Page 93 of The Bodyguard

He shrugs again. “Let’s not hypothesise.”

“How can I trust you?”

“You can’t. Just as I can never fully trustyou. But I can promise you that you will be safe, whatever happens between you and my daughter.”

“I’ll be safe.”

“My need to see you dead has gone, Jonah. You saved my life. You saved my daughter, from that man. A father she doesn’t need, and never knew, you helped this family put a chapter of our lives we’d rather forget to rest. You did that. Even I can move on from that. Even I can see that you did that because you loved Lena. You saved me, because you love her. And I’m telling you, you don’t need to stay away from her, not anymore.”

“She could quite easily see this as you still running her life, you know that. Right?”

“She’ll most likely be angry with me, for a while, but I’m ready for that. And I know she won’t come rushing back to see us, it could take a long time before that happens. But love is a very powerful emotion. In time, she’ll see things differently. In time, she’ll wonder how we’re doing, she’ll start to miss us. She’ll come back.”

“You seem very certain about that.”

“I know my daughter. I know her extremely well, and I know that you are important to her.”

“And you’re really okay having an ex MI5 agent in your family, huh?”

“You don’t work for those people anymore. Do you?”

“I keep hens and grow tomatoes now. The biggest risk I take every day is hoping I’ve cooked those breakfast eggs well enough.”

He smiles, a slow smile, and it kind of reaches his eyes. But I still think there’s a long way to go before he can completely get over what he’s doing here: who I am. What I used to do.

“She’s in Ibiza.”

I arch a brow. “Does she know you know that?”

He shakes his head. “I have contacts, Jonah, I’m sure you’re very much aware of that. She flew out there a few hours ago. She’s rented a villa, in Ibiza Town. Here’s the address.”

He slides a piece of paper towards me, and I pick it up and look at it. “And you want me to, what? Just turn up? Out of the blue? What do I tell her, exactly? She’ll want to know how I knew where she was. You really want me to tell her the truth?”

“I want you to tell her whatever you want to tell her. What I don’t want you to do is hurt her.”

I want to tell him I need to think about this, I need time to take it in, but I don’t. Not really. I don’t need time and I don’t want to think about it, I just want to go to her. But I don’t trust this man. This could be a trap. A way to put me on the back foot: distract me.

“You still don’t trust me. Do you?”

“No. This is all too strange, it doesn’t feel right.”

Nielsen gives one more shrug, and takes hold of his stick as he slowly pushes himself up, signalling to his henchmen that it’s time to leave. “I can’t force you to do this. There’s nothing more I can say to make you realise how terrified I am of losing my daughter, the ball is in your court. Just know that I am being completely honest with you. And honesty isn’t something either of us are used to, but maybe now it’s time to start taking it seriously.” He looks at me, and there’s something there in his eyes that I haven’t seen before in a man like him. Genuine emotion. “Be honest with yourself, Jonah. Maybe then you’ll know what you need to do next.”

Twenty-Three

Lena

Just as I did when I was in Germany, I’ve hunted out a beautiful little restaurant here in Ibiza Town, up a narrow cobbled side-street away from the more touristy areas, that serves the most gorgeous food. Everything from traditional Spanish paella to freshly grilled sardines and the kind of potato bravas that’s going to guarantee my custom for as long as I’m here on this sun-drenched island. Well, it’s been sun-drenched ever since I got here, and so far it’s been the perfect place for me to settle for a little while, until I decide what I’m going to do next. Where I’m going to go next, these are things I’ve given very little thought to, to be honest. But I can’t stay here forever, or maybe I can. I really don’t know. Not yet.

As far as my family is concerned, they’re still humouring me. Still assuming this is nothing more than a holiday and I’ll be back in the UK: back home within weeks, as though nothing ever happened. They’re wrong. And I’m not saying I don’t miss them, I do. Of course I do. No matter who they are or what they do they are my family. I just don’t want to be around them anymore. I don’t want to be around that life, anymore. And the sooner they understand that, the easier it’ll be.

Sitting back in my chair, I push my empty plate away and look out over the pretty little side street. Across the road is a small bakery which supplies the restaurant with bread and pastries. Next to that is a hair salon, a grocery store, and a post office. It feels like a world away from the main part of town but it’s actually no more than a stone’s throw. But I like the peace; the tranquillity.

“Everything okay?”

I shift my gaze to the owner of that voice. Enrico. He owns this restaurant, bought it three months after moving to Ibiza from Lisbon, where he’d been training to be a chef. He and his brother – who he calls the business brains – had always wanted to own and run their own restaurant, and when they saw this place was for sale, during a holiday here on the island, they just had to find out more. Two months later it was theirs, apparently. They told me all this after I discovered this place on my second night here. And I’ve only been on Ibiza for five days, but everyone I’ve met, so far, has been really friendly. Incredibly welcoming.

“Everything’s fine. Those sardines were perfect.”

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