the sight of the masked face. Next moment, Ricardo’s hand clamped over her mouth and then he was on top of her, clawing at her dress.
Bella reacted instantly.
‘Leave her alone,’ she yelled, picking up the broken chair, and the next moment she cracked it over Ricardo’s head. He gave a groan and collapsed on to the floor as Chrissie started screaming.
Bella was about to hit him again when the door burst open and in came Eduardo, Carlos and Pablo, all carrying guns.
‘Put that chair down,’ snarled Eduardo.
‘He was trying to rape me,’ sobbed Chrissie.
Bella, looking at the three gun barrels, dropped the chair. Pablo helped Ricardo to his feet.
‘The bitch went for me,’ said Ricardo, blood dripping from his head, and the next moment he’d turned on Bella, slapping her viciously across the face, back and forth, back and forth.
‘That’s enough,’ said Eduardo. ‘We’ll teach her a lesson another way.’ He gave instructions in Spanish over his shoulder to Pablo, who went out and came back with some rope with which he tied up both Bella and Chrissie.
They sat Bella down on a chair. She could feel the blood trickling down her cheeks where Ricardo’s ring had cut her.
Then Carlos came in with a towel and put it round Bella’s shoulders. Suddenly Bella remembered, terrified, how they’d cut off Paul Getty’s ear.
‘Oh please no!’ she whispered.
‘Shut up,’ said Eduardo, lifting up her hair.
They were all standing behind her.
‘No!’ screamed Chrissie, ‘please don’t hurt her.’ For she could see what Bella could not, that in Eduardo’s hand was a razor blade glinting evilly in the dim light.
Bella jerked her head forward.
‘Keep still,’ swore Eduardo. ‘Or you really will get hurt.’
She felt her hair being tugged backward, and sawed at, this way and that.
‘Oh, no!’ she wailed. ‘Not my hair.’
Eduardo ran the razor blade gently down her cheek.
‘Quiet,’ he said softly. ‘Or we really will give you something to remember us by.’
They cut her long mane off to a ragged three inches all over her head, short as a boy’s, shorter than most boys’, tugging and sawing till it lay in a heavy mass all over the floor.
Eduardo then told Pablo to gather it up.
‘We’ll parcel it up and send it to El Gatto. It might make him get off his arse about raising the dough,’ said Eduardo.
After that, they took her next door and stood her up, with her hands and feet still tied and her head in a noose of rope hanging from the ceiling.
‘Don’t fall asleep or the rope will snap your head off,’ said Ricardo, and he went out, locking the door.
Bella couldn’t stop crying. Her only irrational thought was that now she’d finally lost Lazlo. She remembered him saying he only liked girls with long hair, not that she’d ever had him. But now, with short hair, there was no possibility that he could love her.
For four nights sleep had eluded her. Now that she had somehow to keep from dropping off, she felt overwhelmed with exhaustion. She
The trouble with every poem was that it turned her thoughts back to Lazlo, making her re-live the moments they’d spent together. The last time she’d seen him with his back to the fireplace, very suntanned in that dark blue shirt, with strangely softened face, saying, ‘Come here,’ and her going to him in spite of being frightened, and then the telephone interrupting them just before she reached him.
Then she allowed her thoughts to stray into the dangerous fantasy of the telephone not ringing, of being in his arms and hearing all the lovely things he was saying, his voice husky with passion.
Oh God! she thought, it wasn’t the racehorses or the yachts or the fur coats she wanted from him, it was the understanding, the kindness beneath the mocking exterior, the protectiveness he displayed to his family and people he loved.
She started to cry again, overwhelmed by utter despair. Why not fall asleep and die? No! She pulled herself together. Chrissie had to be looked after. They’d got to get out.
Diego took over the watch at four o’clock and was obviously appalled by what he saw.
‘My God! What have those bastards done? Your beautiful, beautiful hair.’
He untied the rope round her neck and feet and hands, brushed away the hairs that were itching down her back, and gave her a cigarette.
‘What happened?’
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘Ricardo tried to rape Chrissie.’
‘And?’
‘I went for him with a chair.’
‘So he had to take his revenge. Is the kid all right?’
Bella nodded. ‘Physically anyway. Where are the others?’
‘Sleeping. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
He went out, leaving his gun on a chair. Bella could have picked it up and used it, but she felt too tired; and that Diego trusting her was her one chance of getting out. He came back with hot water and soap and washed her face and hands for her. Then he brought her a cup of tea and a pear, which he cut into quarters and peeled for her. Bella had never tasted anything so delicious in her life.
‘You’re so good to me, Diego,’ she said. ‘Do I look absolutely hideous like this?’
He shrugged. ‘It was prettier long, but it will grow soon.’
‘Will I be allowed to live long enough for it to grow?’
‘Don’t think about things like that. I don’t know. I am only given orders.’
She took a gulp of the sweet, scalding tea. It seemed to give her strength.
‘Why are you caught up in this racket?’ she asked.
‘Mine is a very poor country. The only way to make big money in a hurry is on the wrong side of the law.’
Then he told her about his son who was five, who had a very rare heart complaint.
‘If he doesn’t have an operation soon, he will die. We do not have your health service in my country. Everything has to be paid for. This operation costs a lot of money.
‘When this business is all over, and El Gatto pays up, I will have enough to pay for the operation, and be able to take my wife and children to live in a new country. They will arrange a new passport for us.’
‘But won’t the people who give the orders expect you to do other things for them?’
‘No, only one job; that’s the deal.’
‘But can’t you understand the kind of people you’re dealing with?’ said Bella. ‘They’ll never let you go once they get their teeth into you. You’ll be doing jobs for them for the rest of your life, and one day you’ll slip up and it’ll be curtains.’
‘Shut up,’ said Diego. ‘It’s not true.’
Bella played her trump card.
‘Juan Rodriquez is behind this, isn’t he?’
Diego started. ‘How do you know?’
‘Lazlo knows it too, and he’s not stupid. It won’t be long before he tracks us down and, whether we’re dead or alive, you’ll have a long, long spell in jug.’
‘You’re bluffing,’ said Diego, suddenly very agitated.
