Dark Fever Read online

  ‘I think we’d better be on our way. It’s gone half-past eleven. Are you ready?’

  His voice made her jump, eyes wide, dark blue; she sat up, got to her feet, very flushed, quickly pulled her yellow cotton tunic dress over her head and collected her towel and other belongings a little clumsily because she was so aware of him standing there watching her. He made her intensely self-conscious.

  ‘I’m ready. I must go back to my apartment first. I won’t be more than five minutes.’

  He walked with her to her apartment. ‘I’ll go and change too, then I’ll collect my car from the hotel garage. Can you meet me outside the hotel in ten minutes?’

  She nodded and hurried through her front door. Ten minutes would just give her time to shower rapidly, put on clean clothes and some make-up.

  She made it to the hotel just in time; Gil’s long, sleek car pulled up beside her as she arrived, and he leaned over to open the passenger door. She felt the assessing flick of his grey eyes as she climbed in beside him.

  ‘That dress is exactly the colour of your eyes!’ he murmured, and her pulses began their tormenting clamouring again.

  She kept her gaze down, clicked her seatbelt home, then smoothed the skirt of her blue linen dress down over her knees as he drove away. Gil shot her another glance; out of the corner of her eye she saw his mouth indent ironically.

  ‘Nervous?’

  She stiffened. ‘What about?’

  ‘Identifying the guy who attacked you, of course,’ he said softly. ‘What did you think I meant?’

  She ignored the last question and answered the first one, her voice husky but her chin determined. ‘I’m not looking forward to the identification parade, but I’ll go through with it. I was very scared last night; I’m angry about that. I wouldn’t want anyone else to have that happen to them because I didn’t help the police.’

  They were in Marbella now; slowing at traffic lights, Gil gave her a sudden, brilliant smile. ‘Bravo! You are right—next time he might attack a young girl or an old woman, and next time the knife might be used and someone might die.’

  She shivered. ‘I know. At the time I was reacting rather than thinking about what was happening... but afterwards, when I was in bed, I kept reliving the moment when he pulled the knife out and I’m only now beginning to realise just how terrified I was.’

  ‘I expect you’ll have panic attacks now and then for quite a while; it’s only natural. Talking about it helps; you reduce the anxiety and the shock every time you talk it out with someone.’

  He’s a nice man, she thought with a pang. He’s kind and thoughtful. But I’m going home in two weeks and we’ll never meet again—and I’m too old for a holiday romance. I probably always was! I was never the type to throw myself into a brief affair, even before I married Rob. I’m far too conservative and cautious.

  Scared! mocked a little voice inside her. You were always scared stiff of taking risks. You would never leap before you looked or gamble on your feelings.

  He drew up outside a large police station and looked at his watch. ‘Just on time; we’ll have to hurry or they might think we aren’t coming after all.’

  The Spanish police were gravely kind and polite, but it was still as disturbing an experience, in a way, as the original attack. She had to look through a window at a line of men first. None of them looked familiar; they were mostly the same height, same build, and all wore blue jeans and a white T-shirt.

  ‘I didn’t see his face,’ she pointed out. ‘His helmet hid it.’

  The policemen looked disappointed but unsurprised; they must have known the chances of her identifying the mugger were not good.

  ‘Isn’t anything about any of them familiar?’ Gil asked her.

  She looked helplessly at him. ‘You saw him too—what do you think?’

  He shrugged in wry regret. ‘I didn’t see him at close quarters; I just saw a shape, an outline, black leather and a motorbike helmet—nothing I could identify.’

  The policeman with them said something in Spanish to Gil, who turned to her and quietly asked, ‘Could you bear to walk along the line? They just want to know if this is the same man who attacked you. You might find something familiar, pick up a physical clue, a smell. They won’t be able to use it in court, but it would still be useful to the police.’

  She swallowed, then nodded. ‘OK.’

  She walked slowly, looking at each face, each man’s shape, trying not to tremble visibly although her insides were quaking like jelly and she felt sick. When she reached the end of the line she knew she had not recognised anyone, but she tried again, this time not looking at their faces, just staring downwards as if trying to recognise their feet.

  At one point she paused, drawing a sharp breath, her nostrils quivering as they picked up the scent of sweat, of garlic, of something less identifiable but definite— the scent of fear.

  She looked up into black eyes and knew it was him. At that instant she remembered the moment when he had drawn the knife and she saw his black-gloved hand, the cuff of his black leather jacket... and the slight gap between them.

  The scar. She looked down at his hand, reached for it.

  He tried to pull away from her. The policeman beside her spoke sharply to him in Spanish, and the boy reluctantly let her lift his hand, push back the cuff of his jacket.

  The red scar was there. She let his hand fall, and then, as she had been instructed, she tapped him on the shoulder. His eyes hated her, threatened her; she sensed the tension of his stiffening muscles as if he was going to hit her. He spat out Spanish under his breath, words she didn’t understand but whose meaning she guessed without difficulty.

  He would like to kill her. He wished he had used that knife on her in the street last night.

  The policeman at the end of the line came quickly forward to escort her safely out of the white-washed room.

  ‘It’s definitely him,’ she said shakily, and explained about the knife-cut on the boy’s wrist.

  ‘You never mentioned it before,’ Gil said, frowning.

  ‘I only remembered it when I saw him again.’ She was shaking now.

  Gil moved closer, put an arm around her, his eyes focusing on her white face.

  ‘Are you OK? Come and sit down.’

  She would have liked to leave then, go back to her apartment and lie down on her bed alone, but she had to go through the further ordeal of answering questions about the incident. Gil translated for her, his chair right next to hers. The language gap made the long session even more difficult to handle; she was glad of the glass of water that Gil requested, and got, for her, but she was even more grateful when the policeman finally asked her to sign her statement and let her leave.

  ‘Was my identification any real help?’ she asked him through Gil, and the other man shrugged, his face wry.

  ‘As you did not see his face, I am afraid it was little help to us, and although you say you saw the cut on his wrist during the incident you never mentioned it in your first statement; but at least you have confirmed our belief that it was the same person who attacked you and the others.’

  ‘So I did pick out the boy you had arrested for the other attack?’

  The policeman nodded, his face unreadable.

  ‘What will happen to him now?’ she rather nervously asked, hoping he would not be released on bail while she was in Spain.

  Again the policeman shrugged. ‘We will hold him while we are making further enquiries. The man they mugged last night has recovered consciousness, but the hospital will not let us talk to him because he is still in a state of shock. Once he is well enough to see us we’ll know whether or not we have a good case against the two men we picked up.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ she said, shaking hands, and the policeman gave her a warm smile.

  ‘Enjoy the rest of your holiday. But remember, we may need you to appear in court some time in the future.’

  What if they had to release those two men for lack of evidenc
e? she thought as they drove back towards the hotel. She remembered the hatred in the eyes of the man she had picked out in the identity parade; he had wanted to kill her. A shiver of fear ran down her back.

  Gil shot her a sideways look, his grey eyes piercing as they assessed her expression.

  ‘You are quite safe inside the hotel grounds, you know,’ he said gently.

  She gave him a startled glance. How had he known what she was thinking?

  He said quietly, ‘Our security system is foolproof. No one without identification can move about inside the grounds without being picked up on our hidden cameras or by our security patrols.’

  Her mind knew, rationally, that if she was sensible and did not go wandering around the town late at night again she was perfectly safe.

  Why didn’t she feel safe, then? Why was she on edge now, in broad daylight, in the safety of Gil’s car?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘I would like to have lunch with you,’ Gil said as they drew up outside the hotel, and Bianca opened her mouth to refuse, but before she could say anything he added, ‘Unfortunately, I must get back to work. My assistant is standing in for me and I have to take over from him. But will you have dinner with me tonight?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I would like to get an early night, and eating a heavy meal in the evening always gives me indigestion.’

  ‘That’s because you aren’t used to it. In Spain we always eat late at night, rarely before nine—and our meals are quite heavy, but we don’t get indigestion.’

  ‘I don’t know how you ever manage to get any sleep when you start eating at nine or ten o’clock at night!’

  ‘We have our siesta during the afternoon; we don’t need to get in eight hours during the night. Going to bed in the heat of the day is a very civilised way of dealing with our climate—you should try it. We must convert you to our ways while you’re here.’

  Somehow his gaze made her nerves prickle—she wasn’t altogether sure he was talking about sleeping. Those grey eyes had a mocking amusement in them that disturbed her.

  She looked away, said hurriedly, ‘Well, I’ll skip dinner altogether and just have a light supper in my apartment. I must do some shopping, get some fresh food from the hotel shop. I haven’t been there yet—does it sell salads and cold meats?’

  ‘It is a mini-supermarket—it carries a very wide range of goods, and I’m sure you’ll find what you want, but if you don’t you only have to ask and we’ll get it for you within twenty-four hours.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ she said as he came round to open the door for her and help her out. ‘And thank you for being so kind and helpful, Senor Marquez—’

  ‘Gil,’ he interrupted. ‘We know each other well enough now to use first names, don’t we, Bianca?’

  Their eyes met and she drew a shaky breath, somehow managed to say huskily, ‘It was very good of you to take me to the police station and interpret for me, Gil. I’m very grateful.’

  ‘Then have dinner with me tomorrow; I’ve invited Freddie and Karl to dinner—a foursome is much more enjoyable—and you do like them, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, very much,’ she said, relieved, breaking into a smile. If they were going to be there she needn’t feel alarmed about being alone with him. She had liked Freddie the minute they met; she would enjoy getting to know her better.

  Gil’s eyes watched her with irony as if he knew what she was thinking, but his voice was level and calm. ‘So you’ll change your mind and join us? We’ll eat early, at eight, just for you! The kitchen can cope with that— they’re used to English visitors wanting to eat at unreasonable hours.’

  She laughed. ‘It’s hard to change the habit of a lifetime, you know.’

  He looked down at her, a tall man with a brooding authority, his eyes holding hers.

  ‘Changing is what life is all about, Bianca. We do it all the time, minute by minute, day by day, year by year, so gradually that we barely notice. How many times have you met someone you knew ten years ago and been amazed by how much they’ve changed in those years?’ He paused, then said quietly, ‘You can’t fight time or life, Bianca. You can’t stop the clock, or turn it back.’

  She felt a surge of the angry, passionate regret she had felt ever since Rob died.

  ‘Life isn’t fair!’ she broke out and Gil’s mouth twisted wryly.

  ‘Who promised it would be? It’s time you grew up, Bianca!’

  That made her laugh. ‘I’m forty years old!’ The admission almost took her breath away. Her age was something else she angrily resisted.

  Gil grinned. ‘And here I am lecturing you when I’m two years younger!’

  ‘Only two?’ she retorted, but was quite relieved because she had suspected that he might only be thirty-five or so.

  ‘Thanks for the compliment,’ he said, his eyes gleaming. ‘You look much younger than forty yourself.’

  They were standing in the hotel lobby now. The receptionist waved urgently at Gil, who nodded back at her then looked down at Bianca. ‘I must go. If you have any problems at all ring my office and I’ll deal with them. And stay in the hotel grounds for the rest of the day.’

  She prickled, resenting the autocratic tone.

  ‘Don’t give me orders, Senor Marquez!’

  His eyes were sardonic. ‘Don’t be stupid, Bianca. I’m not giving you orders, I’m advising you, for your own good, to stay where you can be protected. And my name is Gil. Remember?’

  He held out his hand and courtesy demanded that she take it. Slowly and unwillingly she held out her own hand but he did not shake it. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it formally, with a slight bow.

  She drew a startled breath. He straightened, looking down into her startled eyes.

  ‘Take a siesta after lunch, Bianca. Start living like a Spaniard—go to bed in the afternoon. Let us teach you how to enjoy life.’

  She knew she was turning pink and saw that it amused him; his eyes teased her, but as he stopped speaking he released her hand, turned and walked away towards the reception desk.

  Bianca hurriedly turned away too and went into the dining-room where they were still serving a buffet lunch. A waiter came to show her to a table and ask if she would want some wine with her meal.

  For once, she decided, she would; the morning had been exhausting and after lunch she would take Gil’s advice and go to bed for an afternoon siesta.

  ‘A half-carafe of your house white, please, and some mineral water.’

  When the waiter had gone she went over to the buffet, collected a plate and began to wander around choosing from the food. By now the selection was not as extensive as it no doubt had been at the start of lunchtime—the other guests had plundered the plates and left only scraps of the most popular food. Bianca wasn’t very hungry, however; she chose salad and a small slice of cold poached salmon.

  As she went back to her table to begin eating she suddenly saw someone waving from a table at the far side of the room, by the window.

  Breaking into a smile, she recognised Freddie and went over there, carrying her plate. Freddie was chic and eye-riveting in a very plain white lawn dress which made her tan more marked; she glittered, too, with gold—small, shield-shaped earrings in her ears, a chunky gold bracelet on her arm, a thin chain around her neck. The simplicity and yet richness of the ensemble worked so well together that you would have supposed it to have been designed as a whole by whoever had made the dress, thought Bianca, whose business was fashion, but she suspected that Freddie herself had chosen the jewellery to match the expensively simple white dress. Freddie had a natural style which money could not buy.

  She smiled warmly at Bianca, asking, ‘How are you today?’ Her eyes searched Bianca’s face. ‘You look pale, and no wonder! Gil told us what happened last night in Marbella—it must have been terrifying. For such a thing to happen... it could ruin your holiday—how lucky Gil came along when he did.’

  Bianca nodded. ‘Yes
, it was very lucky.’ Even if she wished it had been someone else she was grateful that he had arrived when he did. ‘At least I wasn’t hurt, and didn’t lose anything! It could have been so much worse. I’ve just had to go to a police station for an identity parade—that was quite scary, too; I hated doing it.’

  ‘Did you pick anyone out?’

  ‘I didn’t recognise anyone, but I did feel sure that one man was the mugger; I pointed him out to the police and they said he was one of the men they had picked up. The other man stayed on the bike during the attack, and I never even noticed him.’

  Freddie looked puzzled. ‘If you didn’t recognise him how could you pick him out?’

  ‘There was something... I don’t know, I just felt sure it was him; it was instinctive, a sort of sixth sense, and I might have decided I was wrong, but then I looked in his eyes and...he hated me...’ Bianca shivered, remembering that moment, and Freddie looked horrified.

  ‘How terrible! You poor thing!’

  ‘Let’s not talk about it,’ said Bianca hurriedly. ‘I just want to forget about it, now all that’s over.’ She looked at the other places at the table. ‘Where’s your family? Have they eaten and left?’

  ‘Karl took them sailing. Gil has a yacht moored at Puerto Jose Banus...’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘That’s a marina, just down the coast from here, at Nueva Andalucía; they have mooring for hundreds of yachts, a casino and a leisure complex with bars and nightclubs and restaurants...and swimming-pools—they have several of those, too. It’s a fun place and Karl and the children loved it the minute they saw it. It’s their sort of place.’

  Bianca saw the waiter coming back with her carafe of wine. ‘Well, I’d better go back to my own table.’

  Freddie glanced across the room. ‘Are you alone too?’

  Bianca nodded.

  ‘Well, then, will you join me? I’ve had my meal, but I’m going to have some coffee. It would be nice to have some company.’