Desire's Captive

Half an hour later he had gone. Saffron did her usual stint in the fields watched over by Piero and subject to a forceful lecture of the evils of a capitalistic state. She ignored it as she had started to ignore all their tirades. Initially she had listened closely, hoping that by doing so she might come to have a closer understanding of them, but their blindness to the flaws in the doctrines of their organisation made it impossible for her to even discuss the subject with them.

She had lost weight during her enforced imprisonment; her skin had been tanned even darker by the strong sun, and it was so long since she had worn make-up that she was quite used to the sight of herself without mascara or lipstick. Her butchered hair had grown a little and curled delicately round her face, the elfin locks making her eyes seem huge in her fragilely boned face.

'You are here to work, not daydream!'

She hadn't seen Olivia approach and straightened her aching back as the Italian girl strode towards her, one hand resting aggressively on her hip while the other held her gun.

'You may deceive Nico, but you don't deceive me,' Olivia continued derisively. 'You hope that by sharing your bed with him you will encourage him to be lenient with you, but it won't work. Rome would never tolerate it. Even if Nico wanted to favour you he would never dare. The organisation never forgives treachery from one of its members, and Nico knows that, so you are not as clever as you believe. Oh, he will take what you offer,' she sneered. 'He will enjoy your body, but that is all. When he returns he will see things our way. You may think you can sway him with your body, but you will see. You had better start praying that your father raises that money soon,' she finished threateningly. 'Don't deceive yourself that Nico cares for you as a person. He despises you and your sort, as we all do.'

'You're saying that because you're jealous,' Saffron retorted.

She had said the words on impulse, but knew that she had guessed correctly and that against all logic Olivia was jealous of her.

'You are lying!' Olivia hissed at her. 'Nico takes you simply because your eyes beg him to, and above all else he is very much a man ... but that is all you are to him—a body!'

Saffron mulled over Olivia's words later in the day, and wondered what the other girl would have done if she had told her the truth—that Nico had rejected her. Nico, Nico ... why must he occupy so many of her thoughts? she asked herself resentfully; thoughts that should be fully occupied in finding a way out of her present situation. She tried to concentrate on her father, on the routine of his day, wondering what he was feeling and thinking at this very moment. Was she in his thoughts? Was he regretting his decision not to go to the police, or was he frightened that by doing so he would be prejudicing her position? How would he raise the money? She knew he did not possess so much cash and to realise it would mean realising many of his assets—the Impressionist paintings he had collected so lovingly over the years, the antiques chosen by her mother, perhaps even selling some shares in the company, and surely none of this could be done quickly or without causing suspicion?

The storm which had been threatening broke that evening, thunder and lightning filling the sky. Saffron went to bed with a tense headache, glad to escape the atmosphere in the room below. Guido had been giving her hotly lustful glances all evening, and she felt frighteningly vulnerable without Nico to act as a bulwark against the other man's lust for her.

Dawn came with a fresh clarity after the storm. Saffron could hear Piero whistling downstairs. When eventually Olivia came to release her she had not brought the normal bowl of water. When Saffron commented on it the other girl remarked bitchily, 'What's the matter, don't you think Nico will want you if you aren't all delicately perfumed? Nico is a man,' she told Saffron scornfully, 'and prefers a real woman to some spoiled, pampered Daddy's darling!'

As the days had gone by, and her captors had grown less concerned about the danger of being discovered, they had become less cautious about allowing Saffron any freedom. 'Where could she go to?' Olivia asked scornfully, when Piero barred her way through the door. 'And how? as Piero himself had the only set of keys for the second Land Rover. 'Let her go,' she told Piero. 'You can watch her from here. If she starts to run, shoot her.'

Saffron didn't make the mistake of thinking she was merely making an idle threat. The river drew her, although she was unwilling to admit the reason why. She stood watching it for several minutes, and then on a sudden impulse removed her blouse and shabby jeans and paddled into the water, not stopping until it was waist-high. As before, the luxury of feeling clean again was something she revelled in, although this time she was careful to keep an eye on the river bank and did not stay too long in the water. She had no towel to dry herself on, but the sun would soon dry her damp underwear. She could see Piero up at the farmhouse, b

ut her underwear was as respectable as many bikinis—more so, in fact, and this was the time of the day when Guido would have driven down to the village to collect their stores. One of them went into the village every few days, their presence now accepted without any comment.

When she returned to the farmhouse the Land Rover was parked outside, but there was no sign of Guido. Thinking that he was out with the vines, Saffron stepped unsuspectingly into the dimness of the room.

A hand shot out to circle her throat choking the breath out of her lungs, garlic-laden breath mingled with the sourness of wine breathed close to her ear, as Guido warned, 'Don't struggle,' and then his free hand was on her body, ripping off the buttons of her blouse in his haste, his touch scorching her skin as she saw the burning lust in his eyes, and knew that he had deliberately lain in wait for her. All the fear she had ever experienced before was as nothing compared with the impending violation of her body. Every muscle screamed its distraught protest, her eyes those of a terrified hunted animal as Guido bent his head and the hot wetness of his mouth closed sickeningly over hers.

Saffron fought like a trapped creature, fingernails raking his face, but her blows seemed only to amuse him. Her blouse was wrenched from her body, his hand probing the flimsy protection of her bra while she shrank under his touch. Unlike Nico there was no lean male scent to his skin, rather the rank, sour odour of a wild animal. Gagging with nausea, Saffron felt his hands on her body, through the swirling red mist of terror and pain she heard a door slamming and then voices.

'Guido, let go of her!'

Nico! She sagged weakly with relief, but Guido, maddened with lust, refused to heed Nico's command.

'Let her go, I said!'

'And I am tired of doing what you say!' With a brutal hand Guido thrust Saffron to the floor, his knife appearing like magic, glittering evilly as he advanced on Nico.

Saffron's fear for herself was submerged beneath her terror for Nico. He was unarmed, while Guido had his knife. She knew beyond logic than neither of the others would help Nico, that was what happening in front of her was the culmination of more than simply Guido's desire for her and Nico's thwarting of it, and she shivered convulsively as the two antagonists converged, Guido's hand describing a swift arc as the knife swept downwards.

Saffron closed her eyes, the scar on her breast throbbing in memory of how venomous that blade could be. The solid sound of flesh against flesh followed by a painful grunt made her open her eyes, and her heart raced in terror at what she might see.

Guido was sprawled on the ground at Nico's feet, the knife lying inches away. Nico was breathing heavily, a small cut bleeding along his cheekbone. He wiped the blood away impatiently with the back of his hand before running his fingers through already disordered hair, his voice icy with anger as he said, 'Piero, I told you to watch Guido. And as for you, Guido, I warned you what would happen if...'

'Nico, look out!' Saffron shouted the warning as she saw Guido's fingers reach out for the knife, but Nico beat him to it, kicking it away with a savage oath, his eyes almost black as he bent to grasp Guido's shirt and dragged him to his feet.

'I should beat you to a pulp!'

'It wasn't Guido's fault,' Olivia objected, erupting on to the scene. 'She was taunting him, encouraging him ...'

'I wasn't! She's lying!' The words formed themselves in Saffron's mind but refused to leave her tongue. The world became a whirling black vortex, devouring her in its midst, obliterating the nightmare engulfing her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Saffron was lying on the narrow bed in her room. Darkness had fallen and she could see the moon through the uncurtained window. She got up, and everything that had happened came rushing back. She started to shake, swallowing hard on the sickness rising up inside her and feeling the pain of her bruised throat. And it was not only her throat that had suffered; there were bruises on her arms, and her blouse hung in shreds round her.