At The Plaza Majestic.

Chapter 2

Two days later, I was sitting guiltily on the train to Brighton. I couldn't get the argument with Isabel I had just had out of my head.

"You can't be serious!" she had said, when I had first told her of my plans.

"I promised him I'd help, so I'll have to go" I had reasoned. "Just say I'm in Brighton visiting friends."

"We don't have any friends in Brighton" Isabel had then pointed out firmly.

"But nobody needs to know that, do they?" I had then replied.

We had then launched into a discussion about Smart himself, and, more importantly, how upset Newham would be if he found out what I was doing.

"One, you're putting yourself in unnecessary danger, and two it's with him!" Isabel had complained. "That's two birds with one stone, and frankly, I'm not too impressed with it either!"

"Why on earth not?" I had sighed.

Isabel had then gone on to talk to me about honesty, and etiquette, and that I would be doing Newham a great wrong if I went with Smart and carried out the mission. That had hit me hard, and she knew it, but I had still stayed just about unswayed.

"Besides" I had said finally. "I have to at least go to Brighton, don't I? If not just to explain why I can't go on."

Isabel scowled at me.

"You're going to regret doing this for the rest of your life, Allie Winter. Mark my words" she had sighed. "But you'll doubtless find that out for yourself if you're alive after it's all over."

At that point, I had picked up my suitcases and left quickly, not wanting her to get the opportunity to talk me out of going. I had got on a train to Brighton, and been thinking about the whole drama the entire way. Now, as we pulled slowly into the station, the cloud of butterflies which had been fluttering around in my stomach felt like they were trying to burst out and break free. I ignored them as best I could, leaving the train and wondering how on earth I was supposed to find the safehouse. All Smart had said to me was that it was number 13 on the seafront, of the terrace to the right of the Post Office. Where the Post Office was on the seafront, or how to get to it, was another question entirely. So, naturally, I followed my nose. I could smell the sea before I could see it, and since my arms were hurting with the weight of my suitcases, I hurried along, emerging out onto the pier a few minutes later and dumping them all in a heap as I sat down for a breather on a bench. The sea air was gorgeous, and the sun was absolutely blazing down. I looked along the packed beach longingly. I was going to have to bring Isabel here either later on this summer or the next. Glorious fun.

Almost reluctantly, I picked up my suitcases again and walked on. I passed so many holidaygoers that it was impossible to count them all, and little children ran past me with their balloons and their flags, and their little buckets and spades, all with sandy feet and huge smiles on their faces. Ice cream salesmen and souvenir stalls littered the path I walked along, and I even spotted a little puppet show, playing on the corner, surrounded by a gaggle of enthralled children.

I was so busy enjoying the atmosphere that I almost walked straight past the Post Office. When I did see it, though, I quickly crossed over, as the little terrace Smart had mentioned was easily noticable. Number 13 was quite the way along, and I decided it was definitely one of the more dilapidated houses on the terrace. I knocked on the wood, as there was no knocker. The door was opened by a very innocent looking old lady. I instantly assumed I had got the wrong house.

"Good afternoon?" she said suspiciously. I blanched.

"Sorry" I apologised, looking left and right to make sure I had counted correctly. "I think...I might have got the wrong house."