by Rosie Clarke
Besides, a part of her problem was that she was feeling worried over Eric. He’d risked a lot to get her away from the men who were holding her prisoner in that wretched place and, unused to kindness from men, Gretchen had thought he might care for her. She’d felt close to him and safe for the first time since she’d been taken from her family, and she couldn’t quite get him out of her head. But she was foolish because the truth was that all he’d felt for her was pity.
She had her mother now and they had to stand on their own two feet and make a life together. Her mother was right, they couldn’t ask Sebastian for more…
*
Lizzie stared at the phone receiver before replacing it. She wondered who that woman could have been. The voice was definitely not English… one of Sebastian’s business contacts perhaps? Yet if that were the case, why hadn’t she told Lizzie what was so important that she’d rung him at home?
Lizzie had contacted his manager at the fashion shop and the factory concerning his illness, and was pretty sure they would not have rung unless it was an emergency – but if that were the case the woman would have told her, surely?
Could she be the mystery woman in Sebastian’s life?
Lizzie’s throat tightened with anguish. If she was Sebastian’s mistress she must be wondering why he hadn’t contacted her – perhaps worried and in distress…
Lizzie tried to dismiss the call, but it wouldn’t go away as she prepared a light lunch for herself and Sebastian. On his release from hospital, he’d been told to rest as much as possible and not to do any form of work for at least a month.
‘His condition has been brought on by overwork and stress,’ the doctor had told Lizzie in private. ‘Although, I think this was just a warning and the tests show no lasting damage has been done, he must take it easy. He is fretting in hospital and so I am allowing him home, on condition that he sticks to a strict regime: rest, a sensible diet – and no stress. Keep him away from his work at all costs, Mrs Winters.’
Lizzie had agreed and so far Sebastian had been following the rules. She knew it wouldn’t be long before he refused to stay in bed. She didn’t intend to have Sebastian worried about anything – and even though the mysterious phone call played on her mind, she had no intention of asking him anything about it…
She was laying the table when he came downstairs wearing a silk dressing gown over black and gold striped pyjamas. He was still such an attractive man. It wouldn’t be surprising if a much younger woman had fallen in love with him. Lizzie’s heart turned over as he smiled at her and sniffed the air in anticipation.
‘Fresh salmon cooked in wine?’ he asked, brows rising. It was a favourite of his, and Lizzie cooked it with green beans, creamed potatoes and a sauce, with a green salad as a side dish.
‘Yes – are you hungry?’
‘I am now,’ he said, but she thought he was just trying to please her. He ate very little these days and she sensed that his smile hid more anxiety than was good for him. ‘Can we have wine?’
‘The doctor said a small glass once a day,’ Lizzie said. She watched him as he went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of white wine, pouring it in to two small glasses. ‘Lunch is ready now…’
Sebastian’s gaze followed her as she dished up their meal. She was aware of him, sensing that he wanted her to say something but she couldn’t because if she did she might demand to know who the mystery woman was – the woman her daughters had seen him kissing.
‘Who rang just now?’ Sebastian asked, giving her an odd look.
‘Oh… just Romany,’ Lizzie lied and avoided his gaze.
‘Ah…’ Sebastian nodded. ‘Where is Francie?’ he asked as he noticed that just two plates had been set. ‘Isn’t she joining us for lunch?’
‘She had a letter this morning and said she wanted to meet someone in town. I think it may be a friend from college and they’re going to have coffee and a sandwich somewhere…’
‘Oh…’ Sebastian tasted his salmon. ‘Lovely. You’re such a good cook these days, Lizzie. But you should have more help in the house – especially at the moment…’
‘I feel wonderful,’ she said and looked at him lovingly, wondering how she could even doubt his love for her. ‘I was thinking we might have a little holiday somewhere warm once the baby is born, Sebastian – all three of us. Betty too if she would come, but I don’t think she will. She’s very angry with you for some reason…’
‘Because I didn’t meet her at the hotel as I promised,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a talk with her and explain…’ Sebastian hesitated, then, ‘First there’s something I have to tell you, Lizzie…’
‘Do you think it’s a good idea?’ Lizzie said and started eating, then sipped her wine. ‘It can wait until you’re feeling better…’ She ate a piece of the salmon. ‘This is really nice. I bought it from the new Mac Fisheries…’
‘Unfortunately, I can’t put it off much longer,’ he said and looked upset. ‘You have the right to know, Lizzie…’ He ate another piece of salmon and nodded. ‘This is lovely, darling…’
Lizzie enjoyed her meal, watching as he ate slowly, clearly not very hungry despite his comments about her cooking. A chill went through her and she closed her eyes for a moment. Perhaps Sebastian was about to tell her that it was over and he wanted to be free – free to marry another woman.
‘At least eat your lunch first…’ she said, trying to put it off to the last moment. He ate a little more and then pushed his plate away, most of the food uneaten. ‘Eat a little more, Sebastian, please…
‘It was delicious, but it will take time to get my appetite back. Why don’t we take our drinks into the sitting room? I want to be sure I have your attention.’
Lizzie’s throat was tight with emotion. It had come at last and she did not know how she could bear it, but there was no putting Sebastian off when he got that determined look in his eyes.
She picked up her drink and followed him into the hall just as the telephone rang. Lizzie frowned as she answered it. If it was that woman again she would just put the phone down on her…
‘Lizzie?’ Aunt Miriam’s frantic voice came over the phone. ‘Is Betty with you?’
‘No, isn’t she with you?’ Lizzie felt the fear tingling at the nape of her neck.
‘She went to work yesterday morning as usual but she didn’t come home last night. I didn’t worry because I thought she might have gone out with Frank – that nice young man who came round and had hot chocolate with us… but I telephoned his number and there was no answer. They’re supposed to be going to a dance this evening… you don’t think they’ve run off together?’
‘Has she taken any of her things?’
‘Just the bag she always takes to work with her. I telephoned Romany and she said she was happy at work on Friday, talking about starting her new job with the fashion house next week… but a neighbour brought Betty’s bag round this morning. She said she found it outside her house…’
‘Oh no…’ Lizzie’s hand shook and she looked fearfully at Sebastian.
‘What’s wrong, Lizzie?’ Sebastian took the receiver from her hand and barked into the receiver. ‘What happened, Miriam – tell me from the beginning… I need to know anything unusual… anything that happened you didn’t quite understand…’
‘Betty didn’t come home last night and her work bag was found outside my neighbour’s house.’ Miriam was silent for a moment, then, ‘There was the odd phone call the night Frank came round to ask her to the dance,’ she said slowly. ‘A man with a French accent asked if Betty was here, but when she went to answer it she said the line had gone funny… at least that’s what she told me…’
‘Could she have run off with someone?’ Sebastian demanded and Lizzie saw the cold anger in his face. ‘Think Miriam! This is important…’
‘No, I’m sure she hasn’t. I know she was looking forward to the dance – and she was over the moon because she’d been offered a new job at that fashion house… she rang Lizzie about that…
’
‘What made you think the call was from a Frenchman?’
‘Just the way he spoke – his English was good, but his accent sounded foreign to me…’
‘I’m coming round there shortly,’ Sebastian said. ‘I want to look through her things – see if there are any clues…’
‘Supposing Betty is staying over with a friend? She will be angry that I let you go through her stuff…’
‘Then she should have let someone know where she is,’ Sebastian said and put the phone down hard.
‘Sebastian,’ Lizzie said, looking at him anxiously. ‘Don’t get yourself into a state and please don’t be angry with Betty. I don’t believe that she has just run off. I am sure she wouldn’t do this to us again…’
‘Are you? Then why isn’t she at home with us? Where is she?’
Lizzie bit her lip. ‘I think something may have happened to her, Sebastian.’ Before he could say anything, she said, ‘Come and look at the picture Francie painted of her sister. I think it says more than I could in a thousand words…’
‘What has a portrait got to do with Betty going off?’
Sebastian looked uncertain but followed her into Francie’s studio. The weak wintry sun was slanting through the skylights drawing his eye to the easel but the picture there was covered, and Francie’s tribute to her sister stood on a chair away from most of her other work.
‘My God!’ Sebastian stood as if turned to stone. Lizzie saw his face working with emotion. ‘Is that really how Betty looks?’
‘Not always. Sometimes she is happy and laughing, just the way she used to be – but Francie notices things most of us miss and once I’d seen this I could see it for myself. Betty is desperately unhappy about something…’ Lizzie was trembling. ‘I think something may have happened to her… Do you think that man could have come looking for her – the one she went off with before?’
Sebastian frowned. His first anger had evaporated and as he gazed at Francie’s portrait of her sister, he remembered what he knew of Pierre Saint-Jacquez. Now his anger was directed another way… if that man had harmed his daughter he would kill him!
‘Take a taxi and go round to Miriam’s house,’ Sebastian said. ‘Have a look through Betty’s things – if she comes back she would resent that less than if I did it. I’ve got some phone calls to make. I’ll telephone the hospitals first and then some friends of mine…’
‘Supposing she’s lying somewhere… hurt…’ Lizzie’s face was wet with the tears she couldn’t stop. ‘Oh, Sebastian, I can’t bear to lose her again…’
‘You mustn’t upset yourself, darling,’ he said and put his arms about her, kissing her hair to comfort her, but she could feel the tension in him and knew that he was as anxious as she was for their daughter.
‘Remember what the doctors said about you resting…’ she reminded.
‘I’ve done nothing but rest since,’ Sebastian said grimly. ‘Do you think I’m going to sit on my backside and take it easy when Betty might be in trouble? She’s our daughter, Lizzie, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to find her…’
Chapter 23
Francie stared at the letter that had arrived that morning. It was from the editor of Vogue, the most famous fashion magazine of them all in Francie’s opinion, and they wanted to see her to discuss a series of fashions shoots.
You have a fresh new look about you, Miss Winters. We are looking for young models to bring a modern feel to our pages and you have been recommended to us by a photographer we use often. If you are interested, please come to our offices at eleven thirty on Thursday this week for an interview. We apologise for the short notice but we’ve only just learned that you might be available…
Francie put the letter down and picked it up again several times. How could she think of herself and her own career when her parents were both unwell – and worried about her sister?
She was anxious about Betty too. Her mother had told her that Betty had disappeared, but they weren’t sure of the details. Aunt Miriam seemed to think she might have gone off with another boyfriend and that made Francie cross. How could Betty be so thoughtless? She must know that Mum and Dad had been out of their minds with worry the first time, so how could she do it again? It was so unfair that this should happen just now! Francie had thought everything would settle down and be all right once Betty was back home, but she’d gone off to live with Aunt Miriam and now she’d disappeared.
Francie still hadn’t got over the moment when her father collapsed at her feet and she and Beth had had to rush him to hospital. She’d felt guilt over that, though she knew she hadn’t done anything to make it happen – but he’d been angry over those pictures in the magazine, and now she was planning on doing yet more.
She felt consumed with guilt because her father had spent a lot of money on securing a place at the small but prestigious art college in Cambridgeshire for her.
Taking up Vogue’s invitation would mean confessing to her father, and not only would he be angry, it might mean that she had to make her choice between art and modelling. If she threw up her life here to grab the chance of a career in photographic modelling it would be such a waste of her talent – and yet after her futile attempts at the coursework she’d been set she was uncertain - and she wasn’t ready to make that decision yet. She would have to tell Vogue that for the moment she was committed elsewhere and see what happened about her scholarship…
Francie wondered if she really could consider herself an artist. Yes, she could paint a bit – and she thought the portraits of Betty and her father were special – but she understood that Miss Honiton would expect her to get good marks on the coursework and Francie knew her work wasn’t up to standard. If she sent it in, as she’d been asked to do, she would fail and then all hell would break loose.
Francie had no choice but to send the coursework she’d actually done, though a lot hadn’t even been attempted, because she’d been wrapped up in painting the portraits of her sister and father; she would just have to send them and hope they counted for something…
In the meantime she might as well go to the interview and hear what they had to say. She felt a surge of guilt as she wondered what had happened to her sister. Had Betty run away again or had something happened to her? A sudden feeling that her sister was in danger sent cold trickles down her spine and she was afraid for her. Something was wrong, she was sure of it. Betty wouldn’t have done this to her mother at such a time, Francie knew she was sorry for the trouble she’d already caused, so there must be another reason for her disappearance.
‘Oh Betty,’ she whispered, and a tear trickled down her cheek. ‘Please come home soon. I’m worried about you too and I don’t want to upset Mum and Dad – but I can’t help it. It might be selfish, but I want to be a model…’
*
Betty lay with her eyes closed. Her head was throbbing and her face felt sore where Pierre had slapped her, cutting her lip and making it bleed. He’d caught her unawares as she got off her bus, just a few yards from Aunt Miriam’s and dragged her into his car. She’d fought him for all she was worth, scratching and biting, giving as good as she got, and that’s when he’d punched her hard, making her head spin. Unable to resist any longer, she’d hardly been aware of the needle entering her thigh, but after that there was only blackness. Whatever he’d given her had knocked her right out, some kind of strong sedative she supposed.
It was morning now, because the light was filtering through the vertical-slatted blinds, and she felt sick. As the vomit rose in her throat, she rolled over to the side of the bed and vomited on the floor. The smell was vile and the taste bitter. She wiped her mouth and moved cautiously, putting her feet to the floor. Her first attempt to stand sent her crashing back on the bed as the dizziness swept over her, but Betty knew she had to get out of this house, wherever it was, because if she gave into the sickness and the feeling of lethargy the drug had left, she could only guess what Pierre would do to her this time. He meant to punis
h her for tricking him that night in Paris.
She remembered him calling her all sorts of horrible names when he’d grabbed her and bundled her into his car and she knew he was furious because she’d escaped him once. Unless she was just going to give in, she had to get out of here and fast!
It took Betty several attempts to stand upright and even when she managed it she felt woozy, but finally she was able to take a few steps without stumbling. The light was strengthening and she could see that the bedroom was large and well furnished, and there was a room leading off it with a toilet and a basin. Betty needed to relieve herself urgently, but was afraid that if she ran the water it would make a noise and alert Pierre to the fact that she was awake. She crept into the tiny bathroom but didn’t use the flush or the taps, even though she longed to rinse her mouth.
The window in the bathroom was tiny and it would be impossible to get out that way even if she were foolhardy enough to try jumping, because she knew it must be some distance to the ground. In the bedroom the window blinds were fixed so that try as she might, she could not open them, letting in just enough light between the slats for her to guess that it must be at least mid-morning. She stood sideways, squinting through the narrow openings to try and make out where she was. It shocked her to discover that she could see only trees and fields. She must have been taken out of London, driven a long way by the looks of it, and brought to what she now thought might be a large three-storied country house.
A chill of fear went through her as she realised that she was in far more danger than she’d realised. If Pierre had only wanted to teach her a lesson, he would hardly have bothered to bring her out of London – much easier just to give her a good hiding and leave her in a dark alley… So why bring her here? Betty’s mind worked frantically. Was she going to be forced to work as a prostitute – or worse still sold to someone overseas as a sex slave? No, that was too ridiculous for words. She smiled because she was letting fear take her over and there was no need for that – at least not while she remained in England. She’d outwitted Pierre once and there was no reason why she couldn’t do it again – except that he wouldn’t hesitate to drug her again…