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Vicky had made a quiche; a vegetarian version full of broccoli, onion and tomato cooked in cheese, it was served with a green salad and small new potatoes and was quite delicious.
‘Wonderful cooking, Vicky,’ Bianca congratulated her.
‘Well, don’t think I’m doing all the cooking in future!’ she retorted tartly. ‘This was a special occasion. I can tell you, I’m glad you’re back to take over; I’m sick of tidying up after him.’ She glared at Tom who glared back.
‘I wasn’t the one who had a party that went on all night!’
‘You haven’t got any friends to invite to a party!’ snapped Vicky, and Tom made gargoyle faces at her.
‘Don’t squabble,’ Bianca said, then smiled at them. ‘I really missed you both; I’m glad to be home.’
Vicky gave her a surprisingly adult look, frowning. ‘Did you really have a good time, Mum? Why did you come home early? You still haven’t told us how you got those bruises.’
Bianca took a deep breath, and gave them a carefully planned explanation of the mugging, playing down the violence and the fear she had felt. Something of it must have come through, though—they both looked shocked.
‘How ghastly! Thank heavens you weren’t badly hurt and nothing worse happened,’ said Vicky. ‘No wonder you’re back home early!’
‘I wish I’d been there,’ Tom muttered, his face flushed and his neck rigid with belligerence. ‘I’d have taught that little swine a lesson! You shouldn’t have gone on your own, Mum. Next time I’ll come with you.’
Touched, she smiled at him.
In bed that night, she lay awake in the dark for an hour, fighting memories of Gil, and wondering how long it would take her to forget about him.
Judy was amazed to see her back when she went into the shop next day. ‘Bianca! Good heavens! I wasn’t expecting you until next Monday! Love the tan—it suits you—you should always be that colour!’ She grinned. ‘You must have had good weather! Why are you back early? Didn’t the holiday romance work out after all?’
‘I got mugged,’ Bianca told her, to distract her from questions about Gil.
Judy exclaimed much as Vicky and Tom had done, her eyes widening in disbelief. ‘No! You’re kidding! What happened!’
Bianca gave her the same mild version of events that she had given her children, leaving out all references to the second attack, and Judy bombarded her with questions, peered closely at the bruises on her face, asked if she was going back to be a witness, asked how she had felt when it happened, said that she would be happy to accompany Bianca when she had to return for the court case.
Bianca couldn’t admit why she certainly would not want either her children or Judy to go with her. She was beginning to be afraid that when the case did come up the English newspapers might pick up on the story of the attempted rape. If they didn’t, she might never need to tell anyone here what had really happened. She was dreading having to give evidence in a Spanish court, anyway. She wished now she had come home after the first attack; the second one would never have happened then.
She asked Judy, ‘How did you get on on your own in the shop? Any problems?’
‘None at all, I managed perfectly,’ Judy said with a touch of high dudgeon, tossing her head. ‘We were very busy on Friday and Saturday, as usual, and I was run off my feet then, but the rest of the week things went like clockwork. No problems.’
‘Well, now I’ve had a break, why don’t you have one, Judy?’ Bianca suggested.
‘It doesn’t sound to me as if you had much of a holiday,’ Judy said drily, and Bianca couldn’t deny that.
‘I was unlucky, but there’s no reason why you should be!’
‘Well, I’ll think about it,’ Judy said, and then a customer came in and, with a smile, she went over to deal with her while Bianca went into their little office to make coffee for them both.
It was all so normal and familiar. She felt as if she had never been away. It would be easy, here, to forget about Gil, she told herself, ignoring the wince of anguish she felt at the thought of him. All she had to do was face each day as it came and keep all thought of him at bay. He would fade in her mind the way the bruises on her face were fading.
It might have worked out that way—if she had not come home from work the following Monday evening to find an Alfa-Romeo parked outside her house. Her heart turned over violently. It was Gil’s car.
CHAPTER NINE
Bianca stopped to stare at the car, saw it was empty and looked anxiously around for Gil; there was no sign of him. Suddenly she realised that he must be in her house—which meant...
Oh, no! she thought, beginning to run. Someone must have let him in, which meant he was in there now, with one of her children, talking to them! And what would he be saying? She didn’t want to guess. Whatever he said, his mere presence here would arouse Tom and Vicky’s curiosity and she would find herself being pestered for answers once he had gone.
A wave of warm fragrance from a bed of hyacinth beside the house hit her; they had only come out today, deep purply blue and white, her favourite colours in the garden, but, although she unconsciously registered their scent, she didn’t even stop to look at them—any more than she stopped to look up at the budding cherry tree on the lawn which came into blossom every spring. Most evenings when she came home she paused to take in every changing aspect of her garden. It was all part of her familiar home life, the patterns of the year, of which Gil was no part. His arrival was like a stone thrown into a calm pond; ripples were widening in all directions and she could think of nothing else.
As she fumbled for her front-door key in her handbag her fingers trembled; at last she found it, put it in the lock and hurriedly opened the door. As she stepped inside she heard Gil’s voice and smothered a groan. He was talking to Tom. They were laughing, Tom’s the deep, hoarse laughter of a teenage boy whose voice only broke a year ago and who hadn’t yet attained his real adult voice.
