Page 54 of Perfect Strangers

His eyes were cold as he looked at her. ‘Here are your choices,’ he replied flatly. ‘You can either come with me, or you can run off home to Daddy.’

‘My dad’s dead,’ said Sophie. ‘He died four weeks ago.’

Josh just shrugged.

‘I’m sorry, but it doesn’t change anything.’

He put his arm in the air as a black cab appeared around the bend in the road, its light glowing mercifully orange.

‘Your choice, Sophie,’ he said, opening the door.

He was right. She did have a choice. She could go back to Paddington Green, or she could go back to Wade House. But if Josh was right that the Russians could find out where she was through some corrupt policeman, then neither option seemed viable. Not if she wanted to stay alive.

She shivered at the thought of how close the bullet had come to hitting her.

‘I’m coming,’ she said.

Josh gave a slight nod, then looked at the driver.

‘St Pancras via Pimlico, please,’ he said.

Sophie waited until they were moving before she turned to Josh.

‘Pimlico?’ she whispered.

‘Passport,’ he said simply.

She frowned. ‘It’s in Pimlico?’

‘No.’ He sighed heavily. ‘It’s back on the boat.’

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He didn’t need to say that it was not a good idea to return there. She wanted to ask more, but a look at his face told her that he wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk. Besides, the thrum of the cab’s diesel engine was soothing and her eyelids were feeling heavy.

She jolted awake when the taxi stopped, her head resting on Josh’s shoulder.

‘Sorry, I . . .’

Josh ignored her. ‘Wait here, okay? I won’t be long.’

She watched him cross the road to a long row of white stucco town houses, not immaculate like Lana’s Knightsbridge home, but rough around the edges, with peeling window frames and bikes chained to the railings. Flats, probably. Josh bent to speak into an intercom, and a tall, dark-haired man in a dressing gown appeared. His unkempt hair and scowl suggested he had been dragged out of bed – and wasn’t exactly overjoyed about it. It was, after all, only quarter past four in the morning. I’d be angry too, Sophie thought, as Josh went inside.

She rested her head back on the seat, watching the dawn send soft golden stripes of light rising up above the Mary Poppins chimneypots into the Prussian-blue sky. She could almost feel the city coming to life around her. The hum of a milk float, the grumble of the last night bus making the final trip south of the river, the rare twitter of a bird in the spindly trees.

On any other day she would have appreciated the beauty of the summer sunrise, but right now she just wanted to get to the train station.

She started as the door opened and Josh jumped in.

‘St Pancras, mate,’ he said to the driver. ‘Quick as you like.’

‘What kept you?’ said Sophie, as they set off again. ‘I thought you weren’t coming back.’

‘How could I tear myself away?’ he replied, almost smiling.

The concourse at St Pancras station was busier than Sophie had expected, especially considering it was barely five in the morning. The high hollow space was clanging with the voices and hurrying footsteps of early-bird tourists and business commuters on their way to meetings. Sophie tightened her grip on her bag and tried her best to look casual, but inside she was feeling more frightened than when they had jumped into the freezing waters of the Thames. Back then, she hadn’t had any choice – it was either jump or die – but here, every one of the people in front of her was a potential assassin, every one of them could be an undercover police officer. Not that she had done anything wrong – not yet, anyway. She guessed this was how it felt being a shoplifter when you had the clothes or jewellery stuffed inside your coat and you were heading for the exit; until she actually stepped on to the Eurostar, she was just another innocent citizen wandering about a train station.

She tried to make conversation to distract herself.