Trust

Victoria Roux works for SS10, and leads a normal spy life. Just one thing. She can see the future, an ability that nobody else has. Until she bumps into a man. Can she trust him with her secrets? And can she rely on him in her time of need?

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8. Date

I stood there in cold, shivering with steam coming out of my mouth and nose. Another minute went by and I began to get impatient. Where was he? Was this just some joke? It was 5 past 4 and there was no sign of him! He then came running round the corner and stopped by me, with no sign of being out of breath.

“You’re la-ˮ I began but he interrupted me.

“I know, and I am really sorry, my mum wouldn’t let me come until I did my exercises,” he stopped and looked right into my eyes. “That sounds weird, doesn’t it,” he asked me, looking ashamed with himself.

“No, it doesn’t!” I reassured him, “I do exercise to!” he looked at me with the same feeling that I was feeling to. Happy to find someone that does the same as me.

“Shall we go inside?” Adam asked, he then took my hand and led me inside Café Mate.

The café was small, but cosy and we found a table for two, right by the window. My training said to be near an escape at all times, and we had about seven escapes in the salon! But it was Adam who brought me here, and it made me suspicious. He went to order coffees for both of us but I noticed he had changed his credit card since yesterday. And his card was valid for another three years!

But my frown turned into a smile when he brought my favourite type of cookie along with my coffee. He smiled and eased himself into his seat, and then the talking started. He asked me what else I did apart from cutting hair, I replied that I liked to keep in shape and did odd jobs to fund my trip to go around the world one day. He looked surprised at this and then told me that his job was to go around the world for HSBC. I was so jealous of him.

“Maybe you might take me on one of your trips?” I whispered to him.

“No…  I will book a plane personally for us and we will go everywhere and anywhere you want to go,” he whispered back, squeezing my hand. I felt shivers of delights go down my back. He smiled, but then it faded.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him feeling concerned. “We need to get out soon,” he murmured, he looked at me, like I was trouble. “We could leave now, if you want to,” I murmured back to him. He nodded his head and looked annoyed. We leave the café and headed back to my house. There was something not right with him, he was jumpy. There was something he wasn’t telling me.

In the sitting room, I switched the news on and looked at the main headlines. The biggest news story was that a man, just turned 25, had committed suicide, but police were baffled how he managed to do it.  I looked at Adam and almost jumped. He was as white as a ghost and it had changed him completely and his eyes were wide and frightened, he looked at me with those eyes and said the man’s name when the news reader said it.

“Bradley Jones,” his voice was flat and I began to get scared. Bradley Jones was a CSS spy. Why did Adam look so scared?

“Adam, what relationship did you have with Bradley?” I whispered to him, shaking in fear. I hope that it was only a brief friend contact, but it wasn’t.

“Victoria, he was my brother,” Adam boldly told me, be his voice cracked on the word “brother” and he broke into tears. As he sank to his knees and held his head in his hands, I looked at him, speechless. His body was heaving and when I knelt down beside him and touched his face, he looked up at me and said:

“You hate me, because my brother is a CSS spy and you are a SS10 spy. I have news that will make you hate me more than ever, I don’t work for the bank, and I work for CSS! And I hate it!” He yelled, like a little kid having a tantrum. I stared at him, stunned with what I had just heard. It all made sense now, changing the credit card and his brother being killed. But how did he know I was a SS10 agent? He asked the question like he was reading my mind.

“Your mum is very informative,” he answered bluntly. I stared at him, in horror and wonder. He had spoken to my mum? What about my dad? I ask him the very question I had been aching to ask for 6 years.

“Yeah, your dad is fine,” he noticed the hurt in my eye and he put his arm around me, I didn’t shrug it off.

“When I was little, my Dad called me Vicky, but nobody else called me that because Vicky was the pet name my Dad called me,” I mumbled to nobody in particular. But he heard me and asked:

“Can I call you Vicky?” I nodded in response, then he kissed my forehead and I rested my head on his shoulder, a relaxing end in an eventful day. 

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