Page 97 of Savage Warrior

“Is that the only reason? You’re grateful?”

“Is it not enough? I can never repay him for all he has done, for what he has given me.”

“Perhaps, though I don’t think he is expecting gratitude.”

“He will have it anyway.” And a whole lot more if I have anything to do with it.

Cristina links her arm with mine again. “You have about three hours or so to process it all before they get here. Shall we go up to the castle to wait? I do believe a cup of tea would be in order. And maybe a piece of Mrs McRae’s lemon drizzle cake.”

We settle at the massive table in the great hall, and the boys wander off down to the far end where the basketball hoop is fixed to the solid stone wall. The older ones let Yuryl have a go, but he can’t throw the ball high enough. Jacob grabs him by the waist and lifts him.

“He’s having such a good time,” I say, delighted for him when Yuryl at last manages to bounce his shot off the rim.

A middle-aged woman who I assume to be the housekeeper, Mrs McRae, brings in a tray and places it in front of us. A steaming pot of tea, and another which I assume holds hot water, and three cups sit on it. There’s also a huge cake cut into ridiculously generous slices. Mrs McRae takes a seat opposite Cristina.

“‘D’ye mind if I join ye?” she huffs. “I’ve ne’er had a minute tae mesel’ today.”

“You’re welcome. Would you like me to pour?” Cristina reaches for the teapot. “Yes,” she remarks in answer to my comment. “This could be a lonely place for children, but we try to keep them amused. The men play cricket in here when the weather is bad outside. That can all become rather raucous, but the boys love it.”

“But what about the antique furniture?” I take in the grand surroundings. The table we’re seated at must be centuries old. “Does anything get damaged?”

“Not usually. We heave everything to one side. And the most valuable stuff is in the library. You must see that while you are here. Do you like to read?”

“Only Russian, I’m afraid,” I reply, sipping my tea. It really is very nice.

“We have some Russian literature,” she tells me. “Some of my favourites, in fact. Classics mostly. There’s Tolstoy, of course. And Gogol and Chekhov. My personal favourite is Dostoevsky, but you may find him a little dark. Many do.”

I shake my head. “I read The Brothers Karamazov at school, and I loved it.”

“Then you should read Crime and Punishment, too. But be careful, our copy is a first edition so is quite valuable.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. Do you not have a cheap paperback?”

She laughs. “I shall order one online. Do you have any other requests?”

“Ye could get me the latest Sylvia Day,” is Mrs McRae’s contribution. “They always have such nice young men in.”

Cristina gives an amused snort and promises to check out Amazon. The chat drifts to the latest Netflix blockbusters, and we work our way through the pot of tea and the cake punctuated by lively whoops from the direction of the basketball pitch.

Our peace is shattered by the deafening screech of a hooter. Both Cristina and Mrs McRae leap to their feet and make for the door, the boys hot on their heels.

“Come with us,” Cristina yells to me. “Bring Yuryl. Something is wrong!”

“A fire?” I pant, hurrying as best I can.

“Not sure. That’s the panic alarm. We have an emergency somewhere.” She spots the blond-haired man who seems to be in charge here while her husband is away. He’s taking the main stairs two at a time, coming down from the offices on the first floor. “Jack? What is it? What has happened?”

“The chopper’s gone down,” he barks. “Somewhere over Northampton according to our tracking intelligence.”

“Gone down? How?” Cristina pales, and she grasps the wall for support. “How bad?”

“Don’t know yet. I’ve mobilised the other helicopter to get down there and see first-hand. Are you coming?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. What reports have we had so far?”

“Only the distress call from Magda that triggered the alarms.” He’s already striding out of the main entrance to take command of the men assembling in the forecourt.

Despite my shock and panic, I have to admit this is a well-oiled machine. The castle has gone from laid-back and relaxed to a coiled spring, an army of battle-ready soldiers poised for action in about nought seconds flat.

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