“Maybe there’s another way,” he suggested. “I’ll look into it.”
“I thought you didn’t break the rules.”
He leaned closer, kissing her softly. “Let’s just say we’re bending them.”
***
Alice left Nathan sleeping again and drove the route to Ella’s from memory, stopping at that hippie café for muffins and coffee.
“Ella?” Juggling the bakery bag and cardboard cups, Alice pushed through the open front entrance and tapped at the door to the ground-floor apartment. “Ella, let me in, I come bearing caffeine.”
There was no reply.
Alice was just about to bang harder, when she noticed a pale blue envelope taped to the doorframe, her name written on the front in Ella’s familiar scrawl. It held a single sheet of paper and a set of keys. She knew in that moment what it meant, and that Ella—whatever her real name—was already long gone, but still Alice unlocked the door, set her things down, and began to read.
I’m sorry.
I know I promised not to run, but I can’t risk it, not now that you’ve found me. I don’t know where we’ll go yet, but I’ll be fine, I always am.
Alice stopped. She checked the apartment quickly, but the wardrobe was empty, and all Ella’s personal possessions gone. There was no sign of the kitten either, and outside, the driveway was empty.
Wandering back inside, Alice stood in the middle of the polished floor, the slip of paper in her hand. She kept reading:
The apartment is yours, so is the office. The leases are in your name anyway, for the next six months. There’s a bank account too, if you want it—I left a file by the fridge with all the ID and documents. If not, then there’s a shelter downtown that always needs the money. Maybe you could volunteer there, too. I was going to start next week.
I really am sorry it turned out like this.
I suppose I just can’t help it in the end.
X
She was gone.
Alice lowered the letter, looking around her as if for the first time. The apartment was old but charming, with bare floors and large windows, a blue-tiled kitchen area, and a large bedroom with fresh linens stacked at the end of a wrought-iron bed. Outside, she could see a square of overgrown garden, dense and green with bushes and even a few fruit trees.
It was hers.
The file of documents was where the letter said: a fake driver’s license sitting next to Alice’s original birth certificate, bank details, and a half-finished application for citizenship. And stacked neatly beside them all was a small pile of business cards, elegant in a simple charcoal script: Angelique Love, Agent.
Taking her coffee, Alice drifted out to the back porch and settled on the old wooden love seat, reading the brief note again. Ella was right about the view. The city sprawled below her in a neat grid, sun falling on Alice’s bare shoulders with a warmth that was unimaginable for this time of year back in England.
She could get used to this.
Alice stretched. Chris’s car would arrive soon, and she would have to fabricate an apologetic excuse for Ella’s sudden departure, but that would be no trouble. An ill relative back in England, perhaps. They would be sympathetic and pass on their best, and soon—all too easily—Ella would be forgotten.
There was an irony to it, Alice knew—the ease with which she could slip into this life. If she chose.
The day stretched before her, full of promise. There would be a delicious brunch with Chris and his friends and that midday swim; then the afternoon with Nathan, lounging perhaps on the beach—or in bed. She should really start to call those casting agents too, and set up some auditions for Rupert…
Alice stretched out in the sun, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the possibilities.