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The blades were already in motion on the big black insect-like machine as she and Anna waited while the steward loaded the luggage.
'Mama, I almost missed you. Have a good flight and I'll be in touch soon.'
Saffron turned her head at the sound of Alex's voice. He had stopped on the opposite side of Anna, his dark head bent to kiss the older woman on the cheek. Saffron's eyes widened in amazement as he straightened up and looked directly at her. Gone was the casually dressed man of the past week and in his place was a sombrely dressed businessman. He was wearing an expensively tailored navy three-piece suit, the jacket fitting snugly across his broad shoulders, the trousers elegantly tracing his long legs, a white silk shirt in stark contrast to his tanned complexion and a conservative navy and grey striped tie at his throat. A black leather briefcase in one hand completed the picture of a ruthless tycoon. Her whole body clenched in shock.
'You can leave now,' Alex drawled, but she did not hear him say that the pilot was waiting or that he would see her in London, and, like a thunderbolt, it hit her.
She did know him! Had done for seven years. . . She must have said something that passed as goodbye, she thought distractedly as she urged Anna towards the waiting helicopter. She did not see Alex's frowning glance or the intense scrutiny in his dark eyes as she climbed aboard. She could not get away fast enough. . .
She was intensely grateful for the noise in the helicopter that prevented her having to talk to Anna. She needed the time to collect her own thoughts. . .
Seven years ago, the first day at her first job after finishing college that also turned out to be her last day at the supposedly exclusive health club. The man standing in Reception saying, 'You can leave now,' and her own furious anger and embarrassment as for one long moment she had stared at the owner of the place. A tall, dark man in a navy suit, briefcase in hand, and contemptuous black eyes that burned into her skull. She had not said a word but had run out never to return. A bitter, cynical smile curved her soft lips; Alex Statis was that man. She would stake her life on it.
A tug on her arm by Anna, and she realised that the helicopter was circling to land at the far side of the airport. But Saffron was in no position to take in her surroundings; as if in a dream she helped Anna from the helicopter and followed the pilot across to a waiting jet some hundred yards away. Still in a state of shock she sank down into the seat beside Anna and barely spoke as the jet took off.
Luckily for Saffron, Anna slept almost the whole journey, only rousing to eat a perfectly prepared meal and then dozing off again. By the time Saffron sank down on the familiar white-lace-draped four-poster bed in Anna's London home late that night, alone at last, she felt sick to her soul.
How she had managed to hide her distraught state from Anna for the past few hours was a miracle, she thought with a grim smile. In fact she was not sure that she had, because over dinner Anna had asked her if anything was wrong. She had quickly reassured her that she was fine, just a bit jet-lagged, but had felt an absolute fraud when Anna had insisted that she go to bed and forget about her massage for tonight.
Private yacht, private airplane, this lovely house, dotted with antiques, a whole island f
or heaven's sake! She ground her teeth in sheer rage. Some would say she was lucky to be living in such as environment. Except that Saffron knew where some of the money had come from, and a few questions to Anna had convinced her that the older woman didn't.
Over dinner Saffron had deliberately turned the conversation to Alex's business, and finally asked the question that had plagued her all day.
'Does he own health clubs in London? I seem to remember hearing of one in Wimbledon,' she'd said, and had mentioned the name.
Anna's response had confirmed what Saffron already knew. 'I vaguely remember hearing the name somewhere but I really have no idea, Saffy. When Alex took over the family shipping business it was in a sorry state; he had to work like a slave to make it profitable. He has expanded into all sorts of things over the years. I can't keep up with him; I'm hopeless at business—much prefer the arts. But Alex is quite famous in his own way. The gossip columns seem to enjoy reporting his numerous affairs, unfortunately.'
Now, sitting on the bed, Saffron let her head drop into her hands. She thought about Eve, her one true friend who had died so pitifully young; it was Alex Statis and men like him who had driven her to it. She rubbed the moisture from her eyes and, stripping off her clothes, took a quick shower in the adjoining en suite and then crawled into bed, her mind in turmoil.
Who said crime doesn't pay? she thought scathingly. It had certainly paid for Alex. Anna had told her earlier, when waffling on about their coming trip in the autumn, that only a few years ago Alex had completely demolished the villa on Serendipidos and replaced it with a much grander one. . . On the proceeds of his ill-gotten gains, Saffron thought, hatred and loathing for the man swamping her tired mind. She closed her eyes and prayed for sleep but it would not come. Instead she was eighteen again. . .
Saffron glanced once more at her gold wristwatch—eight- thirty—then back again to the entrance door of the small pub in Covent Garden. Eve was already half an hour late; she resolved to give her five more minutes then leave. It was sad but true; the two girls were drifting apart. It had to happen, she thought sadly. Eve had left the orphanage long before she had, and gone to live in an apartment with another girl, somewhere in the East End. Whereas Saffron, on leaving the orphanage, had taken up residence at the YWCA.
She had finished college in June a qualified beauty therapist and aromatherapist, and for the past two months had been looking for a job in a health club, salon, anything, but so far without much luck. When her parents had died so tragically young, the house had been sold, but after the debts and expenses had been paid there had not been much left to be put in trust for Saffron. On her eighteenth birthday she had inherited almost two thousand pounds and her mother's gold watch. But her nest-egg was quickly diminishing while she looked for work. Her only social life was a once-a- month meeting with Eve.
'Saffron, darling, sorry I'm late but we couldn't find a parking place.'
Saffron lifted her head and smiled. Eve was a tall, well-endowed blonde, and tonight she looked flushed and happy.
'Sorry I can't stop but Rick, my new boyfriend, is parked on double yellow lines. He's gorgeous, Saffron, and, better yet, rich. I only called in to give you this card. It's the address of an exclusive health club in Wimbledon, Studio 96—Rick has a share in it. Go tomorrow at eleven, mention Rick's name and the job of masseur is yours.' Eve blew a kiss, called, 'Ciao!' and left.
If only it had been that simple, Saffron thought as she tossed restlessly on the bed. With hindsight she realised she had been terribly naive, but at the time it had seemed like a gift from the gods.
She had attended the interview the next day with a rather hard-faced women who was the manageress. As soon as she had mentioned Rick and produced the card she had been given the job, and told to start the next day at twelve. Saffron had had no qualms; the building was in an excellent area and was elegantly furnished, and a conducted tour had shown her a gym and spa, sauna, and the various individual cubicles for massage. The manageress had even warned her that any employer found offering sexual intercourse to the patrons would be immediately dismissed. It was a club favoured by leading members of society, from aristocrats to Members of Parliament, and they came expecting to relieve their tension and relax—nothing more!
The following day she was shown to a cubicle and told that her first client would be arriving at twelve-fifteen for a full massage. Slipping on her overall and with her personal belongings stowed in a small locker, she greeted her first client, a rather overweight middle-aged gentleman.
Slightly nervous, she instructed the gentleman to remove his robe, wrap a towel around his waist and lie face down on the bed while she went to collect the required oils. On her return the man was lying down, and she began the massage as she had been taught by her tutor. In most reputable establishments when massaging a man one only did the back, the arms and shoulders, and the feet and legs as far as the knee. Anything more and male masseurs were usually employed.
Fifteen minutes later all hell broke loose, when the man turned over and said brutally, 'Hurry up, girl. You know the muscle I want relaxing and it sure as hell isn't my back.'
To Saffron's absolute horror he grabbed her small hand and forced it towards a very personal part of him. She did the only thing she could think of: picking up the dish containing the remainder of the oil, her eyes closed, she hit him with it.
He gave a howl of outrage. 'What the hell do you think you're playing at? I paid good money and I'm not being fobbed off with a bloody back-rub.'
Saffron flung the robe over him, grabbed her coat and bag from the locker and shot straight out of the cubicle, heading for the exit, her face flaming.
