A sound made Bianca stiffen. A motorbike was weaving its way around the square; she saw the domed helmets of the rider and his passenger, the black leather, and she went white, holding her breath.
‘What’s wrong?’ Freddie asked, staring at her.
The motorbike shot past them and disappeared up a side-street. Bianca sagged in relief.
‘Nothing,’ she said shakily. ‘Nothing at all. Maybe we should be getting back to the hotel, though?’
They got back to the hotel just in time for lunch and met up again in the dining room. The usual buffet was laid out—Bianca collected salad, great pink prawns cooked with rice and peas, a slice of cold chicken and some coleslaw. Karl had ordered white wine and insisted that she must have some.
She sipped it, listening to him talking about the headlines in that day’s papers; Karl had strong views on international politics. He was obviously a clever man, strong-minded and forceful. Bianca was struck, too, by the way he and Freddie talked to each other and to their children. The warmth between them all made her envious, nostalgic, a little lonely—it reminded her of the happiness she had had with Rob, all gone now, vanished like summer flowers when the frosts of winter started.
She felt shut out of the circle of family which bound the others together. She ached for the days that had gone. She missed her children. She hadn’t rung them since she arrived—she would ring them tonight, she decided, when they were both likely to be at home.
She spent the afternoon on the beach, swimming, sunbathing, resting under a striped umbrella and occasionally having the beach attendant bring her a glass of sparkling mineral water stiff with chunks of ice and slices of lemon. Freddie and her family were near by, Karl and the children playing energetic beach games as usual while Freddie watched them indulgently without stirring herself from her mattress.
When the sun began to slide down the sky, and the air chilled, Bianca went back to her apartment, had a leisurely bath and then put on a robe and sat on her bed, painting her nails while she watched a Spanish version of an American film she had seen several times. She couldn’t understand a word that was spoken but she knew, at least, what was happening!
At half-past six, when she could reasonably hope that her children were both likely to be in, she rang home, but it was neither of them who picked up the phone. Instead, she heard a voice she recognised at once with a leap of alarm.
‘Judy? Judy, what are you doing there? Is something wrong? Has something happened to one of the children? What—?’
‘Calm down!’ Judy said, laughing. ‘Typical of you, Bianca, to get into a panic over nothing. There’s nothing wrong with your precious kids. I called round to check that they were OK, that’s all, and to bring them a hot meal. We had a blizzard yesterday and snow blocked all the roads; it’s so cold I’m wearing two sweaters! I was worried about ‘Vicky and Tom coping if the pipes froze while they were out all day with the central heating turned off so I popped in on my way home from the shop. They’re fine. They left the heating on, it seems! A bit extravagant, but in the circumstances a smart move because the house was very warm when I arrived. I brought them a lamb casserole I’d cooked overnight—they only have to reheat it and it’s full of vegetables, so they won’t have to cook anything to go with it. I put it in the oven for them.’
Touched, Bianca said, ‘You are kind! That was very thoughtful; I’m grateful, Judy. I hope they said thank you.’
‘Several times, with real feeling—when I arrived they were squabbling over whose turn it was to cook the baked beans on toast!’
Stricken, Bianca groaned. ‘Is that all they’re eating?’
Judy laughed. ‘Of course not! If it wasn’t so cold they would be living on no-cook salad and yoghurt, I gathered, but Tom was starving because it was so cold and he wanted a hot meal. Don’t you worry—they are getting enough to eat. You aren’t to feel guilty—I know you! The fridge was full of food, and Tom had a huge bagful of apples he was grazing on when I arrived. So, how is the holiday going?’
‘Fine,’ Bianca said a little self-consciously.
‘Met any tall, dark, handsome strangers yet?’
‘Well...’ Bianca’s voice trailed off; she bit her lip. She had not had an answer prepared; she had not been expecting to talk to Judy. She had been caught off guard. Neither of her children would have asked her such a question.
‘You have!’ crowed Judy. ‘Well, come on...tell me all!’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’
‘What’s his name?’
Bianca suddenly wanted to confide in someone; she needed to talk about him, about the way she felt, and Judy knew her better than anyone else in the world now.
‘Gil,’ she said. ‘Gil Marquez.’
‘Funny name,’ Judy said frankly. ‘It sounds...’
‘Spanish—he is! He’s the manager of this hotel. Oh, Judy, he’s unbelievable... you should see him on the beach; his skin is like gold silk...’
‘Does it feel like it too?’
Bianca took a deep breath, then whispered, ‘Yes, just like silk.’
Judy gasped audibly. ‘Bianca...you haven’t... You have, haven’t you? God, that was quick work; you’ve only been there a few days! I’d never have believed it— you of all people!’
Crimson, Bianca hurriedly protested. ‘I didn’t mean... We haven’t been to... I mean for heaven’s sake, Judy, of course we haven’t.’
‘You haven’t been to bed with him?’ Judy asked bluntly.
‘No, certainly not!’
‘So how do you know how his skin feels?’
‘Judy! I’ve seen a lot of him since I arrived, OK?’
Judy giggled. ‘You must have done! On the beach, did you say? Or has the action moved up into your bedroom?’
‘You have a dreadful mind!’ Bianca told her crossly.
‘And you didn’t answer the question. Never mind, I think I get the picture. I’m glad you’re having a good time—this was just what you needed—but just remember that holiday romances always fizzle out when you get back home, so keep your head, and for God’s sake don’t sleep with him without a condom, however gorgeous he is!’
‘I didn’t say I... I wouldn’t... There’s no question of...’ Bianca was completely at a loss, spluttering and very flushed. She heard Judy laughing again.
‘OK, don’t go to pieces. Anyway, what’s the weather like there?’
That was a safer subject; Bianca relaxed a little. ‘It’s been wonderful, quite hot today, in fact. Hot enough to sit on the beach all afternoon, and swim in the sea. I’m getting a tan.’
Judy groaned. ‘You’re so lucky! Oh, here’s Vicky coming in to find out who’s on the phone— It’s your mum... I’ll put her on now, Bianca. Have a great time and remember...be careful!’
‘Judy, you won’t tell them...’ Bianca began, and then she heard Vicky’s voice on the other end of the line.
‘Mum? How’s Spain?’
‘Wonderful,’ Bianca said quickly, and talked about the weather, the Alhambra, the hotel complex, the beach, the gardens, her apartment. She did not mention the mugging or Gil Marquez, praying that Judy wouldn’t breathe a word to either Vicky or Tom.
‘I’ve sent you postcards, from Granada and from Marbella—do you remember us going to Spain?’
‘With Dad? Of course,’ said Vicky oddly. ‘Here’s Tom, Mum—he wants to talk to you too. Bye; enjoy yourself.’
She was gone before Bianca could answer. Tom came on the line and cheerfully chattered away about his latest football match being cancelled because the pitch was frozen and covered in snow, complained about his homework and his maths teacher. Bianca felt love welling up inside her; he was so uncomplicated, so normal. He wasn’t as touchy or difficult as his sister, thank heavens!
‘Mum, can I have a new pair of football boots? There’s this really great pair in Willows, and if I had them I just know I would get goals.’
‘How much?’ asked Bianca, and then, ‘How much?’ in h
orror and disbelief when he told her. ‘You have got to be kidding! I could buy myself a summer wardrobe for that much. Forget it.’ Then she asked him about food. ‘You aren’t just living on baked beans, are you? Or was Judy exaggerating?’
‘I like baked beans,’ he said. ‘Vicky keeps trying to make me eat her diet stuff but I’m hungry when I get home. Salad is for rabbits.’
She laughed rather helplessly. ‘Try to eat protein, darling—some eggs, some cheese—nuts are good; eat lots of nuts.’
‘Peanuts?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Fine.’
‘OK, Mum.’
She caught sight of the time and sighed. ‘I’ve got to go, Tom; I’m going out tonight and I haven’t dressed. You’ve got my number here, if you need me. Bye.’
It was way past seven now; she had to dress in a hurry, and when she had she was taken aback by her reflection in the mirror. She had never in her life worn a dress like this—she was stricken with uncertainty, intensely self-conscious. Who was this woman in the mirror, her black hair piled high behind her head, pinned with a great black Spanish comb, black lace floating from it? This woman in scarlet and black lace, a dress so tight that it showed every line of her body, black high-heeled shoes that gave her a height she didn’t normally have—she didn’t know her!
The self she was used to seeing in her mirror was a woman of forty who dressed conventionally, was sensible and responsible, worked hard, ran a home, looked after her children. Never took risks, never got excited, never wanted anything for herself, only planned for her children’s future—never for a future of her own. The Bianca who had woken up on her fortieth birthday had been ground down into the ruts of her life, had had nothing to look forward to, just a quiet succession of days all the same as before, forever and ever to the edge of doom.
That was not her in the mirror. Was it? No, no, she didn’t recognise that woman. Even her mouth seemed strange and unfamiliar—a disturbing scarlet bow, cushiony in the full lower lip, hot and inviting.
She gave it another startled, horrified glance. That wasn’t her mouth. She picked up the black lace fan which Freddie had made her buy to go with the dress, flicked it open and lifted it to hide her mouth; over it her eyes glittered, wide and bright, with excitement, with invitation. She did not know them either.
She couldn’t wear the dress to dinner tonight! She didn’t have the nerve to walk into the bar to meet Freddie and Karl looking like this!
Freddie has already seen you in the dress—don’t be silly! she told herself. And Karl is too preoccupied with his wife to give you a second glance.
But Gil would be there.
Oh, yes, that was what was bothering her, wasn’t it? The idea of Gil seeing the feverish excitement in her eyes, in the parted redness of her mouth, in the tense curve of her body—seeing and understanding the smouldering sexual invitation in the way she looked in this intensely sexy dress. She didn’t want to give him the idea that she was giving him any such message!
Don’t you? she thought, looking at her reflection helplessly, fighting to calm herself. Her hands were clenched in the effort to tone down her high colour, the quiver of her mouth, the glitter of her eyes.
Who are you trying to fool? You wanted Gil the minute you saw him. You want him so much it’s eating away at you night and day; you can’t think of anything else!
She turned away, biting her lip. Stop it! she told herself. Shame flooded through her. What was the matter with her? Obsessed with sex, aching to have a man, at her age?
Her age? Was that it? Had waking up to find herself forty, and on the verge of middle age, thrown her entire mind and body into turmoil? Was this some sort of midlife crisis? The next big crisis of her life would probably be when she hit the menopause and stopped being capable of having a baby—maybe this was nature’s way of telling her to hurry up and grab a last chance?
Was she actually falling in love with Gil—or had her hormones simply gone crazy when it had dawned on her that time was running out? Was Gil just the first eligible man she had run into since her birthday?
It was horrifying to find yourself the prisoner of your own hormones. She felt stupid and helpless. This churning excitement, this permanent state of aroused sexuality... was it nothing but chemistry?
A brisk tap on the front door of her apartment made her jump. She swung round, her skirts flaring around her legs. A maid, come to turn down her bed?
The tap came again, louder. No, a maid would have used her pass key to come in if there was no answer.
Gil, she thought, pulses thundering, and couldn’t move. It had to be Gil.
Slowly she went to the door and began to open it. Then the door was knocked wide by a body crashing into it, forcing it back right into Bianca, who was thrown across the room.
The door slammed shut. Terror paralysed her as she saw the hard, hating black eyes, the vicious face of the boy she had picked out in the police station the other day.
Her mouth opened to scream but he leapt across to her too fast for a sound to escape. His black-gloved hand rammed down on her mouth, pushing her lips back on her teeth, silencing the muffled sounds she made.
Eyes wide with terror, she fought him, trembling, trying to push him away. His thin, muscular body jerked forward, thrust itself down on her, forcing her back against the wall.
He muttered a word in Spanish; she didn’t know the word but she knew he had insulted her. He looked down at her body, the full white breasts half exposed by the ruffles of black lace, the way the soft material clung to her waist and hips, fell back from her long legs.
He grinned, and Bianca felt suddenly sick. His eyes were insulting, crude, explicit. He grabbed the lace with his free hand and ripped; her breasts spilled out and he bent his head and sank his teeth into her nipple. The pain was agonising. Under his muffling hand Bianca screamed. She began to struggle wildly then, punching him, trying to knee him in the groin as she had that night in the Marbella street.
He was ready for her this time, though; before she made contact he balled his fist and struck her in the face, right between the eyes. Her head was flung violently back and hit the wall so hard, it almost knocked her out. Dazed and in agony, she sagged downwards, all the fight knocked out of her.
While she was half fainting, he lifted her off the floor, put her body over his shoulder, and carried her into the bedroom. Bianca came back to full consciousness just as he pushed her down on the bed.
A scream broke out of her; she tried to sit up, to get away, but he punched her in the face again, in the mouth; she tasted her own blood on her tongue.
He pulled a long silk scarf from round his own neck, rammed it into her mouth, gagged her with it, caught hold of her tumbled black hair, dragging her head painfully up off the bed, and tied the scarf in a double knot behind her head.
Gasping and choking, Bianca tried to think—she had to get away, she had to get away. If she were only stronger...if she weren’t so frightened. If he hits me again I shall pass out, she thought; her face ached with bruises, tears welled behind her lids.
The room was shadowy; the sun had gone down now and he had not put on the electric light in here. She could only just see his face, the lank black hair, the oily skin, the parted, panting mouth, the glitter of his excited eyes, the vicious intention they held.
He grabbed her dress and ripped again; the whole front of the dress came apart, leaving her almost naked, wearing just a bra and tiny black silk panties. His black eyes moved over her; she saw sweat on his upper lip, his tongue-tip.
‘Si!’ he muttered, and sick terror filled her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The most terrifying thing about it was that Bianca blanked out; she couldn’t think, wasn’t even able to fight for a moment, her blue eyes stretched as wide as they could go, her breathing very rapid, each breath painful. It was as if she had known this would happen for a long time; the threat in his eyes had been there the night he’d tried to mug her in Marbella—a threat whic
h was vicious, a desire to hurt and humiliate which had nothing to do with her at all. This was not personal—he simply hated women, all women.
He wasn’t intending to rape her because he found her attractive; he didn’t desire her body. He wanted to make her suffer; there was cruelty in his grin, in his black eyes, a sadistic enjoyment of her fear and helplessness. He was almost young enough to be her son and yet he made the hair stand up on her head.
He begin to unzip his trousers and the movement unfroze Bianca’s brain. She went crazy, her body heaving on the bed, fighting him like a trapped animal, hoarse, muffled cries in her throat.
He drew back his arm to smash his fist into her face again, and at that second someone banged on the front door of her apartment.
The boy stiffened, was still, his head turned to listen.
Hope flooded into Bianca; someone was out there; someone might hear her. While the boy’s attention was fixed on the bedroom door she managed to wrench down the scarf enough to yell.
‘Help! Help!’
The boy’s head swung back to her instantly; she saw his arm move and then there was an explosion of pain so terrible that she didn’t even cry out; her head fell back on the bed and her body went limp, sprawled on the sheet.
For a moment all she could think about was the pain throbbing away in her face. Blood filled her mouth with salty wetness. Semi-conscious, she was hardly aware of what happened next, although she heard sounds and movements vaguely, as if from a far, far distance.
A key turned in the lock of the front door, the door burst open and there was a stampede of feet as men came hurtling into the apartment. The boy stumbled off the bed and darted towards the bedroom door, either to run out or to bolt the door, but whatever his intention he was too late. The doorway was already blocked. He looked round wildly for a way out but two armed security men grabbed him, wrenching his arms behind his back with such force that he gave a strangled cry of pain and began to swear in Spanish. The security men frogmarched him out of the room, ignoring his shouts and struggles.
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