A couple was walking up the road, talking and laughing.
Relief lifted her heart. ‘Hello. Do you speak English? Can you help me, please?’
They did stop and look at her, before shaking their heads in bewilderment and carrying on up the hill.
That had to be a no, then.
A woman came around the corner, a phone plastered to her ear.
‘Excuse me. Do you speak English?’
Apparently not. The woman didn’t even slow down.
Alesha walked down the road a hundred metres, asking everyone she saw the same questions, getting the same result.
The night stretched ahead interminably. What she wouldn’t give to be back in her flat eating yesterday’s leftovers and throwing darts at the board after she’d pinned a photo of Luke to it. It had all started with him, hadn’t it?
No, it went way further back than him.
* * *
Kristof Montfort strolled up the hill, hands in pockets, glad the day was done and the temperature was dropping to something near bearable. Once in a rare year London might get as hot. Might. A cold beer beckoned, and his feet moved faster.
The little girl found curled up, shivering, in the bushes by the Dubrovnik Bridge had been brought in to his mother at the Croatian Children’s Home during the night and had stolen into his heart when he hadn’t been looking as he worked with her. He must be getting soft because the tiny child’s big fear-filled eyes, her gaunt cheeks, and scrawny body had angered him, destroyed his usually well-controlled emotions and let her in where he never let anyone. It had taken all day to get his equilibrium back. How could a parent abandon their child to the vagaries of street thieves and child porn operators? His father might’ve made a mockery of all he taught Kristof about being an honest, reputable gentleman, but he’d never physically hurt him, and the emotional slam dunk had happened when he was old enough to fend for himself.
They were yet to learn the child’s name so in the meantime everyone was calling her Capeka—little stork—for her inclination to stand on one leg with the other twisted behind her knee as she huddled in a corner.
He’d done all he could for Capeka today; operating to fix an arm with multiple fractures, stitching deep, badly infected cuts on her thighs and forearms, putting her back together physically. Food, clean clothes and a warm bed had been priorities. The mental stuff would be taken care of by his mother and her colleagues, and would take a lot longer to resolve, if ever. The counsellors and the nurses at the Croatian Children’s Home spent hours with their little patients and lost souls, but there was a gross shortage of caring nurses, the pay being minimum on a good day. Even the most fervent care-giver had to eat and find shelter and wear clothes.
‘Excuse me.’ A young woman dressed in a towel appeared in front of him, looking wary although desperation was rippling off her.
‘Yes?’
‘You speak English?’ Surprise warred with disbelief.
‘I am English.’ And Croatian, but that was another story. ‘What’s your problem?’ There went that cold beer. Somehow he just knew this wasn’t going to be a quick question and answer session. There was something about those earthy coloured eyes that strummed him, and warned him. The woman was in trouble.
Or was trouble.
She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘I’ve gone and got myself locked out of the apartment I’m staying in. As well as the complex,’ she added in a rush. ‘I need to get hold of the owner but I don’t have a phone.’ Her cheeks pinked. ‘Or her number.’
‘You’d be talking about Karolina.’
Hope flared. ‘You know her?’
He didn’t want to dampen that hope; it made her look less drawn, beautiful even. ‘A little, but, better than that, my mother is friends with Karolina’s.’ Tapping his mother’s number, he held his phone to his ear. He listened to the dial tone while studying the woman before him. Temptation in a towel. ‘Fingers crossed my mother has her phone with her. She has a habit of leaving it all over town.’
Her shoulders drooped. ‘Oh.’
‘Is that you, Kristof?’
Kristof raised a thumb in his distraction’s direction. ‘Yes, Mum, it’s me. And before you start in on me about not taking a partner to the fundraiser dinner tomorrow, I’ve got someone here who’s got herself locked out of the Jelinski Apartments and needs to get in touch with Karolina.’ As in the lady he was not taking to the dinner even if his mother had begged him to.
‘She came here to pick up her mother and left five minutes ago. I’ve tried to give you Karolina’s number so many times.’
So you have. Your persistence is admirable, but please use it on more important issues.
He liked Karolina. He didn’t have the hots for her, or love her, or want to get to know her better, though he’d do anything for her if she asked because that was who he was these days, and she felt the same about him. Though she might not do anything he asked. Their respective mothers had other ideas and wouldn’t listen to them. What did they know? Kristof’s mother, in particular, refused to accept that he’d decided not to marry again, ever. Why would he when his ex-wife had cheated on him more times than he could count? Had laughed when he’d told her he loved her and that monogamy was part of their relationship. A deal breaker for him, but her idea of love included adventurous affairs on the side.
The woman before him was looking at him as though he was her saviour, and shivering, wrapped only in that towel and who knew what underneath? Nothing? ‘Mum, please let Karolina know she’s needed at the apartments urgently.’
Now he noticed red, string-like straps running over her shoulders. A bikini? Or a bra? Whichever, no better than nothing for warmth. But slightly easier on his overactive libido, which did not have a role to play here. It might’ve been a few months since he’d seen to that need but he would not be scratching it with this woman, despite the heat starting to flow into his blood. Shoving the phone into his back pocket, he told her, ‘You shouldn’t have to wait long. Karolina lives four streets over.’ As long as she’d gone straight home after dropping her mother off.
‘Thanks so much. I appreciate your help. I was beginning to think I’d be spending the night out here and there’s nothing other than cold concrete or tarmac.’ Now that her problem was being fixed her mouth lifted into an ironic smile. ‘It’s been one of those days.’
Don’t smile at me like that. It goes straight to places I don’t want to acknowledge.
That bow-shaped upper lip and full lower one would be magic on his skin. He slapped his hand against his thigh, instantly regretting the action when she jerked backwards. ‘Well, we’ve dealt with this problem. Glad I came along.’ He was off the hook, had helped her out of a bind and could walk on with a clear conscience. Couldn’t he? Kristof sucked in a breath. She wasn’t as young as he’d first thought. Mid-twenties? Older? What did it matter? He wasn’t interested. It was time for that beer and to forget a particularly difficult day dealing with Capeka. But his hormones got in the way and he asked, ‘Why are you cold when the temperature is still warm?’
‘I fell asleep by the pool for a little while and got some sunburn. Now my skin is fluctuating between hot and cold.’
Kristof looked over her shoulder and whistled. ‘That’s going to sting under the shower.’ An image filled his brain of her tall, slim body under the water. He wasn’t seeing red, more cream-coloured skin and lots of curves. Forget an itch. Muscles tightened in places they had no right.
His phone rang. Relief