Seeing Magpie Cottage’s number coming up, Rannaldini picked up the telephone. ‘My little one.’
‘May I speak to Wolfie?’
‘He is out. The calls are being diverted to the tower. I’ve been listening to your poor stepmother on the radio.’
‘Oh, God, it’s terrible.’
‘Maybe not so much. Clive was driving back from Cotchester just now and pick up small white terrier, smooth-haired and with curly tail. Maybe it’s Gertrude.’
‘Has she got a greyish patch over one eye and on her tail?’
‘She has.’
‘I’ll be over in a sec.’
Telling a reproachful Sharon she wouldn’t be long, Tab put on gym shoes so she could run faster.
Outside in the dusk it was even hotter. The once deep and dangerous river was so low she could paddle across it. The lights were on in Hermione’s house. She could see Mr Brimscombe still dead-heading roses in anticipation of night filming, and waved as she raced past. From the shrieks issuing from the tennis court, the final was reaching a climax. Someone called out but she ran on.
By the time she reached Hangman’s Wood, she was drenched in sweat. She had never visited the watchtower. A combination of Rottweilers and Rannaldini’s rapacity had deterred her. No guard dogs patrolled tonight, but racing down a woodland ride, she heard an imperious yap. Blind and deaf, yapping was the only way in the big house at Penscombe that Gertrude could broadcast her whereabouts to the family. Crashing open the door, Tabitha stumbled upstairs.
‘Here she is,’ said Rannaldini.
The little white dog sat in the middle of the room looking around anxiously with clouded, unseeing eyes. She gave another yap.
Tabitha dropped to the floor beside her.
‘Oh, my angel,’ and suddenly Gertrude, who had often wriggled under Tab’s duvet in the mornings, smelled someone familiar who reminded her of home. She whimpered incredulously, frantically wagging her tail, as she jumped off her front legs, to lick Tab’s sweating, tearful face. Gathering up Gertrude, burying her face in her neck, Tabitha also breathed in the smell of home.
‘Oh, Gertrude,’ she sobbed, ‘oh, thank God, Rannaldini. Taggie’ll be so relieved. I must ring her at once.’
Her breath was coming in great gasps from running.
‘Have a drink,’ said Rannaldini cosily, pouring her a vodka and tonic. ‘Go on. This is a celebration.’
He reeked of Maestro and wore only Alpheus’s coveted purple and pink striped dressing-gown. But Tab was too happy to notice, or that, not wanting to be interrupted, he had just diverted the calls back to the house.
‘I shouldn’t.’ She took a gulp of vodka and nearly choked. ‘I’ve got to drive her back to Penscombe. It’s all right, darling.’ She dropped a kiss on Gertrude’s forehead. ‘Can I ring Magpie Cottage and ask Isa to look after Sharon?’
Isa still wasn’t home, so she left a message. As she rang off she briefly noticed a disgusting painting of a black-haired Rannaldini whipping some naked tart.
‘Wasn’t I ’andsome in those days?’ he demanded.
‘You’re better-looking now,’ said Tab, but without interest. ‘Oh, Rannaldini. Finding Gertrude’ — she smoothed the lipstick left on the little dog’s forehead — ‘gives me the excuse to go home, and maybe Daddy’ll be so pleased he’ll forgive me. I’ve missed him so much.’
She had never looked more touching. Two blonde strands, escaping from her black velvet toggle, framed her face. Her eyes shone, her cheeks were hectic red, the innocent grey dress clung to her still heaving breasts and wet body.
‘I honestly don’t want it.’ Leaving the vodka, she jumped to her feet. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
Putting her infinitely precious burden on the floor for a second, she reached up to kiss him on the cheek. Rannaldini breathed in her scent. Next moment he had grabbed her with the grip of a madman. Then the solid wedge of his body hit her, winding her, throwing her on the floor, and he was on top of her. Sending buttons flying, he ripped open her dress, suffocating her with his other hand. She could see the black hairs, feel the clash of the wedding ring he had been given by her mother, against her teeth.
Struggling like a wild cat, Tabitha scratched his face and pummelled his ribs, but lust doubled Rannaldini’s considerable strength. As he tore at her knickers, she jerked away her head and screamed.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ hissed Rannaldini, ‘but you need to be taught a lesson.’
Ducking her head to avoid him kissing her, she found her lips crushed against his dressing-gown. Then he had rammed his cock into her, not minding if his aim was off centre. At first it buckled against her tightness then, tearing her because of her dryness, forced itself inside.
But Tab’s screams, like bats’ shrieks, had roused Gertrude, who could also see faint but frenziedly moving shadows. Edging towards the noise, she encountered Rannaldini’s leg and plunged her few teeth deeply into it. Rannaldini gave a bellow, and groped for the bronze of Wagner on a nearby marble table.
‘No!’ screamed Tab. ‘Please — not Gertrude!’
Too late, Rannaldini had hurled it, catching the side of the little dog’s head with a crack, but still Gertrude the lionheart clung on. Reaching down, Rannaldini grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and flung her against a big carved cabinet. With a sickening crunch and a faint yelp, Gertrude slid to the ground.
Rage gave Tabitha strength. Catching Rannaldini off balance, she wriggled away from him, at the same time shoving his head very hard against the sharp corner of a marble table.
‘You’ve killed her, you murdering bastard.’
Jumping to her feet, she scooped up Gertrude, who was gushing blood from a cut-open head, and stumbled down the spiral staircase out into the dark wood. She could still hear cheers and yells of excitement. If only she could reach the tennis court, but terror, fury and grief made her lose her bearings. Turning left away from Valhalla, tripping over roots and bramble cables, she reached a little clearing and paused, gasping for breath.
‘Oh, please, don’t be dead,’ she sobbed.
But Gertrude lay motionless in her arms. Frantically Tab tried to distinguish the dog’s heartbeat above the pounding of her own, but there was nothing. Gertrude’s merry, curly tail had wagged its last.
Crying hysterically, Tabitha reached the Paradise— Cheltenham road and a telephone box. Her grey dress was soaked in blood. She had no money and dialled 999.
‘Emergency. Which service, love?’
‘No, I want you to get this number for me.’
Wolfie’s machine was on.
‘Oh, Wolfie, help me! Rannaldini’s just raped me, and he’s killed Gertrude. Oh, please get Sharon from the cottage!’
She heard a deafening crash and swung round in terror but it was only thunder. She clutched Gertrude to comfort her, because the little dog had always been terrified of bangs, but now Gertrude was beyond thunder, shouting, loud music, Christmas crackers, even fireworks. Sobbing and shaking convulsively, Tab jumped in panic as the telephone rang. But it was only the worried operator.
‘Can you reverse the charges to my father at Penscombe?’
Gertrude’s body was losing its warmth and growing heavy.
‘I have a reversed-charge call from Tabitha Campbell-Black. Will you pay for the call?’ asked the operator.
There was a pause, then she could hear Rupert’s light, clipped drawl. ‘Yes, of course. Hello.’
‘Oh, Daddy,’ howled Tab. ‘I’ve got Gertrude and it’s a thunderstorm, but she can’t hear it any more because she’s dead. I’m so sorry, Daddy, Rannaldini kidnapped her and raped me. Gertrude bit him and saved my life, so he threw her against the wall and killed her. Oh, Daddy.’
It was so heartbreaking, for a second Rupert couldn’t speak. Then he said, ‘It’s all right, darling. Where are you?’
‘I’m not sure. In a telephone box on the edge of Rannaldini’s woods, about a mile out of Paradise. Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry I didn’t save her.’
‘If Gertrude saved you,’ Rupert tried to keep his voice steady, ‘that was the best possible way for her to go. Look, stay where you are. I’ll be with you in a trice. But, angel, you’re too conspicuous in a telephone box.’ He didn’t
