Conspiracy Thriller 4 E-Book Bundle

‘Amal’s allergic to animals.’

‘Then would you? He’s Scruffy.’

‘Not as scruffy as you are,’ she said. ‘What is this, another present? I didn’t want the last one.’

‘I need the favour. It’s only for a little while.’

‘This isn’t the Brooke Marcel boarding kennel,’ she said.

‘Fine.’

‘Why don’t you ask your friend Darcey Kane?’

That hurt like a punch in the guts. Ben said nothing for a few moments, then turned to walk away.

‘All right. I’ll take the ruddy dog,’ Brooke said. ‘He’s not going to pee all over my flat, I hope?’

‘He’s a vicarage dog,’ Ben said, setting Scruffy down on the ground.

‘Oh, well, in that case. What does His Worship eat?’

‘I don’t know. Dog food, I suppose.’

‘That’s helpful. I have some stewing beef in the fridge.’ She paused, eyed the dog for a moment and then glanced back up at Ben with a softer expression. ‘I’m sorry for what I said before. It wasn’t fair of me to mention her.’

Ben didn’t reply.

‘It’s cold out here. Do you and your friend want to come inside for a cup of coffee or something? You can wash up in my bathroom.’

Ben paused a second, then shook his head. ‘I’d better make a move.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I’m sorry I can’t explain. I really appreciate this, Brooke.’

Brooke reached down to pat Scruffy on the head, and he trotted inside the flat as if he’d lived there all his life. ‘You’re not in trouble, are you?’ she asked Ben. The flash of concern he thought he saw in her eyes made him feel strangely comforted.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said.

‘I’ll always worry about you, and you know it,’ she said. She stepped back into the hallway to where her handbag hung from a Victorian coathanger, took out her purse and produced a business card. ‘My new number’s on here. In case you need it,’ she added hesitantly.

Their fingers brushed as he took the card from her hand. They parted with a few more lame words. Ben felt her gaze on him as he walked towards the car. Don’t look back, he thought.

But he did. Brooke was still standing in the doorway. She gave him an uncertain wave as he opened the car door, and a drum began to beat triumphantly in his heart. He managed to conquer the urge to run back through the gate and take her in his arms. It somehow didn’t seem appropriate.

‘Who was that?’ Jude said as Ben got back in the car. ‘She looks nice.’

‘Never mind,’ Ben said, starting the engine. He glanced back towards the house and saw that Brooke had shut the door.

‘Your girlfriend?’

‘Leave it, Jude.’

‘What’s wrong? You two have a fight?’

Ben said nothing and sped away.

Chapter Thirty-Two

After managing to make a last-minute phone booking en route, Ben screeched the Vauxhall into the car ferry terminal at Dover with just minutes to spare before the 10 a.m. crossing. They were the last car to board.

A few days closer to Christmas than Ben’s outward journey from France, the ship was more crowded. As the cliffs of Dover sank into the leaden sea, he wandered out on deck and leaned against the stern railing. Jude came out to join him. ‘I still don’t understand why you didn’t want to take a flight,’ Jude said, gazing down at the ship’s wake.

‘I thought you liked the sea,’ Ben said.

‘I do. A lot. But you seemed in such a hurry. The ferry seems like an unnecessary hassle.’

‘Some things are worth the hassle,’ Ben said.

Jude frowned at him. ‘You’re a complete mystery to me, you know that? I always get the feeling you’re holding stuff back. Don’t you trust me?’

Ben didn’t reply. He took out his cigarettes.

‘We’re not going to make it through this, are we?’ Jude said, gazing fixedly down at the ferry’s broad white wake. ‘We’re going to get killed. I am, at any rate.’

‘You’re not going to get killed,’ Ben said. ‘A few weeks from now you’ll be back at university and getting on with your life.’

Jude shook his head sadly. ‘If I make it through this, I don’t think I’ll be going back there. I’d already kind of decided to quit. Dad and I argued about it a lot. I suppose you’re going to give me a hard time about it too?’

‘Not a bit of it. Quit to do what?’ Ben asked.

‘I don’t really know yet. I always wanted to do something to help the environment. Maybe I’ll join up with Greenpeace, try to get crew work on board one of their ships.’

Ben lit a cigarette and offered him one. Jude waved it away. ‘Don’t smoke.’

‘You mean you don’t smoke tobacco,’ Ben said.

Jude shot him a glance. ‘I don’t smoke anything else either, unlike a lot of the deadheads that hang around Robbie’s folks’ place. Not that it’s any of your business.’ He went quiet for a while, turned his back on the deck rail and gently rubbed his torn knuckles. They looked painful. Ben knew from experience how much it hurt to vent your anger against solid objects, like brick walls and car dashboards.

He knew how other kinds of pain felt, too.

‘If it’s any consolation, I’ve been there myself,’ he said, letting a stream of smoke blow away on the sea breeze. ‘I lost my parents, a long time ago. I was a bit younger than you when it happened. I know exactly what it’s like to be left all alone in the world.’

‘Did they die in an accident?’

Ben shook his head. ‘I almost wish they had. No, my mother killed herself. My father went soon afterwards. He couldn’t go on.’ He could talk about these things now, though it still pained him after so many years.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jude said. ‘So you’ve got no family either.’