The Liberation of Alice Love - Abby McDonald [96]
“Take care.”
She turned and hurried toward the house, forcing herself not to look back, not until she heard the engine of the taxi again and could watch it disappear, out of sight, around the corner.
The adventure, it seemed, was over.
Chapter Twenty-two
Flora was asleep when Alice let herself in—curled on the sofa with the television on, waiting up for her, perhaps. Alice covered her in a blanket and slouched up to her room, relieved at least, that her stepsister’s wide-eyed inquisition would wait until after she’d had some sleep. The next morning, however, her respite seemed altogether too brief.
“Ohmygod, you’re back!”
Alice barely had time to struggle awake before she was smothered with Flora’s panicked affection. “Are you OK? Did they hurt you?” she bounced onto the bed, gripping Alice fiercely as she searched for signs of abuse. “God, I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through! What do you need—tea? Breakfast? Did you eat on the plane?”
“I’m fine,” Alice protested tiredly, as she squinted at her bedside clock. Eight a.m. Oh, too soon. “Really, I just needed some sleep.”
“You poor thing.” Flora ignored her, producing her homeopathic medicine box. Reaching for the first bottle, she shook several tiny white balls into the cap. “Here, open your mouth. This should soothe your nerves.”
Alice thought perhaps that she wasn’t the one in need of soothing, but she stuck her tongue out obediently nonetheless.
“Take them every hour until you feel better.” Flora pressed the bottle into her hand. “Now tell me every—Oh! The tea!” She bounced back off the bed. “I found your favorite chamomile brand, or do you want something else? Because I could—”
“Flora!” Alice pulled herself out of bed. She felt disorientated—almost jet-lagged—but of course, there had only been a tiny time difference involved, however far the theoretical distance between those polished bedrooms in Rome and her own rumpled sheets. “I’m all right, really.”
“But everything that happened!” Flora edged closer, staring at Alice in distress. “I don’t understand how they could do something like that.”
“It was just a mix-up,” Alice reassured her, pulling on her dressing gown. “And the police were fine: scary, but professional. It wasn’t as if I were stranded in North Korea or anything. Now, how about that tea?”
She made her way downstairs, slipping free from the hazy blanket of sleep. She could have used another eight hours of blissful rest, but the world—and the Grayson Wells Agency—was waiting, regardless. Flora followed her closely, still no doubt alert for signs of posttraumatic shock. “Well, if you’re sure…”
“I am,” Alice insisted. “Really, all I needed was sleep. I’ll be fine for work today…” She walked into the kitchen, bright with early-morning sun. There were fresh raspberries in the fruit bowl, and, mmm, peaches too. Alice selected some and found herself a bowl. “Is Stefan back yet?”
Flora shook her head, perching on one of the side chairs. “He’s in Stockholm another night.”
“Oh, I wanted to thank him in person. That man really is amazing.” Alice began to fill the kettle. “He sorted everything out for me. You really shouldn’t have worried.”
“I didn’t.” Flora’s voice was small.
“What do you mean?” Alice bit into her peach. Now, plans: she could pack some of the fruit to eat at work, and was that cold chicken in the fridge for a sandwich?
“I didn’t know to worry—I didn’t know anything at all,” Flora replied with a petulant note. “Stefan only told me what happened when you were on your way back.”
“Oh.” Alice looked up. “Well, that’s good, right? You didn’t have to get worked up about something you couldn’t control.” If Flora had been this worried after just a few hours of waiting, Alice could only imagine the weeping and wailing that would have ensued from whole days of angst.
But Flora didn’t seem to be pacified. “Why didn’t you call me?” Her lower lip began to tremble. “I shouldn’t have to find out this stuff later. I’m your sister!”
Alice blinked in surprise. “It’s not like