Part 7 (1/2)
Milton could see what she meant: she thought he was going to ask for s.e.x in return. ”No,” he said, raising his hands. ”Nothing like that. You don't have to do anything.”
”Really? I don't believe you. All men are the same. Nothing in life is free.”
”I'm not interested in that.”
She frowned, and he sensed that he was digging himself into a deeper hole. She thought that his expression of disinterest was a slight.
”That's not what I meant,” he stumbled. ”I'm not handling this very well. I'm offering to help because it's the right thing to do. I'm making a mess of this, aren't I?”
She smiled and, with that, her face brightened and he saw how pretty she was. ”A little.”
”No strings. I don't expect anything in return.”
He was conscious that he had lost control of the conversation and now he was blundering through it like a fool.
”Where do you live?”
”Bethnal Green. Very close. I've got a little place.”
”All right. I will come.”
Chapter Twelve.
IT WAS ONLY A SHORT DRIVE from Bethnal Green Road to Milton's flat at Arnold Circus. He parked the car in an empty s.p.a.ce, the sodium glow of the streetlamp overhead reflecting off the windscreen. He turned to the girl. She had fallen silent again in the car, and now she showed no signs of being ready to move.
”Are you all right?” he asked.
”Why are you doing this?”
”Because I want to help you.”
”But you don't know me. I still don't understand.”
Milton paused, resting his hands on the wheel as he tried to find the words to explain his motives to her. ”I used to have a job where I had to do things that I shouldn't have done. I did it for a long time and I have a lot of things on my conscience. I decided that the only way I could make up for the things that I've done was to help people who needed it.”
”Is this your place?”
”Just over there. I have a ground-floor flat. Nothing special, but you'll be safe there.”
”And no-”
”And nothing. No obligations and no strings. Just somewhere you can stay until you've worked out what to do next.”
She nodded. ”Okay.”
She opened the door and stepped out.
MILTON LED the way across the path to the building. The door to his flat was in a concrete lobby that was often used by the local junkies to shoot up. Milton moved them on whenever he saw them, and he was relieved to see that they were elsewhere tonight. Sarah had followed close behind, and, when he turned to check on her, he saw that she was anxiously looking to the left and right. He was as confident as he could be that they had not been followed, but anxiety on her part was reasonable given what she had experienced.
”Here we are,” Milton said. ”Home sweet home.”
He took his key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He opened it, went inside and then stepped aside so that Sarah could follow.
The flat was small. He had one bedroom, a compact sitting room, a kitchen and a bathroom with a shower. Milton made sure to keep it neat and tidy. He always started his day by making his bed, and the discipline of that routine extended to ensuring that the rest of the flat was kept in good order. It was a hangover from his days in the army, but it had remained important to him.
Sarah stood in the small hallway as Milton came inside and locked the door behind him.
”You can hang your coat up there,” he said, pointing to the row of hooks on the wall. There was nothing else on the hooks. Milton had only one coat, and he was wearing it.
She took off her jacket and hung it up.
It didn't take long to show her around. He started with the lounge, then the kitchen and bathroom. He finished in the bedroom.
”You have just one bedroom?” she said.
”Yes. But you can have it. I'll sleep in the lounge.”
She didn't argue. She sat down on the edge of the bed, unzipped her knee-high boots and worked them off.
”You know they will try to find you,” she said.
”They don't know where we are. You don't need to worry.”
”And you don't know them. They are dangerous.” She put a hand to her face and scrubbed her eyes. She was tired. ”There was one man,” she said. ”A customer. He beat Maryana. Ilya was there, but the man beat him, too. Drago found him. He said they knew where he worked. Drago and Florin, they visited him. They beat him very badly. They took videos of him, after, and showed them to us. 'We protect you,' they said. 'Don't worry, we look after you.' They are frightening, John. They know things-find things. You say I am safe here, but how can you know that?”
”Because I know that we weren't followed. If you stay inside, there's no way that they could possibly find you here.” Milton wanted to add that he was dangerous, too, and that it would take more than an Albanian thug to worry him, but he didn't. He didn't want to make her feel worse for the sake of his own ego.
”Do you want a drink?” he said instead.
”Please. Could I have a coffee?”
He pulled the bedroom door closed and went through into the sitting room. His laptop was on the table and he switched it on. It was an old machine, woefully underspecified by today's standards, and it always took five minutes to boot properly.
Milton went into the kitchen and made two mugs of coffee, then took them and a packet of biscuits to the bedroom. He knocked on the door and, at her quiet response, went inside.
Milton put one of the mugs and the biscuits on the bedside table. ”Here,” he said.
She reached for the mug and put it to her lips. ”Thanks.”
”I'm just in the other room,” he said. ”Shout if you need me.”
”What are you doing?”