At her wedding he had sent a generous gift and said,“Clara,if you ever need help,the doors of the Hale family will always be open to you.”
At the time it had sounded like politeness.Now it was her only driftwood.
She borrowed the phone again,drew a deep breath,and dialed the long-neglected number.
After three or four rings,a low,warm male voice answered.“Who is this?”
“Jonathan…”
At that single word,all of Clara’s composure and forced strength shattered.Her voice broke into sobs.“It’s me…Clara…I…I need help…”
Clara could barely form words,unable to explain what had happened to her.She managed only to blurt out the address of the small motel.
On the other end of the line,Jonathan was silent for a few seconds before his steady,reassuring voice came through:
“Stay where you are.Lock the door.Don’t open it for anyone.I’m on my way.”
No questions.No hesitation.
After hanging up,Clara curled into a broken chair beside the motel reception desk.
Time dragged unbearably,every second an agony.
At last,a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of the dingy motel,its presence almost absurd in the narrow street.
The driver in a black suit stepped out first,opening the rear door with respect.