Marquez liked to have Adelaide sitting beside him at these gatherings, which usually concluded with the men going into a huddle to talk business and the women being banished to another room, where they were free to amuse themselves in whatever way they deemed fit until the time for departure arrived.
Adelaide found these evenings horribly boring, but she guessed that Ricardo enjoyed showing her off to the other men. She could read the admiration in their eyes when they glanced at her or spoke to her, and she felt sure that some of them would have been glad to exchange their own women for her, if only the host could have been persuaded to agree to it.
It came as a shock to her, nevertheless, when Ricardo actually suggested to her that she should spend a night with one of these occasional guests, a man named Pedro Contreras.
She thought he must be joking, though it was not the kind of joke she appreciated, and it did not make her laugh.
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Oh, but I am,’ he said. ‘Señor Contreras is very much taken with you, my dear; and I wish to do him a favour. For good financial reasons, you understand?’
She could hardly believe it. That he could propose using her in this way was scarcely conceivable. And yet, when you thought about it, had she not come to him in a rather similar manner? Pierre Roussel had passed her on to him in some kind of business deal, and now that his early passion for her had somewhat abated he was proposing to use her as bait for other men. To him it must have appeared perfectly logical.
She felt humiliated and degraded. She also felt very angry.
‘I will not do it. I refuse.’
This Pedro Contreras was one of the men who never brought a woman to the dinner parties. He was one of those she judged to have come up from the gutter; a rough coarse individual of forty or so; squat, with the bunched shoulders of a wrestler. In her own mind she had designated him as The Ape.
‘Don’t be so hasty,’ Marquez said. ‘You must see that this would be to the advantage of both of us.’
She could see how it might be to his advantage to oblige Contreras, but where was the advantage to her? His next words enlightened her.
‘You would not wish to be back in the situation you were in when I rescued you, I imagine. Think of that.’
So there was the threat, the ultimatum. She must do as he proposed or he would throw her out.
‘Do you take me for a whore?’
He shrugged. ‘I did not use that word. But if it fits –’
Again she said: ‘I refuse. I refuse absolutely.’
‘Then I am sorry to say that you must leave.’
‘Very well, then; I will leave. I will go to the French Consulate. Perhaps I should have done so in the first place.’
He seemed quite unmoved. ‘Perhaps you should.’
*
She did not see him when she left the house, though he might have been watching from one of the windows. She had no idea where the French Consulate was situated, but she imagined it would be somewhere near the heart of the city, and she caught a bus that took her most of the way.
After leaving the bus she made inquiries regarding the whereabouts of the consulate, and with the help of directions given to her she was able to find the street in which it was situated. She had walked briskly at first, but as she noted the numbers on the buildings and drew nearer to the one she was looking for, her pace slackened.
She began to have qualms. What would she tell the consular officials? How much of her story would it be wise to reveal? How sympathetic would they be? The closer she got to her destination, the more doubts assailed her. Perhaps she had been too hasty. Perhaps she ought to give the matter rather more thought.
And then, as she was hesitating, her mind was made up for her: the Jaguar drew up by the kerb, Gomez jumped out, grabbed her, bundled her into the back, followed her in and slammed the door. Villa, who was at the wheel, set the car in motion immediately and they were away.
It had all happened so swiftly that she had not even cried out. Not that a cry for help would have been likely to save her. There were people around, but it was doubtful whether anyone would have rushed to her aid; you just could not rely on bystanders to act in that way. As it was, perhaps no one even noticed that anything was wrong, and now the car was on its way.
She began to struggle immediately she was inside; but it was useless. Gomez was too strong for her. She could hear him chuckling, and after a few moments she realised that he was enjoying it; he wanted her to struggle, because that gave him an excuse for pawing her body. She could feel one hand moving up under her skirt and groping higher, the other kneading her breasts. Before long maybe he would start ripping her clothes off. If she complained to Marquez he could say it had happened accidentally in the struggle to control her.
And would Ricardo object anyway? Would a complaint to him have any effect now that relations between them were no longer as they had once been? Obviously it was he who had sent Gomez and Villa to waylay her after observing her departure. No doubt they had been waiting not far from the French Consulate on the lookout for her arrival. How could she have been so stupid as to believe that a man like him would allow her to escape so easily?
She stopped struggling.
‘All right,’ she said, ‘you can take your filthy hands off me now. I’m not going to make any more trouble.’
‘It was no trouble for me,’ Gomez assured her. ‘I could have gone on as long as you liked.’
‘And maybe you enjoyed it.’
He laughed. ‘Maybe I did. Maybe you did too, if only you’d admit it,’ he said. But he took his hands away.
She adjusted her clothes. ‘You were waiting for me, of course?’
‘That’s right. Señor Marquez thought you might get yourself into trouble if you weren’t brought back.’
‘I’m in trouble anyway,’ she said.
Gomez laughed again. He seemed to be getting quite a kick out of the situation. Which was nice for him, she thought. But by no means so nice for her.
Chapter Twelve – Nightmare
Marquez was waiting for her when they got back to the house. He spoke mockingly.
‘Don’t you think you’ve been acting rather foolishly, my dear?’
‘Is that how it appears to you?’ she asked.
‘But of course. Why don’t you accept the situation and do what I ask? It would not hurt you, and we could all remain on the best of terms. What do you say?’
‘Go to hell!’
‘Ah, I see that you are upset. I do hope Luis did not handle you too roughly.’
‘You knew damn well he would. He assaulted me. I intend to go to the police and lodge a complaint. We’ll see what they’ll do.’
Marquez shook his head. ‘I don’t think that would be wise. Not wise at all.’
‘From your point of view I suppose it would not. But after what has happened today I feel no obligation to take your wishes into consideration. From now on I do things to suit myself.’
The idea of going to the police had only just occurred to her; but now she saw that it had attractions. She felt such a deep resentment for the indignities to which she had been subjected that she was prepared not only to make the complaint about what had been done to her but also point the finger at Ricardo’s other activities as well. She did not know all the intricacies of his illegal operations, but she knew enough to bring some unwelcome investigation to bear on him. He would not like that at all.
He was frowning now, and she guessed that he was thinking along similar lines. His next words confirmed this.
‘I cannot let you do it. I cannot permit you to go telling stories to the police that should not be told.’
‘You cannot stop me,’ she said. It was a bold statement, but she thought of the way he had sent his minions to pick her up before she could approach the consulate officials, and she was not by any means as certain as she pretended to be. ‘I’m a free agent.’
‘Are you really?’ he said; and
he was sneering a little now. ‘You sincerely believe that?’
‘Have I any reason not to?’
‘Oh yes, my dear; you have every reason. You have not been a free agent since the day you came here. You have been mine to do with as I please. And now you will not go to the police because I shall prevent you from doing so. If things need to be taken to the extreme I may even have to take steps to ensure that you never do anything else at all. In this world. Do you take my meaning?’
She did take it. And it sent a shiver down her spine. Because she was convinced that he was not fooling. He was making a threat, and it was no idle one. She wondered whether he had killed people before; or, more probably, had them killed by his agents; Gomez and Villa perhaps. One had to remember that this was a violent country, where in the past many hundreds of people had simply vanished, murdered by death squads. A man like Ricardo, charming though he might be on the surface, was probably completely ruthless when it came to dealing with someone who happened to be standing in his way, or posed any kind of threat to him and his plans.
‘I see that you understand,’ he said. ‘And now, to give you time for reflection, I am afraid it will be necessary to detain you under lock and key. Are you ready?’
She stood her ground. ‘No.’
He moved quickly. In a moment she felt a searing pain in her left arm as he twisted it up behind her back. It was as if it were being torn out of its socket. She gave a cry of agony. He was really hurting her.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘we will go. Unless you wish to have a broken arm.’
He took her upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms and left her there, locking the door behind him. She had made no resistance; the vicious twist he had given to her arm was enough to prove to her that he would stand no nonsense and might even carry out that threat of a broken arm. He was capable of it.
She wondered how long he intended keeping her there. He could not imprison her indefinitely. Or could he? No one was likely to release her if he gave the order for them not to. In that house his word was law, and she would look in vain for any help from Gomez and Villa or any of the women.
She went to the window. It looked out on to a part of the garden. She could maybe have jumped out, but she would have landed on a concrete path and might have broken a leg, or at the least have sprained an ankle. She decided not to take the risk; not for the present. She would be patient and await developments.
Time passed slowly. The afternoon wore away and nothing happened. There was an en suite bathroom which she was able to use, and for a while she lay on the bed, just staring at the ceiling and thinking gloomy thoughts of what the future might hold for her.
In the evening a meal was brought to her by Gomez. She was surprised that he should have been given the task; but perhaps Ricardo would not trust one of the maids to do it. The prisoner might have escaped while the door was open. Gomez would certainly not allow that to happen.
He set the tray down and grinned at her. ‘Enjoying yourself, my lady?’
She glanced at him but said nothing.
‘Why don’t you use some sense? Co-operate. What have you got to lose? Nothing that isn’t gone already.’
When he had gone she ate the meal. There would have been no point in starving herself to spite Ricardo; he would not feel any pain if she went on a hunger strike.
To her surprise it was he himself who came to collect the tray. It was late and had been dark outside for some time.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘Have you changed your mind yet? Are you willing to do as I asked?’
She answered firmly: ‘No.’
He gave a sigh. ‘What a pity. And you still intend going to the police as soon as you have the chance?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then there is nothing else for it. I shall have to keep you shut up in here until you come to your senses.’
He picked up the tray and went out of the room. He closed the door behind him, but she could hear no sound of a key turning in the lock. She waited a few minutes, then tried the door. It was not locked. She closed the door again and did some thinking. The question was: had he simply forgotten to lock the door, having the tray in his hand, or had he purposely omitted to do so?
Well, oversight or premeditated act, the result was the same: she was free to leave the room whenever she wished. And it was an opportunity she had no intention of ignoring. She would take the freedom that was offered and go to the police.
But not immediately. She would wait a little longer until the occupants of the house had retired to bed, and then she would go. At least, that was her intention; but her impatience was so great that after no more than fifteen minutes she had opened the door and was listening for any sound of activity in the house.
There was none.
She stepped out of the room and closed the door softly. There was no light on this floor, but she was able to find her way to the head of the stairs without difficulty and could see that the hall below was dimly illuminated by a single lamp. She began to descend the stairway, fearful that at any moment Ricardo might appear and bar her way, having played a cat-and-mouse game with her for his own amusement.
But she reached the foot of the stairs without being challenged and tiptoed quickly across to the front door. It was a stout oak door with two strong bolts, but these had not been slid home. It was locked, but the key was in the lock and she had only to turn it in order to gain her freedom.
Even when she was outside the house, with the door closed behind her, she could hardly believe that she would get away so easily. The door would surely open again and Ricardo would be there, laughing at her vain attempt to escape; or Gomez and Villa would come running from the direction of the garage. It would all end in failure. It was bound to.
Yet when she had reached the end of the drive and was past the wrought-iron gates there had still not been any sign of a pursuit, and she knew that she had indeed made her escape. She did not pause but started walking. There were no other pedestrians in sight, and traffic along the avenue at that hour was sparse. The night air was cool and she shivered. She could have used a coat, but she would have to manage without one. If she walked briskly the exercise might warm her.
But where was she to walk to? For the first time it occurred to her that she did not know where the nearest police station was. She might at this moment be heading in quite the wrong direction. She might hunt around all night and not find what she was looking for. She might ask someone to direct her, but would it be safe to accost a stranger at this hour? Unpleasant things could happen to lone women in such unpropitious circumstances.
She came to a halt, uncertain now what to do. She had seized the chance to escape from the house; she had rushed out into the street; but she had not thought matters carefully through to the conclusion. She had failed to plan far enough ahead. Now she was in a quandary and even felt half inclined to return to the house, to go back to the devil she knew.
Hesitating thus, unable to make up her mind, she found the problem suddenly solved for her. A car came up from the direction of Marquez’s house and pulled to a halt where she was standing. She saw that it was a police car and that inside it were two uniformed policemen.
She was so relieved to see them that she started talking at once. One of the policemen had got out of the car. He was wearing a peaked cap and she could see the revolver in a leather holster attached to his belt.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’m so glad to see you. I want to make a report. I must go to the police station. I have to –’
The policeman opened the rear door of the car. ‘Get in.’
She got in. He slammed the door and took his own seat again in the front. The driver set the car moving. It had all happened in less than half a minute.
She began babbling at them, leaning forward on the seat and trying to explain to them why she needed to go to the police station and tell her story to someone in authority. But she was afraid she was not making herself very clear to them; it was all too con
fused, too garbled. She doubted whether they were taking it in, doubted whether they understood her situation, doubted whether they were even bothered about her.
Then the one who had opened the door for her turned his head and said curtly: ‘Shut your mouth.’
She was taken aback; she had not expected to be spoken to like that. It was as if she were a criminal under arrest. But she fell silent; it was after all not to these two men that she ought to make her statement; it had to be someone of higher rank.
The police station was a plain brick building with nothing to commend it to the eye of the connoisseur of architecture. The car was driven into a courtyard and the two policemen got out. The one who had spoken to her before opened the rear door and she also stepped out. He grasped her left arm just above the elbow as though he thought she might try to get away, though nothing would have been further from her intention. She had come there of her own free will, had she not?
With the policeman’s hand still on her arm, they went inside. Late as it was, there was no lack of activity in the building. Officers, uniformed and plain-clothed, were coming and going. Prisoners were being brought in, some in handcuffs, many down-at-heel and in rags. The noise was deafening; everybody seemed to be shouting to make themselves heard and nobody seemed to be listening. It was a scene of chaos.
‘This way,’ the policeman said.
He steered her through the press to a desk behind which was a fat baldheaded sergeant in shirt-sleeves who was writing in a ledger, apparently oblivious to all that was going on around him. The policeman leaned across the desk and said something in his ear which Adelaide failed to catch. She saw the sergeant glance at her, then give a jerk of the head.
She wanted to say something to him. She wanted to tell him why she was there. She wanted to make her accusation against Ricardo Marquez. But she had no chance. The policeman’s grip was still on her arm and she was being taken away from the desk and down a passageway.
It was like a nightmare then. She hardly realised what was happening. But she became aware of a man with a ring of keys. He was unlocking an iron-barred door; and then she was pushed through the opening and the door clanged shut. The key turned again and she knew that she was a prisoner.
Lady From Argentina Page 11
