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The coach finally set off and bumped down winding, traffic-filled roads until it reached the city, where everyone climbed out again to filter into a large Spanish restaurant with traditional wood flooring and heavy oak furniture.
People immediately rushed off to use the lavatories; Bianca had been first off the coach and was therefore first in the queue. The tour of the Alhambra had been tiring; her skin was damp with perspiration after all that walking and then the shock of seeing the men on the motorbike. As well as wanting to use the lavatory she was dying to wash her hands and face.
The ladies’ powder-room was not simply clean and modern, it was beautifully decorated, with blue and yellow traditional Spanish designs on white tiles, yellow basins and dark wood everywhere.
She washed her hands and face, sighing with pleasure at the splash of cold water on her hot, dusty skin. She combed her hair, put on a little lipstick, a film of foundation, dusted powder over her skin, then went back into the restaurant, stopping in her tracks in disbelief as she saw Gil.
She almost thought she was seeing things for a minute; that she had conjured him up; he was a figment of her imagination.
But if she had imagined him would she have dressed him in a smooth dark suit of formal cut and design, with a stiff white shirt and pale grey tie?
That
was what he was wearing, anyway—and he was really there; he wasn’t a dream. He was sitting at a table, talking to the guide who had shown them round the Alhambra.
He saw her a second later; he smiled and she felt her heart pause in its beating. Involuntarily she smiled back, then was frightened by the depth of her pleasure at seeing him. This was madness; she had only known the man a couple of days. Why was she so happy suddenly that she could almost burst into song like a bird?
Oh, grow up! she told herself angrily.
Gil got up and walked away from the guide towards her; she moved towards him as if pulled on a rope, helpless to fight that tug of inevitability. They met in the middle of the large restaurant and she felt as if they were alone in an empty landscape. The other people around them, the room itself, dissolved, and there was only her and Gil. Nothing else existed.
Looking down at her, he said, ‘I thought you agreed that you wouldn’t leave the hotel grounds for the next day or two?’
The accusing tone made her stiffen resentfully. ‘I am on holiday! I wanted to see something of this part of Spain, and I thought I’d be safe enough on a coach trip so long as I made sure I was never left alone. This time I kept with everyone else wherever we went.’
‘At least you’ve had that much sense!’ he muttered, frowning darkly.
‘Well, the police have got those two men locked up; I’m in no danger, am I?’ Bianca said. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? You didn’t follow just because you found out I had come on this coach trip?’
His face was tense, sombre. ‘No. I came because the police rang me to say that they have had to release the two muggers.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Bianca’s face paled. ‘I knew it! I thought I was imagining things, but all the time my unconscious was right—it was him!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Gil stared at her, frowning.
Huskily she told him. ‘While we were coming out of the Alhambra, I saw two men on a motorbike sitting watching the gates. I was walking on my own, in front of the others, and the bike suddenly started and drove straight at me. It was deliberate—and it was them! I knew it was, the minute I saw them; I panicked—I turned round and ran back towards the rest of the coach party, who weren’t far behind me, and then they swerved away and drove off.’
Gil stared down at her, his mouth a hard white line. ‘You were doing it again, weren’t you? Walking on your own, not staying with the rest of the group... you stupid woman, don’t you ever learn? What did I say to you? You should never have come on this trip. If you wanted to go to the Alhambra I’d have taken you.’
His voice had risen; she felt a stir, saw the other people from the coach turn to stare curiously at them as they took their places around the prepared lunch tables.
‘Shh...’ she urged, glaring at him. ‘Everyone’s listening!’ Waiters had begun to bring out huge tureens, and they moved around the tables ladling soup into the bowl in front of each guest. ‘They’re serving lunch—I must go!’ She moved to walk away and he caught her arm; she looked angrily down at his long fingers encircling her flesh. ‘Let go of me!’
He released her with an impatient little grunt. ‘Just tell me this—what made you think it was them? How could they know you were here, anyway?’
She looked down, biting her lower lip, and thought aloud. ‘Yes, how did they know? We left so early in the morning—if they were only released today, how could they know where to find me? Unless...’ She looked up at Gil and his face was dark with anger.
‘Unless someone at the hotel told them! I was beginning to realise that myself. How else could they have known you had gone to Granada?’
‘I suppose they could have rung the hotel, asked for me, and been told where I was?’
‘That’s strictly against my rules,’ he bit out through his teeth, frowning. ‘We have a lot of famous people staying with us—no personal information is ever supposed to be given out. But I’ll check on that as soon as I get back. If that is what happened, it won’t happen again.’
Bianca was sorry for any member of the staff who had given out the information. She wouldn’t like to have to face Gil in this mood. He was dressed so smoothly and formally, in that dark suit, with the pale grey tie and white shirt—but danger radiated out of him.
The Spanish guide came over to them and gave Gil an obsequious smile. ‘Senor Marquez... you are going to eat with us? The soup is being served now. I have kept a place for you beside me, and for the senora, of course.’
