The Charmers: A Novel(62)
“Ahh, yes. Good thing the surgeon was around. A man like that, a master of his profession.”
“Dr. Prescott is one of the best neuro-cranial surgeons there is. The child was lucky to get him.”
“I have no doubt.” The Boss knew he had her exactly where he wanted her. He could almost smell it. It had worked for him all his life, that sixth sense, both in business and pleasure, and he was about to put it to use again now.
“Well, of course, my dear, I could send a car for you.” He had no intention of sending a car for her, certainly not. He wanted no one to know she’d come here. Nobody would so much as see her. Of course he knew she would refuse.
“No, no, I’m already out the door, on my way.”
He could hear her in the background, collecting her stuff, keys rattling. “Better arrive at the back gate,” he said, smooth as butter that wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “Drive up the first lane, make a right, and you’ll come to a door. It’s covered in ivy, the darn stuff grows like weeds, just can’t seem to stop it. Anyhow the sensor will recognize you and the gate will open automatically. Just drive in.”
Mirabella didn’t even bother to put on lipstick, though she did put on her gloves. And the sapphire. It was like going naked without them.
She paused for a moment, her hands held out in front of her. She had worn gloves ever since the accident when she was twelve. She never showed anyone her hands. Not even lovers who had seen every other part of her. Not even Chad Prescott who as yet had never seen all of her. A surgeon like that, what would he think of the reddened objects with their ugly scars where the saw had sliced them open all those years ago? What would he think of the wounds with the imprints where the huge stitches had held them in place, so that one day she might use them again? As she did now. But never without the gloves.
How she envied women their pristine beautiful white hands, their shiny painted nails, made even more exquisite with bands of diamonds and gold. The sapphire, inherited from Aunt Jolly, had been her savior in a way, blazing under the lights so no one ever thought about what she might be hiding under its beauty, only about how remarkable it was.
The route to the Villa Mara took only a minute. Soon she was on the dark lane leading to the rear gates. A light came on as the car crunched to a stop. From the window she spotted cameras trained on her. She couldn’t blame the Boss. A man like that, with all his money, was a prime target for kidnappers. He needed security.
More lights came on as she drove down a path that led to the sea, and a house, or some kind of building overlooking it. There were no lights, nor even any windows.
Then right in front of her eyes, the ivy-clad wall slid to one side, revealing a steel door. And the man behind it was the Boss.
“Welcome,” said the spider to the fly.
51
Mirabella
I knew the Boss must have had set up his bunker especially to show me. At the press of a button, golden drapes lowered from the ceiling, masking all the walls. Then the huge bed was raised. Verity was in the very center, sunk deep into masses of pillows. Her golden hair was spread out like lace. The peach silk sheet was folded under her thin white arms that were carefully placed by her sides, hands flat, showing perfectly manicured, pink polished nails. A gardenia was tucked behind one ear, plucked, I had no doubt, from the great bowls of them on every surface, the scent of which threatened to overpower the air itself until I felt I choked for breath.
Dear God, I thought, she looks like a dead woman, made ready for her coffin. I turned to the Boss, who was standing right behind me. “What have you done to her?”
“What have I done? Why, Mirabella, look around, why don’t you? Look at this palace I’ve constructed especially for your friend. I ask you, who could do more for Verity than I? Of course you are shocked to see her in this state but I assure you her medical care is the best. Better in fact than anything Prescott could have done. The machine you see next to her bed is feeding nourishment into her, even as she sleeps and the air is specially filtered to maximum purity.”
The Boss spread his arms wide, the amiable smile reaching his eyes—generous, likeable, charming. “Trust me,” he said gently. “I will make sure the old Verity returns to you intact. A girl does not almost drown without there being aftereffects, problems with the lungs, blood flow. I removed her from the hospital because I have the best medical help in the world for her here.”
I wasn’t buying it. Something was very wrong. I stared at him right back. “I’m taking her home with me now.”
Arms folded over his massive chest, the Boss began to pace the room, glancing at Verity, then back at me.
“I’d like to know exactly how you intend to do that, my dear. In fact, why don’t we share a glass of wine? Let Verity sleep while you and I figure out what is best for her. Of course it goes without saying that we both shall do only what is best.”
He knew I was afraid, in fact he could probably read my thoughts almost before I had them. I wondered what to do. I had no clue, I was panicking. I refused the offered glass of wine.
“My dear, it’s a Montrachet. I decanted it some hours ago, expecting your company.”
“You expected me?”
“Of course. I knew you would come to visit your friend. It’s natural. And as you can see, all is well.”
I took the glass. I wished Chad were here, and the Colonel. I was afraid of this man, afraid for Verity. Yet he was being so nice, he was a celebrity billionaire, he did not need either me or Verity.… So what was I doing here, alone with him in this magnificent bedroom?