Resistance Page 2

  Allie felt Sylvain’s body tense as he studied the car in the bike’s side-mirror.

  ‘Is it one of us?’ she shouted, her voice disappearing in the wind.

  He shook his head very slightly.

  Allie’s heart sank. It was one of them.

  By now, she knew what to expect – he didn’t have to warn her. She tightened her arms around his waist, bracing herself.

  Sylvain pulled into oncoming traffic.

  Cars scattered around them like toys in a playground. Discordant horn blasts formed a chorus of rage but Sylvain ignored them, speeding straight ahead.

  Behind them, the dark car’s engine roared as if enraged.

  A shriek of brakes and a crash. Clinging to Sylvain, Allie twisted around to see the BMW knock a smaller car off the road into the scrub brush. Then the driver floored it and headed right towards them.

  ‘Sylvain!’

  Hearing the urgency in her voice, he glanced back. Swearing, he swerved hard to the right, on to the narrow, unpaved, shoulder. Pebbles shot out from under their tyres like bullets as they sped along the rough dirt strip for half a mile, passing cars like they were sitting still before careering at last on to a narrow road.

  Thankfully, the tree-lined lane was mostly empty. Sylvain accelerated, taking the curves at impossible speeds. Allie knew she should be afraid but she’d seen what he could do. She trusted him to keep her alive.

  She kept looking over her shoulder for the black car but it didn’t reappear.

  Then an imposing metal gate appeared ahead of them. Two familiar dark SUVs sat outside it like sentinels.

  The gate was just starting to open. The afternoon sunshine pouring through the black metal was so white and clean it looked like the gates to heaven.

  The opening didn’t seem big enough for the bike but Sylvain obviously thought differently. He headed for it.

  Allie’s hands clenched against his waist; she murmured a prayer under her breath. They shot through with inches to spare, skidding sideways on the elegant, flower-lined drive. Sylvain slammed on the brakes to avoid running into the house. They stopped abruptly, and Allie jolted forward against his spine before thudding back hard on to the seat.

  Sylvain turned off the engine. The sudden silence was shocking.

  Swinging his legs forward, he leaped athletically from the bike and held his hand out to her. ‘The gates are still open,’ he said. ‘We’re exposed here. We have to get inside.’

  She wanted to do as he said but she couldn’t seem to move. Her knees felt like rubber, her stomach churned.

  Had they ever been so close to death before?

  ‘I’m not sure my legs will work,’ she admitted.

  A pleased smile quirked up his lips and he leaned casually against a handlebar.

  ‘It was fast, no? I trained with a Motocross champion. My father insisted as a condition of giving me the bike.’

  Allie fought an absurd desire to laugh. How could he be so relaxed when they’d just nearly died?

  She swung her legs over and jumped down from the bike. They ran up the steps to the front door.

  ‘I’m glad he insisted,’ she said, her voice shaking just a little. ‘I like being alive.’

  3

  Three

  The thing was, the day had started with such promise. It was so sunny the sky was like a sheet of blue glass. It was the day before Allie’s birthday, and she and Rachel had a busy schedule of sunbathing planned.

  Rachel, of course, sunbathed with her chemistry textbook because Rachel did everything with her textbooks. She planned to go to Oxford and then to medical school, and nothing – not even an attack by Nathaniel that decimated the school and left them both injured – could stop her. They’d both been tutored long distance ever since they left Cimmeria Academy on a cold March night. Over the months, they’d become pretty adept at independent study.

  As they sat by the pool that afternoon, Allie had attempted to do her history reading but found it hard to focus. It was only June but already it was summer hot and she kept finding reasons to drop the book.

  After all, she thought, lying back on the sun lounger, do you have to study the day before your birthday? Isn’t that a bit like studying on Christmas Eve?

  Overhead, a seabird wheeled in lazy circles, never flapping its wings, only soaring. Not a single cloud shadowed them.

  Allie glanced over to where Rachel sat in the shade of a large umbrella, utterly immersed in her work. The scars Gabe had left on her body were hard to see now, and she was glad. Maybe eventually they’d disappear completely.

  It had taken weeks after they left Cimmeria Academy for Rachel’s nightmares to stop. And she wasn’t the only one with bad dreams.

  Allie touched the long, thin scar on her own shoulder. It felt hard beneath her fingers and still sensitive. A reminder of what she’d been through. And what she was running from.

  It was only really when they came here that they’d both felt safe again.

  They hadn’t even known whose house it was when they first arrived in a convoy of SUVs, after a short journey by private jet. When the heavy black gates opened, they revealed a grand villa that seemed to absorb the sun into its golden walls. Lush, magenta bougainvillea wrapped around it like a bright blanket.

  It was beautiful. But it was just another mansion.

  They had been standing in the heat, waiting for the driver to unload their bags, when the front door swung open and suddenly Sylvain was in the doorway, smiling at them like a piece of Cimmeria – like home.

  Without even thinking about it, Allie had bounded up the steps and hurled herself into his arms.

  He’d just laughed and pulled her closer, as if they hugged each other every day.

  ‘God,’ he’d whispered into her hair, ‘I’ve missed you.’

  Later, as he showed them around, Sylvain would explain that this was his parents’ summer retreat. The grounds held several houses as well as the sprawling main villa, so there was room for guards and staff. High walls and a location at the top of a hill kept it secure.

  It was the perfect place to hide and, after a week, Allie and Rachel had agreed they could pretty happily live here forever. In the constant French sunshine, it was easy to forget the chaos they’d left behind. Easy not to worry about Nathaniel and why the guards were constantly around. Why they never left the compound.

  Except for today, when Sylvain had shown up by the pool with the tantalising offer of a few minutes of freedom.

  ‘I was thinking of going to the beach,’ he’d said. ‘Want to come?’

  Allie hadn’t hesitated. ‘Are you joking?’ she’d asked. When he shook his head, grinning, she’d leapt to her feet. ‘Come on, Rach. You have to come, too.’

  But Rachel had shooed them away. ‘You go, children,’ she’d said, glancing at them indulgently over the tops of her sunglasses. ‘I’ve got learning to do.’

  So Allie and Sylvain had gone to the beach alone.

  As they’d driven across the French countryside on Sylvain’s motorcycle, Allie had absorbed the beauty of the landscape with hungry eyes.

  She loved it here.

  The only problem was, they’d already been in France nearly a month. That was longer than they’d stayed any place since leaving Cimmeria. At any moment the call could come. Then the plane. Some new anonymous mansion would await them. And she and Rachel would be alone again.

  Who knew when they’d come back here? When she’d ever see Sylvain again?

  But so far the call hadn’t come, and Allie had begun to let herself dream that maybe they could stay. Maybe Nathaniel would never find them. Or perhaps he simply didn’t dare mess with Sylvain’s father. After all, Mr Cassel was a powerful leader of the French government and one of the country’s wealthiest men.

  But on some level she’d always known this was just a fantasy. Nathaniel always found her.

  Always.

  The marble floor was cool beneath Allie’s bare feet. After the heat outs
ide, the villa seemed as chilly as a refrigerator. Goosebumps rose on her arms and shoulders.

  Above their heads, vaulted ceilings soared up twenty feet; at the top, fans circled steadily with a faint mechanical whirr.

  ‘I have to find Rachel,’ Allie said, turning towards the back of the house. But she’d only taken two steps when a trio of guards, clad in black T-shirts and shorts, burst into the room. Stopping in front of Sylvain, they spoke in rapid French as he listened attentively.

  Allie, whose French was only so-so, waited impatiently for him to translate.

  After a brief conversation the men ran off again. Sylvain turned to her, his brow furrowing.

  ‘Everything’s fine here,’ he said. ‘There was no attack on the house. Rachel is in her room. They’ve gone to get my parents.’

  Allie breathed a relieved sigh. At least Rachel was OK. At least there was that.

  But Sylvain didn’t look relieved. Worry still creased his forehead. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, searching his face for clues. ‘Has something else happened?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Something they said … I just have a bad feeling …’

  He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Allie knew that feeling well.

  ‘They’re sending us away.’ Her tone was matter-of-fact even though her heart ached. ‘To the next safe house.’

  At her side, his hand found hers. ‘I won’t let them.’

  He sounded determined and, as Allie looked into his eyes, the colour of the French sky, she wished it was possible. But it wasn’t. Sylvain could handle a motorcycle like a pro but even he couldn’t tell Lucinda Meldrum what to do with her granddaughter.

  Even he couldn’t keep her safe.

  ‘They’ll make us,’ she said simply. Then, because it was true, she added, ‘I’ll miss you.’

  He looked at her longingly, as if there was something he wanted to say but he couldn’t find the words. His gaze brushed her lips like a kiss.

  ‘Allie …’ he began but, before he could finish the thought, another guard rushed in saying something Allie couldn’t understand.

  Dropping her hand, Sylvain gave her a helpless, apologetic look. ‘My father. I have to go.’

  ‘It’s cool,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk later.’

  But as he walked away she couldn’t suppress the melancholy thought: If there is a later.

  After Sylvain left with the guards, Allie hurried up the staircase, which curled upwards gracefully in a swirl of delicate white wrought iron. She ran down the airy landing to a set of tall, double doors, which swung open at her touch.

  The afternoon sun filtered through the long sheer curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows, giving her bedroom a creamy, apricot glow. A wide, canopied bed, draped in pale linens, dominated the room, but Allie headed straight to the dresser.

  Quickly, she pulled a short skirt and a tank top over her bikini. After sliding her feet into sandals, she stopped in front of a door that could easily be mistaken for a closet. She knocked on it lightly.

  ‘Come in.’ Rachel’s voice sounded muffled through the heavy wood.

  Allie opened the door to the adjoining room, which looked a great deal like hers, only with pale yellow curtains instead of peach.

  Rachel lay on her bed surrounded by stacks of books. Her glasses had slid halfway down her nose and she blinked at Allie over the top of them.

  Allie hated to break the news. Rachel was so happy here. So safe.

  But no one is ever really safe, she reminded herself.

  Safe is an illusion. A lie we tell ourselves to make it easier to go about our very dangerous lives.

  ‘You better come downstairs,’ she said quietly. ‘Nathaniel found us.’

  ‘You have to go.’ Sylvain’s father sat on a stylish armchair upholstered in lush, white linen. Allie, Sylvain and Rachel perched across from him on a long, matching sofa. ‘This was a real attack. You could have been killed.’ He held his son’s gaze. ‘You and I both know Nathaniel would have killed you to get to Allie. He’ll never give up.’

  Sylvain’s gaze didn’t flicker but, for Allie, Mr Cassel’s words were the equivalent of someone opening the cover of an endless, dark well and shoving her down. They echoed in her head.

  He’ll never give up. Never give up …

  ‘Where do we go this time?’ Rachel’s tone was neutral but Allie could sense the weariness she was hiding. They were both tired of running.

  His next words stunned them both. ‘Back to Cimmeria.’

  Allie’s heart flipped. Rachel shot her a disbelieving look.

  Was it possible? They could go home?

  Lucinda had always made it clear they couldn’t go back to the school until the situation with Nathaniel was resolved. Which it clearly wasn’t. So … what had changed?

  ‘You’re serious?’ Allie said. ‘We can really go back?’

  Watching them from her seat near the tall windows that overlooked the pool, Sylvain’s mother seemed unnaturally calm in the face of all this upheaval.

  ‘Every place you’ve gone to has been discovered eventually.’ Her voice was a rich alto. Her French accent made each word elegant. ‘For you … no place is truly safe.’

  A slight frown darkened Mr Cassel’s expression. ‘That is not precisely true.’ He turned to Allie. ‘Lucinda – your grandmother – has decided you will be safer in England. And –’ he hesitated briefly – ‘we agree. At least, we think you’ll be in no more danger there than you are here. And you can get on with your studies.’

  Allie couldn’t believe it. She saw Rachel fighting an excited smile and she knew how she felt.

  Home, she thought. I’m going home.

  She would see Zoe and Nicole again.

  And Carter.

  The very thought of him made her nervous. She’d never got a chance to say goodbye. Never had a chance to sort things through.

  Never made up her mind.

  ‘When do we leave?’ Sylvain held his father’s gaze, his expression intense.

  Mr Cassel opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again as if he’d thought better of it.

  Allie looked back and forth between them, aware some message was being exchanged but unsure of what it was.

  Mr Cassel finally spoke. ‘Allie and Rachel leave tonight. If you choose to go with them … then that is when you will go, too, I suppose.’

  ‘Of course I’m going back with them,’ Sylvain said evenly. ‘You know that.’

  From her seat by the window, Sylvain’s mother made a small sound. She was still gazing out of the window, her lips tight. As always, she was elegantly dressed – in her white linen blouse and grey trousers; a pale blue pashmina draped across her shoulders, she could have stepped out of a magazine.

  But Allie had never seen her look so sad.

  ‘We would rather you stayed here,’ Mr Cassel said finally. ‘Where we can protect you.’

  Sylvain replied to his father in rapid, low French. Allie had been practising but she still only caught only a couple of words. Jamais – never. And comprend – understand.

  His father stood with such abruptness it made her jump. He said something to Sylvain that she didn’t catch and strode out of the room.

  ‘What did he say?’ she asked, looking at Sylvain.

  It was Mrs Cassel who responded, her eyes on her son. ‘He said, “Do as you please.”’

  ‘Maman …’ Sylvain began, but his mother held up her hand, her white sleeve falling back to reveal a slim wrist the same tawny colour as his own skin.

  ‘You don’t have to explain,’ she said quietly. ‘I understand. But we love you. And we are afraid for you.’ Her gaze moved to encompass Allie and Rachel. ‘For all of you.’

  An uncomfortable silence fell.

  ‘Well.’ Rachel cleared her throat. ‘I guess we should pack. And leave you two to talk.’ Standing, she gestured at Allie. ‘Come on. Those T-shirts won’t pack themselves.’

  ‘No, they won’t
,’ Allie agreed, scrambling to follow. ‘And the trousers. Someone has to pack those, too.’

  Sylvain didn’t even glance at them as they hurried up the stairs, leaving a heavy stillness behind.

  Allie had already thrown all her things into bags before a guard informed her they wouldn’t leave until nightfall. Once they left the safety of the Cassel compound they needed to move fast, the guard explained, and for that the roads had to be clear of traffic.

  In the end, it was after ten before they were finally called to the front door where a convoy of black SUVs waited, headlights glowing, engines purring,

  Without a word, Sylvain’s father kissed Allie and Rachel on both cheeks. He said something quietly to Sylvain in French. Allie saw Sylvain’s jaw tighten as he listened. Then he disappeared back into the villa.

  Mrs Cassel hugged Rachel.

  ‘Good luck with your studies, Rachel,’ she said, in her beautifully accented voice. ‘I should like you to be my doctor some day.’

  ‘Thanks for everything,’ Rachel said. The woman gave her an affectionate smile.

  As Rachel headed out to the car, Mrs Cassel turned to Allie.

  ‘Goodbye, my dear.’ She pulled her close. Allie breathed in her perfume, a heady mix of exotic flowers and spice.

  When she stepped back, Mrs Cassel held her by the shoulders, studying her face as if she wanted to say more. There was something in her warm, hazel eyes Allie couldn’t read. Caution, perhaps. Or doubt.

  But all she said as she dropped her hands was: ‘Be careful, chère Allie.’

  ‘I will,’ Allie promised. Then something occurred to her. ‘What about you, though? Nathaniel knows where you are. He knows you helped me.’

  Mrs Cassel seemed touched by her concern. ‘We are well protected,’ she said gently. ‘Besides, it’s not us he wants, my dear.’

  Her honesty was chilling but Allie was grateful for it nonetheless as she hurried after Rachel to the line of cars.

  Sylvain lingered on the front steps. Through the open car door, Allie watched as he talked quietly to his mother. As always, it hurt a little to see anyone so close to their parents. She hadn’t spoken to her own parents in months. Phone calls were impossible while she was on the run. She knew Isabelle kept them informed about her. But it wasn’t easy to accept that they didn’t care enough to insist on speaking to her.