Dark Fever

by Charlotte Lamb

  That was what she was afraid of.

  ‘You’re going to have to, Gil,’ she said, looking him in the eye and lifting her chin at the same time to make it clear that she was deadly serious.

  She saw his eyes narrow and his face tighten. He had heard the undertone in her voice; he knew she meant more than a refusal to go for a drive with him today.

  ‘I’m going to sunbathe on my balcony and rest for a few days—and then as soon as my bruises heal enough I’m flying home,’ she added, walking away from him towards the front door. She opened it and held it open pointedly. ‘Have a nice drive, Gil.’

  He came towards her, his face shuttered, stopped and looked down at her. That was when she got a chance to see his eyes; they were smouldering, a smoky ash colour with a dark fire burning at their centre.

  She felt a stab of pain, looking away from the threat of those eyes. Gil was angry with her. She was sorry about that. She hadn’t wanted to make him angry; she liked him. Liked him far too much.

  Oh, come on! she told herself. It’s more than that and you know it. You fell for him like a collapsing wall the instant you set eyes on him. It was like seeing all your private fantasies come true—there he was, in the flesh, quite literally, tall and dark and golden-skinned, and you couldn’t stop staring at him. It was plain and simple lust.

  No! she thought, wincing. And, even if I did feel that way on sight, I liked the man too, when I got to know him. He’s easy to like. He’s amusing, good company, he’s been unendingly kind and thoughtful and he’s oddly sensitive for such a very macho man. I’m grateful to him and I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  But she had to protect herself—she could not face any more emotional pressure. She was like someone with severe burns who couldn’t bear to be touched at all; the lightest fingertip could make them scream.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gil,’ she said. ‘Please go.’

  For a second, she thought he was going to argue, to grab her, to try coaxing or pleading, his whole body was so tense—but then he suddenly walked away without a word and she shut the door on him with a low moan, then leaned on it, her eyes closed, trembling violently.

  It was over.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Bianca’s bruises took days to heal, and she did not go out of her apartment at all during that time. She didn’t go down to the beach and she didn’t walk across to the hotel for meals—she either had Room Service or prepared meals herself in her little kitchenette. She was rapidly running out of the food she had bought just before the attack, but by the time the cupboard was bare she hoped her bruises would have faded enough for her to feel up to visiting the hotel shop again. During daylight hours she ate on her balcony with her back to the garden so that she couldn’t be overlooked, and in the evening ate inside.

  Every day she sunbathed on a lounger for part of the time, she read the books she had brought, she watched TV or listened to her personal stereo. The routine soon grew a little boring, she had so few distractions, and time began to drag, but it was also very peaceful and she was getting a lot of rest, which was, after all, why she was here. She had come to Spain for sunshine and rest—well, she was getting both.

  It did surprise her that she didn’t see anything of Gil as the days went by. She knew enough of him by now to know how tenacious and determined he could be; she had fully expected him to ignore what she’d said and turn up on her doorstep with every intention of talking her into going out for a drive with him. He didn’t. He didn’t show up in person—and he didn’t ring her either.

  In fact, she didn’t hear from him at all. He might just as well have dropped off the edge of the world.

  She told herself she was relieved. She told herself it was what she wanted. But she couldn’t stop thinking about him, and she kept catching herself looking out for him in the garden below her balcony, her eyes searching the trees for a glimpse of him walking from the beach to the hotel, or back again. She knew he swam every day, either in a pool or in the sea. She expected him to pass her apartment building sooner or later, but if he did she must have missed him.

  She did, however, have a visitor on the morning of the fourth day. When someone rang her doorbell she was out on the balcony, sunbathing, and she jumped up, startled, stubbing her toe on the leg of a chair.

  ‘Ouch! Damn it!’ she muttered, hobbling to the door, her breathing fast and her skin hot.

  It would be Gil, of course. She would send him away again because she had meant what she’d said—it was over—but she couldn’t stop the rapid beating of her heart or the quiver of eagerness to see him that she felt as she opened the door.

  But it wasn’t Gil standing on her doorstep. The eagerness died, her heart slowed back to a normal beat.

  ‘Oh, Freddie! Hi!’

  Freddie was wearing a pair of brief white shorts with a white T-shirt. She looked fabulous, much younger than her age. Her tan was even deeper, her eyes very bright, her short, blonde hair bleached to the colour of summer wheat.

  She smiled at Bianca, her eyes flicking sympathetically over her. ‘You poor girl—how are you? You’re looking much better than I’d expected... those bruises are wearing off, aren’t they? I’d have come sooner, but Gil told us you didn’t want visitors. I didn’t like to be too pushy. We’re going home in a couple of days, though, and I did want a chance to see you before we left.’

  Bianca held the door open, smiling wryly. ‘Come in and have a drink with me.’

  They sat on the balcony in the sunshine, sipping ice-cold diet cola, talking lazily in the shade of an umbrella which fluttered in the faint sea breeze.

  ‘Are Karl and the children on the beach?’

  Freddie nodded. ‘Where else? Gil is down there too.’

  Bianca stared out across the gardens, the pulse in her throat beating with feeling. So he had gone down to the sea after all—and she had missed him. No doubt he had walked down there every day, but never at a time when she was looking into the gardens. She wondered if he had deliberately chosen a route that avoided her building, or a time when he might expect her not to see him.

  After a little silence, Freddie said, ‘What’s wrong, Bianca? Between you and Gil? I know something is— he bites my head off whenever I mention you.’

  Was he so angry with her that he hated her now? Anguish tore at her; she felt her throat burn with unshed tears.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong,’ she said in a voice made husky by the salt in her throat. ‘We saw each other a couple of times, but it was nothing important, and... and really I’m not the type for a holiday romance. I shall be going home myself shortly anyway.’

  ‘Is that what you said to Gil?’ probed Freddie, watching her with a sympathy that Bianca resented; she did not want Freddie being sorry for her or understanding how she felt.

  ‘I would rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind, Freddie!’ she said stiffly. ‘If Gil wants to tell you what we said to each other, that’s up to him.’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me a thing!’ Freddie told her frankly.

  ‘Neither will I.’ But, contrarily, Bianca wished she knew what Gil was thinking, how he had really reacted to her decision. Freddie had said he bit her head off if she mentioned her—but what did his show of temper mean precisely?

  Freddie shrugged. ‘OK. You’re both very irritating people, you know that?’ But she smiled to show she was teasing, then gave Bianca a closer stare, hesitated, and said, ‘You could disguise them, you know. The bruises, I mean—let me put some cover-up make-up on them. You’ll be amazed when you see what a difference it makes. People will have to come up really close to see them and even then they’ll be very faint, just shadows under the make-up.’

  Bianca was tempted, but she shook her head. ‘I’ll look like a tart!’

  ‘Don’t be silly! I’ll do it very... oh, what is the word? Er...discreetly—yes, that is it—discreetly. Please, I’m very good with make-up. I’m a member of our local amateur dramatics society. I help out with everyone�
�s make-up during a show—even if I’m not in the play myself.’

  ‘Do you act?’ Bianca was interested; she had always wanted to join an amateur group herself, but she’d never had the time when her children were small, and by the time they were growing up Rob had died, and she had had to start work, leaving her no time for hobbies.

  Freddie grinned at her. ‘When they give me a part! I am not brilliant, but I enjoy it, and so does Karl sometimes—except he rarely has the time to take a part. There’s so much work involved—rehearsals, learning the words—a production takes over your life for weeks, and he is simply too busy. It’s such a pity he can’t act more often because he has real talent—far more than I do! I enjoy helping out with the backstage work as much as the acting, and I enjoy doing the hair and make-up— so, will you let me try some make-up on your bruises tomorrow morning? Then you can come down on the beach with us. You must be tired of sitting around on your balcony or inside your apartment, yes?’

  Bianca hesitated, then took the plunge. ‘OK, thanks, Freddie.’

  It was quite true, after all. She was tired of staying around her apartment; she wanted to go down to the beach, swim in the sea, enjoy the last few days of her holiday here.

  Next morning Freddie arrived after breakfast with a large make-up box and a determined glint in her eye.

  She spent some time working on Bianca’s face, gently smoothing foundation into her skin, to give an even layer, before she slowly painted out the bruises with a fine brush, finishing by adding a top layer of powder and blusher. When Bianca saw herself in the mirror she blinked. The make-up had been done brilliantly—oh, her lips were still faintly puffy, and there were cracks and cuts under the lipstick that Freddie had applied, but her facial bruises had almost gone; there was just a bluish shadow under the smooth, creamy make-up.

  ‘That’s amazing!’ she breathed. ‘Freddie, you’re a genius! Even I can barely see a sign of a bruise. If I didn’t know they were there I’m sure I would never notice them.’

  Freddie looked modestly satisfied. ‘Danke. Das freut mich!’

  ‘I’m sorry... I don’t know any German, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I said thank you...’

  ‘Oh, I got that bit—but what did the rest mean?’

  ‘Das freut mich? It means... I’m glad, or that makes me happy.’

  ‘I must learn some German,’ Bianca thought aloud.

  ‘Yes, you must—I’ll teach you some.’ Freddie gave her an approving look. ‘German is a very formal language and the grammar is complicated, but I’m sure you will soon pick up enough to be able to talk to people a little.’

  When they got down to the beach Karl and the children were swimming in the sea. None of the other people down there gave Bianca a second look; they were all too busy sunbathing or playing beach games. She was able to settle down on her mattress under an umbrella, clamp her headphones on her ears and start reading a book. Freddie lay next to her, also reading.

  Totally absorbed in her book, Bianca didn’t hear anyone approaching until a pair of bare, tanned feet came into her line of vision. She looked at them idly, then slowly her gaze moved up the long, dark-haired legs, the lean hips in a smooth-fitting pair of black swimming-trunks, the flat midriff and muscled, golden-skinned chest to the familiar spare-fleshed features.

  Her heart beat painfully.

  ‘Oh... hello...’

  Was that her voice? It sounded so shaky; she was furious with herself for betraying what was happening to her.

  He gave her a grim look, frowning blackly, and if she had wondered how he had taken her dismissal a few days ago she knew at that instant. Gil had been furious; still was. She didn’t know whether she had hurt his feelings or merely wounded his ego—whatever the case, Gil hadn’t liked being told to take no for an answer, to go away and stay away.

  His wife had damaged his ego years ago, leaving him for a much older man, but he had got over that. Maybe it had left him hypersensitive to any other rejections, though?

  She should have thought of that. She could have thought of some gentler way of explaining why she wanted to end their brief relationship, couldn’t she?

  ‘So you’ve finally come out of hiding, have you?’ he muttered. ‘I was beginning to think you would stay in your rooms until you were due to fly home!’

  That was what she had intended, of course, but she couldn’t think of anything to say in answer to the accusation. But that didn’t matter because he had hardly finished speaking when he did a visible double-take, starting physically as he took another long stare at her face. His expression abruptly changed, his grey eyes widening.

  ‘Good heavens... your face... Your skin’s back to normal... How on earth did those bruises heal so quickly?’

  ‘Freddie worked a miracle,’ she said huskily.

  He blinked, looked even more closely, his black brows rising. ‘Freddie did what?’

  ‘Make-up,’ Freddie informed him, sitting up on her mattress, her arms clasped around her bare knees. ‘It’s all done with make-up, darling.’

  Gil shot her a sideways look. ‘That’s incredible—I can barely see any bruising at all; her skin doesn’t show a thing. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Freddie, my congratulations.’

  She gave him a modest smile, teasingly fluttering her lashes. ‘Thank you, Gil, dear. I thought it was time she stopped hiding in her apartment and joined the rest of us in the sun.’

  He nodded, his gaze returning to Bianca, who had sat up too. ‘I agree. At least you’re looking better than you did last time I saw you; you were like a refugee from a Hammer horror movie! I hope you’re feeling as good as you look?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, not quite meeting his grey eyes.

  ‘Sleeping well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Hmm...’ he said in a dry tone. ‘I suppose you’ve been eating in your apartment? You must have run through most of your food by now. If you need anything from the hotel shop, by the way, you know you can ring them and order it, and have it delivered?’

  ‘Thank you, I’ll remember that.’

  They were talking like strangers on the surface, then-voices polite and impersonal—but their eyes were at war. She kept her lids half closed, hiding herself, shutting him out, but she continually felt the probing of her defences, the quick, shrewd stare fastening on her quivering mouth, her restless hands, her nervous, half-veiled eyes, the vein beating in her neck, every tiny betraying signal of her body language. Gil wasn’t buying her withdrawal, her cool manner towards him in front of Freddie. He was trying to find out what she was really thinking and feeling, and he was far too good at guessing.

  That was the last thing Bianca wanted. She was struggling with her feelings, trying to suppress them; she didn’t want him to have an idea what she was going through just having him so close.

  ‘You’ve got sand on your arm,’ he said, and leaned down, brushed his fingertips lightly over her skin.

  Her heart winced with pain. The brief touch was enough to waken every pulse in her body and make her ache for him; her skin began to burn with instant reaction and she felt him watching her, reading her every slightest response with the efficiency of a Geiger counter.

  I must get away from him, she thought desperately. I can’t bear this. Shame made her stomach clench. She had hoped that these physical reactions were finished with, but they weren’t, and that frightened her. She had always believed that desire was part of love, but to love you had to know someone completely, to know all about them—and what, after all, did she know about Gil? They had only met for the first time less than two weeks ago. Two weeks was a blink in the procession of time. She had known Rob for a long, long time before she’d got engaged to him.

  But you never felt like this about Rob! she told herself, her heart sinking. When did Rob ever make you burn to touch him, to give yourself to him there and then—?

  Stop it! she thought, shuddering. Stop think
ing that way.

  ‘Why don’t we all have dinner tonight?’ asked Freddie, and Bianca quickly answered, very flushed and agitated.

  ‘I’m sorry, I really would rather have an early night tonight. I’m still trying to get plenty of rest.’

  ‘Tomorrow night, then?’ asked Freddie. ‘We’re leaving, remember. We won’t get another chance to have that dinner party.’ Her voice was coaxing, full of sunny warmth. ‘Do say yes, Bianca.’

  Bianca couldn’t turn her down; it would have been rude and unfriendly and she didn’t want to be either to Freddie. She took a reluctant breath, then nodded.

  ‘OK, then, tomorrow night,’ she promised, and Freddie beamed, then looked at her brother-in-law.

  ‘What about you, Gil? You’ll come, won’t you?’

  His grey eyes flicked to Bianca’s face, reading the nervous expression in it without difficulty. His mouth twisted; she quickly looked down, and heard him say in a soft, deliberate voice, ‘I’d love to, if Bianca is going to be there!’

  Freddie laughed. ‘I thought you would!’

  Bianca bit down on her inner lip and winced at the bruising which still stiffened her mouth.

  Gil went on, ‘But I have to drive over to Nerja in the afternoon, to walk around the new hotel site with my architect. I’m not meeting him until four, and the meeting may take some time, so I may be late back— can we make dinner at half-past eight?’

  ‘Is that all right with you, Bianca?’ Freddie asked her, and Bianca shrugged, still avoiding Gil’s gaze, her mind working frantically. So he was going to be out all afternoon tomorrow!

  ‘Yes, fine,’ she mumbled.

  There was a yell from the edge of the sea and Freddie glanced that way, waved and got up.

  ‘Karl wants me—be seeing you, Gil.’ She ran off down the beach and Bianca felt her body tense immediately. This was what she did not want—to be left alone with Gil. She was terrified of what he might say or do next with his sister-in-law out of the way.