Was he really Helen’s brother, after all this time? As a child he was weird, she always felt that he was watching her, but ignored it as a schoolboy crush. Helen was not going to believe this.
A memory of the pictures on his den wall came back to her; she realized he was the sicko that had taken the pictures of her, Ed, and Franco.
“You had the flat above mine, didn’t you… you took all those disgusting pictures… you are sick!”
“No, just paying you back for the hurt you caused me, baby… I’ve been watching you for a long time Tara. I know everything about you. You didn’t answer me, do you think I’m handsome?” he grinned cheekily.
“Yeah,” his change of tack threw her again, “I suppose you are…”
Looking at him properly, she realized he was. He had, amazingly, grown into a strong, confident, hunk of a man. She marvelled at the memory of him as a boy, the transformation from spotty school kid to sex on legs was amazing. Helen had kept that quiet, or maybe sisters just don’t notice how good looking their brothers are.
“Can I go now you have played your game? How long have I been here?”
“No, not yet; I want to make it up to you, I want to look after you until you are fully recovered and then I will let you go… for now you are my guest, ok? Relax; you may as well enjoy my hospitality.”
“Look, I’m feeling fine now, please let me go, I’ve got work to do. I’m truly sorry to have hurt you all those years ago. You have paid me back tenfold; I have never been so frightened, please…”
“Yeah, I have frightened you, haven’t I? Now, I’m going to make you very happy, Tara, and then you can go.”
His voice took on a serpent-like quality she didn’t like… shit! what kind of sick game was this? If he was gay, surely rape couldn’t be on the agenda; what then, what did he want?
He sunk low in the water and let it wash over him, closed his eyes and rested his head back against the tub. He looked beautiful, serene, like a model in some glamorous perfume ad. She could definitely have fancied him, if he were straight. Taking his lead she relaxed back also, playing along with his game. She didn’t have a lot of choice.
They sat quietly for a few moments, classical music playing in the background. The warm water softened her mood, he certainly knew how to set the scene, music, candles, scented water, and the tub was huge; you could throw a party in it.
She wondered if he were a good lover, then immediately put the thought out of her mind. For heaven’s sake, she was held captive by a lunatic and wondering what it would be like to fuck him. She was sick, not him.
Finally, he spoke: “You like baths, don’t you, Tara?”
“Yeah, I love them,” she answered, without thinking.
“I know, I used to watch you,” that serpent-like voice again.
She snapped out of her relaxed state and sat upright to watch him. Without opening his eyes, he let his hands run down his body, caressing his chest, then down to his thighs.
“You would stroke yourself, Tara, like this,” his hands trailed down his glistening chest, beneath the water to his lap. “You would think no one was looking, but I was; I was doing it with you.”
His voice was low and husky, he slowly rubbed himself beneath the water, head back, eyes closed, enjoying her watching him for a change.
“What did you think about, Tara, when you were doing it? What did you feel?”
She knew what he was doing, although she had to admit he did look gorgeous, if it had been anyone else she would probably have taken over for him. But this was sick, an invasion of her privacy, he had bloody got off on watching her, the bastard. She sat quietly, saying nothing, letting him play. His hand was working faster now, his breath shorter. The bastard was going to come… how the fuck dare he!
A showerhead lay on the side of the bath. While his eyes were shut, she quietly reached for the nozzle, turned on the cold tap full blast, stood over him, and showered freezing water over his face and chest.
He jumped up so fast he hit his head on the nozzle. He was frozen, not able to breathe with the shock.
She laid into him.
“You bastard, how dare you, you little shit. You film me in the privacy of my own home, kidnap me, and sit here, wanking in front of me. Well, fuck you, I’m off, I’m going straight to the police, Helen’s brother or not. Gay, my ass… what planet are you on?”
She stood to get out of the bath; dropping the showerhead, it writhed around under the water like a demented snake, smashing against their legs. He fell back laughing, she was spunky, he loved it.
“You know, Tara, you are absolutely right, enough games… are you hungry? I’m famished, come on let’s eat; I’m going to prepare you some pasta to die for,” the serpent had been replaced by the cheerful best-of-friends tone.
He turned off the shower, pulled the plug on the bath, and jumped out in search of towels, still laughing at her. Tara sat on the ledge, bemused, the water getting lower and lower, leaving her cold and vulnerable. She couldn’t believe it, what was so bloody funny? He was mad… now they were going to eat?
He threw a folded towelling robe at her; she caught it just out of the water. Her energy and senses were back on form, which was a good sign.
“Are you going to come and help me, or do I tie you up while I prepare it? And by the way, you won’t go to the police, because I have evidence that would ruin your friend Seb’s career, just like I have made a laughingstock of you and your Italian stallion… capiche?,” the serpent whipped back for a final word.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Franco was fed up with Maria. Initially, he’d let her hang around rather than be alone, but she was driving him nuts. Her bits and pieces were everywhere; she’d slowly moved in and taken over the apartment. She was even talking about getting a puppy.
It had been his fault, they had never actually discussed her moving in, but by him not having the courage to question her on it, he’d encouraged her. The longer she stayed, the harder it was to disentangle her.
More frighteningly, he was not sure she was taking her contraceptive pill; he’d seen unused packs in the bathroom cabinet. Puppies were the lead-up to a baby. He’d gotten into the habit of withdrawing during sex.
She’d caused war with his interior designer, Miss Arty Farty, Felicity Ramsey-Jones. The two women hated each other on sight, and fought over the control of his domain. Felicity had installed luxurious cream silk curtains in the living room; shipped in from Venice they were obscenely expensive but beautiful. Delicate gold threaded tassels adorned the length of each edge. Maria thought they were crap and pruned the tassels with her nail scissors.
When a stunning antique chandelier arrived from a Knightsbridge auction house, to be the centrepiece of the living room, Maria had the delivery boys install it in the guest loo. It was ridiculously large for the small room; only a small child could now take a pee in there without smashing his head, but Maria was adamant; it was crap, so should hang where one took one. Felicity went bananas and promptly resigned, leaving Franco with a half-finished apartment and a massive bill for services.
That morning, on his way to the stadium for a match, Michael silently passed him a newspaper; from the look on Michael’s face he expected more lurid photographs of Tara and him. He hadn’t seen this one coming; Maria had sold her story to the press.
“What the hell… ?”
He’d only just left her asleep in bed, she didn’t get up until midday, she hadn’t mentioned anything? Scanning the article, he sighed with relief; an opportunity for her exodus. He now had to summon up the energy for a showdown.
The match had been disastrous; they lost 2-3 to a team at the bottom of the table, a win should have been a walk in the park. He’d been the whipping boy for the opposing fans; they didn’t lay off the chants, going to town on the latest Maria developments. The opposing players had fun winding him up with subtle comments out of earshot from the ref.
He finally let one of the cruder slurs get to
him; head butted the culprit, and got red carded. Down to ten men, his team conceded three goals, and lost the game. Woody was mightily pissed off and ignored him after the game.
He crashed into the apartment, chucking his kit bag at the lift doors.
“Maria, where the hell are you?”
Maria sauntered out of the bedroom dressed in cream cashmere, cool as a cucumber, a grin on her face.
“We are over; it’s not working. I don’t love you; we are going to finish this once and for all,” it felt good to blurt it out.
Maria looked up at him, doe-eyed, not taking him seriously.
“Now, now, Franco, dahling, you’re not pissed off about this stupid article, are you? It’s nothing, just putting the story straight; I did you a favour; she’s a deceitful cow, now, let me get you a drink; how did the game go?”
The bitch hadn’t even bothered to watch the game. She wandered into the kitchen to pour drinks. Fuming, Franco followed her and pulled her around to face him.
“I’m serious, Maria. You have to go. I am not in love with you, and if you are honest nor you with me, we tried but it’s just not happening. We are over.”
As normal, she started to turn away from him, looking for something to busy herself with, ignoring his words, pretending it wasn’t happening. He was having none of it, grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her back to face him. His head close to hers.
“Listen to me, Maria…WE ARE OVER…you have to understand it once and for all,” she looked back at him with a blank smile.
“You obviously lost, dahling, you’re in a bad mood… never mind, dis eez football, up one minute, down the next,” she tried to soothe him, stroking his chest, batting her baby-doll eyelashes.
“Shit Maria, you have no idea, do you? I’m deadly serious. Be honest, you don’t love me, you love the WAG status and the credit cards, and I have stupidly gone along with it out of loneliness. Let you take over my life, my apartment, and how do you repay me? You go to the press with more crap for them to hang me by, as if they didn’t have enough already… and now my game is being affected, I fucked it today. This is not working, this is my space, and I want you out of it now!”
The next few hours were messy but she finally agreed to leave. It was agreed that Michael would bring her things over the next day. As the door shut behind her, Franco fell onto the sofa with a sense of relief. He got straight on the phone and organized with Michael to move Maria’s stuff. He could hear the congratulations, finally! in Michael’s voice, and smiled to himself. Then wondered if it had all gone a little too smoothly.
After taking the stuff to Maria’s, Michael would pick Franco up from training and bring him to Ned’s office, they needed to discuss the fallout from Maria’s story and the Sporjakk campaign. The client had come up with some salvage ideas for Franco to consider and asked for a meeting. He hoped that Tara would be there, he missed her and wanted her back, having Maria out of the way would be a good first step.
He went to bed that night looking forward to the next day for the first time in a long while, all thoughts of red cards forgotten.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
David busied himself in the kitchen. Pouring two glasses of red wine, he called her to come through and join him.
Finding a comb in the bathroom cabinet, she ran it through her bedraggled hair and pulled the towelling robe tight around her. This was bizarre; she’d been drugged and kidnapped and here he was acting as if they were lovers about to share a romantic meal together. Why didn’t she mind?
She assumed that she’d been there about twenty-four hours; he’d taken her watch and jewellery. No one would notice her missing; work didn’t expect her in as she was on sick leave. She wasn’t due to meet the girls till Friday lunch, her mum was used to her not calling for weeks on end, she could go missing for days and no one would pick up on it.
Maybe Seb, maybe not… unless he liked the new Sporjakk idea and wanted to meet, did he really know David? Who would think of looking for her here?
She could hear romantic Spanish guitar music coming from the kitchen. She walked uneasily from the bathroom into the bedroom, stood at the foot of the bed, and surveyed the scene. Candles dotted the room, flickering a soft, hazy light. Silk ropes trailed from bedposts to the centre of the bed and mingled with tousled white sheets. It looked a scene freshly abandoned by bondage lovers, she shivered.
Walking cautiously down the corridor, she could see him at the far end in the kitchen. He was lost in thought, humming to the music, conducting the air with a large wooden spoon, flamboyantly pouring red wine into a saucepan and stirring in time to the melody. His mind off her for the moment… a good opportunity to escape?
As she got to the front door, she stopped, checked he was not looking, and pulled on the heavy handle. The latch was stuck firm, she pulled and pulled, it wouldn’t budge, in her fury she kicked it, painfully stubbing her bare toe.
David looked up nonchalantly from his work.
“Sorry love,” he shouted merrily. “Didn’t I tell you? I’ve double locked and hidden the key; no way out I’m afraid. All windows and doors locked, all phones hidden… including yours, babes… never mind… chill… sit down and have a glass of wine while I cook supper, you’re gonna love this.”
His relaxed, calm attitude annoyed her, he was so confident that she could just sit back and enjoy herself. What planet was he on? Giving the door a final kick of desperation, she did as she was told, hobbled down the hallway and sat in front of him at the breakfast bar, arms crossed, jaw set tight, miserable, as he cooked her supper.
She watched him quietly, he certainly knew his way around a kitchen, which was more than she could say, cooking was not her strong point. He made it fun, dramatically chopping up herbs and spices, pouring concoctions from great heights, as if preparing some exotic cocktail.
Everything was done with a flourish, he talked her through it, teaching her as he went. He knew she was no good in the kitchen, he’d seen her at work… her fire alarm always going off, she burnt boiled eggs.
He took a quick slurp of his wine, noticing she hadn’t touched hers, he said, “not thirsty? It’s a delicious vintage, dahling, try it.”
“Oh yeah, and have you drug me again like last time. I don’t think so,” she said defiantly, tightening her arms around her body.
“Yes, you’re right to be suspicious… here, take mine,” he swapped his glass with hers and took a healthy slurp.
“See, not dead,” he smiled cheekily.
Oh, what the hell she needed a drink; she grabbed his glass and took a sip. The gloriously smooth liquid rippled down her throat, instantly warming. He was right, it was delicious and the food smelled good too. She suddenly realised that she was starving.
He turned out to be good company. He joked and regaled silly stories of Helen in her youth, they were almost enjoying themselves. Every now and then she would pull herself up and remind herself of where she was, but his funny relaxed banter made it difficult to stay on guard for long.
The food ready, he served it out onto two huge white plates and set them and fresh glasses on the dining table. The final touch was a candle, another scene for lovers.
Handing her a second bottle of red wine and a corkscrew, “here, you’d better open it, then you know I haven’t poisoned your glass,” he teased.
Shit, they were on their second bottle already, although he’d cooked with most of it. She was feeling slightly tipsy; she wished she could just relax into the evening and have a giggle with him. He was charming, warm and funny, not to mention bloody gorgeous. His robe kept falling open above the belt, exposing his very fit six-pack... probably spends all his time in the gym and under a sun-bed, shame he’s gay… wait a minute, he was getting horny in the bath… urrrgh… probably thinking about Seb, she felt strangely disappointed… lucky Seb!
They ate in silence, the food was wonderful. She watched him, trying to work him out. He seemed so nice, but then she would remember the pictures she�
�d seen the night before and the tone in his voice as he told her to look at them. Bet he was a Gemini, two people in one and all that.
She wondered what it had said in her star sign yesterday: your moon is in Virgo, fighting with Uranus, you will be abducted by a tall, dark, handsome stranger… the end is nigh… phone us now on this very expensive number to find out your monthly forecast.
They finished their plates at the same time, falling back on their chairs with a satisfied sigh.
“That tasted so good, David, thank you, I should get abducted more often,” Tara laughed.
“By the end of the night, I’m going to kiss you, Tara; is that OK with you?” he was suddenly serious. “Now you wash up and I’ll get the Scrabble board, can you play Scrabble?”
His change of tack caught her by surprise. Why was he messing with her mind, and why didn’t she mind the thought of kissing him? Keep calm.
“Err… yes, but I’m not very good… look, I want to go home now, David. I’ve had a lovely time, but it’s late, I’m tired. Can we do Scrabble another night? Where are my clothes?” trying to sound as normal as possible.
“Later… you can go home later. Go on, let’s play Scrabble. You can make up any words you like, just like you and Helen used to do in the holidays, no strict rules, just for fun. I did cook you dinner and besides, it’s too early to go home yet,” he persuaded.
“Ok, just one game then home,” she agreed, deciding to humour him.
In one way, it all seemed so normal, two friends hanging out, enjoying each other’s company, in another, she knew she didn’t have a choice, the door was locked.
The wine softened her, she enjoyed being near him. Apart from being beautiful, he had a seductive way about him; he was warm, attentive, sexy, and flirtatious. He made her feel good.
His attentiveness was hypnotic; he seemed to read her mind, knew what she wanted before she asked for it; a window closed from the chill, a pillow, more wine. Always one step ahead, watching her, staring lovingly into her face, as if he saw amazing beauty, she was the most important thing in the world to him. It felt good to be adored; flattering, safe.
The Penance List Page 32