A Question of Honour. Kate Walker
But as she eased the window open fully, a last minute thought struck her. This wasn’t just a personal thing; there were so many other implications of all this—political ones, international treaties. If she just disappeared then, she shivered at the thought of the trouble it might cause. The repercussions of her behaviour. On her country. On him.
There was a notepad and pen beside her bed and she snatched these up, scribbling down five hasty words, adding her signature as an afterthought.
‘Clementina!’
What little patience Karim had was wearing thin.
‘Just a minute—or would you like to come and pack for me?’ she challenged.
The thought of him doing just that—coming upstairs, into her room, into her bedroom—made her heart lurch up into her throat, snatching her breath from her. But his growled response made her feel more relaxed.
‘Get on with it then.’
‘Oh, I will!’
Leaving the note lying in the middle of the bed where he couldn’t possibly miss it, she edged towards the window, her bare feet silent on the floor, her bag on one arm. She didn’t dare risk opening the window any further in case it creaked, the wood scraping against wood.
Sliding out backwards, her feet found the spaces in the trellis work that held the ivy tight against the wall with the ease of long-held memory. She prayed it would still hold her—they were both ten years older, herself and the criss-crossed wood. And she was definitely inches taller, pounds heavier. Her toes found the footholds, her hands knowing just where to grab to support herself on the way down. Holding her breath, she let the ivy take all her weight, inched her way down the wall, down to the ground at the back of the cottage, landing with a small sigh of relief as her feet touched the gravel.
‘So far so good...’
Her battered red Mini was parked several metres away, its small size and well-worn paintwork totally overshadowed by the big black beast of a SUV that was drawn up just outside the front door. A car as sleek and powerful as the man himself, Clemmie told herself as she wrenched the driver’s door open, tossed the bags on to the back seat, flinging herself after them and pushing her key into the ignition almost before she was settled.
The moment that the Mini’s engine roared into life was her last chance. Karim had to hear it and would come running so it was now or never. Not even bothering to fasten her seat belt—that could come later—she let off the brake, pushed her foot down on the accelerator and set the car off down the drive at breakneck speed.
She thought she saw the flash of movement—the opening of the door—the appearance of a tall, dark, powerful figure in the empty space, but she didn’t take the time to be sure. She needed to focus on the road ahead.
‘I’m coming, Harry!’
Pieces of gravel spurted up from under her car’s tyres as she headed for the lane and, after that, the motorway and freedom.
At least for now.
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