Seconds passed into minutes, minutes into hours, and for Jools, every moment lasted an eternity. She slept; she prowled restlessly round the confines of her silk-swathed room; and she ate the food brought to her on a tray at regular intervals by the same silent woman.
On the second day (or the third? she couldn’t be sure), a different woman entered the room. There was no tray of food in her hand, and unlike the Turkish woman, her gaze was direct and unsmiling. Her dark hair was pulled back into a short, sleek ponytail at the nape of her neck.
“Alexios wishes you to get ready. Take off your clothes.”
“What?” Jools stared at her, then let out an incredulous laugh. “Take off my clothes and get ready – for what, exactly?”
“You can either take them off now,” the woman informed her, ignoring her question, “or the guard will come in, and you can strip off in front of him. Which do you prefer?”
“But… why must I remove my clothes at all?”
“Because Alexios wishes it,” the woman shot back.
Jools blanched. “Do you mean…does he mean…to…to…” The woman eyed her with contempt.
“He means you to have a bath. As to anything else he might have in mind…” She shrugged.“That, I cannot say.”
Reluctantly, her fingers clumsy with self-consciousness and apprehension, Jools began to undress herself. When at last she was naked, she stood with her arms crossed protectively over her chest.
The woman handed her a robe. “Put this on.”
Jools grabbed the soft terrycloth and slipped her arms inside, then wrapped the robe tightly around her. “What now?”
She held up an oblong of black silk. “Now I’ll put this over your eyes.”
“A blindfold?” Jools took a step backwards. “Oh, no. Like hell you will!”
Before she could react or protest further, the woman stepped swiftly forward, grabbed her arm, and spun her around. In a matter of seconds she’d tied the blindfold securely over her eyes.
Jools twisted free, her heart beating as rapidly as a bird’s, and reached up to tear the blindfold off.
But before she could remove it, her hands were caught up and bound tightly behind her with a silken cord. She let out a cry of anguish. “What are you doing? Let me go!”
“If you shut up and obey,” the woman said with contempt, “this will all go much easier for you.”
Jools stumbled as the woman thrust her forward. “Where are we going?” she demanded, her throat thick with fear. “Where are you taking me?”
“I told you – to Alexios,” she answered curtly. “No more questions.”
She called out for the door to be opened.
Jools was guided through the door and down a long hallway. The carpet was thick beneath her bare feet. They turned, and turned again, and Jools, mute with fear, lost all sense of direction. After a few minutes, they stopped. The scent of sandalwood and frangipani drifted on the air.
The air was warm and humid, and the floor beneath her feet was no longer carpeted, but smooth and cool. Tiles. The robe was lifted from her shoulders.
“Will you untie me now, and take off this blindfold?” Jools demanded, her voice unsteady.
“Yes. But if you struggle or cause a scene,” the woman warned her, “one of the men will come and tie your hands and your legs. You will cooperate?”
Mutely, Jools nodded.
In a matter of seconds, her hands were freed and the blindfold removed. They stood in a spacious, modern bathroom. In one corner was a garden tub, filled to capacity with steaming water; in another, she saw a pedestal sink and a walk-in shower.
“Get in,” the woman said, and indicated the bath.
Still hugging the robe tightly around her, Jools went up several shallow steps and hesitated.
“Don’t dawdle. Alexios is waiting.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Jools retorted. But she untied the robe and dropped it at her feet, and stepped gingerly into the tub. Warm, fragrant water engulfed her feet and legs. It felt heavenly. The delicious warmth of the water enveloped her as she lowered herself and sat down. The woman handed her a bar of soap – French-milled, lavender – and a washcloth.
“I’ve left a towel on the chair. I’d suggest you be quick. Alexios will be here shortly.”
Alarm crossed over Jools’s face. “He’s not coming in here, surely?”
“If that is what he wishes.” She shrugged. “He wants to see you made presentable.”
“Presentable – for what?” Jools demanded. Her thoughts raced frantically at the possibilities…all of them bad.
But her only answer was the sound of the woman’s footsteps receding and the door closing firmly behind her with a click of the lock. Jools was left alone to wait for her captor.
“Is there any word on Jools yet?”
Valery didn’t wait for him to invite her in, Oliver noticed irritably, but strode into his flat like she owned it.
“No,” he answered, and shut the door. “The police found the car she was abducted in near the Pier in Brighton. Jack’s out there now.”
“Brighton?” Valery echoed, and dropped her handbag on a chair. “Do they think she’s there?”
“Possibly, but they don’t think it likely. They’re questioning the locals, passing her photo around.” He ran a hand through his hair and sank onto the arm of the sofa. Tired. He was so damned tired.
“You look shit,” Valery observed, as if she’d read his mind.
“Thanks. You always did have a way with a compliment.”
“Why don’t I make us a pot of coffee,” she said briskly, and made her way through to the kitchen. “You’ll feel better with some caffeine in your system.”
“I’ll feel better when my daughter’s back home.”
“The police are getting closer, Oliver. They’re doing everything they can. They’ll find Jools, and bring her home.” Her words were decided; there was no room for doubt. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Yesterday, I think,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”
She began opening the cupboards and rummaged until she found a tin of tomatoes and a package of pasta. “Do you have any olive oil? Perhaps a bit of garlic?”
“I have a jar of minced garlic in the fridge. The olive oil’s over the stove. But don’t bother,” he added as he pushed himself up from the sofa, “because I told you, I don’t want anything.”
“I didn’t ask did you want it,” Valery retorted, “did I? Now, find me a pot and fill it halfway with water, so I can boil the pasta.”
“Valery, damn it…”
She whirled on him. “She’s my daughter too, Oliver!” she lashed out, “I can’t bear sitting round waiting for one more minute. Don’t you see? As long as I have something…something constructive to do, I don’t feel so…so bloody fucking useless!”
He was stunned to see that she was crying, great gulping sobs that wracked her body and sent her carefully applied mascara running in steams down her face.
She never cried. Never. “Val,” he said, feeling helpless and stupid. “Don’t. Don’t cry. Please.”
She stumbled forward and he held her, wrapping her in his arms. They clung together for what seemed a long time but was probably only a moment. He stroked her back and mumbled meaningless words of comfort and reassurance into her hair. It was an embrace at once familiar and foreign. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d held each another, the last time they’d kissed, or made love. Eventually her sobs lessened, and she drew away.
“Sorry,” she murmured, embarrassed. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“You’re scared, Val, just like me. Jools is out there somewhere and the thought of it terrifies me.”
“She’s only seventeen, Oliver,” Val choked out. “She’s my b-baby.”
“Yes. But she’s also smart, and stubborn. She’ll come back to us, and soon. I promise.”
“There you go again, making p-promises you can’t keep.” She sniffled and gave him a watery smile. “Now,” she added, a semblance of her old self returning as she busied herself in the kitchen, “get that pot of water on the boil so I can make us a nice spag bol.”