Svetlana shrugged and said, ‘They might have a gun. I did not want to say this, to make you frightened, but it is a possibility.’
‘A gun?!’
Annie shrank down in her seat. She didn’t want to be here any more. Helping Svetlana out was one thing, but Annie did not want to be shot in Vienna by the henchman of a billionaire while her beautiful children thought she was hundreds of miles away in Italy sipping vegetable cocktails and being massaged by a hunky Italian stallion in a vest.
How would they ever understand what had happened?
‘Maybe we should leave this all to Harry, and to the courts,’ Annie began: ‘we can’t take the law into our own hands. I mean – bodyguards!
Guns?
I’m not Angelina bloomin’ Jolie, you know.’
‘Annah, shut up,’ Svetlana ordered. ‘You are here and you are going to help me.’
Lights went on in the big front windows on the first floor of the house.
‘Something’s happening,’ Annie whispered.
The window on the ground floor lit up as well.
‘Maybe they are going to move … maybe the boys will come out of the house.’ Svetlana leaned forward and strained to see.
A movement on the other side of the road caught Annie’s attention.
‘A policeman!’ she said, with relief. Svetlana looked over too and they both saw a small middle-aged man with a peaked cap on his head and a notebook in his hand.
‘No … Postman, I think,’ Svetlana said.
All the relief that had built up in Annie’s chest vanished. Now she felt even more scared than she had a few minutes ago. She was about to be shot in a Viennese street in front of a postman.
The postman crossed the road and knocked on the window of the car. Annie wound it down and wondered if she could cobble together the German for: ‘We’re about to be shot at by some Russian bodyguards.’
‘Guten Morgen,’ the postman said.
‘Guten Morgen,’ Annie replied, almost tearful at the thought of Owen and all the times she’d told him not to speak German round the house. She would do anything to be in her kitchen
listening
to Owen’s botched German right now.
‘Sie können hier nicht parken. Ich muss Sie eine Strafzettel geben,’ the postman said and began to scribble in his notepad.
‘What?’
Annie turned to Svetlana hoping she might have understood this.
‘This postman is a traffic warden and he is giving us a parking ticket.’
‘Small mercies,’ Annie muttered. ‘At least if we’re dead we won’t have to pay the parking ticket.’
The front door of the house opened.
‘I think they’re coming out!’ Svetlana said, reaching for the handle and flinging open the passenger door.
‘Svetlana!’ Annie warned, trying to catch hold of her and pull her back in. But too late.
‘Excuse me,’ she said as politely as she could to the traffic warden and opened her own door.
The warden protested, but stepped aside.
‘Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God,’ Annie chanted, panicking properly now. She opened the back door and lunged for the champagne bottle: she couldn’t face guns with nothing in her hands.
The man in the leather jacket emerged from the house. Behind him, Annie could see Petrov and Michael! There they were, still in their adorable little tennis outfits, their faces pale and tense. Her heart went out to them. All thoughts of ducking
down
behind the car and hiding until this was over went out of her mind. Despite the size of a second man who was following the boys, Annie knew she had to help them.
With a roar of maternal rage, Svetlana charged down the pavement towards them and Annie began to run behind her.
‘Michael! Petrov!’ Svetlana shouted.
Everyone turned, expressions of astonishment on the faces of the men, pure happiness on the faces of the boys.
‘Mama!’
‘Mama! You came!’
The joy in those voices spurred Annie on.
The boys raced towards Svetlana, before the men could stop them. Svetlana grabbed hold of them and with a bloodcurdling shriek ordered the men: ‘Leave us alone! Leave us alone or I will kill you both. I will kill you!’
Then she turned and ran with her sons, straight past Annie, back to the car.
‘IN! IN!’ she ordered the boys.
The men were rooted to the spot with sheer surprise – but just for a moment. Now they began to run too.
Annie found herself alone on the pavement between the men and the car. Holding an empty champagne bottle.
Oh God.
She knew she had to delay the men just long enough for Svetlana to get the car started. So she put her head down, her arms out and charged, roaring at the top of her voice.
Whump.
She collided hard with one of the men and they both fell sprawling and winded to the ground.
Owwwww.
The champagne bottle at the end of her outstretched arm somehow landed a direct hit on the other man’s ankle and for a moment he was hobbled.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She heard the Bentley engine start up.
The traffic warden was shouting in German. Maybe he’d not had time to put the parking ticket on the windscreen.
As the man she’d run into picked himself up, something clattered to the ground. At once Annie knew she was looking at some sort of weapon – a knife or maybe worse. She instinctively kicked at it, sending it flying towards the gutter and causing the man to shout at her.
Now she was in serious, possibly even deadly, trouble. But at least she could hear the Bentley pull away, the engine revving wildly. Svetlana was trying to find the bite point, get into gear and away.
The traffic warden was still shouting furiously.
Maybe
Svetlana had run over his foot … The Bentley, its engine roaring and jumping, began to move up the street.
The men were shouting and cursing in a language Annie suspected was Russian. They ignored her in her winded and undignified heap on the pavement and ran to the big black car right in front of her. They leapt in, slamming the doors shut and sparking up the engine.
Annie picked herself up. The BMW was parked facing the other way and this street was too narrow to turn in. Svetlana had a chance, she really could get away from them if she kept the Bentley going at speed.
The champagne bottle was miraculously still in Annie’s hand.
What could she do to stop this car leaving with just a champagne bottle in her hand?
Should she throw it?
The engine roaring, the car was about to pull off and chase after Svetlana and her boys.
Then, in one of the bravest, most foolish moves Annie had ever made, and hoped she would ever have to make, she ducked down and placed the bottle in the gutter right in front of the BMW’s rear tyre. Then she backed away as quickly as she could.
There was a terrifying, exploding sound followed by a tinkling shower of sharp, stinging pieces of glass. Annie turned on her heel and ran blindly.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Austria
The volunteer
Corduroy car coat (charity shop)
Red T-shirt (market stall)
Jeans (Lidl)
Black trainers (Nike)
Total est. cost:
€
40
ANNIE HAD BEEN
crouching behind the bins at the back of a block of flats for some time now; about thirteen minutes, according to her watch. She wondered how much longer she should wait here to be sure she was totally safe. It was dirty and smelled of cat wee.
In fact,
she
was dirty and smelled of cat wee and
when
she lifted her head from her knees she could see small blood marks on her skirt. She put her fingers to her face and realized that there were four or five small cuts which were bleeding.
Now what?
She didn’t know where Igor’s men were … she didn’t know if it was safe to come out … she didn’t know where Svetlana was. In fact – what was she supposed to do now?
She was in Vienna without a map, she’d left her handbag in the car, so she didn’t have a penny or one single bank card, and she looked as if she’d been in a fight. She imagined that her chances of getting arrested for vagrancy were probably quite high.
She patted the pocket of her jacket, hoping against hope – oh, hallelujah! There it was: her mobile phone! She took it out and looked at the screen. She had one bar of battery charge left, probably just enough for a couple of texts, and maybe even one short call.
‘Where you?’ she texted Svetlana.
‘We hv boys,’ she texted Harry.
Harry would do something. He would leap into action. Annie always thought of Harry as a sort of pinstripe-suited, bowler-hatted, ultra-posh, middle-aged legal Batman. He came to the rescue with the kind of heavyweight backing every girl needed once in a while: the force of an expert lawyer.
It was time to leave the bins. Slowly she stood up and brushed herself down, then she walked towards the gate and stepped out into the street.
It was still very early and hardly anyone was around. But, desperate not to bump into the Igor mafia again, Annie walked quickly away in the opposite direction to the house. She needed a main street. As soon as she was somewhere with cars and cafes opening up for the morning breakfast trade, she would feel safer.
At the thought of a cafe and breakfast, her stomach gave a theatrical rumble.
Shut up!
she willed it. Now is not the time.
Several streets later and she was on a busier road. Although everyone she passed gave her a strange look, she walked on, feeling a little safer with every step.
Harry or Svetlana would call her. Someone would help her out, she was sure of it.
‘Ein Kaffee?’ a voice called out.
Cafe? Coffee? Could this mean coffee?
She turned her head and saw a little stall set up with a coffee machine and a plateful of bread rolls.
A young man with curly hair and a cheerful smile was holding up a paper cup.
‘I have no money,’ she said slowly, hoping he would understand.
He shrugged.
‘You don’t need money,’ he replied in English.
What kind of heavenly city was this? They set up booths and gave people their morning drug of choice for free?
‘Really?’ she asked, approaching the stall.
‘Do you need some help?’ the man asked with a sincere and sympathetic smile.
Annie took the paper cup he was holding and took a long, warm mouthful. It was weak, milky, instant coffee, but it tasted like the best ever premium blended, hand-roasted, lovingly crafted, bijou coffee house cup.
It tasted gorgeous.
She took another sip and another, then looked properly around. There was a bench on either side of the booth and on each bench two or three men were sitting, cradling their paper cups. Some chewed on the bread rolls.
The men had the matted hair and dirty, worn-out clothes you only saw on beggars.
This was a soup kitchen; well, a coffee kitchen.
Oh good grief, had the man behind the breakfast counter honestly assumed she was a homeless person?
She looked down at her outfit. Two days in a car had not done her stretchy, patterned go-anywhere dress many favours. The dress had gone everywhere, including behind the cat wee bins.
Her denim jacket was filthy from her encounter with the pavement and her refuge behind the bins. She knew her skin and hair must be a complete mess. Mascara last applied almost twenty-four hours ago. Well, who knew where it was now? Probably heading towards her chin. Plus she was covered in small bleeding cuts.
No wonder he’d offered her a free coffee.
‘Do you need help?’ he asked again in his charming, accented English. ‘We have someone who comes every morning from the … erm … government?’
Annie couldn’t help backing away from him. The thought of having to explain why she was here to someone from the government was terrifying.
‘To help,’ the man emphasized.
‘No, I’m fine … I’m really fine. I’m just waiting for a friend.’
But really? Things were far from fine.
She had one bar left on her phone. Svetlana was obviously focused on trying to get her boys out of Igor’s clutches. It was quite possible she would forget about Annie altogether. In fact, knowing Svetlana, it was
completely
possible she would forget about Annie altogether.
So what was she realistically going to do if Svetlana didn’t come back for her? Annie would have given anything to be able to call Ed. But she
needed
to save the precious little bar on her phone. If she lost that, she would have nothing. It was the modern equivalent of a tiny flame in the hearth. She couldn’t let it go out.
‘Are you a visitor to Vienna?’
‘Oh …’
‘Are you sure you would not like our doctor to look at your face? I can take you there.’
This was so kind, so sympathetic that Annie could detect a prickly, snuffly feeling at the back of her throat.
‘No, no, I’m fine. I’m a tourist, a visitor. Is there a bus to the airport?’
‘Yes, and a tram.’
‘Where do they leave from?’
He gave her the simple instructions, then reminded her of her obvious predicament: ‘But you said you have no money.’
‘No.’
What was she to do? Barter her way on with an empty coffee cup?
‘You buy a ticket in a shop, you validate it on the machine, but most tourists do not understand the system and do not pay. It is not so serious for tourists.’
‘Really?’
Annie had a feeling that getting to the airport would be good. At airports, they understood about
lost
handbags and lost passports and tourists stranded abroad. They would have the systems in place. She would go to the police and maybe she could get her phone charged, then she’d be able to call Ed – even if he was in school. He could wire money to her, pay her airfare with a credit card. This could all be sorted out and she would be home very, very soon.
All she had to do was get to the airport without paying.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Austria
Tram passenger:
White, green and pink floral dress (Peek & Cloppenburg)
White trench coat (Gap)