'Danger? You mean from other members of the gang?'
'I believe most of them are now in custody,' her father told her. 'From what they learned from your kidnappers the police were able to trace the others.'
Her father seemed to know a surprising amount about the whole thing; far more than he had indicated to her.
'I asked to be kept informed,' he told her, guessing her thoughts. 'And of course the Italian authorities had a considerable amount of help from our people, although it's all very much a diplomatic secret.'
'I suppose I'm fortunate in having a father with secrets the Government want to keep secret,' Saffron replied soberly. 'Otherwise ...'
'Don't think about it,' her father suggested softly. 'Perhaps Dom's right and appearing in court will prove a catharsis for you. You've never talked to me about what happened.'
'But you've obviously talked a good deal to Dom,' Saffron said bitterly, biting her lip as she saw his unhappy expression. 'I'm sorry, Daddy,' she apologised instantly, 'that wasn't fair of me.'
'I've been worried about you,' he said simply. 'For all the difference in our age, Dom is a good friend and one whose judgment I value.'
The subject wasn't mentioned again until they reached home, where Saffron found a large official-looking envelope waiting for her.
As she had anticipated, it turned out to be from the Italian authorities. She took it up to her room with her, and wisely her father let her go without speaking. Once there she curled up in. the rocking chair she had had from childhood, now painted a soft peach to tone with the sophistication of her room.
Strange to think how at the beginning of her captivity she would have relished this moment, enjoyed the thought of Nico being sent to prison, deprived of his freedom as she had been deprived of hers. But now ...
As she sat staring into space, events and emotions which had previously been alien and bewildering clicked into space and she stared sightlessly down at the letter as the truth struck her with the force of a blow.
She loved Nico! That was why she had not been able to enjoy her holiday; had spent so many nights lying awake, so many days trying to combat the deep ache inside her. What she had mistakenly thought of as merely sexual desire, a need to experiment before her life was cut short, had in reality been her body's way of urging her towards the truth. Had she merely wanted to experiment she would have turned equally easily to Guido or Piero, surely, but instead she had wanted Nico and only Nico.
She had been halfway to falling in love with him when she saw him on the beach, and the hothouse atmosphere of the farmhouse had forced that love into early and heady flowering.
Suddenly she knew what she must do. It wouldn't be easy, and would undoubtedly shock and hurt her father, but she loved Nico and she was prepared to fight for him no matter what he had done in the past. Surely when she told the authorities how he had saved her life in those desperate minutes, when he had pushed her out of the way of Olivia's gun, they would judge him less harshly? She knew he hadn't been involved in those other kidnappings. But she didn't know what he had been doing, she reminded herself; she didn't even know how he felt about her. But that didn't matter. She wanted to save him with the same intensity with which she had once wanted to see him punished.
If her father found her determination to attend the trial strange, he made no comment about it. Saffron wrote back to the Italian authorities, telling them that she would stand as a witness. She had decided to make her plea for Nico from the witness box; that way it would have more authority, more shock value.
She wasn't entirely stupid, though; she could well imagine the field day the press would have, insinuating that somehow Nico had warped her judgment; and all the past gossip about her would be resurrected, but she no longer cared. Nico knew the truth.
The trial was a month away and there wasn't a day when she didn't think about Nico, nor a night when she didn't dream his arms were round her and she would wake up with her head pillowed against his chest, his body inflaming hers with its proximity.
The beautician who normally looked after her at her favourite beauty salon had been appalled by the state of her nails and skin. The destruction of her hair-style she had been able to correct by opting for a shorter, softer look than she had worn previously. He preferred it, her father had told her, and Saffron couldn't deny that it was softly and flatteringly feminine.
For the court hearing, which had been brought forward because the authorities were worried that any stray members of the gang not rounded up might try and break their friends free, Saffron had chosen a silk outfit in a rich golden yellow that echoed her name and brought out the golden lights in her auburn hair and tawny eyes. It made her look older, or was it simply that she had matured? Sir Richard told her that she looked enchanting, but privately he thought she looked heartbreakingly fragile and vulnerable, and he wished he knew what brought the shadows to her eyes and the droop to her mouth, but he was too wise and understanding to probe; their new relationship too precious to withstand any rough handling.
He had wanted to go to Italy with her, but Saffron had refused, and anyway, a sudden business trip to New York the week the trial started meant that he could not have accompanied her.
The weekend before she was due to leave he returned home early on the Friday night. Saffron had been busy packing—the saffron suit and the other clothes she would need for the first few days of the trial when she would be giving evidence. Her father came up to her room looking tired and anxious.
'I know you're going to object to this,' he began without preamble, 'but I've arranged for someone to go to Rome with you.'
'Not the inestimable Dom?' Saffron said sarcastically. She was a little tired of her father's constant enthusiastic references to his friend, but he ignored her rude comment and shook his head.
'No, one of the men who stormed the farmhouse. He's going to give evidence as well.'
Evidence which might convict Nico! Saffron tensed. This was something she hadn't planned for. This man her father was referring to must be one of the S.A.S. men who had rescued her.
If he was she didn't recognise him, but then she could remember very little about that day. He was both pleasant and polite as he took his seat beside her, and became engrossed in a biography of Winston Churchill once they were airborne.
She hadn't realised how tense she was until the flight was nearly over, when he said quietly to her, 'It must be hard for you to do this ... especially when you lived so closely with them. It's one of the things we learn during training,' he added informatively. 'It goes one of two ways—either a deep and abiding hatred develops in the victim, or an intense sense of dependency.'
He was watching her, and despite his politeness Saffron sensed that he was wondering which applied to her. He would know soon enough, she thought, folding her lips into a tight line. It was true, she was dependent on Nico. Without him life would hold no real meaning, and yet she knew that it was more than likely that he didn't return her feelings. But if she could get him freed, if her father could be persuaded to help, surely then Nico would need her? She moved restlessly in her seat. Was that what she wanted? Cowed gratitude, dependence because there was nothing else for him? Did she really want him reduced to that? Hadn't she loved him because he was proud and independent? Would he really want his freedom at such a price, or would any feelings he might have for her turn to hatred and contempt? Backwards and forwards she argued with herself during the short flight, and was no nearer coming to any conclusion when it was over. All she did know was that she couldn't allow Nico to go to prison without at least trying to save him; what happened or didn't happen after that must be up to him.
With the armed guard that met them at the airport and surrounded her hotel came the realisation of how seriously the authorities were taking the trial and how little chance she had of actually helping Nico. The Italian Government was out for blood, and with Saffron's help they intended to get it, she realised that on the first day of the trial, when she was invited to take the witness stand and tell the jury how she had come to be kidnapped.