Simply Anna Read online

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  “You look…” He paused here as if trying to choose the correct word, without offending me. “Glowing,” he finished.

  Not quite the compliment I was hoping for, but considering the many other possibilities that could be used to describe my flushed look, this was by far the best I was going to get. I was quite relieved that it was no worse.

  The lights of a really flash coupé parked on the other side of the road blinked and beeped as we approached. Despite my earlier observational spy skills, I was completely unaware that he was leading me to this car. Whatever had happened to the Mercedes Jeep? That was flashy enough for most normal snobs. But this looked like a replica of a Lykan Hybersport. Specialist knowledge, I know – but just a couple of weeks ago I’d watched Furious 7 in the company of a couple of petrolhead friends who had given me a complete breakdown of the car’s specifications. Apparently only seven models had been manufactured, at a jaw-dropping 3.4 million dollars each. Incredibly, this isn’t the most expensive car on the planet, coming in at a rather a humbling third position. If you have lots of spare cash and no conscience for starvation and poverty in the world, you might consider numbers One or Two. The Number One spot goes to the Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita, which is literally coated in diamonds and costs a mind-boggling 4.8 million dollars, whilst Number Two is the Lamborghini Veneno at a whopping 4.5 million. Veneno correctly translates to “poison”. It’s certainly enough to finish off anyone who’s handed the bill. Thanks to my mates’ encyclopaedic knowledge, I knew that the original Lykan Hybersport has jewel-encrusted headlights and gold stitching in the seats, so I could recognise that this was not an original model. Nonetheless, I was flabbergasted. Though between you and me, original or not, it looked like a pissed-off armoured car from the future. I think I would have felt safer and more at ease on a double-decker bus.

  The passenger door opened – well, not really opened, rather scissored upwards, causing me to step back a pace in awe and alarm – and he motioned me to enter. By now I was feeling really nervous. Not only had I given my home address to a complete stranger, I was now about to step into his car and be driven to some unknown location, crushing in a flicker all the wise words that had been drummed into me since I was a little girl.

  Don’t talk to strangers. (Well, that’s just silly really. You’re told not to talk to strangers, but then out slips Excuse me, or Sorry, or Pardon, to almost everyone you meet on your way to work.)

  Don’t be charmed by sweets or treats or flowers. (This was a bit more tricky, because flowers really can work wonders – and if push comes to shove I’d never say no to a diamond. Just call it common sense survival skills.)

  Don’t ever get into an unknown person’s car…

  STOP! Thankfully I was still in semi-control of my wits…“You’re expecting me to feel safe in the passenger seat with you behind the wheel?” A nervous laugh escaped my lips as I started to give credit to my Nan’s growing-up warnings.

  “Good point!” he responded heartily, apparently not in the least offended that I had not the slightest trust in his driving skills.

  I sighed with relief.

  “You drive.” He tossed the car keys to me and climbed into the passenger seat himself.

  This wasn’t part of my plan! And I certainly didn’t fancy being behind the wheel of this futuristic car. I couldn’t quite believe he would trust me to drive it and not to freak out. The only reasonable explanation I could come up with was that he’d obviously nicked it, and by putting me behind the wheel he could pose as the innocent party.

  I stood flustered on the curb for a moment. But then, what the hell, surely I couldn’t come to much harm if I was driving? Unless, of course, the car really was stolen – in which case I risked getting myself into more trouble that I could possible imagine.

  It was only when I was actually somewhere along the M25, frantically trying to keep up an interesting conversation, dodge the traffic, and figure out the very delicate clutch control of this flash coupé without choking the engine at every turn, that it dawned on me just how dodgy this situation was. If it all went tits-up, how I was going to explain the whole incident and come out on the winning side? How could I convince judge and jury that I was seized against my will and driven off into the dark night, in a possibly stolen car, with me doing the driving? The whole thing sounded so crazy that nobody in their right mind would believe it. I actually had to give it to the guy: this had been a bloody clever kidnapping.

  Just as I was starting to panic about his unique kidnapping methods, and trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t panic (I was, after all, behind the wheel and supposedly in control), Niccolo told me to turn off at the next junction, and meekly I obeyed. A few minutes later we were driving down a very quiet – and very dark – country lane.