Days were passing, Belle supposed. She’d lost all track. Trix stayed on the bed except for when she went out into the kitchen to be fed, or outside to do her business. The bearded man fed Belle cool soup, mashing up bread in it so that it was soft and didn’t pull at her stitched cheek. He made her tea and gave it to her cool, through a straw. Fed her more painkillers. She dozed and woke and dozed again, hearing sounds of someone working with tools nearby, maybe unscrewing something, but it didn’t matter.
When she began to get stronger he helped her across the room to the loo with its built-in shower cubicle and waited outside the door to be sure she wasn’t about to faint in there. While she was in there she saw what the noises had been. The bathroom cabinet door was missing.
Bet that had a mirror on it.
When nearly a week had gone since Harlan’s boys had thrown her to the caimans, the man came in carrying some clothes, Trix following in high excitement, her tail going into overdrive as Belle reached out a hand to pet her.
‘What’s all this then?’ asked Belle as Trix jumped up onto the bed, did her usual performance of treading around to get comfy, then lay down at Belle’s feet, her face fixed in a grin.
‘Clothes,’ the man said, laying them out on the counterpane. ‘They were my mum’s, might as well get some use out of them. There’s a couple of nightdresses, some dresses and a cardigan. Some underwear. A pair of her old jeans and – yeah, a couple of my shirts. I dunno. Probably none of it will fit.’
Belle thought the shirts definitely wouldn’t. Despite not being particularly tall, he was very broad across the shoulders, like he’d been doing weights.
‘I thought that today if you feel well enough you could get in the shower, wash your hair, put on some clean clothes. It’ll make you feel better.’
Belle stared at his face. He had very fierce eyes, dark blue. His expression could be scary, stone-hard, and the dark beard didn’t help. When she watched him move around the room, she was struck by a lean physicality about him. At first, she’d thought he was older; now she knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be more than late twenties, early thirties.
Belle was staring at his face.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘Jack,’ he said. ‘Jack Tavender.’
‘I’m Belle Barton.’
‘Good God,’ he said, staring at her.
‘What?’ Belle turned her right cheek toward him, uncomfortable at being stared at.
‘You’re the girl in the red BMW. The racer.’
Belle did a double take. The dark beard, the eyes with that unnerving thousand-yard stare. The look of chilly contempt that tractor driver had given to her and Harlan on the day when he had chased her along the lane in his Porsche.
‘The man on the tractor,’ she realized in surprise. ‘It was you.’
‘You and that bloke were racing along the lane like bloody fools.’
‘We weren’t racing,’ said Belle. ‘He was chasing me. He’s always been chasing me.’ She raised a hand, indicating the ruined side of her face. ‘And finally he caught me.’ Her voice broke. She should have known that with Harlan it would either end in her domination or her death. But she’d ignored the danger signals and she’d ended up like this. ‘His name’s Harlan Stone.’
Jack nodded slowly then stuck out a hand. ‘Hello, Belle.’
Belle took his hand: it felt warm and dry, and his grip was strong. ‘Hello, Jack. And thanks. For everything.’
He shrugged that off as if it was nothing.
‘Why are there no mirrors on that dressing table?’ asked Belle.
‘I didn’t . . .’ he started.
‘And the bathroom cabinet door. There was a mirror on it, yes? And you took it off.’
This time, he didn’t even attempt an answer. Their eyes locked. Belle lay back tiredly on the pillows. ‘It’s really bad. Isn’t it.’
‘Don’t think about it. It will get better.’
‘You’re a rotten liar.’
‘There’ll be scarring. There’s no doubt about that. But there’s no infection. It’s healing fine.’
‘My leg feels OK,’ said Belle.
‘That’s fine too. There might be some scars. Nothing too bad.’
Belle almost smiled. But she couldn’t manage it. The stitches felt tight when she tried, pulling her face to one side. She must look like the Joker in Batman, she thought. Oh Christ.
‘Must have given you a fright, a girl turning up ripped to shreds on your doorstep,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘You’re not ripped to shreds. You’re here and you’re alive. Everything from here on in is a bonus.’ He paused, eyeing her face. ‘Who’s this Harlan Stone then? Any relation to that Charlie Stone character who moved into the big house? The one who died along with his missus in the helicopter crash? That damned thing was a bloody nuisance, zipping in and out, worrying the livestock.’
Belle nodded. ‘Harlan’s their adopted son. He’s crazy and he’s sadistic and he keeps a lot of pet apes around him, real nasty bastards.’
‘Are you ready yet to tell me about what they did to you? And why?’ he asked.
Belle gulped down a breath. Oh Christ in heaven. The black waters closing over her head. The pressure and the pain as the caimans struck. The terror.
‘If you can’t yet, don’t worry,’ he said.
Belle took in a calmer breath, then let it go. The panicky feeling abated. But she wanted to tell him, tell someone. ‘I can do it,’ she said.
‘If you’re ready.’
‘I’m ready,’ said Belle, and she started to speak, started to tell him all about Charlie Stone and her dad who worked with him, and Charlie’s twisted viper of an adopted son, and how Harlan had pursued her all her life. When he’d finally seen her as a threat, he had thrown her in with the caimans, expecting them to finish her.
‘But they didn’t,’ she said at last. ‘I got away.’
His eyes had narrowed while she spoke. ‘You think this fucker’s going to keep looking for you? He didn’t know you managed to get out, did he?’
‘I don’t think so. It’s a miracle I did. I just kept going. But then I started to get weaker and weaker and I knew I couldn’t go on and I saw the sign for Beechwood Farm, so I came through the gate and walked up toward the house, and then I felt like I was going to pass out for sure so I went into the big barn and that’s where you found me. Or Trix did, anyway.’
He was silent for a moment, taking it all in.
‘Go and have your shower,’ he said. He stood up, Trix trailing after him, and left the room, leaving her alone.