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'What on earth. . . ?' the manageress exclaimed. She was standing at the desk, a tall, dark-suited businessman standing beside her, a briefcase in his hand. 'Where do you think you're going, girl? You have a client.'
'I thought this was supposed to be the crème de la crème.' The fat man, a robe pulled over his nakedness, had followed her. 'Your prices certainly are.' He was all bluster and Saffron could only stare at him, numb with horror and disgust. Then the tall businessman turned around and she saw his face. It was Ales Statis. . .
'Maybe I can help you, sir.'
'You the owner? Well, for the money I paid, I expect expert service, not some bloody little amateur who hasn't a clue.'
'Why, yo. . . !' Saffron's short, platinum-blonde hair, like a silver cap on her small head, did not prevent her true red-headed temper from flaring out of control even though she was terrified. 'You fat blubber of lard, you're a disgrace. . .'
She got no further as the tall stranger caught her arm and ushered her towards the door.
'You can leave now.'
She never heard what else he said. Her terrified green eyes clashed with contemptuous black for a long moment, before she took to her heels and ran.
Three days later Eve appeared at the YWCA to ask how the job was going. Saffron told her the place was no health club, but a very up-market massage parlour only one step removed from a brothel as far as she could see. A grey area in law maybe, but very lucrative for the owners. They finally ended up roaring with laughter about it, Eve declaring that her years in the orphanage and then working for a living in a supermarket must have blunted her instincts, and they both knew what she meant.
Eve had been taken into care because her parents were drug addicts, and had killed themselves with an overdose. The social services had moved in and put Eve in the orphanage. Saffron could only imagine the horrid childhood of her friend, but her loyalty to Eve was one hundred per cent, had been ever since the day she had saved her from the boy groping her.
Saffron stirred uncomfortably on the wide bed as the black bile of sheer hatred rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. She hauled herself up into a sitting position, her small hands clenched in fists, as she fought down her rage. If the incident had ended that day at the YWCA, Saffron might have been able to forget the part Alex Statis had played. But it had not. . . To think that she had allowed Alex to kiss her, touch her; it made her flesh creep. Alex Statis deserved to pay for the lives he had helped destroy as part-owner of that sordid club.
She remembered Eve as a teenager, large and laughing, loyal and protective of her friend. Over the next year Saffron had worked in a small beauty clinic and had seen less of Eve as the other girl's relationship with Rick continued. Then Saffron had got a live-in job at a health spa in Scotland and had left London. They'd kept in touch by letter until the day Saffron's latest letter was returned address unknown.
Saffron had stayed three years in the Highlands before returning to London and starting work at the home beauty agency. She'd shared a flat with two others, and spent her spare time improving her craft. Doing voluntary work in a local hospital, she'd developed a special interest in clinical beauty therapy. She'd loved showing women, who for various reasons, from birthmarks to those who needed to use a prosthesis as result of face cancer, how
to use make-up to cover their disabilities.
Then ten months ago a policeman had arrived at Saffron's door with the information that Eve was dead. She had left a letter for Saffron, and the police had traced her through her income tax returns. In the letter Eve had explained how she had, at Rick's insistence, ended up working in the massage parlour Saffron had run out of, fulfilling the demeaning task of massaging fully the male cliente, who then went smugly home to their wives in the belief that they had not technically been unfaithful. . . Eve had hated the job and had started to drink and take drugs to get her through the day. Rick had dumped her, and she'd felt she had nothing left to live for.
But the final, paragraph had been an exhortation to Saffron to succeed.
You have it all, Saffron—the looks, the character and the expertise to make it on your own. Not like me. I was born a loser. Promise me, Saffron, you won't let some bastard of a man get at you. Stick to your dream. Start your own business, be your own boss. Do it for ine. You show them.
Saffron had been devastated. She had attended the inquest the following day, and the only slight relief had been that the coroner had returned an open verdict not prepared to say that Eve had deliberately overdosed on drugs and alcohol. Saffron had arranged the funeral and she had been the only one at the ceremony.
She groaned out loud and slid down into the bed. Here she was, living in the house, eating the food, taking the pay of the diabolical fiend who owned the club. . . What was she going to do? She could not blame Anna; it had nothing to do with her; of that Saffron, was sure. But she hoped and prayed that she would never have to set eyes on Alex Statis again as long as she lived.
Anna would be hurt, but Saffron had no choice. Much as she liked Anna she would have to leave, and with that thought worrying her mind she tossed restlessly all night and when, finally, dawn broke the sky, she still had not found the comforting oblivion of sleep. But not for g second dared she- admit that the thought of sever seeing Alex again hurt even more than the knowledge of the despicable lengths he would go to make money.
A few hours later, heavy-eyed, she completed Anna's massage, and mentioned leaving. 'I know my contract is for six months, Anna, and I've only completed a little over one, but I.,.'
'What is it really, Saffy? Something is bothering you; You've been quiet ever since we left the-boat. Is it me? Am I too much trouble for you?'
Saffron felt an absolute heel. How did one M! a woman that her son was the lowest of the low, and you couldn't bear the thought of ever having to see him again?
'I could increase your salary.'
"No, no, you're more than generous. It was just I— Oh, nothing! Anna, forget I mentioned it." She couldn't hurt her, and if that meant having to stay here and run lie risk of seeing Alex again then so be it. She would just have to bite the bullet and disguise her hatred of this man.
The only trouble was, she thought grimly a few hours later, she had not expected to have to do it so soon! Anna had been lying down in her room, resting, and Saffron fiad takes the opportunity to do some hand- washing at the sink in the utility-room, when the telephone had rung. She'd known that Mrs Chambers had gone shopping, so, quickly drying her hands, she'd nipped into the kitchen and picked, up the wall-mounted telephone.
'Mrs Statis's residence,' she intoned breathlessly.
'Saffron. I was hoping you would answer.' Even over the telephone there was no mistaking Alex's deep drawl. 'Are you missing me, green eyes?'
Her first thought was to slam down the receiver but she stopped herself just in time. Fighting down the rage that just fee sound of his voice invoked, she replied coldly, 'I'm afraid your mother is sleeping at the moment, Mr Statis; perhaps you could call back later.'
'I did not ask for Mama, I asked if you missed me,' Alex corrected her in a teasing tone. 'Why the frozen air, Saffron, sweet? Sulking because I'm not there with you?'
