the door and Ruth stood up. She was beginning to wonder if she was in a dream, a complex, feature-length nightmare which would bring tears of relief when it finally ended. She pulled the robe tightly around herself and looked down at the cracked nail polish on her toes.
Eden opened the heavy door and gestured for Ruth to go through.
Ruth found herself in a short, empty corridor. Halfway along, on the left, was a lift. Diagonally opposite was another solid-looking, unmarked door. At the end of the corridor, another door. Again, Ruth thought of a hotel. Or an apartment block. Eden took hold of Ruth’s elbow and guided her along.
Just before they reached the door at the end of the corridor, Eden stopped and whispered in Ruth’s ear, ‘I’m on your side. Don’t forget that.’
Before Ruth could ask what that meant, Eden opened the door to reveal a large room, four or five times the size of the one in which Ruth was staying, decorated in white and cobalt blue. It looked like a brand-new, high-end apartment, complete with designer sofas, a gleaming kitchen area at one end, abstract art on the walls, and not a speck of dust or mess in sight. As Eden guided Ruth into this space, Ruth noticed two more things: firstly, there were two people inside the room, a man and a woman, seated on the sofas; secondly, the entire back wall, which had to be thirty feet long, was made of glass, giving a sweeping, panoramic view of the city.
‘Hello, Ruth,’ said the man, getting up from the sofa. He was in his early thirties, with dark hair and smart clothes, a blazer over a polo shirt. ‘Welcome,’ he said, with a broad smile that showed off a set of perfect teeth. ‘I’m Emilio.’ He was extremely good-looking, like something out of a perfume advert. Ruth was finding it hard not to stare at him.
‘What do you reckon?’ said the woman who had been sitting next to him, coming over and nodding towards the city outside. ‘A view to die for, eh?’
She was British, with red hair. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, maybe a little older. She wore a cream cashmere sweater and soft-looking jeans.
‘Would you like tea?’ she said. ‘We’ve got Twinings, Yorkshire, even PG Tips.’
Ruth stared at her. This was becoming more and more dream-like. She heard herself say, ‘Yes, please.’
‘Twinings? I’m Marie, by the way. It’s lovely to meet you.’
She went over to the kitchen area and filled a kettle, then put two teabags into a pot.
‘Why don’t you take a seat,’ said Emilio, gesturing for Ruth to follow him over to the sofas. He sat beside her, not too close to crowd her but near enough that she could smell his aftershave. Again, she had to stop herself from staring at him. She couldn’t remember ever being so close to a man this beautiful.
Eden sat the other side of her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ruth said. ‘But what is this place? Where are we? How do you know each other?’
‘Marie and Emilio are old friends of mine,’ said Eden.
‘I’m from the West Coast too,’ Emilio said. ‘And, like you, Marie here is from England.’
‘I gathered that. Are you two together?’
Emilio and Marie exchanged a small smile. ‘She belongs to someone else,’ Emilio said.
Belongs to?
‘How are your bruises?’ Emilio asked before Ruth could say anything else. ‘Any better?’
‘A little.’
‘That’s good.’ He shook his head. ‘Eden told us you both had rather too much to drink. And the steps were slippery from the rain.’
‘I haven’t told her what happened yet,’ said Eden.
‘Oh.’ Emilio raised a perfect eyebrow. ‘I see.’
‘I was going to but . . . we kept getting sidetracked.’
Marie came over with a tray bearing a single china cup on a saucer, as well as the teapot and a bowl of sugar lumps complete with tongs. Long ago, Ruth had fantasised about having a grandmother who would serve tea like this. She had written a blog post about it once, about the family she’d never had. Marie poured the tea into the cup. ‘There you go.’
Ruth took a sip, hardly tasting it. But it calmed her down, even though everything felt surreal.
‘I fell down the front steps?’ she said to Eden, who nodded.
Ruth had to put the teacup down. It was shaking in her hand. ‘I don’t remember any of that.’ Except, if she thought about it, she could picture herself tumbling. Could recall a jolt of panic and pain.
Eden laughed softly.