Four days had passed since Nico had taken her into the town, and Saffron was discovering that the mood of her captors had begun to change dangerously. Whenever they quoted the maxims of the organisation to her now, it was always with a bitterly vitriolic denunciation of her own culture—a culture they were pledged to destroy. But it was their fanatical hatred of the Roman Catholic Church Saffron found the most terrifying. According to them, it was going to be their first target for destruction, and Saffron shuddered when Olivia turned on her one morning saying savagely, 'Religion has been the opiate of the masses for too long—they are deluded and deceived into believing that there is better to come; that "heaven" awaits them, and because they in their folly have believed it they have become slaves to religion. And why have we not yet heard from her father?' she demanded of Nico. 'There has been time enough. Perhaps he does not yet take our threats seriously,' she added. 'We have never had these delays in the past.'
'We are now living in the present,' Nico told her smoothly. 'And you know the orders from Rome. I am in charge of this operation.'
'Olivia is right,' Piero cut in angrily. 'Perhaps it is time we tried to speed matters up a little. We cannot remain here in safety very much longer.'
'I say we should send her father something to remind him how vulnerable his daughter is,' Olivia suggested. 'Perhaps we should remind him of the blood tie by sending him something a little more tangible than simply a taped message. The Getty boy was ransomed quickly enough once his family received...'
'Enough! I will not listen to any more!' Nico commanded. 'I am in charge of this operation and I shall be the one to decide what steps we take and when, and you will all follow my orders!'
Silence fell as they listened to him, and a nauseous dread clawed at the pit of Saffron's stomach as she contemplated Olivia's threat.
How would they mutilate her? By removing her finger, her ear? The mere thought was enough to bring her out in an ice-cold sweat, but she refused to give in to it, or to give Olivia the satisfaction of seeing her react to the other girl's suggestion.
She knew all about what had happened to Paul Getty's grandson; she had seen it in the papers and remembered her father commenting on it, although she had only been young at the time. His captors had cut off his ear and sent it to his family. And it hadn't been the only case of mutilation. But then he had been ransomed and had lived! If only she could escape! But how? Escape was impossible, she knew that and yet still she yearned for it, was obsessed by it.
And now she was faced with the threat which Olivia had just made. It terrified her, adding a new dimension to the fear she was already experiencing.
The day dragged on. Twice Saffron saw Olivia and Guido closeted together as they worked, talking in low whispers. Were they planning to ignore Nico's commands, usurp his authority even? She had sensed in Olivia a change, a hardening towards Nico and a reluctance to accept his word as law. Somehow he had become her only protection against Olivia's malice and Guido's lechery, and she grew fearful every time he disappeared from sight, worrying about what might happen to him. She didn't put it past Olivia to carry out her gruesome promise of mutilation without Nico's authority—after all, what could he do once it was accomplished? She tried not to picture her father's agony if he were to receive such evidence of her plight.
She couldn't touch her evening meal, her movements were listless and uncaring. Once or twice she felt Nico's gaze, but refused to look at him.
When he rose from the table, abruptly, pushing back his chair with the first awkward movement she had seen him make her eyes flew instinctively to his.
'Piero, our guest looks as though she could do with some fresh air. Walk with her as far as the river and back.'
'Not taking her yourself?' Olivia questioned maliciously. 'Don't tell me she turned you down?'
The Italian girl's desire seemed to have turned to dislike in a remarkably short space of time, Saffron reflected as she followed Piero outside, or was it simply that Olivia was masking her true feelings with pretended contempt?
Darkness had already fallen, but the subtropical night air was soft and warm, the thought of being locked up in her small room once her walk was over causing feelings of acute claustrophobia. In any other circumstances the walk through the olive grove to the river would have been very pleasant, but with Piero at her back, ready to pounce on her the moment she set a foot wrong, much of the pleasure was dissipated.
All she possessed was the illusion of freedom, and it could never be any substitute for the real thing. Ahead of them the river gleamed silver-black under the hunter's moon, and stars shimmered in the midnight blue sky.
Saffron walked along the river bank for several yards, stopping abruptly as she recognised Nico walking towards them from the opposite direction. Obviously he too had wanted to breathe in the soft night air, but unlike her he was free to do so whenever he wished. Her lips twisted bitterly at the thought.
'Piero, I want you to take a look at the Land Rover,' Nico told the other man as he drew abreast of them. 'The engine's running hot.'
'I'll give it a test run now,' Piero suggested, 'and then I can go over it in the morning.'
'Fine. We don't want to risk being without it.'
As Piero slipped away into the darkness and they were left alone, a curious constraint came over Saffron. She glanced out across the river, yearningly, bitterly resentful of Nico's touch on her arm, telling her that it was time to go back. Behind her lay the farmhouse and imprisonment, in front of her the river, and then freedom.
An instinct that overwhelmed caution and fear swept over her, and then without conscious thought she was turning and running, not towards the farmhouse, but away from it, towards the river, no conscious plan formulated in her mind, only a desperate need to be free.
She had caught Nico off guard, and heard him curse softly behind her, but she closed her ears against the sounds of pursuit. Lungs and heart pounding to the point of bursting, she willed her body into a speed she had not known since schooldays. Her enforced captivity had made her lose weight, but that only gave her a momentary advantage; Nico had the strength and stamina she lacked, and behind her she could hear unmistakably that he was gaining on her.
Even then, knowing what the outcome must be, she refused to give in, punishing her body until it screamed in protest, not caring that she was driving herself to the point of collapse, the only thought in her throbbing head the need to escape, to sink into the ground and become absorbed in it, part of it —free!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Suddenly she was falling ... falling, to hit the ground with a thud that jarred her teeth and drove the breath from her lungs. A heavy weight pinned her to the ground. She lifted her head in exhausted defeat and stared ahead of her to where the river ran smoothly between its banks.
'Little fool!' The harsh condemnation was laced with anger. Dragging air into her tortured lungs in aching gasps, Saffron lay quiescent as Nico turned her over on to her back, arms falling uselessly to her side, her whole body shivering with reaction. 'What did you hope to gain?'
'Freedom!' The word was thick and slurred with pain, defeat etched into her face as the moonlight slid over it, mercilessly revealing her anguish. Above her she heard Nico curse, and then, unbelievably, he was cupping her face, kissing her with a heated urgency that melted her body and left her strangely fluid and receptive to his touch. This was no exploratory embrace, no cynical punishment, but the touch of a man driven beyond the bounds of self-imposed restraint into an action of explosive need, and Saffron's senses recognised it as such. The moon slid behind a cloud; with preternaturally heightened senses she could hear the soft movements of the river, the whispers of the night all around them, and a wild clamouring swirled through her, a desperate need to experience all life's pleasures before it was too late; without conscious thought she rejected the code by which she had previously lived her life. If she was going to die she wanted to experience life first; to know the desir
e and possession of a man, even if that man was her captor, or so her body reasoned, and she could no longer fight against it. There seemed to be a strange sort of fatality about being here with Nico, as though it was something that had long ago been ordained there was nothing she could do about it.