Now, sitting on the bed, Saffron let her head drop into her hands. She thought about Eve, her one true friend who had died so pitifully young; it was Alex Statis and men like him who had driven her to it. She rubbed the moisture from her eyes and, stripping off her clothes, took a quick shower in the adjoining en suite and then crawled into bed, her mind in turmoil.
Who said crime doesn't pay? she thought scathingly. It had certainly paid for Alex. Anna had told her earlier, when waffling on about their coming trip in the autumn, that only a few years ago Alex had completely demolished the villa on Serendipidos and replaced it with a much grander one. . . On the proceeds of his ill-gotten gains, Saffron thought, hatred and loathing for the man swamping her tired mind. She closed her eyes and prayed for sleep but it would not come. Instead she was eighteen again. . .
Saffron glanced once more at her gold wristwatch—eight- thirty—then back again to the entrance door of the small pub in Covent Garden. Eve was already half an hour late; she resolved to give her five more minutes then leave. It was sad but true; the two girls were drifting apart. It had to happen, she thought sadly. Eve had left the orphanage long before she had, and gone to live in an apartment with another girl, somewhere in the East End. Whereas Saffron, on leaving the orphanage, had taken up residence at the YWCA.
She had finished college in June a qualified beauty therapist and aromatherapist, and for the past two months had been looking for a job in a health club, salon, anything, but so far without much luck. When her parents had died so tragically young, the house had been sold, but after the debts and expenses had been paid there had not been much left to be put in trust for Saffron. On her eighteenth birthday she had inherited almost two thousand pounds and her mother's gold watch. But her nest-egg was quickly diminishing while she looked for work. Her only social life was a once-a- month meeting with Eve.
'Saffron, darling, sorry I'm late but we couldn't find a parking place.'
Saffron lifted her head and smiled. Eve was a tall, well-endowed blonde, and tonight she looked flushed and happy.
'Sorry I can't stop but Rick, my new boyfriend, is parked on double yellow lines. He's gorgeous, Saffron, and, better yet, rich. I only called in to give you this card. It's the address of an exclusive health club in Wimbledon, Studio 96—Rick has a share in it. Go tomorrow at eleven, mention Rick's name and the job of masseur is yours.' Eve blew a kiss, called, 'Ciao!' and left.
If only it had been that simple, Saffron thought as she tossed restlessly on the bed. With hindsight she realised she had been terribly naive, but at the time it had seemed like a gift from the gods.
She had attended the interview the next day with a rather hard-faced women who was the manageress. As soon as she had mentioned Rick and produced the card she had been given the job, and told to start the next day at twelve. Saffron had had no qualms; the building was in an excellent area and was elegantly furnished, and a conducted tour had shown her a gym and spa, sauna, and the various individual cubicles for massage. The manageress had even warned her that any employer found offering sexual intercourse to the patrons would be immediately dismissed. It was a club favoured by leading members of society, from aristocrats to Members of Parliament, and they came expecting to relieve their tension and relax—nothing more!
The following day she was shown to a cubicle and told that her first client would be arriving at twelve-fifteen for a full massage. Slipping on her overall and with her personal belongings stowed in a small locker, she greeted her first client, a rather overweight middle-aged gentleman.
Slightly nervous, she instructed the gentleman to remove his robe, wrap a towel around his waist and lie face down on the bed while she went to collect the required oils. On her return the man was lying down, and she began the massage as she had been taught by her tutor. In most reputable establishments when massaging a man one only did the back, the arms and shoulders, and the feet and legs as far as the knee. Anything more and male masseurs were usually employed.
Fifteen minutes later all hell broke loose, when the man turned over and said brutally, 'Hurry up, girl. You know the muscle I want relaxing and it sure as hell isn't my back.'
To Saffron's absolute horror he grabbed her small hand and forced it towards a very personal part of him. She did the only thing she could think of: picking up the dish containing the remainder of the oil, her eyes closed, she hit him with it.
He gave a howl of outrage. 'What the hell do you think you're playing at? I paid good money and I'm not being fobbed off with a bloody back-rub.'
Saffron flung the robe over him, grabbed her coat and bag from the locker and shot straight out of the cubicle, heading for the exit, her face flaming.
'What on earth. . . ?' the manageress exclaimed. She was standing at the desk, a tall, dark-suited businessman standing beside her, a briefcase in his hand. 'Where do you think you're going, girl? You have a client.'
'I thought this was supposed to be the crème de la crème.' The fat man, a robe pulled over his nakedness, had followed her. 'Your prices certainly are.' He was all bluster and Saffron could only stare at him, numb with horror and disgust. Then the tall businessman turned around and she saw his face. It was Ales Statis. . .
'Maybe I can help you, sir.'
'You the owner? Well, for the money I paid, I expect expert service, not some bloody little amateur who hasn't a clue.'
'Why, yo. . . !' Saffron's short, platinum-blonde hair, like a silver cap on her small head, did not prevent her true red-headed temper from flaring out of control even though she was terrified. 'You fat blubber of lard, you're a disgrace. . .'
She got no further as the tall stranger caught her arm and ushered her towards the door.
'You can leave now.'
She never heard what else he said. Her terrified green eyes clashed with contemptuous black for a long moment, before she took to her heels and ran.
Three days later Eve appeared at the YWCA to ask how the job was going. Saffron told her the place was no health club, but a very up-market massage parlour only one step removed from a brothel as far as she could see. A grey area in law maybe, but very lucrative for the owners. They finally ended up roaring with laughter about it, Eve declaring that her years in the orphanage and then working for a living in a supermarket must have blunted her instincts, and they both knew what she meant.
Eve had been taken into care because her parents were drug addicts, and had killed themselves with an overdose. The social services had moved in and put Eve in the orphanage. Saffron could only imagine the horrid childhood of her friend, but her loyalty to Eve was one hundred per cent, had been ever since the day she had saved her from the boy groping her.
Saffron stirred uncomfortably on the wide bed as the black bile of sheer hatred rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. She hauled herself up into a sitting position, her small hands clenched in fists, as she fought down her rage. If the incident had ended that day at the YWCA, Saffron might have been able to forget the part Alex Statis had played. But it had not. . . To think that she had allowed Alex to kiss her, touch her; it made her flesh creep. Alex Statis deserved to pay for the lives he had helped destroy as part-owner of that sordid club.
She remembered Eve as a teenager, large and laughing, loyal and protective of her friend. Over the next year Saffron had worked in a small beauty clinic and had seen less of Eve as the other girl's relationship with Rick continued. Then Saffron had got a live-in job at a health spa in Scotland and had left London. They'd kept in touch by letter until the day Saffron's latest letter was returned address unknown.
Saffron had stayed three years in the Highlands before returning to London and starting work at the home beauty agency. She'd shared a flat with two others, and spent her spare time improving her craft. Doing voluntary work in a local hospital, she'd developed a special interest in clinical beauty therapy. She'd loved showing women, who for various reasons, from birthmarks to those who needed to use a prosthesis as result of face cancer, how
to use make-up to cover their disabilities.
Then ten months ago a policeman had arrived at Saffron's door with the information that Eve was dead. She had left a letter for Saffron, and the police had traced her through her income tax returns. In the letter Eve had explained how she had, at Rick's insistence, ended up working in the massage parlour Saffron had run out of, fulfilling the demeaning task of massaging fully the male cliente, who then went smugly home to their wives in the belief that they had not technically been unfaithful. . . Eve had hated the job and had started to drink and take drugs to get her through the day. Rick had dumped her, and she'd felt she had nothing left to live for.
But the final, paragraph had been an exhortation to Saffron to succeed.
You have it all, Saffron—the looks, the character and the expertise to make it on your own. Not like me. I was born a loser. Promise me, Saffron, you won't let some bastard of a man get at you. Stick to your dream. Start your own business, be your own boss. Do it for ine. You show them.
Saffron had been devastated. She had attended the inquest the following day, and the only slight relief had been that the coroner had returned an open verdict not prepared to say that Eve had deliberately overdosed on drugs and alcohol. Saffron had arranged the funeral and she had been the only one at the ceremony.
She groaned out loud and slid down into the bed. Here she was, living in the house, eating the food, taking the pay of the diabolical fiend who owned the club. . . What was she going to do? She could not blame Anna; it had nothing to do with her; of that Saffron, was sure. But she hoped and prayed that she would never have to set eyes on Alex Statis again as long as she lived.
Anna would be hurt, but Saffron had no choice. Much as she liked Anna she would have to leave, and with that thought worrying her mind she tossed restlessly all night and when, finally, dawn broke the sky, she still had not found the comforting oblivion of sleep. But not for g second dared she- admit that the thought of sever seeing Alex again hurt even more than the knowledge of the despicable lengths he would go to make money.
A few hours later, heavy-eyed, she completed Anna's massage, and mentioned leaving. 'I know my contract is for six months, Anna, and I've only completed a little over one, but I.,.'
'What is it really, Saffy? Something is bothering you; You've been quiet ever since we left the-boat. Is it me? Am I too much trouble for you?'
Saffron felt an absolute heel. How did one M! a woman that her son was the lowest of the low, and you couldn't bear the thought of ever having to see him again?
'I could increase your salary.'
"No, no, you're more than generous. It was just I— Oh, nothing! Anna, forget I mentioned it." She couldn't hurt her, and if that meant having to stay here and run lie risk of seeing Alex again then so be it. She would just have to bite the bullet and disguise her hatred of this man.
The only trouble was, she thought grimly a few hours later, she had not expected to have to do it so soon! Anna had been lying down in her room, resting, and Saffron fiad takes the opportunity to do some hand- washing at the sink in the utility-room, when the telephone had rung. She'd known that Mrs Chambers had gone shopping, so, quickly drying her hands, she'd nipped into the kitchen and picked, up the wall-mounted telephone.
'Mrs Statis's residence,' she intoned breathlessly.
'Saffron. I was hoping you would answer.' Even over the telephone there was no mistaking Alex's deep drawl. 'Are you missing me, green eyes?'
Her first thought was to slam down the receiver but she stopped herself just in time. Fighting down the rage that just fee sound of his voice invoked, she replied coldly, 'I'm afraid your mother is sleeping at the moment, Mr Statis; perhaps you could call back later.'
'I did not ask for Mama, I asked if you missed me,' Alex corrected her in a teasing tone. 'Why the frozen air, Saffron, sweet? Sulking because I'm not there with you?'
'No. Thanking God you're miles away! Goodbye.' And she slammed down the receiver, her hand trembling with the force of her anger. The man's conceit was only surpassed by his enormous ego. Bitter haüed consumed her. If there was any way on God's earth she could make him pay for what he had done, she would. The telephone rang again. She was torn between letting it ring and possibly waking Anna, or answering it and hearing the hateful voice again.
Duty won, 'Yes?' she snapped.
'No one puts the telephone down on me. Do I make myself clear Saffron?' His former easy amusement had vanished; he was now back to being a hard-voiced autocrat.
'Mr Statis, I have told you, your mother is sleeping. I have no wish to speak to you, not now, not ever. Do I make myself clear?' she drawled with icy cynicism.
'Something has happened; you sound different.'
She was different; she was no longer the naïve innocent, helplessly surrendering to his practised seductive chama. Just the sound of his voice, which she had once thought deep and rich, now filled her with loathing.
'Saffron! Are you still there?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Cut out the sarcasm and tell me what has happened. Did you discover Mama is a fake? Is that it?'
'I see no point in this conversation, and unless you have a message for your mother I really must go.' The only fake Saffron had discovered was Alex Statis and the rage was like a festering sore inside her.
'Yes, OK, I'll be in touch.'
Not if I can help it, she thought grimly, replacing the receiver.
Saffron strategically placed the lounger in the back garden of the house to catch the sun's rays and settled down to soak up the sun. She had driven Anna to her Friday afternoon bridge game and the next few hours were her own. Who needs foreign holidays, she mused, when late June in England is just about perfect? Warm days and long light nights.
By a bit of judicious questioning she had established from Anna that Alex was not expected any time in the near future, and she remembered her telling her that when he did come to London he had his own apartment, so her fear of seeing the man had abated over the past two weeks. She knew he telephoned every day but she had found it relatively easy to vanish when he called.
Anna had improved in leaps and bounds and her shoulder was completely better. In fact Saffron felt that she was taking her salary on false pretences but Anna would not hear of her leaving. Plus there was the small problem of having nowhere to stay. She didn't want to waste any of her savings on an apartment when very shortly she would have her own property.
To Saffron's surprise, she had discovered that Anna was a much livelier lady than she had first thought. Together they had attended various art exhibitions, the theatre, an outdoor opera. The woman was a committed culture buff. At last night's poetry reading in Anna's elegant sitting-room Saffron had hardly been able to contain her amusement as the latest 'darling boy' waffled on about 'Chopsticks', the symbolism escaping Saffron completely.
A smile on her lips at the memory, she closed her eyes and gently dozed.
'Perfect Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince.'
Saffron's eyes snapped open and she was horrified to find Alex Statis standing staring down at her. She hauled herself up to a sitting position, stiff with outrage at his unheralded arrival. 'And instead she gets the toad,' she drawled, her head high, her eyes blazing hatred.
One dark brow arched enquiringly at the biting sarcasm in her tone. 'I had hoped for a more enthusiastic welcome after deserting my office simply to come and look afte you and Mama.'
'You shouldn't have bothered. Your mother and I can manage perfectly well on our own.' She glanced up; over his tall frame he was still wearing a business suit, and the last lingering doubt vanished from her mind. It was the same man.
'I'm sure you can, Saffron,' he agreed as he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on the ground. With one hand he deftly loosened the tie at his throat and flicked open the top three buttons of his shirt, his dark eyes openly laughing at her. 'But who am I to spoil my mama's enjoyment? She has refused to allow me to speak to you on the telephone, so
I have, as a dutiful son, decided to play her game and spend the next few weeks here.'
So that was why it had been so easy to avoid his calls. Anna had made sure of it, and Saffron could not help wondering why even as she responded icily, 'Your mother and I can enjoy ourselves without you.' If he was staying she was leaving!
She watched as he lowered his long frame on to the soft green grass beside her chair, long legs stretched out before him in lazy ease, his hands clasped behind his head, his face lifted to the sun,
'Hardly the welcome I was hoping for. Alone at last!' he drawled mockingly. 'Isn't this where you tell me you missed me?'
'Missed you!' she exclaimed, parrot fashion. 'Like a hole in the head.' The man must be mad.
'I san see my dear mama has not revealed her little game yet.' His eyes, were closed, thick dark lashes curving on his bronzed skin; he looked vulnerable but Saffron knew better.
A Devious Desire Page 7
