The Noble Path: A relentless standalone thriller from the #1 bestseller by Peter May (learn to read books .TXT) 📕

‘I haven’t heard anything. I’ll speak to Tuk.’

Lisa stepped out on to the terrace. ‘You know, when I first arrived here, I thought Bangkok must be the most exciting place on earth.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Now I just want to go home. I should go to the embassy and see if they have news of my passport.’

‘Tomorrow.’ Grace moved on to the terrace beside her. ‘I’ll take you tomorrow.’ She ran her long, brown fingers through Lisa’s still damp hair. ‘Perhaps you should try and sleep now. Maybe later you’ll feel like talking.’

Lisa was silent for a very long time before she turned to face her, and Grace saw that her eyes were filled with tears. ‘I just feel so dirty,’ Lisa said. And she turned and ran back through the cool of the dining room and disappeared into the hall. Grace heard her bare feet on the stairs.

‘So do I,’ she said softly to herself.

*

The day passed in a tormented twilight world, somewhere halfway between sleep and waking Even with the shutters closed against the heat of the day, the room was still hot and airless. Lisa twisted and turned, naked on the double bed, tangling and untangling the sheet around her legs, clutching a pillow to her breast for comfort. Her head felt fuzzy, filled with cotton wool. Her throat was swollen and she found it difficult to swallow. For a long time she thought she would never sleep. Her thoughts were vague and curiously elusive. Faces swam before her eyes. Sivara, good-looking, smiling, seductive; and then ugly and twisted, filled with malice. Tuk, with his smiling lips and cold fish eyes. The General, smiling eyes creasing his round, gentle face, then burning with a dark, heartless passion. And Grace. Something in her eyes Lisa didn’t understand. Something disturbing. And always her father, his features unclear except for the livid scar across his cheek, the missing earlobe, the short dark hair greying at the temples. He stood in the rain watching her from a distance. She strained to see his face more clearly, but somehow it remained obscure.

A voice growled close to her ear. You fool! You stupid little fool! How can he be your father? Your father is dead! Dead! She turned to find herself looking into David’s pale, angry face. His mouth was curled in contempt. Do you think he cares? Why should he care? You’re nothing to him! I’m all you have now. She turned to look back at the man standing in the rain, but he was gone. You see, I told you, he’s dead! No, she screamed. No! No! No! And she awoke with a start to find that the room was in darkness, the echo of her voice fading into stillness.

She lay for a moment, breathing hard, disorientated by the unexpected passage of time. She must have been asleep for hours. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the pale moonlight that filtered through the shutters. Shapes and shadows took form around her. A movement caught her eye.

‘Don’t be alarmed. It’s only me.’ Grace’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. Lisa could see her only in silhouette. She moved away from the window towards the bed and sat on the edge of it.

‘How long have you been in the room?’ Lisa asked.

‘A while. I was worried about you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Lisa said. ‘You must think I’m very stupid.’

Grace reached out and ran her fingers lightly down the side of Lisa’s face. ‘Not stupid. Just innocent.’

‘I never thought . . .’

Grace placed a finger over the girl’s lips. ‘Shoosh. I know. I’ve spoken to the General.’ She paused. ‘I’m afraid there’s really nothing we can do. I’m sorry.’

Lisa nodded in mute acceptance. Then, ‘But don’t be sorry,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

Her words turned the knife in Grace’s wound, and the older woman was glad the girl couldn’t see the guilt in her eyes.

‘I feel as if I’ve been robbed,’ Lisa said. Her voice cracked in the dark. ‘Of something I can never get back.’

‘You have, child. It should have been yours to give. It should have been a wonderful experience.’ A long silence. ‘I feel so responsible. It was me who introduced you to the General.’

‘You weren’t to know.’ Lisa’s innocence was still painful to Grace, and she wondered why she continued to allow herself to be hurt by it, almost sought it, as if somehow the pain could atone for her guilt.

‘It was horrible.’ Grace saw a silver tear roll down Lisa’s cheek. ‘I’ll never sleep with a man again.’

‘Of course you will.’ Grace lay down beside her, propping herself on one elbow and brushing the hair lightly from Lisa’s forehead. ‘It’s the most wonderful thing in the world. With the right man.’

‘I wish . . .’ Lisa said.

‘You wish what?’

‘I just wish that I could have known my father.’

‘You mustn’t give up hope, Lisa. You mustn’t ever do that.’

‘You can’t hope for the impossible. He’s dead. I know he is.’

‘Oh, Lisa.’ Grace took her in her arms, holding her head briefly to her breast, before rolling slowly away to swing her legs out of the bed.

Lisa caught her arm. ‘Don’t go. Please.’

But Grace only shook her head. And Lisa realized, with a start, that there were tears in Grace’s eyes as the older woman turned toward the door.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I

Watery blinks of sunlight punctuated fierce flurries of rain driven down from the north on the edge of an icy January wind. David hurried along the Strand from Temple tube station, collar pulled up against the cold and wet. Sparse mid-afternoon traffic splashed through the shiny London streets, belching fumes into the wind that whipped at the faces of passers-by. On Fleet Street he passed El Vino’s, catching a glimpse, in the smoky interior, of journalists researching stories only to be found at the bottom of beer glasses. A little further on, he swept past the commissionaire at the door of a large, modern