for her living in this nice flat so close to his house
could there be? Still, it was none of my business. I took a step towards the door.
‘Please don’t go,’ Natalia said shakily. ‘I haven’t talked to anyone for months . . . not properly . . .
please
.’ She looked up. The pain in her dark
brown eyes was so intense I could barely meet her gaze.
Now I felt confused again. Maybe she
was
telling the truth.
‘Does Mr Baxter own this flat?’ I said. ‘Does
he
know you’re here?’
‘Yes.’
‘But he isn’t the father?’
‘No,’ Natalia said with a sigh. ‘But he wants my baby.’
‘Sorry . . . I don’t understand,’ I said.
Natalia hesitated. I got the strong sense that she was fighting with herself again. That she knew talking to a total stranger was a terrible risk, but that she was so desperate she
couldn’t help herself.
‘If I tell you,’ she said softly, ‘will you promise to help me?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But what do you need help with?’ I
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