Written in the Blood (31 page)

C
HAPTER
31

London, England

A
gale tore through the royal parks of Central London, raising a ghost army from dead leaves and tattered newspapers and rain. Wind shrieked at the windows of Etienne’s Mayfair residence, curled around its chimney stacks and rattled its iron gates.

Inside her bedroom, the paper shade of a child’s night lamp rotated, casting a carousel of soft-hued animal shapes across the walls. Etienne stood at her window, looking down at the street below. The limbs of the trees lining the pavement whipped back and forth, occasionally relinquishing branches that would bounce across car roofs or skitter along the road.

She had returned only an hour ago, after almost a year away, and the building seemed an alien place: certainly not like a home. Although both Jackson and Bartoli were now resident downstairs, it had been deserted when she’d arrived.
Something
,
however, lingered on in the empty rooms and halls; a sense of expectation, perhaps, as if the old house held its breath.

You’re imagining it.

She walked to the crib beside her bed and stared down at Elijah’s sleeping form. Her son’s eyes were closed and he snored quietly. Hearing that sound made Etienne’s chest swell with emotion. So fragile he was, so perfect. She knew every mother felt like this, that her feelings were hardly a revelation to the world. But they were a revelation to her. For years she had lived in a vacuum of emotion, and now emotions boiled in her: love, fear, hope, shame, self-pity, pride; each struggled for supremacy, ruling only briefly before surrendering to a contender that was sometimes darker and sometimes lighter, but always different.

She’d carried Elijah up the central staircase, unable to look along the hall where her old rooms of work waited:
Feroce, Chiuso
,
Bellicoso
,
Sostenuto
,
Duolo
,
Capriccioso
. The memories seeping from beneath those doors buffeted her. They made her skin itch and her neck prickle. Pressing Elijah’s face to her shoulder, burying herself in the purity of his scent, she had hurried to the top of the house.

Tomorrow she would recruit an estate agent and rid herself of the place, and then – despite the pleas of her family back in Como (
family
, such a strange new thought, such a strange new concept) – she would take Elijah and they would disappear into obscurity.

Even considering that future served to calm her nerves: a feeling, if not of peace, then at least something approaching it. They could go anywhere, do anything,
be
anyone.

The phone beside her bed rang. Etienne raised her eyes from Elijah’s face. She would begin all that tomorrow. But until then, there were still things to do here.

She sat on the bed and stared at the phone. Even though a handful of people had access to this line, she knew instinctively who the caller would be. Finally she plucked the handset from its cradle and lifted it to her ear. Etienne paused, and then she said, ‘Jakab.’

‘I trust you enjoyed your vacation,’ he replied. His voice was quiet, his breathing measured, but she recognised the clipped tones that indicated he was upset.

‘I’ve been back less than an hour. Have you been watching the house?’

‘I need to see you.’

Elbows propped on her knees, Etienne supported her head with her free hand, hair feathering across her face. ‘That won’t be possible.’

‘I
need
to
see
you.’

‘I told you, Jakab. No more.’

‘I don’t accept that.’

‘Then I suggest you learn. This was never more than a business relationship, and you know it.’

He hissed. ‘You can really be that cold?’

‘After four conversations about this, yes, I can. My life is different now. That part is over.’

‘What about my life, Etienne? You’re making choices here that don’t just affect you.’

‘Your life is your responsibility. Not mine.’

‘Don’t do this.’

‘It’s done.’

Silence, followed by a click as he broke the connection.

Banshees of wind shrilled outside the window. Etienne crossed the room and closed the drapes. Returning to the bed, she dialled Jackson.

He answered on the first ring. ‘It was him?’

‘Yes. Is the alarm on?’

‘A mosquito couldn’t get in here without us knowing about it.’

‘Everything’s locked?’

‘Like a vault.’

‘Thank you. Call me if anything happens.’

Etienne undressed, put away her clothes and checked on Elijah. Her baby slept, back arched, tiny face pointed towards the top of the crib. His eyes moved behind their lids, chasing infant dreams.

After locking the door to her room, she slipped beneath the covers of her bed. The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was the clock on the mantlepiece: five minutes to midnight.

Elijah’s cries dragged Etienne from sleep an hour later. Fuddle-headed, her fingers found the light switch, and then she thought better of it. Sitting up in the darkness, she lifted Elijah into her lap. His cries grew more urgent, until she guided his mouth to her breast and he latched on. Etienne grimaced at the sudden nip of pain, and then she relaxed.

She thought, again, about everything she would do tomorrow. As well as recruiting someone to sell the house, she needed to buy a car. Perhaps she’d drive the two of them around Europe until they found a corner they’d be happy enough to call home: somewhere far away from cities and traffic and the sad press of crowds.

At her breast, Elijah turned his head away, a bead of milk on his lower lip. Etienne rubbed his back until he released his wind, and returned him to his crib. She was about to tunnel back into the residual warmth beneath her covers when she noticed the night lamp on the chest of drawers in one corner of the room. Earlier, the heat from its bulb had rotated the shade, projecting animal shapes around the walls. Now the bulb was dark, its shade still. Had she switched it off before going to sleep? Maybe, but she didn’t think so.

She glanced over at the discreet security interface beside her bed. The unit’s lights still glowed green, but the system relied on a separate supply. Even during a power cut it would continue to operate.

She lifted the phone’s handset to her ear.

No dial tone.

Her heart knocked. Sweat prickled under her arms.

Etienne slipped from the bed and crossed to the window. Outside, the street was empty of life. Pulling on a silk robe, she went to the door and listened.

Silence from the hallway beyond. Inside the room, the papery rustle of Elijah’s breathing and the thudding of her own heart in her ears.

He’s here. Right now. Inside the house.

She shook her head, deriding herself. No. He couldn’t be. No one could fool the building’s alarm system and evade the attentions of both Jackson and Bartoli downstairs. It wasn’t possible.

As soon as the phones stopped working, Jackson would have alerted you. Even if you were sleeping, he’d have come up here and knocked at your door.

And yet he hadn’t.

Casting a glance back at Elijah’s crib, she twisted her fingers together. Did she stay in the room? Tempting as it was, she was a prisoner here. The window offered no means of escape. The room’s fixed telephone line was dead and she’d never owned a mobile phone, on which she could call for help.

The house boasted a panic room complete with its own air supply and a door that was virtually impenetrable. It was hidden away on the floor below her. She would need to take Elijah and hurry downstairs to the drawing room where the panic room’s entrance was located. It was a journey that would take her perhaps twenty seconds.

She thought she heard a sound, deep inside the house.

Decision made, Etienne lifted Elijah out of his crib. She wrapped a blanket around him, holding him tight against her chest. Moving to the bedroom door, lips pressed tight to mute the sound of her breathing, she unlocked it. The handle was silent as it turned. The door whispered against the carpet as it swung open.

In the hallway, shadows gathered.

Etienne closed her eyes. Listened not just with her ears but with her skin, feeling for the touch of a draught that would indicate an opened window or door.

The air was still.

Supporting Elijah’s head, she padded along the hall to the stairs and began to descend. The second floor came into view: a tunnel of empty space stretching into darkness.

Not empty, though. Not quite. Something slumped halfway along it. A human form.

She felt the skin on her scalp begin to crawl, fought the urge to turn and run. The panic room was still her best option.

The drawing room lay behind the first door on her left. Just in front of the crumpled shape in the hallway.

She edged closer. To her right loomed the grand staircase serving every floor of the house. She peered into its depths, trying to make sense of the darkness, searching for any threat that might lurk there.

Another few steps and she reached the drawing-room door, hanging ajar. Etienne paused there, listening. No sound issued from within. Before she slipped inside, she glanced down at the body on the floor. A lack of light prevented her from identifying it, but it could only be Jackson or Bartoli.

If she searched the corpse, perhaps she could retrieve a weapon. That would take time, though. She might wake Elijah. And Elijah might alert the intruder.

Instead, she edged into the drawing room. Paused again, ears straining. Closed the door behind her. Complete darkness now. A blindfold draped across her face.

The silence was a physical pressure in her ears.

Etienne knew this room intimately, knew the location of its chairs, its side tables, its statuary. One hand outstretched, she weaved a silent path. Her fingers touched a bookcase. She groped along it. Behind her, she heard the rasp of a match scratching into life.

Light flared; her shadow leaped towards the ceiling.

Etienne spun around, sickened, heart pumping so fiercely she could feel it in her throat.

From one of the chairs beside the fireplace, Jakab held out the match to the wick of a candle standing on a reading table. The tiny flame wobbled, grew brighter.

Shadows clothed most of his body, but his eyes were reflective pools in which two perfect miniatures of the candle burned. Etienne stared, and Jakab stared back.

Beside the bookcase stood a wicker Moses basket. After lowering Elijah into it, she straightened to face her guest. ‘What did you do?’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘Outside. In the hall. Who was it?’

‘He neglected to tell me his name.’

‘You killed him.’

‘And the world mourns. I’m sure you’ll find new staff, Etienne. With the money I’ve paid you over the years, you should be able to afford a houseful.’

He stood, and she moved to her right. The candlelight was strong enough to brighten only a yard or so of space around the table. She shielded the Moses basket with her body.

Jakab approached, his shoes making no sound on the drawing-room rug. He lifted a finger to the lapel of her robe, eased it over her shoulder. When he withdrew his hand, the garment fluttered to the floor.

His eyes drank her in. ‘You’ve put on weight,’ he said. ‘It suits you. Suits me.’

‘I want you out of my house. I don’t know how you got in, but the safest thing for both of us right now is that you turn around and—’

He slapped her. Hard across the face.

Jakab snatched back his hand, as if he’d burned himself on her skin. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I should never have done that. It wasn’t right. But I’ve missed you so much.’

He frowned, tapped himself on the chest. ‘It’s like a pain right here, an emptiness. There’s nothing I can do to fill it. If you’re telling me I can’t have you, if you’re really telling me that, I just don’t know what I’ll do.’

He reached for her and she cringed away, feeling her legs press against the Moses basket. Its wicker frame creaked.

Perhaps it was the movement that disturbed Elijah, or perhaps he sensed his mother’s fear, but her son let out a cry of distress, and Jakab’s eyes snapped away.

He stepped to her left. Spying the crib, he bent over it, and when he saw Elijah, his eyes widened. He drew in a breath.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not—’

Already, tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes. ‘I have a child?’

‘You don’t, Jakab.’

His attention drifted back to the crib, and his voice cracked. ‘I have a child.’

‘No.’

One of his tears spilled down his cheek. ‘You concealed him from me?’

‘He’s not yours. Of course he’s not yours.’

The wonder fled from Jakab’s expression, replaced by rage. ‘Then whose? You allowed someone to desecrate you? You
polluted
yourself like that?’

She’d always sensed his imbalance, always ignored it until now. His mind danced between extremes of emotion, unable to sustain any for long. Here, in this room, she realised there was likely no happy ending to this encounter, no peaceful resolution. ‘Please, Jakab. Calm yourself.’

‘I want to see Leah.’

‘You’re—’

‘I want to see her
now.
’

There was only one thing she could do. One thing she could try. Etienne threw herself at him. Snarling with bestial savagery, she grabbed handfuls of his hair and yanked back his head. Teeth bared, she lunged towards his neck.

Staggering backwards, Jakab slammed his fist against her face. Blood burst from her lips. She felt something fracture in her jaw. He seized one of her wrists, ignoring the furrows she clawed into his flesh. Lifting her off her feet, he threw her across the room.

She fell, head smacking against the wall, so hard her eyes wouldn’t focus. When she tried to stand, she found her legs wouldn’t work either.