by Lucy Gordon
‘Since she’s Antonio’s widow, there was no way to avoid it.’
‘A widow! Oh, yes, she looks like a widow, flaunting herself, practically naked. Poor Antonio must be turning in his grave.’
‘Not him,’ Salvatore said with sudden wry humour. ‘He would have loved this. Have you forgotten what he was like?’
‘But he’s dead.’
‘Well, a man doesn’t change his personality because he’s dead.’
‘What did you say?’ she demanded, aghast.
‘Nothing-I don’t know what made me say that.’ He shook his head as though trying to drive off a swarm of bees.
‘I’ve no patience with that kind of fanciful nonsense, and nor did you used to have.’
‘Antonio himself told her that he didn’t want her to go around in widow’s weeds.’
‘You mean that’s what she says he told her. How convenient that he isn’t here to deny it!’
‘He wouldn’t deny it,’ Salvatore said slowly. ‘I can hear him saying it now. He always loved it when people envied the beauties on his arm.’
‘Are you sure you aren’t becoming like him?’ the signora asked coldly.
‘Quite sure,’ Salvatore snapped.
‘Then why have you let yourself be seen in her company? Admit it. You enjoyed flaunting her.’
Without warning he lost control of his thoughts. He was back again on the island, free to be open with her and to feel that she was open with him. Free from prying eyes: alone but not lonely, hidden from the world and glad to be so.
‘People who think they know you, but actually they haven’t the first idea.’
She’d said those words and they had found an echo in his heart, but who else would understand? Not one single person.
‘You’re mistaken,’ he told his grandmother coldly. ‘I had no such thought.’
‘Nonsense, of course you did, but you never stopped to consider, did you? What does it do to this family’s reputation to be connected with a woman who appears naked in public?’
‘She was already connected with the family. And she isn’t naked.’
‘Isn’t she? Look at that!’
The signora thrust the newspaper back under his eyes, so that he couldn’t escape the picture of Helena leaning back in a gondola. She was attired in a small black bikini, the twin of the one she’d worn in the first picture Salvatore had ever seen, the one he’d held in his hand only a few weeks ago, swearing vengeance.
How long ago that seemed now. The first picture had been relatively respectable, a woman on a beach with her husband. The new picture was the reverse of respectable, showing Helena stretched out luxuriously, her arms above her head, her lips softly parted. This woman was wanton, created for profitable sex.
And it was as false and wrong as his first view of her had been. He knew her now, sensitive and vulnerable in ways he’d tried and failed to understand.
In the matter of the figurine he was genuinely innocent. Wrapped up in thoughts of her, he’d overlooked what was happening in his factory, and failed to see the danger until too late. Nor would there have been trouble if some over-clever wit hadn’t attached the title ‘Helen of Troy’ to a piece that was otherwise anonymous.
Her anguished fury had left him stumbling for words and he’d made everything worse. Clumsy oaf that he was, he’d tossed money at her and seen the despair come into her eyes. The memory still made him groan aloud.
His grandmother refused to give up the attack.
‘That bikini covers almost nothing,’ she snapped, jabbing her finger at the picture. ‘Look at her breasts, look at her-’
‘That’s enough!’ Salvatore’s voice crashed across her words, shocking her to silence. He recovered himself quickly and said in a strained voice, ‘I see no need to discuss this further. Please understand that the subject is closed.’
The cold finality in his voice made her wary. After a moment she departed.
He seated himself and began to read a column of figures. Nor did he look up as she swept out of the room, a rare discourtesy that alerted her more than anything he’d said, or failed to say.
When he was safely alone Salvatore took back the newspaper and spread it out on the table before him, running his fingers over the picture as though he could bring back the vibrant living woman. But she was flat, dead. Certainly dead to him.
He began to tear the paper into small pieces and dropped them into the waste bin.
‘Helena, my dear! What a pleasure bumping into you!’
Surprised, Helena looked up to see Salvatore’s grandmother advancing towards her across the little café. Without waiting for an invitation she seated herself at Helena’s table.
‘Dear Helena, we’re all absolutely agog to see that you’ve resumed your brilliant career.’
‘I don’t care for the career as such,’ Helena replied. ‘I’m putting the money in Larezzo, which is my life now.’
‘Very wise. Of course, Salvatore is furious about it but that’s all to the good if it shows him that he can’t have his own way all the time. I really must congratulate you for the way you got his measure.’
‘I think he and I sized each other up pretty accurately at the start,’ Helena said carefully.
‘So many women are fooled by him. He seems enchanted by them, but it’s only a way of getting his revenge.’
‘Revenge?’ Helena echoed in disbelief. ‘Don’t tell me he’s grieving for some girl who dumped him years ago. No, I don’t believe that.’
‘Quite right. Salvatore can deal with trivial romantic interludes. I’m talking about his parents.’
Now Helena was genuinely surprised. ‘What about his parents?’
‘His mother was my daughter, Lisetta. Guido, her husband, treated her badly. They were in love at the start, but he got bored easily, and he had a wandering eye. Many wives in that situation cope by finding their own “distractions” but Lisetta couldn’t. She loved him so much and he broke her heart again and again.’
Helena remembered the two pictures of Salvatore’s mother, on her wedding day, when her face had blazed with joy, and then, just a few years later, a woman in despair, her face blank, so great was her agony and the need to hide it.
‘Worst of all,’ the signora continued, ‘Guido used to bring his floozies home, and actually sleep with them there. There was a part of the building where his wife was forbidden to go. He said he wanted his “privacy”.’
Helena flinched. This was a worse tale than she had expected.
‘Lisetta died very suddenly. He married his then-current mistress, a good-time girl who bled him dry and almost brought him to ruin. He died about fifteen years ago, and Salvatore had to spend his whole youth working to repay his father’s debts.
‘Of course, he knew what was going on, even when he was a child, and it has affected his attitude to women. His mother is on a pedestal, but he despises what he calls “a certain kind of woman”, and in his eyes practically all of them fall into that category.
‘He amuses himself with them, but sooner or later they discover what he really thinks of them. You, of course, were never fooled.’
‘No, I was never fooled,’ Helena said slowly.
‘I congratulate you on being so much smarter than the others.’
‘You don’t have to be very smart,’ Helena said with a brittle laugh. ‘Salvatore isn’t subtle. I had my fun, now I’m going home to England.’
‘Indeed? For long?’
‘As long as it takes me to make the money I need.’
‘When are you leaving?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Then I’ll go and leave you to your packing. Goodbye, my dear, it’s been so nice knowing you.’
Her plane was due to leave at three in the afternoon. Promptly at noon a young man came to her door to collect her luggage. When she’d finished paying her bill at the desk the young man was waiting to escort her to the motor launch. The back of the vessel was a cabin, lined wit
h windows, and inside it she could see where her luggage had been placed. The driver, neatly dressed in uniform and cap, stood outside at the wheel. He didn’t turn to acknowledge them, but Helena had a strange feeling that his back was familiar.
Her escort showed her into the cabin, said something to the driver, and left. The next moment the boat was pulling away from the hotel, gaining speed. Helena waited for the right turn which would take them in the direction of the airport, but instead they continued out into the lagoon.
‘Hey!’ She banged on the glass, trying to attract the driver’s attention, but he didn’t seem to hear.
She banged harder. This time the driver turned his head and looked at her.
It was Salvatore.
‘No!’ she screamed. ‘Stop this boat.’
But they went faster. From the direction it was clear that they were headed for the island, and if she let him take her there she would miss her plane.
‘Salvatore!’ she shouted, hammering harder on the glass. ‘Don’t you dare do this.’
He didn’t even look round.
There was a door at the far end of the cabin. If she could jump into the water, taking her bag with her tickets and passport, she could swim ashore.
But the door was mysteriously locked. She rattled it, but it was immovable. She was Salvatore’s prisoner.
In a rage she ran to the other end of the cabin and hurled herself against the window.
‘Salvatore! Let me out, do you hear?’
He ignored her.
She was being kidnapped and there was nothing she could do about it.
At last the island came into view. There was the cove where they had parked before, and he was heading for it again, reaching the little landing stage and tying up the boat, securing it with a chain.
The message was plain. Even if she managed to escape him she would never be able to use the boat to escape.
He unlocked the door at the rear and held it open, indicating for her to walk out.
‘You must be mad to think you can get away with this,’ she raged breathlessly.
‘I don’t see anyone who’s going to stop me,’ he replied in a casual tone that was even more infuriating than anger would have been. He sounded assured, even indifferent to her reactions and it made her want to kill him.
‘What do you think you’re going to gain?’ she shouted.
‘I’ll stop you going to England. That’ll do for a start. Are you going to get out of your own accord, or am I going to force you out?’
‘Don’t you dare touch me!’
‘Don’t be silly, of course I’ll dare, and you know it.’
She did know it. There was no yielding in his face, no hint of the softer, more sensitive man she’d once thought she was discovering. There was only harshness, determination and a ruthless indifference to her feelings. He wouldn’t balk at laying forceful hands on her.
While she was trying to calm her thoughts the answer came to her. She would pretend to give in, walk to the house with him, and as soon as she was alone she would make a call for help on her cell-phone.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Stand back and let me get out.’
‘Apart from your handbag, just take one bag of clothes,’ he said.
It would have been a pleasure to tell him what he could do with his orders, but she must fool him into thinking her docile, so she put the handbag under her arm and reached for a bag.
‘Give it to me,’ he said, taking it from her.
To her relief he seemed to accept her acquiescence without suspicion. Obviously he thought she was ready to yield easily. He would discover his mistake, she thought.
As before they walked up the sand and through the trees to the point where the whole of the tiny island lay before them. A few minutes brought them to the house.
‘Come on, it’s starting to rain,’ he said, taking her arm.
They made it inside just as the heavens opened.
‘You’ll sleep in here,’ he said, leading her into the main bedroom. ‘I’ll make some coffee and later we’ll talk.’
‘Whatever you say,’ she agreed in what she hoped was an indifferent voice.
‘Just one thing first,’ he said. ‘This.’
Before she knew what he meant to do he’d seized her handbag and whisked it away from her, opening it and taking out her cell-phone.
‘No!’ she cried, trying to grab it back, helplessly fighting with him, knowing it was useless.
Of course he hadn’t been fooled for a moment. He’d waited until she was safely here before removing the phone, knowing there was nothing she could do about it.
‘Give me that,’ she demanded.
‘And have you call the shore? I don’t think so. I brought you here for a reason and you’re going to stay until I say otherwise.’
‘You’ve got a damned nerve, acting like a gaoler,’ she raged. ‘Get out of here now!’
‘For the moment, I will. Don’t even think of escaping.’
‘Of course you can’t let me get to England. How would you seize the factory then?’
‘To hell with the factory,’ he snapped. ‘This is about you, about us. I’m not letting you go until we’ve sorted a lot of things out.’
‘Don’t give me that. I won’t fall for it. This is just your way of fighting dirty. You knew that once I was back in England I could earn enough money to fend you off, so you took me prisoner, hoping I’ll run out of cash and you can make me sell to you. Forget it. No matter how long you keep me here I’ll get away in the end.’
He came close and spoke softly.
‘Helena, you have no idea what you’re up against. I’m not playing. This island is mine: my kingdom. My word is law. Nobody contradicts me.’
‘You think I won’t?’ she challenged.
‘On the contrary, I think you’re foolish enough to try, but once you’ve discovered that there’s nobody to help you, you’re not foolish enough to try a second time. Go ahead, fight me. See where it gets you. Then come to your senses.’
‘By coming to my senses you mean doing what you say.’
‘Exactly. I’m glad you see it. It may save a lot of time.’
She barely heard the last words through a sudden crack of thunder. Now the rain was coming down hard. Salvatore looked up, frowning, and she seized her chance, shoving him aside strongly enough for him to fall on the bed, and making a run for it.
She was out in a moment, heading for the front door. Luck was with her. He hadn’t locked it yet and she could wrench it open, fleeing out into the rain.
If she could get far enough away she could hide from him and when the weather calmed she could even swim for it. She was a strong swimmer and might stay afloat until a passing boat picked her up, but for the moment she could only run and run, propelled by anger more than fear. She wouldn’t let him win-she-would-not-
The rain was pelting down, soaking her, turning the ground to mud, slowing her down. She could hear him just behind her and tried to run faster, but she was at the limit of her strength. She wasn’t going to make it-but she must-she must-
It was too late. He had her, pulling her to the ground, holding her in a fierce grip. Now she could feel how fearsomely strong he was. There had never been any chance to escape him. She writhed uselessly but he held her without trouble until she stopped struggling and lay there gasping. Then he rose to his feet and began to walk back to the house, his arm fixed around her waist, forcing her to go with him. She tried to squirm free but she might as well not have bothered for all the notice he took.
Now they were at the house, he was locking the outer door and marching her into the bedroom, still holding her in a grip of steel. He didn’t speak and there was something chilling about his silence as he dropped her down onto the bed and began to work on her buttons.
‘No,’ she gasped. ‘You can’t do this.’
‘Yes, I can. From now on we do it my way.’
He wrenched open her jacket, tossing it aside,
and with horror she realised that he meant to undress her forcibly. She lashed out but she could make no impact on him. One by one he removed her garments-blouse, trousers, pants, bra-until she was completely naked.
She lay there, looking up at him with hate. Memories of the passion they had shared flashed through her brain and she wanted to cry out her anguish that something so much like love should end this way, with a union that he clearly intended to force on her. After that there would be nothing left for her in the world.
He stood for a moment, looking down at her nakedness while his own chest rose and fell fiercely. Then he went into the connected bathroom, returning with a large towel that he tossed over her.
‘Dry yourself,’ he snapped. ‘Do it quickly before you get pneumonia. I don’t want your death on my conscience.’
He walked out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
T HERE was a blinding light somewhere, insistently penetrating the darkness, calling on her to awaken.
She opened her eyes to find the sun streaming into her room, and Salvatore beside her.
‘I brought you some tea,’ he said briefly, setting it down and departing at once.
The tea was good and when she’d drunk it she felt better. The sleep, also, had helped. She hadn’t expected to sleep at all, feeling sure that she would lie awake fretting, and at first it had seemed that she was right. Pictures and sensations flooded her brain, the sheer strength of him, holding her, stripping her, but then releasing her to spend the night alone. Then she’d seemed to sink into darkness.
Now she was awake. She could still feel his hands on her naked body, but whether the memory came from last night, or other nights when he’d held her in the fires of passion, she could not have said.
She looked down at herself, wearing a slip from the bag she’d brought with her, which contained only underclothes. Last night she’d dried herself hurriedly, put on the only clothes she could find, and huddled under the duvet. She looked around for the outer clothes he’d torn off her, but they had vanished.
He pushed the door open slowly. ‘Are you ready for more tea?’
