to think that because she wasn’t. But she didn’t want to get slapped again. Behind the woman was the man who always seemed to be there, not giggling now, and another man. The woman’s face, thin and sharp and deeply tanned with brownish blond hair tightly pinned to her head, was uncovered. The two men were masked.
‘Are you taking me back?’
Instead of answering Felicite raised her head, animal-like, and sniffed the air. ‘Smelly child. Nasty, smelly child.’
There was nothing to say. Mary stood legs slightly apart, showing no uncertainty, looking back at the woman.
‘If you won’t wash yourself you’ll have to be washed,’ announced Felicite.
‘I’ll shower myself,’ said Mary hurriedly. ‘Then are you taking me home?’
‘Your father knows that we’ve got you: that you’re safe.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He hasn’t been able to say anything yet.’
‘I don’t understand. Hasn’t he given you any money?’
‘Not yet. We haven’t asked for any.’
‘Isn’t that what you want?’
Felicite laughed. ‘We want lots of things.’
‘Why’s it taking so long?’
‘Because I want it to.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Mary repeated.
‘You don’t have to understand. You just have to do as you’re told. I keep telling you that. You’ll be punished if you don’t listen.’
Unthinkingly Mary’s tongue strayed to her healing lip. She stopped the gesture, hoping her mouth hadn’t bulged to show the woman what she’d done. ‘I’ll shower myself,’ she said again.
‘And I’ll watch to make sure you do it properly,’ said Felicite. ‘We all will.’
‘I don’t want you to.’
‘Are you asking me to slap you again? Harder than I did before?’
It wasn’t right for the men to see her with no clothes on. Not even dad saw her like that. She didn’t want the woman to see, either. But she didn’t want to be slapped. ‘I’ll do it by myself.’
Mary flinched back when Felicite started towards her, unable to stop herself, and backed towards the door the giggling man had pointed to the previous day. She moved abruptly, suddenly quick, trying to get inside and close the door behind her, but Felicite caught its edge and jerked it back open. She hit out with her other hand, catching the unsuspecting child fully in the chest, thrusting her further into the bathroom, which was much bigger than Mary had imagined. There was a bath, against one wall, and three glass-fronted shower stalls arranged along the far wall. There were three separate handbasins and a toilet open to the room, not enclosed by a cubicle, and two stools, side by side.
Mary stood in the middle of the bathroom, staring back at the open door. The woman was in the middle, with the two men close behind her. For the first time there was a snigger from the man who normally guarded her.
‘Do you want me to undress you?’
‘No.’
‘Undress yourself then.’
Mary turned her back. She dropped her skirt and her shirt on the floor, as she usually did, and behind her Felicite said: ‘Fold your things up, neatly!’
Mary stooped, doing what she was told. It wasn’t going to be as bad as she’d thought. With her back to them all they’d see was her bottom, nothing else. That wasn’t so bad, although she wished they weren’t able to. She’d tell dad. He’d be very angry. Angrier than he got sometimes with mom when they were fighting. As she half ran to the shower stalls she heard them laughing behind her. She stood with her back to them inside the stall, aware they’d be able at least to see her outline through the glass door. There was shampoo as well as soap so she washed her hair, even though she hadn’t seen a dryer outside. She could use a towel to get most of the wet out and leave it to dry by itself. She hadn’t seen a towel, either! And when she got out of the shower she’d have to face them. She stopped soaping herself, arms limply to her sides as the water poured over her, not knowing what to do. She wanted to cry, tears burning into her eyes.
Why hadn’t dad paid: shouted at them and told them to let her go and given them the money and got her back! Why? It wasn’t fair. Would mom and dad be shouting at each other? This shouldn’t be happening. It was rude. Nasty. They were nasty. Nasty rude people in scary masks. She wanted to make pee pee. She did, knowing they wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing with the shower gushing over her. The woman would probably hit her, if she knew. But she didn’t. It was good, doing something they didn’t know about. Defying them. That’s what she had to do, defy them but not let them know, so the woman didn’t hit her any more. She didn’t feel like crying now. But she still had to get out, so they’d see her. Maybe there would be a towel, just outside. That’s where towels were, just outside a shower stall. She wished she could remember.
Determinedly Mary switched off the water, turning to the door: she could vaguely make out the grown-ups through the clouded glass. She hesitated, pushing her wet hair back off her face, and then reached out with her left hand to slide the door open. She put the other hand in front of her penny box. She kept it there as she stepped out, immediately bringing her left hand and arm up across herself, although it didn’t cover everything.
The woman was standing in the middle of the bathroom, holding the towel out. ‘Poor little bedraggled Mary. Come and get your towel!’
It meant uncovering herself to reach out but if she got the towel they wouldn’t be able to see anything. She put out her left hand but at the last minute the woman snatched the towel away and unthinkingly Mary tried to grab with her other hand and they all laughed at her when she realized her penny box was uncovered and jerked her hand back to hide it.
Mary and Felicite were dancing awkwardly round the bathroom now, the woman always lifting the towel just out of Mary’s reach. The woman said: ‘Dance, Mary. Dance for us,’ and the masked men laughed and one said: ‘This is good.’ Suddenly the woman flicked the towel to the left but lowered it, so that Mary had to twist to get it. As she did so the woman released it, making her stumble further, and then Mary felt herself grabbed from the side and bent over, as the woman slumped down on the bathroom stool to bring her across her lap, with her bottom exposed. And then the woman began to hit her, chanting with each slap. They were very hard, and stung.
‘This is for being a naughty girl and not washing. And this is for trying to run up into the hall when you were allowed out yesterday. And this is for thinking you could trick the nice man who is looking after you into letting you go. And this is for thinking you can get away from us. And this is to show you what will happen if you try to do it again…’ Felicite stopped, breathless. She brought her hand down hard, once more, and said: ‘And that’s for taking your brace out, although I like you much better without it.’
It hurt worse than when she was slapped in the face and the men were looking at her and still laughing but Mary didn’t cry. She hoped the pee pee hadn’t all washed away and the woman got some on her hand.
The message from Kurt Volker was waiting when Claudine and Blake returned to the Metropole.
‘It’s started, then!’ said the German enthusiastically, when Claudine returned the call.
‘What?’
There was a brief silence from the other end. ‘Didn’t you know? The people who’ve got the girl have made contact with the embassy.’
‘No,’ admitted Claudine. ‘How did you find out?’
‘I hacked into the embassy home pages as soon as you told me I was involved. It was the obvious thing to do, wasn’t it?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Claudine, feeling a sweep of euphoria. ‘That’s how the approach was made, by computer?’
‘Anonymous e-mail,’ confirmed Volker. ‘A kidnap first, as far as I’m aware. Isn’t that fantastic?’
‘Fantastic,’ she agreed.
‘You want me to come down?’
‘Yes,’ said Claudine. ‘And transfer me to Sanglier. He needs to come, too.’
It was Marcel who had taught Felicite his own definition of hedonism, the pursuit of ultimate pleasure in all things, without bounds. And Felicite accepted she’d been an eager pupil. There’d been a sexual excitement – still was – in working the stock markets of Europe, which he’d been so adept at plundering, rarely losing as she rarely
