Hurriedly, to distract him from whatever he might have in mind, she asked, ‘Did you say you were planning a new hotel somewhere?’
‘Yes, at Nerja.’ He was standing over her, his dark shadow somehow threatening, making her shiver.
‘Where’s Nerja? Near here?’
‘Along the coast from Marbella, about an hour’s drive. This is a very busy coastal road with a string of crowded resorts spaced out along it—it can take you an age to get from one town to the next; it all depends on the volume of traffic. If the roads are clear I might make it to Nerja in three-quarters of an hour; if there’s a lot of traffic it could take me an hour and a half. Why?’ His grey eyes narrowed on her. ‘Would you like to come along for the ride?’
‘No,’ she broke out, the pulse in her throat beating furiously at the very idea of being alone with him again, even if only in a car.
A silence fell.
‘Bianca—’ he began, his voice harsh, and she had to stop him, could not let him finish that sentence.
In a stiffly polite voice she interrupted, ‘Thank you for asking me, but I have taken to having a siesta in the afternoon.’ Then she went on with barely a pause, ‘Why are you building a new hotel? Are you bored with this one?’
‘No, not at all, but I have got this place running very smoothly; it can almost run itself now, so I want the challenge of a new project.’
Was that the way he lived? Moving from one challenge to another? Hadn’t Freddie said something along those lines? That Gil was restless, always moving on... was that the way he ran his private life too? Did he move on from woman to woman?
She hadn’t thought he was that sort of man, but what did she know about him?
‘My new place is going to be a sports complex as well as a hotel,’ he was saying with obvious excitement. This was a subject close to his heart, she could see. ‘The hotel will be surrounded by a competition-size golf course, I’m building a series of tennis courts, and an Olympic-sized swimming-pool—and I shall have a staff of top professionals in all the sports to coach visitors.’
‘Won’t all that cost a lot of money?’ she said, taken aback.
‘Millions,’ he agreed cheerfully, and she looked up, eyes wide. He must be far richer than she had suspected!
He smiled wryly at her. ‘I’m not risking all my own money—I have a partner—an American hotel chain which is keen to invest in this part of Spain. They are putting up a large chunk of the money, I am supervising the project here, and when the hotel complex is finished I’ll be managing it for the first two years. Meanwhile, I’m training my assistant manager to take over here full time.’
‘It sounds fascinating—and it’s just the sort of hotel my son would love—Tom is very keen on sport of any kind.’
Gil’s eyes were intent. ‘He’s the fifteen-year-old? Have you talked to your children lately? How are they coping?’
She relaxed now that they were on such safe ground. She was always happy to talk about her children. ‘Fine, they claim, but I suspect they’re living on take-aways and junk food. Goodness knows what the house looks like, too; I only hope they’ll make some effort to tidy up before I get home.’
Gil gave her a quick, narrowed glance. ‘You’re here for another three days, though, aren’t you? You booked for a fortnight, and you’re on a special flight back; it can’t be changed.’
She nodded, fighting to keep all expression out of her face, not wanting him to guess what was in her mind. Knowing that he was going to be out all afternoon tomorrow had given her an idea. She would ring the airport later and see if she could book herself on to a scheduled flight back to England, then she could pack her case, order a taxi and check out of the hotel without Gil knowing anything about it. She would leave a letter for Freddie apologising about dinner tomorrow night.
Freddie ran back, flushed and out of breath after a vigorous swim. ‘It’s wonderful in the sea today, Gil! The water is perfect; it’s warming up nicely now, but it’s so refreshing!’ She threw herself down on her mattress and towelled herself, put a fresh application of suntan oil on her smoothly tanned skin, and lay down in the sun with a sigh.
Bianca lay down too, and picked up her book rather pointedly.
‘Well, I’ll go and have a swim myself, then,’ Gil said, watching her. ‘I’ll see you both later.’
Bianca watched him run down to the sea, his tall, lean figure attracting a lot of attention—she saw other women lifting their heads to stare openly, their eyes skimming over that golden-skinned body in the brief black swimming-trunks.
‘Gorgeous, isn’t he?’ Freddie said softly, and Bianca gave her a startled look, flushing.
‘What? Oh...’
Freddie grinned at her, refusing to let her deny it. ‘You know he is! And he’s a very nice man, too; he’s terrific company, but he’s also thoughtful and kind-hearted. You can trust Gil, Bianca. If I weren’t so fond of my husband, I’d jump at Gil myself.’
Bianca forced a laugh. ‘I won’t tell Karl you said so!’
‘Oh, Karl knows how fond of Gil I am—and he’s fond of him, too. He was my brother-in-law, but for years now I’ve thought of him more like a brother.’
Bianca was touched by the sincerity in her voice and sighed. ‘That’s nice, Freddie. I know he’s fond of you too.’
Freddie gave her a hesitant, uncertain glance. ‘My sister didn’t make Gil happy; I know the failure of his marriage upset him for years. He is the sort of man who should be happily married; he has a lot to give any woman... I wouldn’t want him to get hurt again.’
Bianca flinched and didn’t know how to answer. A silence fell, and then Freddie put on her headphones and began listening to music, and Bianca could give her attention to her book, but she couldn’t concentrate on it; the story and characters simply didn’t hold her.
Freddie certainly knew Gil. Had known him for years. If she was so fond of him, he had to be as nice as he seemed. The thought did not make Bianca any happier. She didn’t want to hurt him. But she couldn’t trust the powerful instincts that worked in her every time she set eyes on him. It was a madness, this terrible desire; it wasn’t love—it wasn’t anything she had ever known before. She was afraid of it.
She kept sneaking a look down the beach, seeing Gil’s sleek black head bobbing like a seal’s in the sunlit blue sea. He was a vigorous swimmer; his brown arms cutting through the waves effortlessly.
She watched him as he came out of the sea, a glittering, wet, golden figure, the sun striking refractions from his skin so that he almost seemed to have an auriole, a radiance, surrounding him. He walked back up the beach, running a hand over his wet hair to rake it back from his face, picked up his white towelling robe from a chair where he had left it, pulled it on with an elegant shrugging movement and tied the belt around his waist, slid his long, narrow feet into a pair of beach sandals.
A woman sat up to speak to him and he turned, smiling, his face in profile like the image of a Pharaoh in an Egyptian wall-painting, the black hair slicked to his head.
Bianca felt a stab of jealousy, and looked down to focus on her book, her breathing rapid. She had no right to care how he smiled at other women, she reminded herself; he did not belong to her.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said suddenly right above her, and she started, not having heard him coming.
‘Oh... did you have a good swim?’
‘Wonderful—you should try it! Don’t just lie in the sun all afternoon—get into the sea!’
‘Maybe I will,’ she agreed, her eyes briefly meeting his.
It was a mistake. She felt her mind dissolving in waves of sensual reaction and hurriedly looked away.
At what seemed a far distance she heard his voice a moment later, saying curtly, ‘See you at dinner tonight, Freddie.’
She heard him moving away and couldn’t look; she was still fighting to get over the swimming feeling in her head. Instead, she stared fixedly at her book and pretended to be reading.
She planned frantically... She would go tomorrow, while he was in Nerja. She would make all the arrangements about her flight and a taxi over the phone in the morning, pack, eat a light snack in her apartment at lunchtime, and wait until she was sure Gil had left before she went over to the hotel to pay her bill and wait for the taxi.
Once she got back home and picked up her life where she had left off she would soon forget all about this holiday, and about Gil.
Of course, she would have to come to testify in the court case when it was finally heard, but that probably would not come up for months. For the moment she could forget about that.
She could forget about Gil, too.
It sounded so easy, so simple and reasonable. Why then did she find herself gripping the edge of her book so tightly that her knuckles had turned white? And why couldn’t she see the printed words on the page, except through a blur of tears?
She rang home that evening and told Vicky and Tom that she was coming home early.
As she expected, they were not wild with enthusiasm. ‘Tomorrow? Why...? When tomorrow? We’ll have to tidy up; why didn’t you let us know earlier?’ moaned Vicky.
‘I only just decided,’ said Bianca. ‘You hadn’t got a party planned or anything?’
‘No,’ Vicky said, sounding warily devious.
‘Had one already? House still in a mess?’ asked Bianca.
Vicky was sulky. ‘What is this—an interrogation? Well, if I’ve got to tidy this whole house up tonight I’d better start right away, and Tom is doing his share of the work too. Most of the mess is his anyway.’
Bianca put the phone down, smiling to herself. She could imagine the panic in the house this evening. They would be screaming accusations at each other as they rushed about. She was glad she wasn’t there.
She didn’t sleep that night, and was up early next day; she began to pack immediately after breakfast. She rang the airport and was able to book herself on to a flight at five-thirty. She rang a local taxi firm and ordered her taxi for two o’clock. Gil should have left by then, but it would give her plenty of time to drive to the airport and check in.
She was intensely nervous, afraid all the time of Gil appearing and discovering her plans, but everything went like clockwork. She checked out of the hotel, got her taxi and promptly at five-thirty took off in the plane, landing at Heathrow as scheduled.
She got home after dark and found Vicky and Tom waiting for her and the house looking immaculate, smelling of lavender furniture polish and daffodils. Every room downstairs had a vase of daffodils in it, their yellow trumpets lifting the heart.
‘Everything looks wonderful,’ she said generously, giving her two children a hug.
They looked smugly pleased with themselves. How long had they had to work to restore the house to normal? she wondered, but didn’t ask. Instead, she produced the presents she had bought for them during her time in Marbella. Vicky was delighted with her hand-painted fan and her silk-fringed Spanish shawl, and Tom seemed very happy with his shirt and hand-made leather belt.
‘Gosh, you’re brown, Mum,’ he said, staring at her. ‘Mum... are those bruises on your face?’
She put a nervous hand to them, as if to cover them up. She was wearing heavy make-up, but even that couldn’t hide the bruises entirely, although they were fading now.
‘I’ll tell you about them over supper,’ she said.
Vicky had made a quiche; a vegetarian version full of broccoli, onion and tomato cooked in cheese, it was served with a green salad and small new potatoes and was quite delicious.
‘Wonderful cooking, Vicky,’ Bianca congratulated her.
‘Well, don’t think I’m doing all the cooking in future!’ she retorted tartly. ‘This was a special occasion. I can tell you, I’m glad you’re back to take over; I’m sick of tidying up after him.’ She glared at Tom who glared back.
‘I wasn’t the one who had a party that went on all night!’
‘You haven’t got any friends to invite to a party!’ snapped Vicky, and Tom made gargoyle faces at her.
‘Don’t squabble,’ Bianca said, then smiled at them. ‘I really missed you both; I’m glad to be home.’
Vicky gave her a surprisingly adult look, frowning. ‘Did you really have a good time, Mum? Why did you come home early? You still haven’t told us how you got those bruises.’
Bianca took a deep breath, and gave them a carefully planned explanation of the mugging, playing down the violence and the fear she had felt. Something of it must have come through, though—they both looked shocked.
‘How ghastly! Thank heavens you weren’t badly hurt and nothing worse happened,’ said Vicky. ‘No wonder you’re back home early!’
‘I wish I’d been there,’ Tom muttered, his face flushed and his neck rigid with belligerence. ‘I’d have taught that little swine a lesson! You shouldn’t have gone on your own, Mum. Next time I’ll come with you.’
Touched, she smiled at him.
In bed that night, she lay awake in the dark for an hour, fighting memories of Gil, and wondering how long it would take her to forget about him.
Judy was amazed to see her back when she went into the shop next day. ‘Bianca! Good heavens! I wasn’t expecting you until next Monday! Love the tan—it suits you—you should always be that colour!’ She grinned. ‘You must have had good weather! Why are you back early? Didn’t the holiday romance work out after all?’
‘I got mugged,’ Bianca told her, to distract her from questions about Gil.
Judy exclaimed much as Vicky and Tom had done, her eyes widening in disbelief. ‘No! You’re kidding! What happened!’
Bianca gave her the same mild version of events that she had given her children, leaving out all references to the second attack, and Judy bombarded her with questions, peered closely at the bruises on her face, asked if she was going back to be a witness, asked how she had felt when it happened, said that she would be happy to accompany Bianca when she had to return for the court case.
Bianca couldn’t admit why she certainly would not want either her children or Judy to go with her. She was beginning to be afraid that when the case did come up the English newspapers might pick up on the story of the attempted rape. If they didn’t, she might never need to tell anyone here what had really happened. She was dreading having to give evidence in a Spanish court, anyway. She wished now she had come home after the first attack; the second one would never have happened then.
She asked Judy, ‘How did you get on on your own in the shop? Any problems?’
‘None at all, I managed perfectly,’ Judy said with a touch of high dudgeon, tossing her head. ‘We were very busy on Friday and Saturday, as usual, and I was run off my feet then, but the rest of the week things went like clockwork. No problems.’
‘Well, now I’ve had a break, why don’t you have one, Judy?’ Bianca suggested.
‘It doesn’t sound to me as if you had much of a holiday,’ Judy said drily, and Bianca couldn’t deny that.
‘I was unlucky, but there’s no reason why you should be!’
‘Well, I’ll think about it,’ Judy said, and then a customer came in and, with a smile, she went over to deal with her while Bianca went into their little office to make coffee for them both.
It was all so normal and familiar. She felt as if she had never been away. It would be easy, here, to forget about Gil, she told herself, ignoring the wince of anguish she felt at the thought of him. All she had to do was face each day as it came and keep all thought of him at bay. He would fade in her mind the way the bruises on her face were fading.
It might have worked out that way—if she had not come home from work the following Monday evening to find an Alfa-Romeo parked outside her house. Her heart turned over violently. It was Gil’s car.
CHAPTER NINE
Bianca stopped to stare at the car, saw it was empty and looked anxiously around for Gil; there was no sign of him. Suddenly she realised that he must be in her house—which meant...
Oh, no! she thought, beginning to run. Someone must have let him in, which meant he was in there now, with one of her children, talking to them! And what would he be saying? She didn’t want to guess. Whatever he said, his mere presence here would arouse Tom and Vicky’s curiosity and she would find herself being pestered for answers once he had gone.
A wave of warm fragrance from a bed of hyacinth beside the house hit her; they had only come out today, deep purply blue and white, her favourite colours in the garden, but, although she unconsciously registered their scent, she didn’t even stop to look at them—any more than she stopped to look up at the budding cherry tree on the lawn which came into blossom every spring. Most evenings when she came home she paused to take in every changing aspect of her garden. It was all part of her familiar home life, the patterns of the year, of which Gil was no part. His arrival was like a stone thrown into a calm pond; ripples were widening in all directions and she could think of nothing else.
As she fumbled for her front-door key in her handbag her fingers trembled; at last she found it, put it in the lock and hurriedly opened the door. As she stepped inside she heard Gil’s voice and smothered a groan. He was talking to Tom. They were laughing, Tom’s the deep, hoarse laughter of a teenage boy whose voice only broke a year ago and who hadn’t yet attained his real adult voice.
Bianca shed her black and white hound’s-tooth check jacket, took a quick, nervous glance at the mirror in the hall, wished she were wearing something more glamorous than an old blue sweater and back skirt. She smoothed a few strands back into her chignon, checked on her russet lipstick, took a deep breath, and went into the sitting-room.
Tom and Gil were standing in front of a row of family photographs on a table by the window. Laughing.
Bianca glared at their backs, opened her mouth to say something barbed—then Gil turned to look at her and she felt her body turn weak and tremble.
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