The Taken Read online

  She needed to check though, make sure that everything was secure. She’d never get anymore sleep tonight otherwise.

  Slowly, gently, she pulled down the door handle and carefully crept out onto the landing.

  Moving slowly along the thick pile carpet, Saskia’s eyes searched through the shadows as she scanned the long corridor of bedrooms. Checking that each door remained closed as they had been earlier.

  She looked down then, her eyes following the sweeping curve of the marble staircase.

  Nothing.

  No movement.

  ‘Hello?’

  Her voice quaking as she called out, betraying her.

  She shouted again, this time determined to sound in control.

  ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

  Her question, echoing off the walls, met with only silence.

  Nothing.

  Silently she berated herself. She needed to get a grip. She couldn’t just hide away upstairs like a frightened little girl every time she heard a noise. This house was hers now. She needed to pull herself together.

  She was halfway down the stairs now. She could do this.

  Ensure that the house was empty, safe. She’d get herself a drink of water while she was at it. Her mouth was dry, her throat parched.

  As her feet hit the cool marble tiles of the entrance hall, a loud shrill rang out to the left of her.

  A loud crash, this time in the kitchen.

  She could see the sliver of light shining through from under the kitchen door.

  Shadows shifted as someone moved around; then she heard footsteps.

  She wasn’t alone.

  Someone was in the house.

  Fuelled with adrenaline, her heart pounded inside her chest.

  Saskia scoured the entrance hall for something she could use as a weapon, to protect herself. A small ornate letter opener was lying on top of a pile of unopened mail.

  Grabbing it, she held the silver blade out in front of her.

  ‘Whoever you are, the police are on their way,’ Saskia called out; impressed that her bravado masked the fact that inside she was a trembling wreck.

  She waited for some movement, for whoever was on the other side of the door to panic and leave at the sound of her words. Instead she heard the scrape of a kitchen stool. A clang of a cup as it was placed on the granite worktop.

  Alone in the darkness of the hallway, she pushed her back up against the wall, confused.

  She waited. It was a stand-off.

  She’d have to go in there. What other option did she have?

  Saskia felt physically sick now as she stepped forward, anxiously pushing at the kitchen door.

  Standing in the doorway now, the silver letter opener gripped tightly in front of her body, Saskia looked at the man sitting at the breakfast bar, perplexed.

  She recognised him from earlier.

  He’d been here, at her father’s funeral. At the wake. Saskia had assumed he was an ex-work colleague.

  Now, in the dark of night, with him sitting in her kitchen, grinning at her with an unfaltering look in his eyes, Saskia wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name’s Vincent. Vincent Harper.’

  Picking up his cup of coffee, the man took a sip, holding Saskia’s gaze. Unperturbed by her sudden presence.

  ‘Why are you still here?’ She wondered if perhaps the man was drunk.

  ‘I could ask you the same thing?’ Vincent smiled, then taking another mouthful of coffee he held the cup up, grimacing. ‘By the way, this stuff tastes like shit! I take it your old man couldn’t afford any of the decent stuff though eh? Seeing as he owed fucking thousands to half of London.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Saskia shook her head, even more confused. She had no idea who this man was, or what he wanted. What she did know was that she wanted him to get the hell out of her house. Now.

  ‘I don’t know who you think you are,’ Saskia said, irritated. ‘But I’d like you to leave.’

  The man laughed then, throwing back his head. He was mocking her, and Saskia had no idea why, which only fuelled her temper further.

  ‘I said I want you to leave. Get out of my house!’

  Waving the knife out in front of her, her empty threat only succeeded in making the man laugh even harder. Finally, he stopped, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he shook his head in wonderment.

  ‘You don’t have a fucking clue do you? You’ve got no idea?’

  ‘Don’t have a clue about what?’ Unable to hide her irritation, Saskia shouted. ‘You are trespassing. You need to leave. I’ve phoned the police; they’ll be here any minute… ’

  Saskia stared with defiance. Letting her words hang in the air between them, hoping that the threat of the police would be enough to deter the man; that he’d finally leave.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, he sat back on the stool. Staring at Saskia, his expression cold.

  His eyes unwavering from hers.

  ‘Is that so?’ He smirked.

  Saskia nodded.

  He knew she was lying. She hadn’t called anyone.

  He’d already checked the house phones. They were dead. He’d been pleased because it had meant that he hadn’t needed to cut them, and she’d left her mobile phone down here. He knew because he’d already looked through it.

  Reading through all her pathetic messages between her and daddy dearest. The photos of her with her posh-looking school friends. Pretentious little girls wearing too much make-up.

  She was calling his bluff.

  Only, Vincent Harper was too fucking smart to fall for it.

  ‘Well, you’ll be shit out of luck if the Old Bill do turn up, darling, ’cos I think you’ll find that technically it’s you who’s trespassing.’

  Taking a sip of his coffee, Vincent screwed his face up once more at its bitterness before placing his cup down on the counter.

  The girl looked confused. He was really starting to enjoy this.

  ‘Let me spell it out for you sweetheart! Your “daddy dearest” was up to his neck in debt! He owed a shitload of money to people all over the place. One of those people being my brother, Joshua Harper. You might have heard of him? No? Well, Joshua was nice enough to help your dad out. Only, the small matter of your father snuffing it means that the agreement they made is now null and void, isn’t it, seeing as your dad won’t be making any deposits into Joshua’s account anytime soon. So, it looks like we’re going to have to call in the debt. Just as it says in our contract here.’

  Pulling out the envelope from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, Vincent waved it in front of Saskia.

  ‘This house is ours.’

  Vincent smiled then, the insincere gesture not reaching his eyes.

  ‘But I don’t understand.’

  Saskia’s voice shook now as the feeling of dread consumed her. Racking her memory, she was trying to remember her father mentioning the Harpers. She couldn’t. Joshua and Vincent Harper? She’d never heard of them and she was convinced her father hadn’t either. She would have known.

  ‘I think there’s been some kind of a mistake… ’ She faltered. ‘I don’t understand who you are?’

  Standing up, Vincent threw the paperwork down onto the kitchen worktop.

  ‘You can just call me the messenger, darling. I’m here to let you know, politely on this occasion, that you have seven days to vacate this property.’

  Vincent pushed his way past Saskia, both of them facing each other inside the doorway.

  Leaning in, filled with arrogance, he raised his brow.

  ‘And trust me sweetheart, I only do “polite” once.’

  2

  Her hands were still shaking uncontrollably even though Vincent had left hours ago. Still, Saskia Frost couldn’t let that deter her. She needed to keep looking.

  Slipping the knife between the gap in the wood, she levered the blade’s edge on the wooden lip of the drawer. The lock of her father’s
desk was still not budging.

  She’d been trying for almost ten minutes now.

  Determined not to let it beat her, she leant against the silver handle, driving the metal into the gap again, using every bit of strength she had.

  The contract that Vincent had taken great pleasure in delivering to her was sprawled out in front of her on the desktop.

  The words were there in black and white. The deeds to the house signed over into Joshua Harper’s name.

  Her stomach knotted. It couldn’t be true.

  The paperwork was forged. A trick. They were lying. They had to be.

  Pushing harder now, forcefully, the metal handle of the knife dug into her skin, indenting her palm, but she didn’t care.

  She had to get inside this desk. It was the only part of the house that she hadn’t yet ransacked. Everywhere else had been ripped apart; every room, every cupboard, every box.

  She was desperate to find something that would prove that it wasn’t true.

  This was the last place to check, but without a key, getting inside her father’s desk was easier said than done.

  Straining with all her might, Saskia gave the knife one last almighty push.

  It wasn’t working.

  She couldn’t open it.

  Tears of frustration were streaming down her cheeks now.

  Looking around her father’s office at the pictures of her mother, Saskia felt overwhelmed with sadness.

  The house was a shrine to her mother. Every room the same. Her father had been obsessed. Every wall, every mantle, adorned with pictures of her late mother.

  Saskia had grown up under her mother’s watchful gaze. Unable to escape those beautiful green eyes that stared back at her from every corner. Haunting her.

  Saskia often wondered why her father had never blamed her. Resented her.

  Because she’d been the one who had killed his beautiful Angeline.

  Her mother had died during childbirth. She’d taken her last shallow breath just as Saskia had entered the world and taken her very first. It had been all Saskia’s fault. If she hadn’t been born, her mother would never have died.

  Her father had never seen it that way, though. Instead of treating Saskia with any kind of resentment, the tragedy bestowed on them all had only made her father love her more. To him, Saskia was a precious miracle. His wife’s last passing gift to the world.

  He cherished this house. The memories inside these walls.

  ‘You are not taking my house,’ Saskia shouted, rage suddenly filling her as she gave one last almighty stab.

  Her eyes opened wide at the sound of the click of metal as the lock popped open. Tossing the knife down on the floor, Saskia pulled at the drawer and dragged out the mass of paperwork that was packed down inside. A thick, heavy pile of papers.

  Searching through them, Saskia felt a sense of dread wash over her once more.

  The words coming out of the pages at her… final demands, bailiffs’ letters, court summonses.

  It was true. Her father really had been up to his eyes in debt.

  Flicking through the letters, she noticed the dates. Some went back months ago, some dated almost a year ago.

  How could her father have kept this from her for all that time? How could she not have known?

  Her head was spinning.

  Her heart told her that her father wouldn’t lie to her; he wouldn’t hide anything from his only child. They had always told each other everything. They were close.

  But there were other papers too.

  Betting slips. Bank statements.

  Her father had been gambling.

  Big money, too. Every day, hundreds of pounds deposited to places like Betfair and BettingWorld.

  It didn’t make sense to Saskia. As far as she knew, her father never gambled.

  Fingering a pile of papers that had been neatly bound in an elastic band, separate from all the others, Saskia immediately recognised the fancy royal crest emblazoned on each letterhead.

  The Royal Ballet School. Every single invoice had been paid in full.

  Confused, she searched through the rest of the pile of bills. The house had been remortgaged. A loan. Credit cards. Yet her school fees had been paid in full. They were the only payments that her father had managed to keep up with.

  She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach then as she finally understood.

  This was why her father wouldn’t have wanted her to know.

  He knew if Saskia had even an inkling of the trouble he was in she would have given up her schooling. That was why he never told her.

  He’d been so proud of her when she had first been accepted into The Royal Ballet School: ‘My baby, a professional dancer. Just like your mother had been.’

  He used to beam when he talked about the career that lay ahead of his daughter.

  Placing down the invoices, Saskia continued to rummage through the rest of the paperwork. She needed to find the final piece of the puzzle, then she could prove that these men were lying. As much as her father was in debt there was no way that he’d ever give up their home.

  Lifting up the final brown envelope, she looked inside.

  Bingo!

  The deeds of the house. Her father’s copy.

  She scanned the paperwork, her legs weakening beneath her as she saw Joshua Harper’s signature. Dated just a few days before her father’s heart attack.

  My God, it was true. Her father really had signed the house over to those people.

  Slumping down into the chair, she held on to her father’s desk to steady herself as her uncontrollable sobs shook her body.

  She’d lost everything. Her father, the house, it was all gone. Taking a deep breath, she wheezed, the walls suddenly closing in on her, suffocating her.

  Getting up out of the chair, Saskia pushed the pile of paperwork across the desk, every piece of paper crumpling to the floor.

  She needed to get out of here; her head was spinning. She needed some fresh air.

  Her dad had always told her that he’d live out his days here in this house. The house no longer being in his name had been the catalyst that had brought on his heart attack.

  That’s what had killed him in the end, Saskia was sure of it.

  Right up to the end, he’d tried to protect her from it all.

  Closing the office door behind her, Saskia was hit by the bittersweet irony of her father’s kept word.

  He had lived out his days here. But he hadn’t just willingly walked away.

  Instead, he’d been carried out in a body bag.

  Her father had paid the highest price of them all.

  3

  Pressing down the handle of the studio door, Saskia stalled. She didn’t want to go in. She didn’t know what to say. Instead, she stood staring in through the glass, watching, as the girls lined up against the barre, perfecting their pointe work.

  They looked like a row of robots. Each girl pulling her body up straight; taking turns at twisting their bodies around into a beautifully executed arabesque. Each girl moving gracefully, perfectly composed, as she extended her legs backwards, torso bent forwards, arms outstretched.

  Miss Godfrey’s shrill voice spoke over the music.

  ‘Come now girls, lean forward more! What have I told you all? Lean too far forward and break your noses, or lean too far back and break your backs? Lean forward, at least your noses can be fixed.’

  Obedient. Disciplined. The girls all did as they were told, pushing themselves to their most flexible point. Each was desperate to outdo the other. To be the best.

  ‘Keep your hands light, girls. I wish to see no white knuckles. It’s all about the balance.’ Irritated that the girls were slacking today, Mrs Godfrey berated them. ‘This is just the rehearsal, girls. You need to do better than this… ’

  Saskia stared at the girls’ faces.

  Determined, they stood in a line in their uniform black leotards and leather ballet shoes. The same plain buns in their ha
ir.

  Their faces were etched with concentration as they listened intently to every instruction.

  Staring in through the glass Saskia felt like an intruder, as if she’d just seen a glimpse of a world in which she no longer belonged.

  A world she’d never belonged to in the first place.

  Ballet had never been her dream.

  It had been her father’s.

  He had so desperately wanted Saskia to be a world-class ballet dancer – just as her mother had once been, years ago, before Saskia was born.

  Her thoughts were interrupted as a familiar voice called out from behind her.

  ‘Well, well, well. Saskia Frost. I wasn’t expecting to see you back here again!’

  Turning, Saskia took a deep breath. It was Lauren Durand.

  The French girl had been at the school for just over six months, and she had taken an instant dislike to Saskia on her very first day.

  Daughter of an oil tycoon, Lauren liked to think that she had an air of importance about her, and the other girls, sensing the girl’s high social status, had flocked around her like sheep.

  ‘We heard that you weren’t coming back,’ Lauren said, raising her eyes questioningly. ‘Because of your… circumstances.’ The French lilt to the girl’s voice only added to her patronising tone.

  ‘My circumstances? You mean because of my father passing away?’

  Saskia’s back was up now. Bristling at the girl’s lack of tact and sympathy, she was trying her best not to rise to Lauren’s spitefulness, knowing it was exactly what the girl wanted from her.

  ‘Yes, that, and your other circumstances. Like not being able to pay your school fees. Is it true that you’re going to have your house taken away from you? Only Jessica Walters said you had debt collectors at your door. Loan sharks? She said that a man had actually broken in? No wonder you went around to Jessica’s house, crying your eyes out. It must have been so horrible for you… ’ Lauren was on a roll now, but spoke in a faux-sweet voice, eyes wide.

  Trying her hardest to hold herself together, Saskia didn’t let the girl know how much her words hurt.