Betrayed(23)

Kat clenched her fists. “Mister Mellor, I have no idea what you’re referring to, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell the likes of you.”

He ran his hands through the rack of skirts by his side, pulled one out, and looked it over before replacing it. “Wouldn’t you? Not even if I said I have something to tell you?”

Kat said coldly “I have no wish to listen to tittle-tattle.”

“I’d hardly call it that.”

“And I’m not in the habit of talking about people behind their backs, especially friends. So I think you’d better leave.”

“Friend, or sleeping with the enemy… metaphorically speaking, of course,” he added. “Although Saval’s reputation with ladies leaves little to the imagination, so it might not be metaphorical…”

“You bastard!”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself, but you might need me in the future. Remember, sometimes it pays to have friends in high places.”

She snorted. “You consider yourself in a high place? Didn’t your mother tell you self-praise is no commendation? Señor Saval is going to be angry when I tell him about this.”

“Didn’t your mother tell you about the pen and the sword? I’m glad to say that threats have never kept me from a good story, even from someone as notorious as Rafael Saval.”

He took a dark serge skirt from the rack and held it against her. “You should try this. It’ll suit.”

She ran her eye critically over his gaudy vacation clothes. “Since when have you recognized class?”

“Maybe longer than you think.” He gave a smug look. “Perhaps you’d know me better as William Mellor, fashion editor of ‘Lady Look High’. The glossy rag you were glad to have a mention in. You liked my taste then.”

Kat flushed. She hadn’t connected the name, now she remembered exactly who he was.

“And to save you making another fool of yourself, I’ll tell you this free,” he said softly. “Be aware that things aren’t all they might seem, in Saval’s smart villa. Watch your back carefully.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“Tell me.”

He replaced the skirt, and smoothed it into place. “That’s for you to discover, and me to write about. Perhaps you’ll keep me informed.” He walked away, but turned as he reached the door. “Oh, by the way, be aware he’s doing a little investigating himself. A little bird tells me he’s been asking discreet questions about you.”

Kat hung the clothes back onto the racks again and left the shop and went across to sit by the old castle on the seafront for a while. She stared morosely over the grey Mediterranean.

It still rained and feathery white-caps scudded over the waves. In the distance, Calpe just visible through the mizzle, on the horizon, a couple of misty outlines of ships. Wind tugged at her and she shivered. Below, in the small bay, a handful of water-scooters had been stowed against the bad weather. The place was empty, dismal. It matched her mood.

Eventually, rain forced her to seek shelter. Damn Billy Mellor. He had spoiled things.

She found a small restaurant, ordered café con leche, and after, decided to have a meal as well. It was late before she could bring herself to drive back, dark early, because of the weather, and it was with little enthusiasm that she stepped onto the drive.

It must have rained hard whilst away, because more puddles showed on the uneven drive. She tried to avoid them, but her feet were squishy as she let herself into the villa.

She took off her shoes and paddled down the hall leaving a trail of wet footmarks on the tiled floor. The sight of her reflection in the mirror didn’t raise her spirits, with her hair plastered onto her scalp, her face pale. She held up straggles of hair and screwed her face.

Rafael called, “Is that you Kat? Can we talk? I need to discuss things with you.”

Were things about to come into the open, a confessional? Kat sighed with resignation and opened the door. He stood with his back to her, facing the log-fire. She lifted her chin defiantly as he turned.

She didn’t want bad news, didn’t want him to utter a single word, not if she might hear things best left unsaid. Before he could open his mouth, she spun on her heels and hurried from the villa.

She reversed the Lamborghini hard from the drive, and hit the brakes to spin the car. The wheels screeched.

What had Billy Mellor meant? What the hell was going on?

She sat staring at the outline of the villa against dark clouds. The stench of rubber from the tyres smelled acrid. Kat grimaced. Spitting rain clung to the windshield, forming stars. This was ridiculous; Rafael was still the same, she was still the same, nothing had changed. How could anything be wrong? She switched the wipers on and drove slowly back into the driveway.

Had Billy Mellor discovered something terrible about Rafael? She couldn’t stand it if he had. Or were the entire Saval family implicated, was there serious corruption she didn’t know about? She couldn’t stand it if there were corruption.

Abruptly, she reversed out again and drove the car hard toward Calpe. If there were problems, it was better she remained ignorant.

The Lamborghini leaped beneath her and she lost herself in the surging power. On the tight winding roads, the car became a wildcat, and she pushed it harder than she’d ever pushed any car. The bad weather made it dark and she flicked on the headlights.

She couldn’t face Rafael, not yet.

The car was responsive but demanded domination or it would dominate. It became a battle for supremacy, the beautiful metallic beast threatening to outwit her. A flick of the gearshift brought a sensuous rush of power, sending a thrill to the depths of her gut. The thrill became sexual as the roar of the exhaust vibrated through the car. She was turned on.

The beast was male, it needed to be tamed. All cars of this ilk were male. They epitomised that terrible gender that so threatened womankind. Well this one wasn’t going to threaten her. Impulsively she wound the window down to let the wind tousle her hair, and let out a yell of defiance.

Screw Rafael and his charismatic ego.

Screw his enthusiasm. Screw Billy Mellor. Screw all men! She hated the lot. What the hell made men so presumptuous? What gave them the right to think they could do what they wanted without reprisal? Men had a congenital defect which endowed them with a terrible superiority complex. Well stuff them!

A series of bends lay ahead. She rammed down through the gears. A gravely snarl, a screech of tyres and she was around, over the brow, accelerating hard into the straight road ahead. The hedgerows flew past.

What the hell was Billy Mellor after?

She flashed over the E7 bridge, and with hardly a backward glance at the traffic, turned right, onto the N332. Below, to the left, the lights of Calpe became discernible, but the Peñon de Ifach, barely a discernible blob against the dark sea. She accelerated.

The last thing she needed was pain.

She changed gear again, rammed the stick angrily into place. The engine screamed and she flew past a couple of cars in her way and threw the Lamborghini around a tight bend.

If only Rafael had not been involved in the takeover… if only he had not behaved as he had… if only Billy Mellor had not been in the shop today…

The feelings she had for Rafael were too intense, too involved. Did that mean the time to disappear, had arrived? She didn’t know if she could. Not yet.

She pushed the snarling car to one hundred and thirty kilometres an hour just as the next bend loomed, a tight right-hander. She hit it without decelerating, and only just made it around. A terrible squeal came from the tyres.

Was Rafael involved in something illegal?

She touched the accelerator and the car leaped forward as if a living thing. Hedges became blurs. She flung the Lamborghini around a bend, over a bridge, and up a slight incline, the sign for Calpe Norte ahead. She neared the town, realised with horror her speed, hit the brakes; pushed them until her muscle hurt. The roads were empty and she slewed the car across the junction and into the turning for Calpe. She drove recklessly around two roundabouts, skidded to a halt just in front of the traffic lights, and sat with her heart pounding.

That had been absolutely stupid. That had solved nothing.

Kat parked-up, found an espresso bar and sat by herself in a corner seat with another café con leche. She stared through the window. Heavy rain formed rivulets down the plate glass, made streets glisten with reflected lights. It looked desolate.

Christ, she felt lonely.

Kat took a long time over the drink. When the mug was finally empty she turned the collar up on her coat, and stepped into the isolation of the night. She took a deep breath, huddled into herself, and for an age wandered around empty, wet streets.

What the hell was Rafael involved in that a reporter should come from the England to investigate? Would it reflect on her? She stiffened. Was she already implicated?

A church clock struck one-thirty, much later than she realised. The prospect of seeing him was more than she could face. She would find a hotel for the night.