He puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘I only just warmed things a little, because I didn’t know when you’d be in. I can easily turn it all off and we can go out.’
She looks at him. ‘No. I’m sorry. What a cow. I’ve had a difficult day with my boss and I just snapped.’ She glances around. ‘It’s really very nice that you went out, bought everything and did all this.’ She smiles. ‘Quite romantic.’
He smiles back. ‘I can be. Given the chance.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Certainly is.’
They trade looks, eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘Do I have time to change for dinner?’
‘Sure. Plenty.’
She heads to the bedroom.
Tom calls after her. ‘You want some help?’
She doesn’t answer.
He sits for a minute on the same sofa arm where Valentina has just perched and wonders if he’s doing the right thing. His body is tingling with the thrill of flirtation and the anticipation of what could be. At the same time a part of him wants to run.
Valentina reappears.
She’s wearing a cream silk robe.
Her dark hair falls lavishly against the porcelain whiteness of her neck. ‘Did you finally get that cork out? Or do you need a woman’s help?’
Tom gets up and heads to the abandoned bottle, his heart flipping like a pancake. He has to calm himself in order to safely use the corkscrew.
Valentina picks up a big-bowled wine glass by its stem and tilts it towards him. ‘Your lip still hurt?’
He pours a drizzle of golden Meursault into her glass. ‘No. Yours?’ Their eyes lock again.
‘Not at all.’ She moves the glass away, leans slowly forward and kisses him tenderly but fully on his bruised mouth.
Tom just about manages to put the bottle down safely.
Somehow Valentina finds a kitchen worktop to rest her glass on.
His hands undo her robe and slip inside the warm silk. Her skin is smooth and she smells of coconut.
He kisses her again and glides his fingers up to her shoulder blades, massaging them as she curls into him.
Valentina moves her hands from the back of his neck to the front of his shirt. Some buttons she manages to undo, others just snap off as she pulls the cloth open and tugs it down his thick arms.
They’re both almost breathless, mouths bleeding from the intense contact, bodies flushed with excitement.
Valentina smoothes her palms across his hard chest and feels his nipples stiffen. He’s much taller than she is. She pulls him down to her height, then all the way to the dirty kitchen floor.
Tom’s fingers find her legs and thighs. He plants rows of soft kisses across the silken pastures of her stomach and breasts.
She lets out a warm sigh of expectancy.
He slides his fingers around the arch of her back and slips off her small red La Perla briefs.
Valentina stretches like a cat as kisses trickle across her hips, then along her bikini line, and finally gather between her legs.
His hands cup her buttocks and his tongue snakes deep inside her.
She clings to him. Digs her nails into his vast back and holds on like she’s going to fall off a cliff.
And in a way she does. A vast tumble into oblivion, her head spinning and her heart pounding while a river of pent-up emotion breaks wonderfully free.
15
The guard outside the hospital room is the first to notice that the prisoner is out of bed and moving around.
He can see her through a slit of unfrosted glass, shuffling close to the wall.
The young man is about to call the nursing station when the night sister appears. ‘She’s out of bed,’ he announces in a worried tone.
‘I know.’ Sister Elizabetta Erio is a slightly overweight forty-year-old. ‘She pulled the emergency cord. Let’s see how she is.’
They enter the room together and find the prisoner-cum-patient sitting on the floor in the corner adjacent to the bed. Her hands are wrapped tightly around her drawn-up knees. She looks like a small, terrified child.
‘Come on, young lady,’ says Sister firmly. ‘You shouldn’t be down there. Let’s get you back into bed and make you comfortable.’
The guard bends down to help her, but this makes the woman cower even more. He guesses she’s afraid of the uniform and the white-holstered gun on his belt.
Elizabetta steps forward, takes her by the elbow and helps her to her feet in a no-nonsense way. ‘You’re going to freeze down there. Now let’s get you tucked up again.’
The prisoner allows herself to be moved back to the high metal bed. Her eyes never leave the guard.
Sister Erio quickly adjusts the patient’s faded hospital nightgown and covers her up. She’s read the woman’s case notes and knows she needs to stay alert. While the patient looks as meek as a mouse, and hasn’t spoken since admission, the huge bruise on her forehead is a reminder that there’s a constant chance of sudden and unexpected violence. ‘Does your head hurt, honey? That’s quite a bump you’ve got there.’
The woman scowls and tentatively puts her fingers to the patch of purple and black skin.
‘I’ll get you some painkillers. Would you like me to bring you a drink as well? Some nice cool water?’ She looks for a confirmatory nod.
‘ Si. Grazie.’
Elizabetta’s shocked. She stares disbelieving at the prisoner’s lips. ‘Okay. It’s good that you’re talking. Give me a minute, I’ll go and get some for you.’
On the way out, she pulls the guard aside. ‘Watch her. Watch her closely. I’ll be back in no time.’
Elizabetta phones the night doctor and grabs 400 mg of ibuprofen. She takes a plastic cup from the cooler in the corridor, fills it with chilled water and is back in the room within a minute.
The patient pops the tablets and drains all the water. ‘ Grazie.’
‘ Prego.’ Elizabetta sits on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m going to take your pulse and your blood pressure. Is that all right?’
The woman nods nervously. ‘Where am I? Why am I here?’
‘You really don’t know?’
The fear in her eyes says she doesn’t. ‘I have no idea.’ She bites at an already well-chewed thumbnail and looks around. ‘Was I hurt? Was I in some kind of accident?’
Elizabetta glances towards the guard. ‘The Carabinieri brought you here. They’ll probably want to talk to you, tell you about everything.’ She gives her a kindly smile. ‘Don’t worry about things; we’re going to look after you. Can you tell me what your name is?’
‘Suzanna.’
Elizabetta looks pleased.
‘ Va bene.’ She reaches for the clipboard at the end of the bed and writes on some notes. ‘And your last name, Suzanna, what’s your last name?’
‘Grecoraci. Suzanna Grecoraci.’
‘Excellent. That’s a good start.’
The patient looks puzzled. ‘You didn’t know who I was?’
‘No. No, we didn’t.’
