chapter 7
They couldn’t wait to get back to the villa. Kat spent an astonishing night with him, and there would be more. She had been honest with herself and the admission made her heady. They were an item now, at least while she allowed.
Heavy rained fell during the night. He hadn’t closed his wooden shutters, and because of the noise she slept fitfully. She dreamed of people caught making love under open skies.
She went into her room, dressed then disturbed the bedclothes for the sake of Aliaga. Checking herself in the mirror she dropped her makeup into her handbag, tossed it to the dresser, and went out to the curved marble staircase. On the way to the breakfast room she turned a corner and Señora Aliaga almost bumped into her.
Aliaga’s small fox-like face darkened with irritation, her hooded eyes unflinching. No apology.
Kat followed her into the room, where Rafael already sat. He gave a conspiratorial wink and said loud enough for Aliaga to hear, “Morning! Had a good night I trust?”
She suppressed a grin. “I don’t suppose any worse than yours. The rain kept me awake.”
He stood. “Would you like to make a start once you’ve eaten? I shan’t be able to spend long, I’m afraid. I have a meeting later.”
Kat shook her head. “I think I might go into Moraira. I need a few things.”
“Don’t you want to go over some designs?”
Aliaga gathered the empty dishes and left. Kat waited until she shut the door. “I’d prefer to go into town.”
“Because of last night?” he whispered. “Regrets already?”
She held his hand to her cheek. “Señor Saval, regret is the furthest thing I can think of.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure Aliaga wasn’t around, and ran her hand down his thigh. “I could never have regrets.”
“Are you humouring me.”
“Humouring? I’m too tired to humour anyone. I didn’t sleep well. Something kept me awake all night.”
“Oh, and what was that?”
“Something came up. Something pressing…” She touched his lips with her fingertip. “Now don’t say another word, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to go into town.”
“Then I shall run you.”
“No! I’ll take a taxi. You get on with whatever you have to. I’ll be okay. I need to indulge in a spot of good old retail therapy.”
“I’ll take you. I insist. As your host, I’ll provide you with any amenity you wish.”
“And as your guest, I insist I take a taxi.”
Rafael gazed her. She said, “Stop dribbling, Señor. We all know the extent of your libido.” She smoothed her top with mock reserve. “Now if you’ve finished ogling me, I shall telephone for a taxi”
“A compromise?” Rafael fumbled in his pocket and produced a bunch of keys and dangled them. “The Lamborghini.”
“Wow! Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
She raised an eyebrow and gave a quick peck on his cheek. “With this, I should be able to pull loads of gorgeous men.”
“More like, scare them off. Don’t you realise, men are threatened by glamorous women in fast cars?”
“Are you threatened?”
He smirked. “The car is insured for any driver. Go where you wish. There’s a sat-nav if you get lost.”
“You’re a darling.” Kat kissed him on the cheek then went to her room to pick up her handbag, but stopped dead. The bag was closed. She had left it open. The horrid Aliaga must have been messing with her things. The bed wasn’t made, so it wasn’t as if Aliaga closed it whilst tidying around.
Kat collected her things, put on her coat and after locking the bedroom door hurried to the front entrance. She made her way across to the car, dodging puddles.
The Lamborghini roared into life at the first touch of the key, and growled each time she touched the pedal. Kat drove carefully, testing the car’s response, feeling nervous of the power. To reach Moraira, took about thirty-five minutes along the N332, and through the tangle of new roundabouts in Teulada.
The reasons she wanted to go to Moraira, were several international fashion stores, all with designer-labels. She felt like pampering herself. In one, she found a ‘Betty Barclay’, satin blouse she liked, and held it against herself in a mirror.
“Do you often indulge in shopping when you could be making money?”
She turned to the man who spoke. He flashed a press-card. “My name is Billy Mellor… reporter.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
He shrugged. “Finery & Frocks, Las Modas Ibéricas? What are these tales of exciting new ideas being tossed around?”
Kat eyed him. “You tell me?”
“News about the fashion world always interests my readers. A company like Las Modas Ibéricas, fishing among the British textile industry, is even better.”
“So?”
“And what are these new outfits I’ve heard you’re tinkering with? The press so far has shown nothing… Do I smell a scoop?”
“I don’t think the Great British Public would bother about Finery & Frocks. We’re small fry. As for new lines, you’ll have to wait and see.”
“Doesn’t an aggressive shark swallow small fry?”
“Is that what you think?” She turned from him and rummaged through the rack of skirts.
“And your father?” he said drily. “Does his penchant for casino tables, have anything to do with the business deal?”
Kat almost choked. How had the press got hold of that? What had dad been up to whilst she was over here? She felt blood drain from her face, but refused to look up from the skirt rack.
He walked around the rack so he faced her. “Of course riotous parties involving celebrities always fascinate readers, particularly when they get out of hand.”
She looked up at him now. “You’re talking in riddles.”
“A takeover is always a good reason for a party. Have you anything planned yet?”
“I have no idea what you’re on about.”
“Shall we say Señor Saval and his renowned social gatherings make good reading? His notoriety goes way beyond destroying whoever stands in his way. Maybe you’d like to talk about it?”
She said stiffly, “Where is this leading?”
“Ah, I think you already know. Your Spanish gentleman plays games a little frayed at the edges.”
“You are talking nonsense.”
“Let’s say that if I were your brother, I’d advise you to keep your distance from Señor Saval, but you perhaps already know.”
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.
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?”
He nodded guardedly. “Within limits, but she overstepped the mark. Let’s say I have a problem with her.”
“You’re going to simply thrust her to one side?” Kat squeezed her eyes shut. He was handing her all the power she’d ever dreamed of. But did she really want it this way? She said carefully. “And how do you think it makes me feel?”
“It’s a wonderful opportunity.”
“For whom?”
“For Las Modas Ibéricas, for you, for us all.”
“Suppose I don’t want to kick someone while they’re down… and what about her team? I’ve never worked with them. They don’t know my quirks; I don’t know theirs. They’ll hate me for taking her place.”
“I know you’ll want to bring some of your people in. I expect it. You can run both shows. Delegate your other tasks and concentrate on design. A hundred production shops can make garments. Only you can design as you do. You represent the future.”
“And the rest of your team? What about them, suppose they don’t like working with me? How do I fit with what Isabelle was doing? What if my ideas clash with hers?”
“Don’t even think about Isabelle. You’ll be in charge; most of it will be down to you. A lot of variables need to considered, but it’s got to work, and damn soon as far as I’m concerned.
“And if I say no?”
He considered her for a moment then said, “I really need you to say yes.” He slung the cognac back in one gulp, poured another then plastered a smile across his face. “So?”
Kat curled her toes into the deep pile of the rug and considered the implications. She looked at his handsome features in the flickering glow for a while then replaced her shoes. “I think I shall go to bed now,” she said softly. “I enjoyed the meal, it was scrumptious. Thank you.”
“And that’s all.”
“What else are you expecting?”
“What about an answer.”
She shook her head. “I think it’s a little soon for that don’t you?”
“If your skills are put to real use, it’ll be so much better. You really could go to the top, you know.”
“Very flattering… and Isabelle Zapatero? How will you flatter her? How will you flatter me when you decide I’m no longer useful? That’s what you do best isn’t it. Move people; manipulate people; ruin people. Don’t you ever stop to think of the consequences of your actions? Lives are shattered when you snap your fingers.”
“It isn’t how you think.”
“No? Then how is it?”
He arched his fingers to his lips. “Isabelle,” he said carefully, “Was caught taking our designs to a competitor. We trusted her.”
Kat stared at him. “Wow!”
“We continually worked on new ideas, yet were always one step behind in the marketplace. She was too greedy. We paid her well but she wanted more. She almost put us out of business.”
“God! I didn’t …”
“And I really am sincere about your talent.” Rafael grinned suddenly. “It would be criminal to curb it. The more your name is on labels, the faster you’ll climb. The faster you climb, the faster we climb.”
“My name? Isn’t that flashy?”
“It’s good business.”
“But why push me forward?”
“New name, new start. Let the public see that we really mean business. We’re going to make you part of the new order.” He drew her to him.
She said, “So what will you expect from me?”
He put his arms around her. “I think we should forget business for a while.”
He felt strong and safe. In the background the refrigerator hummed in the kitchen, and the old, long case clock in the hall ticked hypnotically. It suddenly seemed slightly incongruous; the sound of the new intruding on the old like that, somehow it didn’t really gel… like Rafael and her.
She might be part of the new order but Rafael would always be part of this older order, no matter what he thought.