'Here, you do them,' she commanded brusquely, subjecting Saffron to a lecture on their organisation's view of the future role of women, which Saffron gathered did not include such mundane chores as preparing vegetables for a stew. And to think she had always thought her exclusive finishing school had left her ill-equipped for real life! Compared with the 'school' Olivia had finished in her experience was vast. Who did Olivia and her like think was going to provide the basic requirements such as food, clothing, all the little home comforts the recipients took for granted, in the brave new world Olivia and her like were determined to create?
As she scraped carrots methodically, Saffron glanced down at the knife she was holding. Small and sharp ... Could she, dared she pocket it?
She glanced over her shoulder. Guido was standing by the door cleaning his gun. Piero had gone outside, and Olivia was talking in a low voice to Nico. Her heart started thumping heavily as she curled her fingers round the knife.
'Finished?'
Olivia snatched the cast-iron saucepan away, and Saffron quickly slipped the knife into the pocket of her jeans, the blood pounding in her ears. With every painfully constricted breath she expected to hear one of them commanding her harshly to stop where she was, but unbelievably no one did.
'When am I to cut her hair?' Olivia questioned Nico. 'We cannot take the risk of leaving her like this.'
Nico looked at her and Saffron's pulse quickened nervously. Had he guessed about the knife? There was a curious expression in his eyes as they rested briefly on the silky fall of her hair, and for a moment Saffron almost thought she heard curt regret in his brusque, 'No!'
'Very well, then,' he agreed. 'Take her upstairs.'
Guido was leaning against the stairs, and Saffron was forced to brush past him. He grinned wolfishly, his eyes on her breasts, and she recoiled.
'Look at her!' Olivia sneered to Nico. 'The shrinking society virgin, I don't think. Why so nice?' she demanded of Saffron. 'Guido is no different from any of the other men you have lain with. He has had many rich lovers. Wealthy women like a man who has machismo; who is a little rough with them, don't they, caro? Or is it for Nico's benefit that you appear so pale and afraid?' she asked viciously, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
'Be careful, amico,' she warned Nico softly. 'She will try and get round you—I know her sort.'
Upstairs in her narrow prison, Olivia pushed her down into the room's single chair. Despite her lack of inches the Italian girl was strong, and Saffron flinched beneath the pressure of her fingers, trying not to wince as Olivia tugged brutally at her hair, hacking at the long dark auburn strands with a rough pair of kitchen scissors.
She would not cry, she told herself; she would not, and yet it was impossible not to feel anguish as she saw her hair falling to the floor at her feet.
'Not quite your usual style,' Olivia jeered when she had finished. 'I read that in Northern Ireland they have a custom of tarring and feathering female traitors. I believe the only way to remove the tar is to shave off all their hair, is this so?'
'Why do you ask?' Saffron was proud of the steadiness of her voice. 'Are you thinking that perhaps your organisation could adopt the custom for female traitors?'
'My guess is that your father would pay up much quicker if the photographs we sent him showed you tarred and feathered in such a fashion. I shall speak to Nico.'
It was too much for Saffron. Somehow the hidden knife was in her hand, her hand raised towards Olivia. She heard the other girl's furious protest, heard her cry out for Nico, heard him command Guido to remain on guard as he came rushing up the wooden stairs and into the room, taking in the scene at a glance.
'Saffron! Give me the knife!'
He moved behind her, grasping her wrist firmly, but surprisingly not painfully, forcing it back, and uncurling her fingers so that the knife fell to the floor, Olivia's stream of invective washing over her as the Italian girl g
rasped what was left of her hair and tugged viciously, slapping Saffron's face.
'Olivia, stop it!' Nico ordered.
'Look what she has done to me!' Olivia protested, releasing Saffron to show Nico the small scratch on her arm. 'I will make her pay for this!' She reached for the scissors.
Smooth as silk Nico moved, restraining Olivia in much the same way as he had restrained Saffron only seconds before,
'Have you searched her?' he demanded quietly.
'She's not touching me again!'
The words were out before Saffron could stop them, recognition coming too late as she saw the expression flaring smokily in the dark grey eyes before Nico said softly, 'Very well then, I shall search you.'
'No!'
Her explosive protest brought a mirthless laugh from Olivia. 'Leave the scissors with me,' Nico instructed Olivia, 'then go downstairs and help Guido keep a look out.'
Saffron could sense that the Italian girl was reluctant to leave them alone, but it was equally obvious that she dared not ignore Nico.
For several seconds after she had gone Nico didn't move, simply saying coolly, 'Now come here. Let's get it over with.'