Betrayed(24)

Kat stayed in Calpe for a couple of days, churning things over in her mind. Finally, she telephoned Fran and told her about Billy Mellor.

Francine exploded. “What the hell are you listening to journalists for? You know how they twist stories.”

“He sounded as if he knew what he was talking about.”

“There can be nothing. You’re there, wouldn’t you see if something was wrong.”

“I don’t know,” Kat said miserably. “Not if he’s hiding things.”

“Look, reporters have ulterior motives; they always do. My advice is, keep well away. Billy Mellor is winding you up. The shit is trying to create a story when there is none.”

It was evening before Kat plucked up courage to find her way back to the villa. She drew up against the ornate iron gates. The pulsing growl of the Lamborghini seemed out of place and she turned it off.

Kat eased out of the car, silence almost tangible. To the west, the last of the sun streamed over the villa and steeped everything in orange. Small wonder Rafael treasured his home so much.

She stood for a while. For some reason the view, quite beautiful, made her sad. Rafael appeared at the door, operated the automatic gates, and beckoned for her to drive forward. She stepped back into the car, drove through the entrance and stopped in front of the main doors. He helped her out.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tossing the keys to him. “I stayed in a hotel.”

“I guessed you would.” He locked the car door. “I was worried.”

A smell of wood smoke met them as Kat followed him into the lounge. He took her coat to put away.

“Don’t say anything!” Kat held up her hands. “I should have let you know where I was but I had things on my mind. I’m sorry.”

“I thought you’d gone. I became convinced I’d lost you. You warned me, and I thought it had happened.”

“I had things on my mind.”

“And I’ll bet you’ve hardly slept.”

“Nope.”

Rafael glanced her way. “So! You want to talk?”

“Nope!”

“Look! When I have a problem, you help. You have a problem, I help. Suddenly, this isn’t enough. You want to explain the impulsive change of what was turning into something decent.”

“Is that what it was turning into?”

He sighed. “You know what, Kat. You blow me out. You have a mind like a butterfly. You flit here, you flit there; I can’t keep pace.”

Kat stared. Maybe she should be open. If she told him about Billy Mellor, perhaps things would be all right. He’d probably laugh and explain things away, then they could get on with life as they should be doing, kissing, touching…

He said, “I’ve made a meal. I presume you haven’t eaten. You’ll dine with me? I gave Aliaga the night off.”

She nodded. “I’m glad she’s not here.”

Rafael poured them a glass of Jerez fino seco. He said carefully, “Sometimes we just need to let go of things.”

“By ‘we’ I take it you mean me?”

“You’re full of hidden things. I get the idea you’re going to hang on to them, however much they destroy you. Maybe you should free yourself? Let go of them?”

“And you? Don’t you have hidden things?”

“I’m not trapped by them.”

“Aren’t you?”

She finished her drink and Rafael took her through to the dining room. She was surprised to see candles already alight on the table. “You’ve been expecting me?”

He lifted his shoulders.

“You shouldn’t take me for granted. I may not have come. Why the candles?”

He said, “I wanted to make tonight’s meal, special.”

She frowned, expecting him to explain, but he didn’t.

The soup was thick, full of garlic and chickpeas and ham. The main course, chicken parcels, tied with slivers of Serrano. The chicken was wrapped around plums, in turn stuffed with blue cheese. The cheese melted into the plum juice making a hot, thick sauce as she cut into it, and excited her tongue.

They drank their wine, and afterward wiped what was left of the bread around the plates to soak up the rich juices.

Rafael made no further mention of her absence yet Kat felt held to account. Maybe it was just her guilt. Afterward, as they sat in the comfort of leather club chairs around the open fire, he reached to pour twenty-year-old French cognac for both. He added ice and a slice of lemon to his.

She shook her head. “How can you desecrate such fine spirit?”

“Just my peculiar taste.”

“So you’re eccentric. You can’t help. Maybe you need educating in the better things of life.”

“Is that an offer?”

She tried to smile. Had she allowed herself to become too involved again, broke her own rules. Their lives had touched too much. She said carefully, “Rafael! You said earlier there was a problem. What is it?”

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable first.”

Was it to do with what Billy Mellor hinted at? Or was it their relationship? Maybe she’d hacked him off and he wanted to end it. Fair enough, it had to end sometime, and she had been a real bitch.

He went to put on a CD, and she sipped brandy, fiery on her tongue, warm on her belly. She watched his expression. She had the dreadful feeling someone was about to get hurt. It would perhaps do her good to be on the receiving end for once, instead of her, hurting others.

She went to stand by his side and warmed the glass of cognac in her palm. She swilled the glass around and cognac clung on the sides, smelling of spices and wood. She tipped the glass to her lips and deliberately emptied it, hot, smooth, hitting her stomach, steadying her nerves.

The gruff voice of Joe Cocker came from the music system. She placed the glass on a small table. Emotions were messy things; they got in the way, but couldn’t be helped. If Rafael was hacked off, if this was a farewell meal, then she would make it one neither would forget.

“Rafael,” she said softly. “Kiss me.”

He closed the music centre. His lips were warm and she ran the tip of her tongue between them, but he was not as responsive as she expected. “Something wrong?” she whispered. “Is it because of me staying away?”

“Of course not.” Rafael smiled, but she wasn’t reassured, and she sat. He topped up the glasses then came to her side. She would become tipsy if she kept drinking at this rate, but at the moment she didn’t care.

He said. “We need to talk.”

“Is it the takeover? Are you withdrawing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You always think that.”

“So what is it?” Kat stood and walked to the window, the words of Billy Mellor haunting her like crazy.

The curtains were draped back. Through the dusk, if she looked carefully, she could distinguish the outlines of mountains. Closer to, were thin pines, outlines mysterious, tall soldiers on sentry, guarding them. She pressed her forehead onto the cold glass, couldn’t get Billy out of her head. “The designs, don’t you like them?” she said softly.

“Hardly! Just the opposite. We need them like yesterday.”

“So what are you scheming at?”

“You make it sound as if I’m doing something dirty,”

“And aren’t you? I can tell from your body language that someone is about to get hurt. You’re going for the jugular.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“So how would you put it?”

“Sometimes you have to do things, though you might not want. People force you into irreversible situations.”

Kat held her breath, prayed that Dad would come through unscathed.

He said, “Fashion is like any other business, and business is about making money. It isn’t a charity.”

“And you don’t care who gets hurt in the process.”

“Look! I don’t go out of my way to lose friends, but it’s not about losing money either. It is always better to rationalize.”

“That’s what you’re after? Rationalization?”

The fire hissed and crackled and he walked over and stirred it with a poker. A surge of sparks flew up the chimney.

Rafael stared into the flames. “We want you to take over as chief designer.”

Kat stared in shock. His words were a million miles from what she expected.

He said, “I’ve asked the team what they think, and there’re all for it. They can accommodate changes without impairing what’s already in the can.”

“What the hell’s going on?”

“The present chief of design, Isabelle Zapatero, has been overriding things without our knowledge.”

“Isn’t that part of her remit, to make things efficient, to smooth out faults?”