by Primula Bond
‘I’m going to have to stuff this into your mouth if you don’t shut up!’ he growls. ‘I know Polly’s given up sex.’
‘For God’s sake, Tomas!’ I punch out at him. ‘I knocked you back before, and I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you force me. If it’s sex you want, why don’t you just walk down the landing and ask Chloe?’
‘Quit yapping!’
I have to find the words to get through to him. ‘I’m your friend! You’re Polly’s friend! You’re supposed to be helping me!’
‘You’re not my friend. You’re the bitch who rejected me, and now you’re the bitch with rubbish hair. I’ll have you, because you’ve got a beautiful body. But no one else will want you now.’
My blood is throbbing in my ears, behind my eyes, almost deafening me. And my mind is working fast now. ‘OK, OK, so if I give in, you know, if I let you do it, you’ll help me escape?’
His blonde curls shake over his eyes as he pauses. This tangle-haired, sweaty look doesn’t suit him. He’s become the same dead-eyed, directionless dude as everyone else in this riad.
But whatever substances he’s on, they haven’t affected his strength.
‘You don’t do deals with me, Serena.’ His lips are wet and thick as he starts to kiss down my neck. ‘Sluts like you can’t say no to a guy three times and get away with it.’
As he reaches behind me to lift the negligee over my head, I am dimly aware of a phone buzzing.
‘That’ll be Gustav!’ I croak desperately, still stupidly wishing he’d call me. But Tomas leans across me and knocks the phone to the floor.
‘Nope. That’s my phone, not yours.’
The slip has come free and I feel the release of my breasts as they fall into his hands. I squirm and try to twist away, but that just pushes my breasts harder into his hands. He pinches both nipples until they are sparking with the kind of hot pain that will soon, very soon if I’m not careful, transmit pleasure to the rest of me.
‘Christ, Tomas, look at yourself! You can have anyone you want. Chloe’s crazy about you! This is all wrong, and you know it!’
His eyes are blank, wide and staring. ‘This sex film is going to be such a turn-on!’
He pins my arms over my head so that he can lower his blonde head over me. He snuffles his warm wet mouth over my breasts. He gets as far as grazing one sore nipple with his teeth, making me flinch and squeal in disgust, and then, like curtains opening over a brightly lit stage, I see it all once again, Gustav and Margot together on that screen. Horrific. Sickening. And so is what’s happening right here. This guy is crazed with drugs, has a camera running, and he’s about to rape me.
Swearing and cursing, I wrench my knee up and kick Tomas right in the balls and so damn hard that he screams, as they say, just like a girl.
I roll away and scoop up the phone. It’s a text from Pierre.
Lay one finger on Serena and you’re dead. We’re getting her out.
I try to call him back, but he must be in some kind of trouble of his own because I just get voicemail again. I turn my back on Tomas as I text back.
I’m OK, P, but you have to hurry.
Several veiled figures jostle in the doorway. I tense, ready to strike or to run, and then I see Chloe stepping into the room.
‘What have you done to her hair?’ she gasps at Tomas, her vacant blue eyes finally registering me over the flimsy yashmak.
‘How long have you been standing there?’ I ask her, scrabbling to cover myself and grab my camera. Everything else is still missing. My phone. My clothes. My money.
‘Long enough to see what he was doing to you. But I thought you wanted it. You know, that you were getting into the spirit of the riad. I didn’t realise you were trying to fight him off,’ she whispers, pulling off her veil. ‘Thank you, Serena.’
‘I didn’t do it for you. Christ! You’re welcome to him,’ I mutter, swiping the little movie camera off its stand and taking it with me as I stumble to the door. ‘I’m getting out of here before she catches me, and so should you. They’ll totally brainwash you. Or worse.’
She crouches over the writhing figure of Tomas. The other two girls take hold of me from behind, hissing instructions through their veils. They are still wearing their outdoor cloaks.
‘Come with us. Quick. With any luck, Margot’s asleep, or in one of her drug-induced trances, but we don’t want to be here when the police arrive.’
‘You were absolutely sure of the facts when you called them?’ asks the other one. ‘Are they able to execute an arrest warrant all the way from London?’
‘I’m no lawyer. But even if there’s no extradition treaty they can get her for abduction and robbery right here in Marrakesh. You saw those kids. Some of them look under age. Add on the drug offences and they’ll throw the book at her.’
They throw a hooded cloak over me to cover my semi-nakedness and pull me from the room. But as we run along the gallery, those tight, quick footsteps in their high heels clack across the roof above us, matching our progress, tapping slowly at first from the far side of the terrace where the striped tent was, then speeding up, running towards the staircase.
Margot’s not asleep. She probably never sleeps.
‘Get me away from her!’ I sob,
The courtyard downstairs looks so peaceful with its cascading flowers, arched alcoves and glassy blue pool. How can Margot have created a haven so lovely on the outside, so ugly behind those screens? The other guests, or captives, are either asleep on the cushions, their veils and cloaks thrown aside, or they’ve crept away into the shadows to touch each other up in private.
The two hooded inmates hustle me across the courtyard towards the main door. I glance up at the rectangular purple space of sky, as if any minute Margot will flap down from the roof terrace like a bat. But she doesn’t appear. Nor do Tomas or Chloe.
The bolt slides back with a rusty screech. The hood is pulled down over my head so that I’m plunged into suffocating darkness, and I’m dragged away down the alleyway.
I don’t know what is more petrifying. Falling into the hands of two new kidnappers and being dragged blindfold through the labyrinthine streets of Marrakesh, bashing my shoulders and elbows as we whisk round first one corner then another. Or the fact that my abductors have suddenly halted, when we don’t appear to have gone very far, and are shoving me into what, from the echo of our footsteps and the dankness seeping through my cloak, must be some kind of cellar or storeroom.
I cower against the damp wall, imprisoned in my shroud. The riad was frightening enough, but now nobody, friend or foe, knows where I am. The drumming of my heart sounds like a boot kicking a body. There is urgent whispering close to me. My ears prick like a cat’s. Something awful’s going to happen. I’ll never see Gustav again, or Polly, I can feel it. I’ll never get the chance to put my hands round Margot’s throat and squeeze—
Hands rove over my head. I flinch backwards and try to scream, attract attention somehow, but the cloth is sucked into my mouth and muffles me. Someone grips my shoulders to keep me still. The hood shifts across my face and panic surges through me again.
‘My God, did you see her sweeping down from the roof terrace just as we got to the door? She nearly caught us!’
I take the thick, rough cloth of the hood and yank it away from my face. Although it’s the middle of the night, the one lantern dangling above us seems blinding.
The two hooded figures are standing a few feet away from me. We’re in some kind of dark corner. There’s water running down the bricks. As I try to inch away, the figures swivel round and remove their hoods and veils, and when I finally see their dear, familiar faces, I crumple on to the cold, damp ground. My captors are Polly and Maria. I have never been so glad to see them.
‘Oh, my God, your hair! She went at you with scissors! That madwoman could have killed you! No, no, babes, don’t cry! We’ll fix this!’ Polly kneels down to fling her arms around me, tangling us both in the folds of our cloaks. ‘Liste
n to me. We didn’t meant to scare you, but there was no time! This disguise was the only way to merge with the others and get into the riad. It was Pierre’s idea! Honestly, if anyone’s scared half to death it’s me! How do you think I felt when I turned round in the bazaar and you’d vanished? I’d only gone off to haggle for some earrings!’
I can’t calm down. I can’t stop shaking. ‘I was lost, Pol. It was stupid of me to go off with Tomas, but it seemed like a coincidence, him popping up like that. I wasn’t exactly overjoyed to see him, all I wanted was to find you and contact Gustav, but I was like a headless chicken by then, and Tomas seemed genuine. Even friendly. I thought he was helping me. I had no idea there was some kind of plan to abduct me.’
‘Margot’s had this luxury harem going for the last six years, apparently. Ever since she abandoned Pierre in that flat in New York and came to live here. She entices all those beautiful young things off the street wherever she finds them, promises them a free holiday then drugs them with some old witch’s potion so that they’re constantly high and constantly horny. The only thing she expects in return is that they pleasure her and each other, girls and boys alike, whenever she demands it!’
I lift my head sharply. ‘They’re all still in there, still high and horny. But I don’t care about them. They were just cannon fodder while she waited for Gustav.’
‘Maria, tell her what’s been going on!’ Polly glances across at Maria, my other rescuer.
Maria’s chocolate eyes are unusually grave as she pulls us both to our feet. ‘She was always a conniving bitch, but the word is she’s losing it. Physically and mentally. I think that’s why she’s become so outlandish in her games and lies. Those house guests told us that she’s addicted to some really strong medication and keeps disappearing back to New York for surgery of some sort. There’s something wrong with her.’
Helpless rage surges through me.
‘There’s nothing wrong with her! She’s done exactly what she set out to do, way back before Christmas. She’s got Gustav back, and just to make sure I’ll never touch him again, she’s shown me every graphic detail of how she did it and then cut my hair off. So. Now I’m all alone again!’
‘Don’t be daft, honey, this isn’t my feisty mare talking! You’re not alone!’ Polly shakes me, hard, glancing again at Maria. ‘And you’re safe! Margot could have really hurt you! You’ve had a lucky escape.’
‘But it’s such a terrible mess!’ I try to focus on her lovely familiar face, those swimming-pool eyes the same colour as the hood, but everything is jumping and shaking around me. ‘I don’t know what to do, Pol. I’ve nowhere to go! I can’t go back to London. Or New York. I loved him, Polly. He was my world, we were going to get married, and now he’s gone!’
‘Calm down. You’re getting hysterical!’ Polly pulls me close to her. ‘Read my lips, Rena. Gustav hasn’t left you. He’s desperate to speak to you!’
‘Don’t give me that bullshit! Don’t say his name!’ My voice is rising to a scream. ‘I’ve seen on Margot’s film how desperately that bastard wants to speak to me!’
‘Be quiet, for God’s sake! They’ll come straight here and find us if you make that noise!’ Polly shakes me. ‘Listen to me, Rena. You’ve got it all wrong. Pierre texted me and explained everything—’
‘Pierre told Tomas he was coming for me!’ I pull at my hair and squeal in horror when I touch the ragged strands around my ears. ‘Where is he? Is Pierre safe? He can tell me where Gustav is!’
Maria spins me round and presses her hand over my mouth. She wraps her other arm round me and brings me up very close, fixes her brown eyes on me, wide, unblinking, to calm me. I can see my wild-eyed reflection in the pools of her eyes.
‘He can’t come. He sent us. Now stop. Stop. You’re upset, and hysterical, and no wonder. But you have to hold it together. We’ll get you to the airport if that’s what you want but I want you to breathe very deeply until you are calm.’
I stare back at her. My jaw feels rusty as I close my mouth. I grit my teeth in an effort to obey her command, and after another moment Maria removes her hand from my mouth.
‘Can I trust you to be quiet now and listen to your cousin? You’re scaring her.’
Polly is white. ‘I’ve never seen you like this, Serena. Not even when you were a frightened little kid!’
‘Well, she’s done exactly what those people did to me when I was a kid, hasn’t she? Cut off all my hair. And she’s taken my Gustav. So yes, I’m scared out of my wits, Pol.’ Hot tears rinse away the rage as I reach out for her. ‘Help me. What do I do now?’
‘You be quiet, and you listen to me.’ Polly takes my hands warily. ‘This situation was so serious that I actually found myself communicating with Pierre Levi. The night I lost you in the market, he got hold of the ashram’s admin number to check you were safe, and when Angelique admitted you hadn’t come back with me, Pierre told her he’d had this gloating voicemail from Tomas! If it wasn’t for Pierre having details of the riad, and Tomas being such a weak link in Margot’s web, you’d still be in there! They could have hurt you. Transported you overseas. Or worse – I had to believe him, Rena! It’s been nearly three days! You and Gustav were both off the radar! We even thought you’d buggered off back to America on a whim. Then when I was dithering and not wanting to take his calls, Pierre went mad, going on about how precious you were, threatening to fly over from London to get you out of there himself. Maria told me not to be so stubborn. So I listened to Pierre, and did what he said, because I didn’t want him coming here. I’m not ready to see him just yet.’
‘So Pierre Levi meant every word he said to me in Paris? He loves me. He saved me.’ My whole body starts shaking with sobs. ‘Pity he couldn’t have saved Gustav.’
‘Don’t even start down that road. It’s too long.’ Polly leans her forehead on mine. ‘But Pierre’s been coordinating all this like James Bond, all enigmatic messages and broken mobile signals.’
‘And you were Miss Moneypenny?’
Right on cue, Polly’s phone bleeps. She glances at Maria, who takes hold of me, and then, draping the hood back over her head, Polly steps into the alleyway to take the call.
I stare at Maria. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ I can’t breathe as the sobs squeeze at my ribcage again. ‘I loved Gustav with all my heart, and now he’s broken it!’
‘Hush, habibti. You’re making yourself ill. Everything will become clear.’
Polly ducks her head back into the alcove. ‘We can get her to the airport now.’
‘No, no, I can’t, they’ve stolen my money!’ My voice rises dangerously again. ‘And my phone!’
‘It’s OK, honey. We’ve got your passport. But we’re running out of time!’
I shrink away from her and flatten myself against the wet wall.
‘Don’t take me to the airport,’ I whimper. ‘I’ve nowhere to go!’
There’s a brief pause. Heaven knows what they’re thinking or saying, but then Maria puts her hood back on and arranges mine over my head. I fit myself into the folds of her tall, warm, curvy body as we step out into the street.
‘That’s it, Serena. You’re exhausted, and you need rest. You’re coming home with me.’
The sun is treacle on my skin. I shouldn’t be out here, but I love the burning sensation. June is getting too hot for tourists to visit Morocco, but over the last few days the heat has melted me, little by little, until I’m reduced to the very last traces of humanity. I have a pulse, and all my senses, but apart from that I’m a scooped-out shell, washed up on this white towel, beside this big blue pool.
Heaven on the outside. Hell inside.
The others are all meditating in the prayer room at the moment, and there has been a vow of silence ever since we got back here. And that means everybody. Polly, Maria, Angelique now she’s come back. And me.
The silence together with the emotional absence have been perfect therapy. Several times since we returned to the ashram they’ve tried
to talk to me, and they’ve been near me when I need them, but the minute they mention Gustav or Pierre the hysteria rises in me again and I press my hands over my ears. I want to be alone. I probably look and sound demented, but I don’t want to hear it. Any of it. I know what I saw in that sickening film, and it’s enough. My brain won’t take in any more.
I can see the pain in their eyes, the confused, silent messages flashing between them, but it’s not up to them to be pained or confused. I’m wrung out. No more lies. No more questions.
Polly sat me down as soon as I was calmer, forced me to look in a mirror and tidied up what was left of my hair. There’s nothing for the straighteners to get a grip on, so my curls have come out to play. They hug my cheekbones and tuck in close to my neck. I look like a downcast flapper girl and it’s much cooler to have short hair in the heat. But who cares what I look like?
They’ve given me a small room beside Polly’s and I’m in there most of the time, alone, and asleep.
I tried the meditation last night, but it didn’t work. I knelt down on the rush mat in the lovely scented chamber with the other girls in their floaty garments, their bouncy brushed hair, their serene faces, but my mind was like a hive, buzzing with hideous voices, hideous images scrolling endlessly, one after another. Freeze-frames of Gustav and Margot in the house in Baker Street. Her hands, running through his hair. The whip, slicing into his bottom.
His beautiful, blindfolded face pressed against her, sniffing for her intimate scents.
There’s something wrong with her.
But worse even than that are the unbidden images that inhabit my head, tick-tock, like some kind of water torture. With my eyes open. With my eyes shut. The bodies of Mr and Mrs Levi, moving, sliding, thrusting together. Sometimes I imagine them in the hot shadows of the roof terrace in Marrakesh. Sometimes I see them in our bedroom in the London house, beneath the portrait Gustav once sketched of me.
