Bianca looked at her uncertainly. ‘Well... actually I wanted to go into Marbella to buy a dress I spotted in a shop window... The trouble is, I’m not supposed to leave the hotel grounds; Gil insists I have someone with me if I do.’
‘Well, why don’t you come with us to Marbella tomorrow? We were going shopping there anyway; the children have been begging to go to town, to buy presents to take back to their friends, and Karl and I have family presents to buy. We have our car with us; we drove down here from Germany. We could fly and hire a car, of course, but Karl likes to have his own car with him; it’s a Mercedes—we know we can rely on it and it has plenty of room in it for the luggage. It’s very spacious; Karl and the kids can sit in the back and you can sit in the front with me.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Bianca.
‘Absolutely sure. We’d love to take you, and I’ll come along and help you buy the dress; I know your Spanish isn’t very good.’
‘You’re very kind; thank you very much.’
‘Not at all. Why not have breakfast with us? Eight o’clock—is that OK for you? We’ll go after that, shall we, at about nine? The earlier we go the better—the shops won’t be so crowded at about ten, but the rush-hour will be over as far as traffic is concerned.’
‘OK.’ Bianca nodded and Freddie smiled at her, then hurried away.
Hauling herself out of the pool, Bianca picked up her towelling robe and put it on, towelled her hair and dried her feet before pushing them into her sandals, then she walked back to her apartment, passing the security man to whom Gil had spoken much earlier. He gave her a sharp look and nodded politely.
Back in her apartment she showered, ate a very light supper—salad and a little fruit—then read for an hour or two before she went to bed. She must have been immensely tired, because she slept like a log, and if she dreamt she didn’t remember it in the morning. She woke up when her alarm went off at seven-thirty; the bedroom was full of pale primrose light, and outside she heard the birds singing in the trees. For a moment she was so drowsy and disorientated that she couldn’t remember where she was or what had woken her up, then she realised her alarm was buzzing and she hurriedly leaned over to turn it off.
Swinging her legs out of the bed, she stood up, stretching, gave a convulsive yawn then hurried off to the bathroom. It didn’t take her long to get ready and walk over to the hotel for breakfast.
She found Freddie and her family there already, Karl eating cheese and thin slices of German sausage, the children eating fruit and yoghurt, Freddie toying with a slice of toast and a cup of black coffee. They waved and told her to join them—there was a free chair for her.
‘Did you sleep?’
‘Too well. I couldn’t wake up.’ Bianca yawned, hurriedly covering her mouth. ‘Sorry; I can’t seem to stop.’
Freddie yawned too. ‘Don’t worry, I feel the same way. The funny thing is, I slept very well.’
‘Same here; odd, isn’t it? Oh, well, I’d better get something to eat.’ Bianca went off to the buffet table to collect some orange juice and some green figs, over which she poured a little natural, plain yoghurt.
When she came back the children had gone and Karl and Freddie were alone, energetically discussing what to buy to take back for various relatives back in Germany.
‘Your mother’s very difficult to buy for,’ Freddie complained. ‘She hates ornaments—they need too much dusting! She never likes any clothes I choose. I can’t think what to buy her.’
‘Perfume?’ suggested Karl.
‘She only wears Dior, and she’s drowning in bottles of the stuff, you should know that! You’re the one who buys it for her all the time.’
He made a face. ‘I can never think what to buy her. She has everything.’
‘Well, lucky her!’ Freddie said drily.
‘How about some local lace or something made of leather?’ suggested Bianca. ‘That’s what they’re famous for in this part of Spain, isn’t it?’
Freddie looked uncertainly at her husband. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think lace is a wonderful idea—so long as it is really high quality; Mutti is very fussy,’ said Karl.
Freddie raised her brows. ‘Isn’t that the truth?’
Karl laughed and tweaked her ear. ‘Don’t be unkind about my poor little Mutti.’ He stood up. ‘I’llsee you back at the apartment—don’t be too long; we want to get to Marbella early.’
When he had gone, Freddie said drily, ‘His poor little Mutti is a good five feet ten in her stockinged feet and has the muscles and punch of a boxer. The odd thing is, she is very feminine, floats around in a haze of perfume all day, and wears the most exquisite clothes. Some really good lace would be the perfect present for her; I should have thought of it myself. I have a sort of blank spot where she’s concerned, that’s the trouble. She terrified me when Karl first took me home to meet her, and I suppose I’m still wary of her.’
‘Mother-in-laws can be a problem! Thank heavens, mine was fine.’ She smiled, remembering Molly, Rob’s mother, who had been kind and generous, a warmhearted woman who adored her son. ‘She’s dead now, though. I was glad about that when Rob died—it would have been such a blow to her; she adored him—he was her only son.’
‘Gil is an only son, and he was terribly spoilt,’ said Freddie.
Bianca nodded, instantly self-conscious, aware of an immediate flush in her face and trying to hide it by taking a sip of her coffee. Why did his name always come up when they talked? Did Freddie think she was obsessed with him?
Of course not. He’s her brother-in-law and she knows I know him! she argued with herself. It’s perfectly natural for her to mention him from time to time. Stop being so hypersensitive.
‘What about you?’
‘Me?’ Bianca was confused, too busy thinking about Gil to work out what Freddie meant.
‘Are you an only child?’
Bianca shook her head. ‘No, I have a brother, Jon; there were just the two of us, though, and my mother spoilt him—she thought the sun shone out of Jon. She was one of those mothers who prefer their sons to their daughters—she would have loved to have lots of sons. She couldn’t have any more after she had me, so she poured all her love into Jon. I don’t think he has ever really grown up because of that, actually—he expects every woman he meets to dote on him the way Mum did, and of course they don’t—they want a grown-up man, not a Peter Pan. That’s why I made certain that my own son, Tom, could take care of himself. I taught him to do his own washing and ironing, to make his bed, and cook, just the same as his sister. I don’t want Tom growing up as useless as his uncle Jon.’
Freddie nodded. ‘I couldn’t agree more. What does your mother think of the way you’re bringing up your boy? Does she keep a critical eye on you? My mother-in-law does; she’s always telling me where I’m going wrong in the way I treat my children.’
‘My mother’s dead, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Freddie gave her an uncertain look, eyes apologetic.
‘It was some years ago—she died not long after my husband, actually.’
Freddie’s face was full of warm sympathy. ‘That must have been a great shock to you—to have to bear two deaths so close together.’
Bianca sighed. ‘It takes a long time to get over it. For a while I felt death was haunting me. My father died a few months after my mother.’
‘Oh, poor Bianca!’
‘He was in his seventies, and really still very active, but I think he had lost the will to live. He missed my mother so much; they had been married for over forty years, had become almost one person; he was like someone who has lost half of himself. He was never the same man after she died; he wouldn’t go out, wouldn’t come to live with me, although I begged him to, he never seemed to eat much, and in the end he died in his sleep— a heart attack, the doctor told me, and I am sure that was what it was; his heart just gave up beating.’
‘How wonderful that they were so happy together, th
ough. You hear so many horror stories about marriages that don’t work—it’s good to hear about one that did.’
‘Yes,’ said Bianca, a smile in her eyes. ‘It was a very happy marriage. So was mine, and I can see your marriage is a happy one, too.’
Freddie’s face lit up, her mouth curving happily. ‘Yes, we’ve been very lucky; we have a lovely home and terrific children—and we are very happy together.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s getting late. I’d better go and get ready. Can you meet us outside the hotel in...’ she looked at the remains of Bianca’s breakfast, her half-drunk cup of coffee ‘... say, twenty minutes?’
Bianca nodded. ‘I’ll be there.’
She finished her coffee while Freddie was hurrying away, and a few minutes later made her way to her apartment to put on make-up, brush her hair, collect a shopping bag. In good time she went back to the main hotel building but there was no sign as yet of Freddie and her family. Bianca wandered along a path, admiring a display of blue, purple and yellow pansies under some slender young silver birch trees.
‘What are you up to?’
The voice made her jump; she swung round, her pulses leaping under her skin, and looked up at Gil, knowing her colour was high and her eyes feverish.
He looked into her eyes, a half-smile curling his mouth, intimacy and warmth in his gaze.
‘Oh... hello,’ she said, looking away again hurriedly. Oh, stop it! she told herself, but she couldn’t get over the way he looked—those striking good looks were intensified by the clothes he was wearing today—the hotelier’s uniform of dark suit and white shirt, discreet dark red tie. ‘You must get very hot in those clothes!’ she said huskily and he laughed.
‘Later in the year it becomes unbearable to wear them, but guests expect the hotel manager to dress suitably,’ he said wryly. There was a pause, and she felt his gaze wandering down over her, from her dark head to her sandalled feet. ‘Talking of clothes, why are you wearing that very elegant dress? Not that I don’t love the way it looks on you—it’s just the colour of these flowers, isn’t it? A wonderful dark, velvety blue. It suits you. But it isn’t exactly the thing to wear on the beach. It would be ruined in half an hour. I hope you weren’t planning to go anywhere? You know you can’t leave the hotel grounds without protection, not while those two little thugs are free.’
‘I’m going shopping in Marbella—’ she began, and
he curtly interrupted.
‘Oh, no, you’re not!’ He sounded really furious and she looked up at him defiantly.
‘With your sister-in-law,’ she finished, her voice rising over his.
He stared, his brows jerking together. ‘Freddie?’
She nodded. ‘And Karl, and the children. They should be here any minute, to drive me into town.’
‘Why on earth do you want to go into town? You should be down on the beach on a lovely day like this— not wandering around the streets of Marbella.’
‘I have some shopping to do, and, anyway, I liked what I saw of Marbella the first night I got here; I want to see it in daylight.’
‘If you’d told me, I’d have taken you!’
She gave him a quick look, even more flushed, then looked down again. ‘You’re working.’
‘I can arrange for someone to take over from me.’
She didn’t have to answer that because a large white Mercedes swept towards them and Gil shot a glance at it, muttering, ‘That’s Karl now.’ He caught hold of her arm, his cool fingers possessive. ‘Be careful, Bianca. Do you hear me? Keep your wits about you while you’re out. I don’t want to be told you’ve been mown down by a motorbike in Marbella.’
She nodded, quivering at his touch. ‘I’ll be careful. I must go—Freddie and Karl are waving.’
‘Damn Freddie and Karl!’ he said through his teeth. ‘Bianca, I don’t like you going out alone...’
‘I won’t be alone!’
‘Without me,’ he said roughly, and her breath caught.
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine with Freddie and Karl,’ she said huskily, pulling free. Without a backward look she hurried off towards the white Mercedes.
Karl and the children were in the back of the car, Freddie was behind the wheel. Leaning over, Freddie opened the front passenger seat and gestured; Bianca climbed in beside her and as she did so Gil arrived, closed the door on her and leaned on the half-open window, looking into the car.
‘If anything happens to her while she’s out with you two I’ll kill the pair of you!’ he grimly told his sister-in-law and her husband.
‘We’ll look after her, don’t worry,’ Karl said from the back of the car, his voice calmly reassuring.
‘We won’t leave her alone for a second,’ Freddie promised.
Bianca shot Gil a glance and met his grey eyes; they glittered darkly at her, the black pupils so large, they were all she could see.
‘Be careful!’ he warned fiercely.
She nodded and he withdrew from the window. Freddie drove off with a squeal of tyres on gravel and a moment later they were out on the road to Marbella in the early morning traffic and Bianca was able to relax with a faint sigh, smothered before her companions could hear it and draw their own conclusions, which might be rather too accurate, she felt.
They spent a very enjoyable couple of hours in Marbella. After they had parked and walked into the old town, Karl and the children went off on some expedition of their own while Freddie and Bianca went in search of the dress shop in whose window Bianca had seen the flamenco-style dress.
‘I do hope it hasn’t been sold! It was probably a one-off, and I really loved it.’
She was on edge as they walked, constantly looking around, half expecting to see a leather-clad figure on a motorbike, jumping at every sound...the bang of a door, a car starting, a dog barking.
When they reached the narrow little street they were looking for it was worse. Bianca felt her nerves prickle as she caught sight of the tapas bar outside which she had been attacked just a few nights ago. So much had happened since. It seemed like weeks, not days ago, yet coming back made it all come sharply into focus, raw and immediate, and very painful, as if it had only happened last night.
‘Is that the shop?’ asked Freddie when she stopped walking and froze on the narrow pavement in more or less the same spot on which it had taken place.
Bianca pulled herself together, forced a smile. ‘Yes,’ she said, then she looked at the window display and her eyes lit up. ‘Yes! That’s the shop, and that’s the dress! It’s still there.’
‘Hey, that is gorgeous!’ Freddie said, eyes widening as she stared at the dress. ‘And very Spanish! I couldn’t wear it, but I can see it will suit you perfectly, Bianca; you have the right colouring and the right figure for it.’
‘Do you really think so?’
In broad daylight, the dress was even more boldly dramatic, the red the colour of blood, the neckline lower than anything she had worn for years, the waist tight, the skirt full and cascading with frills of black lace. It was not a dress for anyone timid or retiring, and Bianca didn’t know if she had the nerve to carry it off in public.
She considered it uncertainly, but Freddie was enthusiastic. ‘Go on, go in and try it on! What have you got to lose? I’ll tell you if it doesn’t look good on you, I promise.’ She took hold of Bianca’s wrist and dragged her into the shop where a large, statuesque Spanish lady in a black dress with a white lace collar took charge of Bianca and, having been told it was the dress in the window which interested her, carried her and the dress off to a fitting-room.
Bianca, by then, was half hoping the dress would not be her size, but it was; what was more, it fitted her like a glove.
The Spanish manageress burbled in Spanish at her while Bianca stared dumbfounded at her own reflection, thrown back to her from all sides. Every wall in the little room held a full-length mirror. She was transformed: the red dress gave her a style and passion that alarmed her, the cascading frills and glimpses of her legs a
s disturbing as the neckline which left so much of her white breasts bare.
‘On you, is lovely,’ the Spanish woman managed, beaming over her shoulder, tweaking the neckline even lower.
Bianca tweaked it right back up again. She was not going around half naked.
Undeterred, the other woman cooed at her. ‘Very Spanish, for the dance, flamenco... you English? You look Spanish in this.’
Freddie knocked on the door of the fitting-room. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes,’ said Bianca reluctantly, and in the mirrored walls saw Freddie standing staring in the doorway, eyes round and saucer-shaped, mouth open too.
When she had her breath back Freddie said, ‘How much is it?’
Bianca told her.
‘Buy it,’ said Freddie. ‘It’s a bargain. You look a million dollars, and it’s a classic; you’ll be able to wear it for years and years, so long as you stay the same size.’
After a brief hesitation Bianca had to admit that she wanted the dress; it looked even better than she had dared dream. She paid for it and the manageress packed it up in tissue paper and a large cardboard box, then Bianca and Freddie walked back through the narrow, windy little streets of Marbella, buying fruit and vegetables from a stall at a local market, and then some locally made goat’s cheese, rolled in chopped pepper, some crusty, golden bread and a bag of Churros, cooked right in front them on a small gas ring—they turned out to be long, twisty, freshly cooked doughnuts, smothered in sugar while they were still hot.
Eventually they found Karl and the children sitting in a cafe in a flower-decked square, drinking hot chocolate, and sat down with them. The two boys and their sister were excitedly full of what they had bought to take back as presents for friends and relatives, and when they asked what Bianca had bought she only had to say, ‘A dress!’ for them to lose interest.
The sun was getting quite hot; the shade of the cafe blind was pleasant, the hot chocolate delicious. They sat there for a long time, lazily staring around at the passers-by and the narrow streets, the old buildings, the distant blue haze of the mountains which could be seen from where they sat.
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