“Yes.”

Magda gulps and holds her hands up to her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“Perhaps Magda would like some tea, and she can tell us what happened,” I say gently.

* * *

The three of us are sitting at the table while Magda puffs on a brand of cigarette that is unfamiliar to me. I’ve declined her offer to try one. The last time I smoked a cigarette, it set off a chain of events that led to my expulsion from school. I was thirteen and with a local girl in the grounds at Eton.

“I don’t think they were from the immigration department. They had a photograph of Michal and you,” Magda says to Alessia.

“What? How?” I ask.

“Yes. They found it on Facebook.”

“No!” Alessia exclaims, and clamps her hand over her mouth in horror. She looks at me. “Michal has taken the selfies with me.”

“The selfies?” I ask.

“Yes. For the Facebook,” Alessia says, frowning. I quickly mask my amused expression.

Magda continues, “They said they knew where Michal went to school. They knew all about him. All his personal information is on his Facebook page.” She takes a long drag of her cigarette, her hand trembling.

“They threatened Michal?” Alessia’s face is ashen.

Magda nods. “I had no choice. I was scared. I’m sorry.” Her voice is little more than a whisper. “There was no way I could contact you. I gave them the address where you were working.”

Well, that clears that mystery up.

“What do they want with you, Alessia?” she asks.

Alessia gives me a brief, imploring look, and I realize that Magda doesn’t know the full details of how Alessia came to London. I run my hand through my hair.

What to do? This is far more than I bargained for….

“Have you contacted the police?” I ask.

Magda and Alessia both speak at once: “No police.” They are emphatic.

“Are you sure?” I can understand Alessia’s reaction, but not Magda’s. Perhaps she’s here illegally, too.

“No police,” Magda says, banging her hand on the table, startling both Alessia and me.

“Okay,” I say, raising my palm to placate her. I’ve never met people who don’t trust the police.

It’s obvious that Alessia can’t stay in Brentford, and neither can Magda and her son. The thugs who turned up on my doorstep were bristling with barely contained violence. “Is it just the three of you living here?” I ask.

They both nod.

“Where is your son now?”

“At a friend’s house. He’s safe. I called him before I got home.”

“I don’t think it’s safe for Alessia to stay here, or you for that matter. These men are dangerous.”

Alessia nods. “Very dangerous,” she whispers.

Magda’s face whitens. “But my job. My son’s school. We are only here for another two weeks before I leave—”

“Magda, no!” Alessia tries to silence her.

“For Canada,” Magda continues, disregarding Alessia’s objection.

“Canada?” I look to Alessia and back at Magda.

“Yes. Michal and I are emigrating. I’m getting remarried. My fiancé lives and works in Toronto.” Her brief smile is a fond one. I offer her my congratulations, then turn my attention to Alessia.

“And what are you going to do?”

She shrugs as if she’s got everything under control. “I will find another place to stay. Zot! I am to see a place this evening.” She glances at the kitchen clock. “Now!” She stands up, panicked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I interject. “And frankly, that’s the least of your worries right now.” She’s illegally in the country—how is she going to find somewhere to stay?

She sits back down.

“Those men could come back at any time. They could easily snatch you off the street.” I shudder. They want her.

Evil fuckers.

What can I do?

Think. Think.

We could all hole up in Trevelyan House in Cheyne Walk, but Caroline would ask questions, and I don’t want that—it’s too complicated. I could take Alessia back to my flat—but they’ve already been there. One of the other properties? Maryanne’s place? No. Perhaps I could take her to Cornwall. No one would find us there.

And as I contemplate my options, I realize I don’t want to let her out of my sight.

Ever.

The thought surprises me.

“I want you to come with me,” I say to her.

“What?” Alessia exclaims. “But—”

“I can find you somewhere to live. Don’t worry about that.” Jesus, I have enough property at my disposal. “But you’re not safe here. You can come with me.”

“Oh.”

I turn my attention to Magda. “Magda, as far as I can see, you have three options since you don’t want to involve the police. We can move you to a local hotel for now, or we can put you up in a house in town. Or I can organize some close-protection security for you and your son, and you can stay here.”

“I cannot afford a hotel.” Magda’s voice fades while she gapes at me.

“Don’t worry about the money,” I reply.

I do the calculations in my head. It’s not much in the scheme of things. And Alessia will be safe.

Worth every penny.

And maybe Tom will give me a discount. He’s a mate, after all.

Magda scrutinizes me, her fixed stare intense. “Why are you doing this?” she asks, bewildered. I clear my throat and wonder why myself.

Because it’s the right thing to do?

No. I’m not that altruistic.

Because I want to be alone with Alessia? Yes. That’s the real reason. But given what she’s been through, she’s not going to want to be alone with me. Is she?

I run my hand through my hair, uncomfortable with my thoughts. I don’t want to examine my motives too closely. “Because Alessia is a valued employee,” I answer.

Yes. That sounds convincing.

Magda eyes me with suspicion.

“Will you come with me?” I ask Alessia, ignoring Magda’s doubtful expression. “You’ll be safe.”

* * *

Alessia is overwhelmed. His level gaze is sincere. He’s offering her a way out. This man she barely knows. Yet he came all the way from Chelsea to check that she was okay. He waited for her at the station. He held her while she cried. She can only remember her grandmother and her mother doing that for her. Apart from Magda, no one else in England has treated her with such kindness. It’s a generous offer. Too generous. And Dante and Ylli are her problem, not his. She doesn’t want to drag him into this mess. She wants to protect him from them. But she is illegally in England. She has no passport. Dante has it and all her belongings, so she’s stuck.

And Magda is leaving soon, bound for Toronto.

Mister Maxim is waiting for her answer.

What will he want in return for his help?

Alessia knows so little about him. She doesn’t even know what he does for a living. All she knows is that the life he leads is very different from hers.

“This is just to keep you safe. No strings attached,” he says.

Strings attached?

“I don’t want anything from you,” he clarifies, as if he can read her mind.

No strings attached.

She likes him. She more than likes him. She’s a little in love with him—but she understands it’s a crush. And yet he’s the only person she’s told about how she came to England.

“Alessia, please answer me,” he persists. His expression is anxious, his eyes wide and open and honest. He radiates concern. Can she trust him?

Not all men are monsters, are they?

“Yes,” she whispers before she can change her mind.

“Great,” he says, and he sounds relieved.

“What?” Magda snaps, looking at Alessia in surprise. “Do you know him?”

“She’ll be safe with me,” he says. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“I want to go, Magda,” Alessia whispers.

If she goes, Magda and Michal will be safe.

Magda lights another cigarette.

“What do you want to do?” Mister Maxim turns his attention to Magda, who looks from Alessia to him, confounded.

“You haven’t told me what those men want, Alessia,” Magda says. Alessia had been vague about how she came to England. She had to be. Her mother and Magda are the best of friends, and she didn’t want Magda e-mailing her mother to tell her what had happened. Her mother would have been devastated.

Alessia shakes her head. “I cannot. Please,” she pleads.

Magda huffs. “Your mother?” she says, pulling at her cigarette.

“She cannot find out.”

“I don’t know.”

“Please,” Alessia begs.

Magda sighs with resignation and turns to Maxim. “I don’t want to leave my house,” she says.

“Okay. Close protection it is.” He stands up, long, lean, and impossibly handsome, and fishes his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. “I need to make some calls.” He leaves them staring after him as he closes the kitchen door.

* * *

When Tom Alexander was invalided out of the army, he set up a security company based in central London. He deals with high-profile, high-net-worth clients. And now me. “What have you got yourself into, Trevelyan?”

“I don’t know, Tom. All I know is I need 24/7 security for a woman and her son who live in Brentford.”

“Brentford? This evening?”

“Yes.”

“You’re bloody lucky I can help you.”