The Liberation of Alice Love(38)
Author: Abby McDonald

Vivienne didn’t move. “I’m sure we’ll find something.”

“You mean like you’ve being doing so far?” This time, Alice couldn’t keep the note of challenge from her voice. Ever since Nick sauntered into the agency, Vivienne’s already-minimal interest in Rupert’s career had dwindled to nothing. “He hasn’t worked in, what, three months?”

At this, Vivienne slowly opened her eyes. “Which is all part of our long-term strategy for him.” Sitting up, she fixed Alice with a steely gaze. “We’ve talked it through, and he’s on board with my plans. This part just wasn’t the right step for him.”

“But it was right for Nick.”

“Exactly.” Vivienne’s smile was thin. “Now, was that all?”

Alice swallowed. Vivienne had a vicious temper that could be unleashed at any moment, but in all her years working at the agency, it had never been aimed at Alice. Now, she could tell, the warning signs were there.

“Alice?” Vivienne waited, her expression dangerously calm.

There was silence.

“No, that’s all,” Alice answered quietly.

“Are you sure?” There was an arch of an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Alice felt a small tremor of disappointment as she backed away. “The contract’s fine. I’ll leave it here on your desk.”

“Good.”

Alice felt her eyes follow as she retreated, carefully closing the door on her way out.

She’d failed.

Alice could tell herself she was simply picking her battles and choosing her timing, but as she stood in the middle of her cluttered office, a knot of frustration swelled, sharp and angry in her chest. To Vivienne, it may be just a job, and some strategic client maneuvering, but to Rupert, Alice knew this part meant everything. They were letting him down, and she was complicit now.

Her intercom buzzed.

“Alice?” Vivienne’s voice rang out. “Saskia’s not feeling too well in this heat. I need you to cover her desk for the afternoon.”

Alice didn’t move toward the phone. This was her punishment, it was clear, for questioning Vivienne’s great wisdom. But how was Vivienne to know she was up here, waiting to be summoned? She could have already left for lunch. She could be anywhere.

“Alice?”

Ignoring Vivienne’s cries, Alice reached for her handbag, and her thick, ordered file of Ella’s activities. Quietly, she crept out of her office and tiptoed down the staircase, edging silently past Vivienne’s office. There was no sound from behind the closed door, so Alice hurried down another flight and straight out of the building, emerging on to the pavement with new determination. She may not be able to achieve much at the agency, but she had other work to do.

***

Two Tube changes, one bus, and a ten-minute walk later, Alice found herself standing outside a nondescript, red-brick building in Battersea. She pondered her next move. Discovering this place had been her hardest challenge yet; she’d had to cross-reference Oyster top-ups and cash withdrawals across three different credit cards before discovering a curious pattern. Every Tuesday and Thursday, for two whole months, Ella had come to this area. She bought a handful of glossy magazines, a pint of milk, and some biscuits and then came here. At least Alice assumed it was here, because between ten a.m. and five p.m. on those days, there were never any charges—a complete credit blackout. Aside from one: a lone transaction of fifty pounds charged to CDM Services on that first Tuesday. At this address.

Studying the building, Alice wondered what this new development signified. She’d been prepared to find another exotic class or a bespoke designer service, but there was no hint at what lay behind the grimy exterior. The windows were barred and covered inside by gray blinds, and the door was made of some type of reinforced steel, a video phone and single buzzer in the entryway. Alice swallowed, suddenly nervous. This was a long way from the chic Soho streets and buzzing central London bars she’d thought Ella had inhabited. Was this finally the darker side to the fraud she’d been dreading to find?

Alice was wondering how to navigate the security system—and if she should even try—when the door opened from the inside. A gray-haired woman emerged, maneuvering a wheeled shopper. Alice darted forward, catching the door before it closed.

“Thanks.” The woman thought her gesture was kindness, not self-interest, and gave Alice an absent smile before heading toward the bus stop.

Alice steeled herself and stepped inside.

Out of the dim entrance hall, she found a surprisingly bright space: open, like the waiting room in a doctor’s surgery or dentist. Alice paused, disorientated. There was a front reception desk cluttered with leaflets and charity boxes, posters tacked to a notice board and a row of yellow plastic chairs between two potted plants, a box of toys spilling onto the faded blue carpet.

“Can I help?”

Before Alice could decide where she was, or even what approach to use, a woman appeared from a back room. She was large, dressed in a bright orange caftanlike dress and sturdy Birkenstocks, her hair lacquered into a bun.

“I, uh…” Alice stumbled, thinking quickly for a vague excuse, but nothing came. To her relief, the phone rang. “You get that,” she smiled quickly. “I can wait!”

The woman gave her a sharp once-over, but evidently Alice’s sensible office outfit passed some kind of test. “I won’t be a sec.” She reached for the phone. “Safe Haven,” the woman answered in a soothing voice, turning away slightly. “What service do you need?”

Safe Haven. Alice glanced quickly around, looking at the posters and leaflets more closely. Refuge. Child line. Family planning. They were women’s services, she realized, advertising help lines and legal support for victims of abuse or assault. This must be some kind of shelter.

“Yes, we have someone you can talk to,” the woman spoke warmly into the phone, making a scribbled note in an open file. “They’re trained to help, don’t worry. I’ll just transfer you now.”

Alice paused, trying to process this unexpected development. What had Ella been doing here? Had she needed help, or been a victim?”

No. Alice caught herself before she could get swept up in terrible speculation. The data never lied, and her data told her that Ella’s appointments were too regular to be a desperate cry for help. The magazines, the biscuits, the normal hours—she must have been working here. But even that explanation baffled Alice; why would Ella do something like that? She’d spent her days helping the poor and defenseless and then waltzed back home to commit fraud, theft, and deception?