Vicky found another sheltered area, and settled down. She shed her shorts and top, the skin on her shoulders feeling tight. The sun lotion, as she applied some to her skin, was cold as she began to massage it in.
The afternoon passed peacefully, without interruptions of any kind. She only saw an armed guard once – standing up on the headland, dark against the brilliant sky, as he used his binoculars to sweep the valley.
It took her some minutes to realise that he might be using them on her.
She turned on her side, back to him, and continued to idly glance through the glossy magazine that she had brought with her.
When she turned over some ten minutes or so later, the guard was nowhere to be seen.
She finally put down the magazine, unable to concentrate, then decided to memorize the Italian words and phrases that Anna had given to her.
By four o’clock she was feeling a little chilly. She pulled her top on, stepped back into her shorts, and bent down to gather up her belongings.
How stiff her limbs felt – especially the back of her legs.
As she made her way slowly along the beach a tiredness overcame her. Feeling chilly, she wondered if she was in for a cold.
Back in her room at the villa she felt grubby from the sand and the ointments, and her hair looked flat and lifeless.
Vicky turned on the shower, slipped from her clothes, tested the water with her hand, and stepped underneath the spray. It was like a million pinpricks on her flesh. She craned her head round, and saw the redness of her shoulders.
Slowly, the discomfort receded, and she began to shampoo her hair, working the lather in with her fingers, and feeling the grease come out.
When she finally stepped out of the shower, the skin on her shoulders was still tender and she had to be content to gently dab them to dry herself.
With the towel wrapped around her she sat at the low dressing table and commenced to blow-dry her hair, going over it section by section, happily feeling how silky and fresh it now was.
Finished, her hair gleamed in the light from the dressing table lamp.
Vicky stood up, allowing the towel to drop to the floor, and found fresh underwear. As there was another hour before dinner, she put on her robe and lay down on the bed.
She checked herself on the Italian words and phrases and found to her delight she had memorised them all correctly. Excitedly, she began to make a list of other things she wanted to find out the equivalent for.
She stretched out lazily, and began to daydream: about what had happened, about life – about love.
One thing she had almost entirely forgotten was the money.
Whether she’d inherited such a large amount or not she knew that she would have been there, in Italy, trying to delve into the past – her aunt’s intriguing past.
But in the process she had discovered that all men were not the same. Some were special. And her blood tingled as she thought of Carl, and the sort of love-hate relationship that might have been.
Could a woman – any woman! – really get through to such a man? Ever?
She shivered at the thought of his hands on her, and realized that with Carl she would be in uncharted and dangerous waters, her own reaction as impossible to judge as his might well be to control.
Her thoughts went to the woman in his life – Anna – wondering deep down what sort of person she really was. Guiltily, she knew that what she was really thinking was – what was it about Anna that Carl found so attractive? If only she could identify it, maybe it would be useful to her – in the future.
It struck her forcibly that Anna’s sophistication as opposed to her own gaucheness, was the first obvious difference.
Then there were their ages. Perhaps Anna, being slightly older, was the more attractive to Carl because she had had time to gain experience; to be wiser in the ways of the world. All young Italian women seemed to be more sophisticated to Vicky. And Anna was always immaculately attired.
Now that was an area that she could do something about, but she did not believe that clothes would be the highest of priorities where Carl was concerned.
He would be drawn to a woman who was as strong in character as he was.
Vicky looked at her watch, and realized it was time for her to get dressed for the evening, time to stop daydreaming.
As she descended the stairs she saw Anna in the hall, dressed in a yellow silk wrap-around, arranging some flowers on a marble-topped table.
“Ah, Vicky,” she beamed. “Your timing is perfect. Georgio is ready for us. He does get excited about the food he prepares being eaten at the right time.”
Vicky smiled as she came forward and stood at Anna’s side, who added –
“He’s prepared something special in your honour.”
Anna’s superb silk dress made Vicky instinctively aware of the inadequacies of her own cotton skirt.
“Special? For me?”
“He doesn’t do it for everybody,” Anna said archly, “so you’ve obviously made a hit with him. But I should warn you – he’s not exactly a catch.”
Vicky pulled a wry face.
“Oh, well,” she said lightly, “back to the drawing board.”
They walked together into the dining room, the table lit by two candles, and they sat down at opposite ends.
During the first course – an avocado pear with prawns – they talked about perfume, as Vicky remarked on the fragrance Anna was wearing. Then the conversation came round, naturally enough, to a trip into Allassio, once the meal was over.
“Are we still going?” Vicky asked, unable to conceal her excitement.
“Of course.” Anna looked at her, somewhat surprised. “At least, I've got to go. But you needn’t come if you don’t feel up to it.”
“I’d like to, please. There are some gifts I want to purchase for friends back home.”
That was true, and strangely there was no thought of trying to leave – for the moment anyway. Her fear was now tinged with a fascination, and a compulsion to be near to, and find out more about Carl McKinley.
“Good. It’s nicer to have a companion. I hate having to shop alone. Sure you’re up to it?”
“Yes – why?”
Vicky was puzzled.
Anna smiled and waved her hand dismissively.
“Oh, it’s just that I sometimes feel absolutely washed out after a day in the sun.”
Vicky ran her left hand along the length of her right arm, and up to her shoulder.
“I must admit I’m tingling a bit, especially my back and thighs. I hope I haven’t overdone it.”
The main course, ceremoniously brought in by Georgio – who turned out to be a huge barrel-chested man with a shaven head – was set down in the centre of the table. On the large serving dish were delicious looking portions of something – Vicky didn’t know quite what – covered in a herb-smelling sauce.
“Calamari alla pigaiola,” Georgio announced, looking expectantly at her.
“What is it?” she appealed to Anna.
The woman moistened her lips.
“Wait and see. It’s delicious, I promise you.”
“It certainly smells appetising.”
Vicky turned to Georgio. “Thank you.”
The hard face broke into a broad grin. Thank you Signorina.
With a curt nod from Anna, he departed.
Vicky was helped to a large portion by a maid, who then offered a bowl of rice, followed by a crisp mixed salad from which Vicky helped herself.
“This looks fabulous.”
She picked up her fork, and attacked the food with relish. It tasted a bit on the fishy side, but had the texture of ordinary meat. She swallowed, and started on a second forkful.
“It’s absolutely marvellous,” Vicky said enthusiastically.
Anna smiled and began to eat.
“Have you any idea what is it?” she asked.
Vicky made a show of trying to guess with the next forkful, rolling the food around her mouth, to finally washing it down with wine.
“This sauce – it’s terrific,” she said. “But it seems to be altering the taste of the meat. Is it pork?”
Anna shook her head slowly, and smiled.
“Whatever it is,” Vicky said, continuing with her meal, “Georgio is a treasure; despite his awesome appearance.”
“I know.” Anna selected another tender piece from her plate and looked directly at Vicky.
“It’s squid.”
As Anna popped it into her mouth, Vicky winced, felt sick, and stopped eating. Suddenly she found the food in her mouth – revolting. She knew it was illogical, squid was an accepted delicacy in many parts of the world, and she had been enjoying it up to the moment of realisation, and yet, she couldn’t get the picture out of her mind of tentacles slithering about.
Anna continued eating but Vicky realised that she was being watched – for any reaction.
She didn’t know how she got her jaws working again. She willed herself to the very moment but could not swallow.
“Is anything wrong?” Anna said with concern.
Mouth full, Vicky began to feel very sick.
With a crash, her chair fell back as she jumped up and ran for the downstairs loo. When she eventually returned, Anna met her in the doorway, looking all concerned.
“Have you been - sick?”
“I’m sorry,” Vicky said, and lied, “I've had a queasy tummy all day.”
Anna took her elbow and helped her to her chair.
“You should have said.”
Anna was all over her as the maid removed the plate from in front of Vicky. “It’s obviously far too rich for your first night. Do you feel like anything else?”
“Not for the moment,” Vicky said, shaking her head.
Anna made a thing of berating herself.
“It was silly of me not to remember that your tummy needs time to get acclimatized. I really should have warned Georgio, and ordered him to have prepared something on the lighter side.”
“It’s my fault for not saying anything.”
“Would you rather go to your bed and lie down instead of going into Allassio? I don’t mind, you know.”
“Oh no, Vicky said hurriedly. “I shall be all right.”
Anna was hesitant, still troubled looking.
“Well, if you’re absolutely sure.”
They took a black Lancia saloon from the garage.
“I prefer to drive myself on shopping trips,” Anna explained.
They reached the gate, and another hard-looking man waved a salute as they drove through. They all seemed to be made from the same mould.
The car climbed steadily, the headlights forming a cone of bright light on the mountain road. When eventually they reached the autostrada, they began to gain speed as they descended the slip road and on to the carriageway.
Vicky shot a glance across at Anna. She was sitting relaxed and assured at the driving wheel, exuding a nonchalant confidence as she shifted a gear and overtook a truck with all the masculine panache of Clive.
Not for the first time did Vicky experience a stab of inferiority. No wonder Carl was attracted – and engaged – to such a woman.
Anna glanced at her, and smiled.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
Vicky flushed, and her mind worked quickly for a reply.
“I was wondering what Allassio is famous for.”
“Well, now,” Anna began, “you can purchase very good leatherwork quite inexpensively – such as belts, bags, and that sort of thing. And shoes, of course. In The Drain you can even get shoes made to measure virtually while you wait.”
Mystified, Vicky repeated “The Drain?”
“It’s one of the main streets,” Anna explained. “Full of boutiques. No cars allowed.”
“But why The Drain?”
“No idea, really,” Anna Shrugged. “I think the tourists called it that. Maybe because it drains their money away.”
They both chuckled at that and the atmosphere became lighter.
It was after some twenty minutes of enjoyable conversation that they left the autostrada, and joined a road that went right down to the coast.
Across the bay, the lights of Allassio glimmered at the water’s edge, and Vicky could not help but notice that the whole scene resembled a back-drop to a romantic movie of the ‘thirties – the type that she and her aunt had watched on television together often enough.
They reached the outskirts of Allassio, the road flanked by huge palm trees.
Anna parked the Lancia on a well-lit street with fine, expensive-looking shops, and high, stucco-fronted apartments. Pavement cafes surrounded by potted foliage and lit by coloured lights were everywhere.
Anna led the way through a square full of market stalls where they lingered for some moments at one packed with handbags.
“Don’t rush into anything,” Anna advised. “There are a lot more shops yet. And for heaven’s sake, don’t buy anything outright. Barter for it. The stallholders expect it. And it’s also worth trying in the smarter shops, as well.”
They finally turned into a narrow street – almost an alleyway – with the old houses on either side leaning inwards, seeming in the night sky to reach high above their heads. People were jostling and thronging past the small brightly lit shops.
Vicky flushed with excitement, and turned to Anna.
“This is marvellous. thank you for bringing me.”
“Really, my dear,” Anna laughed. “Think nothing of it. I was coming in any case.”
In the space of the next hour, Vicky bought a pair of shoes, a handbag and several headscarves and key rings for friends back in London.
Tired, they found a table at an outside café, and slumped thankfully into their chairs. Anna noticed her wince as she sat down.
“You look worn out.”
Under the table, Vicky slipped her feet out of her shoes – they seemed to be pinching and hurting her far more than usual.
“Actually,” she confessed, “I’m feeling cold and shivery.”
“That settles it,” Anna said briskly. “We’ll have our coffee and get you home – and to bed. Georgio will prepare you a nice hot drink of milk and brandy. It will help you sleep.”
On the return journey to the villa, the road Anna took to the autostrada felt rougher. They entered the gates to the estate a few minutes after eleven.
“Do you mind if I go straight to my bed?” she asked apologetically.
Anna motioned her towards the stairs.
“Of course not. I’ll bring the milk and brandy up to you myself.”
In her room, Vicky lost no time in setting down her purchases, and getting out of her clothes. Naked in front of the full-length mirror, she examined her back. From her shoulders down to her legs, apart from the tiny narrow band where her bikini briefs had been, she was an evil-looking red.
And her feet! No wonder her shoes had been hurting. Her feet were swollen.
She found her nightdress and hoisted it gently over her head. Fine and wispy as it was, the shoulder straps cut in as they took the weight of the material.
She was sitting up in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, when there was a knock on the door, and it was opened a fraction.
“May I come in?” Anna carried a glass of milk and brandy on a tray and set it down on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m jolly sore,” Vicky said, and squirmed. “Especially my shoulders and my sit-me-down.”
Anna sat on the edge of the bed, close up to her.
“Let me see.”
Flustered, Vicky said,
“Really, there’s no need.”
But Anna would not take no for an answer.
“Turn over, let me see your back. I want to be sure we don’t need to call a doctor.”
Reluctantly she did as she was told. Unhesitatingly Anna took the hem of her nightie and lifted it up.
Vicky was acutely embarrassed, conscious of Anna looking down on her exposed body.
“Oh, that’s really red looking.”
Vicky flinched as she suddenly felt Anna’s hand as it gently alighted on the back of her upper thigh, moving slowly up to her bottom, hesitating before moving onto her back. There was an awkward silence before Anna said,
“I think you’ll be fine, especially after a good night’s sleep.”
Vicky felt the whispy material of her nightie fall gently back onto her supersensitive skin.
“You can turn over now.”
As if responding to a doctor’s order Vicky meekly did as she was told, aware she was blushing furiously, and tried to avoid the other woman’s dark penetrating eyes.
And was there something else showing in them – a knowingness?
Was she reading too much into what had just happened?
Anna was definitely a woman of strong domineering character, like there had been at the convent school Vicky had attended.
Sometimes, after games, some of the senior prefects used to hang around the changing rooms when the lower sixth were in, changing and showering. She had heard rumours of schoolgirl crushes among the borders, but as a day girl nothing had ever happened to her like that.
As if to relieve the tension, and to avoid any misunderstanding Anna suddenly reached out and with the back of her fingers touched her forehead, then said –
“You have a bit of a fever.”
“I think perhaps you should take a couple of these,” Anna said, delving into her pocket and opening her hand to reveal two small capsules. “They are very mild sleeping pills. You’ll find them to be very restful. Help to give you a good night’s sleep.”
“I don’t like taking...” Vicky began to protest, but Anna waved a hand dismissively.
“There’s always a first time. I’ll leave them on the tray. If you can’t get comfortable, take them. I always do. If you are able to get a restful night, everything seems so much better in the morning.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed, sipping the milk and brandy.
“Then I’ll bid you goodnight.”
“Goodnight. And thank you for a super evening.”
Anna smiled and nodded. When the door closed behind her Vicky sank back against her pillow and took herself to task. Whatever had got into her? Anna was engaged wasn’t she - to Carl? Not for the first time in the last few days, she had wondered about her emotional stability No doubt the fever had something to do with it. Vicky found the hot drink made her feel less shivery, but when she finally set the empty glass down on the tray, turned out the light and tried to settle down in the bed, her skin still felt as if it was on fire.
Half an hour later, after tossing and turning, she switched on the bedside light, and took one of the capsules, and although there was no milk left in the glass, she swallowed it without effort.
But it was still another half hour before she slept.
Outside the door, Anna had paused, and leant against it for a few seconds. The English girl had a superb figure, and wonderful soft skin.
At any other time, or place - -
Her lip curled. But you never knew. If things turned out in her favour, she might yet send her home with something to remember Anna by.
A few red stripes on those firm pale little buttocks would teach her not to try and steal another woman’s man. A lesson she would never forget.
Anna had moistened her lips.