Питер Джеймс - Dead if You Don’t

She returned and told Florentina that he was a nice guy, her cousin, she could trust him and he would give her a lift to Tirana.

Two hours later the man dropped her at a roundabout in the vast city, in the searing afternoon sun, and pointed her in the direction of the city centre. She thanked him, then looked around, bewildered, at all the buildings. Suddenly, she felt both safe and lost at the same time.

She had never before in her life been in a city. Streets rammed with cars and trucks. Shops. Cafés. Restaurants. The roar of motorbikes. The scream of a police siren.

Thousands of people. Strangers, all of them.

She walked past a huge arch with a white statue on top and statues on either side. Ahead was another roundabout, in the middle of which was the national emblem, a black, double-headed eagle mounted on a stone plinth. Nervously, hesitantly, she waited until a group of people crossed, and she went with them. She walked on, past a filling station, shops with awnings, cafés with umbrellas. Past a restaurant with a display of fish on ice just inside the door. A tall, modern skyscraper stood ahead with the name PLAZA HOTEL in red lights along the top. Desperately thirsty again, she came to a park with an ornamental pond with several fountains in it. A group of men sat around, most of them smoking. She walked over, knelt and scooped some water into her mouth.

Where should she go?

She was totally lost and bewildered. No one took any notice of her. Should she go home? Was she crazy to be doing this?

She didn’t even know where she would sleep. On the streets? In a park?

Lost in thought, she walked on, her feet sore, and feeling a blister coming on. She reached a busy, confusing junction, with noisy traffic coming from every direction. The Plaza Hotel looked as if it might be the centre of this city. Might someone there be able to tell her if there was bar work anywhere? Or waitressing? Or cleaning?

She stepped out into the road, heard the blare of a horn, heard the scream of brakes. Saw a cement lorry bearing down on her.

She froze.

Then, out of nowhere, a hand grabbed her and jerked her back, hard, just as the lorry thundered past inches in front of her.

Turning, she saw a man, perhaps of her father’s age, but smart-looking, with elegant black hair. He was wearing a suit with an open-necked shirt and had all his teeth — nice white teeth.

‘Thank you,’ she gasped.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, pleasantly. ‘That was close!’

She nodded.

‘Are you sure?’ her saviour asked. ‘You don’t look OK to me.’

‘I’m — I’m lost,’ she replied.

He told her his name. Frederik. He took her to a beautiful café by a lake. It had white umbrellas and was full of people, many of them young and good-looking.

He bought her a Coke and a sandwich and an ice cream. He seemed gentle and kind and interested in her. He asked her what she would like her life to be. She opened up to him, told him why she had come here, and he listened, sympathetically. Then he excused himself and made a phone call. When he had finished he turned back to her, smiling, and told her his sister was going to join them, and she would help her.

Half an hour later, a glamorous woman came to the table and sat down. She said her name was Elira, and she could help her to start a whole new life, somewhere abroad. Had Florentina ever been abroad, she asked? How about England? Would she like to go there? To a beautiful city called Brighton, where they had a job waiting for her and a nice apartment to live in. But first, she needed a proper meal, and to get cleaned up and have some rest.

Elira and her brother took her to a beautiful house, high on the hills above Tirana — the kind of place she had only ever seen in films. A kind, elderly lady called Irma, the housekeeper, cooked her a meal, led her to a bathroom and helped her afterwards to bathe. Then the woman tucked her into a big, soft bed, where she fell asleep almost instantly.

The next morning, Elira took her into the city. They went to a huge, modern shopping centre called the European Trade Centre, all glass and steel, like nothing Florentina had ever experienced before. Elira bought her fancy new clothes, jeans, a cream blouse, trainers, a lightweight leather jacket and a smart wristwatch, then a new handbag. Next, she took her to a beauty salon, where she had her hair done and make-up, and her nails for the first time in her life.

She felt pampered. Like a millionairess. It felt as if she had landed in paradise and she could scarcely believe her luck.

Elira bought her a small, wheeled suitcase, packed with more clothes and a washbag full of toiletries. They had lunch together, then, in Elira’s chauffeured limousine, returned to the mansion in the hills. Florentina spent the afternoon lazing by the swimming pool, truly living a dream.

That evening the housekeeper helped her bathe again, then afterwards Elira dressed her in her new clothes and groomed her long, freshly styled dark hair in front of a mirror.

‘You are a very pretty young lady,’ she told her. ‘You look like a movie star!’

And she did!

Florentina twirled in front of the mirror, feeling like a whole new person. From the desperation of just a couple of days ago, she felt transformed. Strong. Ready for adventure.

The following morning, after she’d enjoyed a huge breakfast, prepared by Irma, of yoghurt, layered spinach pie, salami, eggs and fresh fruits, Frederik came into the kitchen. He stopped and stared at Florentina with a big, warm smile. He told her she was beautiful and that he had spoken to friends in the city of Brighton and Hove who indeed could help her and were looking forward to meeting her. He would give her a passport and documentation, and her parents would never find her there. She would be safe. She would have a great job in a bar, with an apartment of her own, and a chance to make new friends and a new life — and, absolutely, one day she would find the man of her dreams.

To cover her air fare and other expenses, all she had to do for him was one small thing.

Saturday 12 August

05.00–06.00

Adrian Morris’s phone began ringing. It didn’t rouse him, he was already awake, as he had been for much of the night, lying in the grip of fear, his brain releasing him occasionally into sleep, only to torment him with nightmares.

He was in turmoil. Should he have made the decision to call the game off? Was not doing this something he would come to regret for the rest of his life?

It still wasn’t too late.

The room was brightening; from outside came the first tentative sounds of the dawn chorus. Dawn. Dawn breaking on the biggest day in his club’s history, and a shadow loomed over it. Question after question churned over and over in his mind. What had he missed? What could he do that he had not already done?

Chirrup-chirrup. Chirrup-chirrup.

For a few seconds, in his hazy mind, he thought it was just another bird joining in the growing orchestra out there in their garden. Then his wife stirred. ‘Phone,’ she murmured.

The clock showed 5.04 a.m.

Who was phoning at this hour? One of his night-security team?

He reached across his bedside table and grabbed the cordless off its cradle. ‘Adrian Morris,’ he answered.

The voice chilled him. The same accented English, as polite as before.

‘Mr Morris?’

He responded as quietly as he could, walking across the thickly carpeted floor towards the door. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry for this inconvenient hour, but we don’t really have very much time left, do we?’

‘Can you hold a moment, please.’

He slipped out onto the landing, closed the door behind him and entered his den, switching on the light and perching on the chair in front of his desk. ‘Who am I speaking to?’