‘I’m going to get a doctor for you,’ he said quietly. He moved away from the bed, picked up the telephone from her bedside table, and a few seconds later spoke curtly in Spanish.
After a while he put the phone down and she felt him come towards her again, sit down on the edge of her bed, feather a few strands of hair back from her temples.
‘The doctor will be here soon. Bianca...’ He paused; she felt him watching her, but didn’t open her eyes. The shivering was slowing, warmth was percolating into her, her mind was operating again, but she couldn’t face Gil. He had seen her like that... her hair dishevelled, her dress ripped apart, her body almost naked, her face marked, bruised and bloody.
Gil was the last man in the world she would have wanted to see her in that state. Shame and sickness filled her.
She shouldn’t have opened the door without checking who was outside. There was a security window in the door, a tiny glass circle which gave you a strange view of whoever stood outside, like looking out of a goldfish bowl. If she had looked before she’d opened the door she would have seen him and none of it would have happened.
If only I had... If only...
‘Bianca, can you hear me? You haven’t fainted, have you?’
Reluctantly, her lids stirred.
‘Bianca, the police are here; they want to see you. Do you feel up to talking to them, telling them what happened? They want to make sure they can keep him locked up this time, so if you could make a statement at once it would help. But if you can’t face it I’ll keep them away. I don’t want you to feel you must, if it bothers you.’
She forced her eyes open; Gil was bending over her; she felt his physical presence and shrank back, chill perspiration breaking out on her skin.
‘Don’t...’
He frowned. ‘You’re not scared of me, Bianca, are you? I’d rather cut off my right arm than hurt you— don’t you know that?’
She half sobbed, half laughed. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Of course I know you wouldn’t hurt me—of course you wouldn’t.’ But she didn’t want him touching her or coming too close. She didn’t want anyone coming too close; she needed to distance herself, to cut herself off from everyone for a while.
He sat down on the bed further away, his face pale, his brows heavy above his grey eyes. ‘Do you feel up to seeing the police?’
She sighed. ‘I suppose I have to?’
‘Not if you don’t feel you can bear it. It’s up to you. When the doctor gets here he’ll probably sedate you; I think maybe you should go to hospital.’
‘No! I’m not seriously hurt. Just bruised.’
‘You’re in shock; it might be wiser if you spent a night in hospital where they can keep an eye on you.’
‘I don’t want to go to hospital,’ she said obstinately, and then suddenly wailed, ‘I want to go home!’ as she was overwhelmed by a desperate yearning to be safely back in her own house, with her children.
If she had never come here this wouldn’t have happened. It was a pity she had ever seen that poster in the travel agency window. She shut her eyes and remembered that day, when she’d first got the idea of a holiday in Spain—it seemed so long ago, another lifetime. So much had happened to her since she got here. It was incredible how much difference a few days could make. Time had rushed past, yet looking back she felt she had been here for months, not days. Her memories of this place were going to be crowded with incident. At home time had slowly dragged past, each day more or less the same, a gentle, tranquil, unthreatening routine of life. Why had she ever grown tired of it? Why had she wanted to get away? She didn’t know when she was well off, did she?
You stupid woman! she told herself. Once you get back home there won’t be any more foreign holidays, any more adventures, any more risks taken.
‘How did he get in here?’ she asked Gil hoarsely. ‘I thought your security was supposed to be foolproof?’
‘We don’t know yet. The security man I warned to be extra vigilant around your apartment noticed someone vanishing into this block and knew it was not a guest, or a member of staff, so he got on the mobile phone to me to let me know, and I shot over here with a couple of other guys. I knew you should be leaving now to meet Freddie and Karl in the piano bar—I had an immediate sixth sense that something was wrong. So we came up here, and thank God we were in time.’
She felt ice trickle down her spine. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
There was a tap on the door of the apartment; Gil slid off the bed and walked away, returning a moment later with a short, middle-aged man in a dark suit.
‘This is Dr Perez, Bianca. I’m afraid his English isn’t very good, so would you like me to stay, to translate for you?’
She shook her head. She did not want him in the room whilethe doctor examined her.
‘Well, if you want me, I’ll be in the sitting-room,’ Gil said without comment, and left, closing the door behind him.
The doctor smiled at Bianca soothingly, then began a brief examination, clicking his tongue over the bruises on her face and throat. He asked her a few gentle questions; she managed to understand his limping English and he seemed to grasp her replies. She wished again that she had learnt some Spanish, and decided that before she visited any country in future she would learn at least some of their language.
He showed her a hypodermic. ‘Please, sorry, I try not to hurt.’