Cassie screamed in terror as she felt herself lose her grip, the stone slipping from her grasp.
She was falling, falling.
And then she landed, sitting up, gasping, cold sweat chilling her even though the spacious bedroom was warm.
The layout of the room was unfamiliar, and she spent some time fumbling around before locating her bedside table and then, finally, the light switch.
She turned it on and sat up, desperate to confirm that she’d escaped her nightmare.
She was in the large double bed with its ornate metal headboard. On the opposite side of the room was the big bay window with its golden brown curtains closed.
To her right was the bedroom door, and to the left was the door of her bathroom. The desk, the chair, the bar fridge, the wardrobe, everything was as she remembered it.
Cassie let out a deep breath, reassured that she wasn’t still trapped in her dream.
Although it was still dark, it was already a quarter past seven in the morning. With a start, she remembered that she hadn’t received any instruction about what the children should be doing. Or had she, but it had slipped her mind? Had Ms. Rossi said something about school?
Cassie shook her head. She couldn’t recall anything and didn’t think she had mentioned the school times.
She climbed out of bed and quickly dressed. In the bathroom, she tamed her auburn waves into a tidy look that she hoped would be acceptable in this fashion-focused home.
As she stared into the mirror, she heard a noise outside.
Cassie froze, listening.
She picked up the faint sound of footsteps, scrunching over gravel. The bathroom window’s frosted glass faced outward, toward the gate.
Was this one of the kitchen staff?
She pushed the window open and peered out.
In the deep gray of the early morning, Cassie saw a dark-clad figure sidling around the house. As she stared, astonished, she made out the shape of a man wearing a black beanie and carrying a small dark backpack. She caught only a momentary glimpse, but saw he was heading toward the back door.
Her heart accelerated as she thought of intruders, and the automatic gate, and the security cameras.
She remembered Ms. Rossi’s words and the clear warning she had given. This was a wealthy family. No doubt they might be a target for robbery, or even kidnapping.
She had to go and investigate. If she thought he looked dangerous, she could raise the alarm, scream, and wake the household.
As she hurried downstairs, she decided on her plan of action.
The man had headed round the back of the house, so she would go out the front door. There was enough light now to be able to see, and the cold night had left frost on the grass. She would be able to track his footprints.
Cassie walked outside, locking the front door behind her. The morning was still and freezing cold, but she was so nervous she barely noticed the temperature.
There were the footprints, faint but clear in the frost. They led around the house, over the neatly trimmed grass, and onto the courtyard bricks.
Following them, she saw they led to the back door, which was standing wide open.
Cassie crept up the steps, noticing the distinctive shoe prints on each stone stair.
She paused in the doorway, waiting, straining to hear any suspicious noises over the hammering of her own heart.
She could hear nothing from inside, although the lights were on. A faint smell of coffee wafted toward her. Perhaps this man had been a driver, dropping off a delivery, and the cook had let him in. But then, where was he, and why couldn’t she hear any voices?
Cassie tiptoed into the kitchen but found nobody there.
She decided to go and check on the children and make sure that they were all right. Then, once she’d confirmed they were safe, she would wake Ms. Rossi and explain what she’d seen. It might be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry, especially seeing the man seemed to have vanished into thin air.
It had been such a fleeting glimpse that if she hadn’t seen the shoe prints, Cassie would have believed she’d imagined the furtive character.
She jogged up the stairs and turned toward the children’s bedrooms.
Before she reached them, she halted again, clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.
There was the man—a slim, black-clad figure.
He was outside Ms. Rossi’s bedroom, and was reaching for the door handle with his left hand.
She couldn’t see his right hand, because it was held out in front of him, but from the angle, it was obvious that he was holding something in it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Needing a weapon, Cassie grabbed the first item that her panicked eyes could see—a bronze statuette on a side table near the stairs.
Then she ran toward him. She was going to have the advantage of surprise, since he wouldn’t be able to turn in time. She’d bring the statuette down first on his head, and then on his right hand to disarm him.
Cassie leaped forward. He was turning—this was her chance. She raised her makeshift weapon.
Then, as he turned to face her, she skidded to a halt. Her cry of surprise was drowned out by his outraged shout.
The short, slender man was holding a large takeaway mug of coffee in his hand.
“What the hell?” he shouted.
Cassie lowered the statue and stared at him incredulously.
“Were you trying to attack me?” the man blustered. “Are you out of your mind? You nearly made me drop this.”
He looked down at the coffee, which had splashed up through the vent in the lid and onto his hand. A few drops had spilled onto the floor. He reached into his pocket for a Kleenex and bent to mop it up.
Cassie guessed he was in his early thirties. He looked immaculately groomed. His brown hair was fade-cut to perfection and he wore a short, well-trimmed beard. She picked up a hint of an Australian accent in his voice.
Straightening up, he glared at her.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Cassie Vale, the au pair. Who are you?”
His eyebrows rose.
“As of when? You weren’t here yesterday.”
“I was hired yesterday afternoon.”
“Signora hired you?”
He emphasized the last word and stared at her for a few seconds, during which Cassie felt herself grow increasingly uncomfortable. She nodded wordlessly.
“I see. Well, my name is Maurice Smithers, and I’m Ms. Rossi’s personal assistant.”
Cassie gaped at him. He didn’t fit her picture of what a personal assistant was like.
“Why did you sneak into the house?”
Maurice sighed.
“The front door lock is difficult to open in cold weather. It makes an unholy noise and I don’t like to disturb the household when I arrive early. So I use the back, as it’s quieter.”
“And the coffee?”
Cassie stared at the mug, still feeling blindsided by the strangeness of his appearance and his purported role.
“It’s from an artisanal brewery down the road. It’s Signora’s favorite. I bring her a mug when we have our morning meetings.”
“So early?”
Although her tone was accusing, Cassie was feeling embarrassed. She’d believed she was being heroic, acting in the best interests of Ms. Rossi and her