Page 141 of The Love Letter
‘What . . . ? Stop . . . please . . .’ She fought and kicked against the ground, but she had little strength left and the iron grip was unbreakable.
‘You silly little girl! Thought you were so damned clever, didn’t you?!’
Ahead of her, she could see the rough steps leading down into the estuary. The water was already lapping against the top stair.
‘Who are you? Let me go!’
‘No can do, babe,’ Kurt laughed.
He dropped her on the cold, hard stone slabs by the water’s edge. Turning her face down and pinning her arms roughly behind her back, he pushed her down and angled her so her head and shoulders hung over the water. Her terrified eyes looked straight down into the angry waves just below her. The tide had risen, and the water rippled with the strong current.
‘Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused everyone? Do you?’ He yanked her head back by her hair until she felt her neck might break.
‘Who are you working for?’ she gasped. ‘What do you—’
She barely managed to snatch in a painful breath before her face was submerged in the icy-cold water. She fought to release her arms, but her lungs had nothing left. Bright lights exploded in front of her vision as she had no further energy to struggle.
Then, just as her last shred of consciousness was about to leave her, the grip on her head was removed abruptly. Joanna came up for air, gasping and spluttering as she rolled away unhindered from the water’s edge. As she sucked in huge gulps of air, she saw Kurt staring up at the house behind them as if in a trance.
‘Who is it?’ he shouted. ‘Who’s there?’
Joanna’s brain vaguely registered a distant high-pitched sound alongside that of her own ragged breathing and the water swirling beneath her in the gale.
Kurt put his hands to his ears and began shaking his head. ‘Stop the noise!Stop it!’ He keeled over to one side, screaming in agony, his hands still over his ears.
This was her chance for escape.But the letter . . .
Leave it, a voice told her,leave it and run.
Staggering upright on the wet, slippery stone, the agonising pain in her side ripping through her, Joanna realised her only path to safety was through the water beneath her. If she could swim to the estuary wall and climb over it, she had a chance. With her lungs still screaming for oxygen, and every breath excruciating, she plunged into the icy-cold water. She went under from shock and to her relief found a solid base beneath her. The water was up to her neck, but at least she could wade across, rather than swim.
Come on, Jo, come on! You can do it, she told herself as further dizziness and nausea heralded a blackout. She turned round to check whether Kurt had noticed her leaving, and it was then she saw the figure, in the upstairs bedroom of the house, arms outstretched, as if beckoning Joanna to her. She blinked and shook her head, sure it was just another trick of her oxygen-starved brain. But the figure was still there when she opened her eyes. The figure nodded, then turned and receded from the window.
As Joanna forced her legs forward, she noticed that the storm’s ferocity had suddenly died down. The water around her had calmed and in place of the howling wind, there was an eerie silence. She dragged herself through the water, heartened that the estuary wall was getting closer.
Come on, Jo, nearly there now, nearly there . . .
A sudden splash behind her alerted her to company and she forced her body to wade forward faster.
A few feet now, just a few feet . . .
‘JOANNA!’
There was a familiar voice shouting her name. She stopped for an instant, listening. Then a body launched itself on top of her and she went under once more. Her lungs took in cold, salty water as she struggled for air.
I have nothing left . . .
Under the water, her body jerked and shuddered, then she struggled no more.
When Simon had left fifteen minutes ago, Marcus had made his way down to the bar. He’d necked a double whiskey and glanced at his mobile for the umpteenth time, willing it to ring.
He should have forced Simon to take him along. If anything happened to Jo, he’d wring Simon’s neck with his own bare hands.
The barmaid glanced at him sympathetically, indicating the windows, completely obscured by pounding rain. ‘Your man’s mad to go out on a night like this. T’was only a month ago that someone ended up in the estuary in a storm.’ She shook her head. ‘Fancy another?’
‘Make it a double. Thanks.’
‘And what business has your man got with crazy Ciara?’ came a voice from a table behind him.
