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Emerald began to struggle. The force of the blow when Max hit her across the face had her head snapping back and tears of pain stinging her eyes.
Holding her shoulder with one hand, he gripped her hair with the other, forcing her head back so that she had to suffer the contemptuous look he was giving her.
‘You think you’re so much better than anyone else, but you aren’t. The only difference between you and the tarts out on the streets on the game is that they are clever enough to get paid for it. You might fool your fancy friends but you don’t fool me. Let me tell you something about yourself. Without that fancy accent of yours and the fancy title that goes with it, you’d be down in the gutter where you really belong, because you’re nothing. Nothing. And you and I both know it.’
‘No, that’s not true!’
‘Now you’re lying as well, and this is what you get for that.’
There wasn’t time for her to defend herself or even to scream out in protest as his fists thudded into her body over and over again, driving the breath from her lungs, leaving her gasping.
Frantically she pleaded with him to stop. ‘No, Max, please don’t, please stop…’
She could hear him laughing as he taunted her.
‘Why? You’re enjoying it really, aren’t you? Women like you always do. It’s what you deserve.’ Each word was accompanied by another blow.
As little as she wanted what was happening to her to be witnessed by anyone else, Emerald looked desperately towards the club, hoping that someone would come to her rescue, but the street remained resolutely empty.
‘You won’t get away with this, Max,’ she warned him. ‘I shall report you to the police.’
To o late Emerald realised her mistake.
‘Oh, you will, will you?’ His voice was soft and yet so very sinister, lifting the hairs at the nape of her neck.
‘No…I won’t say anything, Max. Just let me go and we’ll forget the whole thing.’
‘Let you go? It will be my pleasure.’
Relief flooded through her. But instead of releasing her as she had expected, he punched her again. Harder this time, the force of the blow making her head snap back in an automatic recoil action that allowed Max to grab hold of her hair and bang her head back against the lamppost. Just in time Emerald managed to angle her neck so that the blow only caught the side of her head. The force of it had made her bite her own tongue and she could taste the blood. Her nose was bleeding as well, the blood dripping onto the pavement. Every bit of her body was screaming its agony of red-hot pain.
‘Max,’ she protested pleadingly.
‘You and I are going for a little ride together,’ he told her, ignoring her plea, kicking her savagely in the groin so that she collapsed against him.
He opened the car’s passenger door, and manhandled her into the seat. Emerald tried to push him away, but he shook her violently, and then punched her so hard that she thought he must have broken her ribs. Her body contorted, leaving her gasping for air and filled with pain. She had to get away from him, but she could hardly breathe, never mind move. Still, though, she tried to break free, but Max wouldn’t let her go. Instead, his hand gripped her throat, exerting a bruising pressure on her windpipe. Choking and gasping, Emerald clawed at his arm, only to collapse when he hit the side of her face so hard with the flat of his hand, not once but twice, that the force of the blows knocked her out.
When she came round a few seconds later, Max was already driving them away from the club. She could taste fresh blood in her mouth, pain knifing through her face.
Now she really was afraid. Everyone knew about the efficiency with which the East End’s underworld gangs got rid of those they didn’t want around any more.
Max was driving down Sloane Street now. She had to get away from him. Where were the police when you needed them? Her head was aching, thumping horribly, the pain and dizziness making her feel sick. What was he going to do to her?
Rose got up from her desk. She’d worked later than she’d planned but now the light was fading and she was hungry. She’d kept the décor of her studio plain and simple, furnishing it with pieces from the newly opened Terence Conan store, Habitat, on Fulham Road.
She had just finished closing the windows when she saw the E type roaring down the King’s Road from Sloane Square. She gave an idle glance and then frowned as she recognised Emerald sitting in the passenger seat, her disinterest changing to concern as someone stepped out to cross the road in front of the car, forcing the driver to stop with a squeal of brakes.
Having reassured herself that the pedestrian had made it safely to the other side of the road, Rose was about to turn away when she saw the passenger door being thrust open as the car started up again, and Emerald falling from the car onto the road. The E type pulled slightly into the kerb, and then started to reverse towards Emerald’s prone unmoving body. For several seconds Rose was too disbelieving, too horrified to do anything. Emerald would be killed if he reversed over her, surely he wasn’t actually going to, but then to her relief she saw that the car was moving forward again, and picking up speed, the driver obviously not intending to stop.
Rose rubbed her eyes. Had she merely imagined what she’d seen?
There was only one way to find out. Grabbing her keys, she raced for the door, locking it behind her, and then ran down the stairs to the main exit to the building.
It was almost dusk, that odd twilight time when the sky remains light whilst closer to earth the air is heavier, somehow, and darker. The street was empty–too late for people to be going out and too early for them to be going home. Rose heard the distant growl of the E type’s engine.
Something moved in the gutter, a shimmer of gold fabric fluttering in the wind.
She ran to the roadside and crouched down, her heart thumping as she looked at Emerald’s still body. As her anxious gaze adjusted to the growing darkness Rose could see that the gold dress Emerald was wearing was ripped, exposing her creamy flesh. Hastily she removed her own jacket and placed it over her.
