Page 164 of Pervade London
Primrose Hill was only ten minutes from the Academy—a thoughtful touch by James to have me so close. He’d not mentioned us meeting anywhere else later today, though. In fact he’d told me to come straight home.
The glass remained between us as we picked up speed, swerving past Bond Street. Selfridges passed by in a blur on our right. Panic-stricken, I reached into my handbag and pulled out my phone, turning it back on.
The screen took forever to appear. I tapped James’ number and put the phone to my ear.
My heart pounded against my ribs as it rang and rang.
“Ballad,” he answered sharply.
“It’s me,” I said quickly.
The call dropped.
My fingers tightened around the phone as I went to redial. The car came to a jolting stop and I looked out, recognizing nothing.
The car door flew open and I saw a young man standing on the pavement looking in at me. His Middle Eastern features reflected a sharp intellect.
He made a sweeping gesture, inviting me to climb out of the vehicle. “This way, Ms. Kingston.”
I wasn’t moving. “Where are we?”
“Mayfair. You’re joining Sir Ballad.”
“He’s here?”
The young man glanced behind him.
Leaning low, I tried to look beyond him and peer through the Park Room Restaurant’s window, but I couldn’t see James.
“I’m Akmal,” the man said, making eye contact with me. “Nice to meet you.”
With a shaky hand, I grabbed my violin and then let him assist me out of the SUV, all the while glancing around at the passers-by as though they could help.
He eyed the violin. “You can leave that with me,” he said.
I clutched my case tighter and shook my head. “I’ll hold onto it.”
No way was I giving a stranger my Strad.
He shut the door behind me with a slam and gave a wave to the chauffeur.
“How was the drive?” he asked.
Terrifying.
“Fine.”
The concierge opened the door to the restaurant for us and Akmal motioned for me to go on ahead. I walked in carefully, eyeing the other diners.
We were led down a narrow hallway. I stopped suddenly when I saw a bodyguard positioned in front of one of the doors, that telltale wire spiraling from his earpiece.
“She’s with Ballad,” Akmal told him.
“They’re expecting her?” asked the guard.
“Yes.”
“Open the case, please,” the guard demanded.
