Stalkers. Paul Finch

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Chapter 7

      Louise looked herself over in the mirror.

      She’d had the shower as instructed, and had done the best she could with her hair and make-up, though it had hardly been a labour of love. The clothes she’d finally selected would never have been her normal choice, but there hadn’t been much option. She’d put on dark stockings, a short, black, pleated skirt, a red silk blouse with ruffles at the front, and a smart black jacket. The trashy red and black shoes had come last, though in truth the whole thing was trashy, not to mention demeaning; it was the ‘office look’ perhaps, though a male fantasy version of it rather than the real thing. She hadn’t been able to find a single item of underwear that didn’t come straight from the advertising section of Penthouse, and after some searching had eventually opted for a matching set of black lace bra and knickers, though the knickers were so sheer that they might as well not have been there.

      Not that this troubled her now. Briefly, as she stood rigid in front of the cold glass, wearing skimpy drawers seemed the very least of her problems.

      She kept envisioning her house, her garden, Alan’s tousled head and grinning face when he woke her up each morning with a cup of tea, the spare bedroom they’d tentatively begun to think of as a nursery, which she’d filled in her imagination with soft, pink and white furniture, with cuddly toys, with animal mobiles turning on strings, with Disney wallpaper – but no, no, NO!

      It didn’t pay to dwell on those things. She had to focus on the positives. She’d been a prisoner all this time, but they hadn’t yet brutalised her; in fact they’d fed her, watered her, allowed her to wash. In some ways that was sinister, but in others it was good. And she had definitely been abducted to order – they hadn’t just grabbed her off the streets; she wasn’t a random victim. As such, the idea had coalesced in her mind that this kidnapping could only be some kind of plot against Goldstein & Hoff – which was less frightening than it being directed against her, but even so it could have a fatal outcome, so she had to play it smart and go along with them for the moment. She had no other choice.

      At least, this was what she told herself as she assessed her reflection for the umpteenth time. Cheap – that was the only way to describe the version of Louise Jennings that her captors wanted; cheap and slutty, like a porno actress on set. It was such a different look from her normal tasteful preference that this in itself almost made her cry, but she resisted resolutely. They’d degraded her enough; she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of breaking down. Besides, as she kept reminding herself, it was vital to keep a cool head. Cooperate but be cool – that was her plan. It was the only way to earn their respect. Never show a dangerous animal that you’re frightened.

      But of course, it was easier to say such a thing than to do it.

      The jewellery for example – Louise had glanced into the jewellery box, and had been surprised by the quality of the stuff it contained: earrings, bracelets, brooches, rings, necklaces, all of real gold and silver, encrusted with gems. But after the rather large hint her jailer had dropped about where this high-class merchandise had come from, she couldn’t bring herself to touch any of it, much less wear it. She doubted that she’d ever be able to wear jewellery again, not even her own – assuming she ever got home to it. Her bravado half-crumbled and fresh tears sprang into her eyes, though she hurriedly wiped them away with a tissue, determined to be brave.

      As she did this, the door clicked open.

      She spun around. Surely two hours hadn’t passed already?

      Nobody came in. Louise waited tensely, hands clasped in front of her. Then she heard a voice from the next room.

      ‘Louise?’ it said hesitantly. Incredibly, it sounded familiar. ‘Do you want to come in here?’

      At first bewildered, but then with sudden desperate energy, she dashed forward and pushed the door open. On the other side she saw a larger room, which was much more luxurious than her dressing-room-sized prison. There was a thick pile carpet on the floor, and soft fabric covering the walls. A shaded bulb cast a rosy glow over a double bed, its eiderdown folded neatly back on crisp, golden sheets. However, none of this amazed her as much as the person occupying the room.

      He was a middle-aged man, but tall and well built, with grey at his temples and pale, handsome features. He was usually a very imposing figure; scrupulously neat, with a formal air and stern attitude which appeared to brook no nonsense, but at present, though he wore his normal pinstriped suit, his jacket and collar were unbuttoned and his tie hung in a loose knot.

      Despite this, there was no mistaking him.

      ‘Mr Blenkinsop,’ she said, hardly able to believe her eyes – new tears now appeared there, tears of relief.

      He gave a helpless shrug. ‘Hi.’

      Ian Blenkinsop was not part of Louise’s department at Goldstein & Hoff, but a director in Commodity Finance, two floors above her. She didn’t know him particularly well, but they’d been part of the same company long enough to be on speaking terms. He was now standing on the other side of the bed, in front of an oak-panelled door, next to what looked like a well-stocked drinks cabinet.

      She slammed the dressing-room door behind her and rushed towards him, jabbering frantically. ‘They … they grabbed me on my way home. I didn’t realise until it was too … there was nothing I could do … I’m so, so sorry … honestly, there was nothing …’

      He nodded patiently, but seemed rather nervous. He was breathing quickly; sweat glinted on his brow – which was not his normal form. Ordinarily, Ian Blenkinsop was a man of poise, a smooth operator from whose fingertips multi-million-pound deals flowed on a daily basis. But why was he here? The question hit Louise hard. He was a banker, for Christ’s sake! Why was he the one who’d been sent to find her? Unless …

      ‘Oh my God,’ she breathed. ‘Did they get you too?’

      ‘Er …’ He half-smiled. ‘In a way, yes.’

      ‘Oh … Jesus!’ She put her fingers to her brow as it furrowed with disappointment. She wasn’t saved after all. Still, if nothing else, at least here was a friend, an ally, someone to share the ordeal with.

      ‘Who … who are these people?’ she said, trying her damnedest not to start crying again. ‘I mean … who?’

      ‘I don’t know. Listen, come and have a drink.’

      To her bemusement, he turned to the cabinet. On its shelf there was a bottle of champagne, which he’d uncorked, and two glasses. He’d already filled one and now filled the other. He came around the bed and offered it to her.

      ‘Are you serious?’ she said, ignoring it. ‘Don’t you think we should be trying to get out of here?’

      Still he pushed the drink towards her. ‘I know this has all been a bit of a shock for you, Louise, but if you play along it’ll be a lot easier.’

      ‘“Play along”?’ Confusion made her tone shrill. ‘What the hell do you mean?’

      He СКАЧАТЬ