Page 67 of Stuck

“Would he hurt her?” Jane asked, her face the picture of horror.

“He’s a dickhead, but I’ve never known him to be violent,” Mary said.

Bingley looked at me. “Darcy?”

“Neither have I, but…” I took a ragged breath, because this next bit was my fault too. “My lawyers spoke to him today—and to his employers. He won’t be happy about either.”

He’d definitely had the fear of God put into him. I’d always thought the evidence we had against him, and the threat to use it, would be enough to ensure he behaved. My lawyers had informed him today that it was no longer an idle threat and that we’d be pushing forwards with prosecution. Furthermore, Vertex had been informed of his past activities, meaning there was a high possibility that he’d also been fired. I’d known he’d be fuming—had taken pleasure in knowing it. But I’d never considered that he’d take it out on Elizabeth, and that oversight had me in a cold sweat.

“May I?” I held my hand out for Jane’s phone, which she wordlessly provided. I rewound the footage and watched again and again as Wickham grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and pushed her back along the hallway.

“Darcy, do you have his number?” Bingley asked. “Let’s call him before we involve the police.”

“I’ll get it,” I said—or tried to say. My voice came out as a croak. I texted my lawyer as I tried repeatedly to swallow away my nausea.

The doorbell rang while I was typing, and Jane got up to let whoever it was in. A woman with neon-orange hair, a neck tattoo, and a black trouser suit followed her back into the room, panting. She walked directly to Mary and kissed her full on the lips before giving her a hug. “No sign yet, then?”

Mary shook her head. “Did you run here? Why are you so out of breath?”

“I’m just unfit, and the poxy lift is broken again. This is me after two flights of stairs.”

She was right; it was broken. I hadn’t thought anything of it; it had been broken the last time I was here too. But the implication dawned on me at the same time as it did everyone else, because all their eyes went wide at the same time that I came to my feet.

“Was it working this morning?” I asked Jane.

She nodded, and I was out of the flat and running down the hallway to bang on the lift door in seconds. “Elizabeth? Are you in there? Can you hear me? Wickham?”

Nothing.

“Is there usually phone reception in there?” I asked when Jane arrived next to me, also shouting for her sister.

“Never. It’s like a Faraday cage.”

“Is there someone you can contact for this, or should we call the fire brigade?” Bingley asked.

Jane returned to the flat to call maintenance, and I called Trent. He’d get someone here quicker than any building management company. We gave up shouting when it became clear they couldn’t hear us even if they were in there and returned to the flat to wait, and I promptly started to go out of my mind all over again. Wickham was drunk, angry, and trapped in a confined space with Elizabeth, who was already in a state of distress. I hardly dared imagine what might be happening in there.

Bingley, Elizabeth’s sisters, and Tam, to whom I was introduced by Mary as “the twat-waffle who tried to fire Elizabeth,” waited with infinitely more patience than me.

“She’ll be fine, Darcy,” Bingley said quietly as I paced past him for probably the hundredth time. “It seems most likely that we’ve found where she is, and we’ll have her out of there in no time.”

“I expect that’s what he’s worried about,” Mary said. “What Elizabeth’s going to do to him when she gets out.”

Tam snorted.

“Mary, don’t,” Jane chided her gently. To me, she said, “Elizabeth will understand once you explain. She doesn’t hold grudges. And besides, I think she really likes you.”

“Liked,” Mary said, deliberately over-enunciating the word. “Past tense. She did really like you. Before this.”

My mind went instantly to the almost-kiss at the hospital, and I barely stopped myself from groaning aloud. I hadn’t imagined it; she’d felt something for me. And I’d thrown it away.

“She can do whatever she wants to me when she gets out; I deserve it,” I said, meaning every word. “I just need to know she’s okay.”

29

ELIZABETH

I stared down at the man groaning on the floor next to me and wondered vaguely how much money I’d have if I had a pound for every time I’d seen him passed out from drinking. Probably no more than a fiver, but the point being that it wasn’t an unprecedented phenomenon. I had, however, thought George might have outgrown the habit by now.