Dark Fever. CHARLOTTE LAMB

she knew they were in a lift which was rising smoothly.

      Where was he taking her?

      The lift stopped, he walked out, and Bianca lifted her lids enough to see that they were in a hotel corridor, deeply carpeted, calm, silent. He wasn’t taking her to his room, was he? Alarm bells rang inside her.

      She opened her eyes fully and said huskily, ‘Please put me down, Señor Marquez. I’m OK now—I want to go to my own apartment, please.’

      He had paused in front of a door. He looked at her, his mouth twisting. ‘No need to get agitated, Mrs Fraser. This is only the surgery. I haven’t brought you up to my room to make a pass at you.’

      She went bright pink. ‘I didn’t think you had!’

      ‘Oh, yes, you did; that’s why you’re having palpitations and trembling like a leaf!’ he drawled.

      Bianca wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Instead, the door opened and she hurriedly looked at the woman standing there—a small, thin, dark woman in a nurse’s uniform with a neat white cap. Behind her Bianca saw a sparcely furnished room with white walls, venetian blinds on the windows, the usual paraphernalia of a doctor’s surgery—a desk, chairs, a tall screen on wheels, a high trolley with leather padding for a patient to lie down on.

      The nurse smiled politely, spoke in Spanish to Gil and he answered in English, so that Bianca could understand him, which she thought was very thoughtful of him.

      ‘This is Mrs Fraser, Nurse Santos—she is staying in one of our apartment blocks. She was attacked in the street by a mugger—she doesn’t seem to be hurt, but I think she is in shock. Will you look after her while I go and ring the police?’

      ‘Sí, of course, senor.’ Nurse Santos took Bianca’s arm firmly. ‘Please. come in, Mrs Fraser. How you feel?’

      Gil vanished, closing the door behind him. Nurse Santos sat Bianca down on a chair and asked her a few questions, examined her, took her pulse and temperature, her blood-pressure, then smiled.

      ‘OK, no problem, Mrs Fraser.’ She had a much stronger Spanish accent than Gil Marquez. ‘Heartbeat a bit fast, not serious. You need sleep, to be quiet, quite OK in morning.’

      There was a tap on the door and the nurse called out in Spanish. The door opened and Gil glanced in, raising his brows. Nurse Santos said something else in Spanish and he nodded. ‘Well, that’s good.’ He looked at Bianca. ‘Nurse Santos doesn’t think you’re going to die just yet.’

      ‘I know, she told me,’ she said, very aware of him and trying to hide it. She turned to smile at the nurse. ‘Thank you for taking care of me.’

      ‘Not at all, my pleasure.’

      Bianca stood up. ‘Well, I’ll follow your instructions and go back to my apartment and get some sleep. Goodnight, Nurse Santos.’

      She walked out of the door and Gil came after her. ‘I’m afraid you can’t just yet.’

      She stopped and faced him, frowning. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘The police have asked to talk to you tonight—don’t worry, they’re coming here to interview you. I told them you were in a state of shock and they won’t talk to you for long, but you must see them tonight. They have a pair of suspects picked up after another attempted mugging. This time they knocked the man out; he’s still unconscious so your evidence could be very helpful to them at this stage. You can talk to them in my office. It’s on this floor, at the far end of the corridor. Not far to walk!’

      She couldn’t refuse. Reluctantly she followed him to a door which bore a brass plate with the word ‘MANAGER’ on it. Gil ushered her inside and followed, closing the door.

      She paused to look around, taking in the large, leathertopped mahogany desk, with its bank of telephones, a pile of papers on a leather-framed blotter, a silver-framed photograph and behind the desk a leather swivel chair.

      ‘This is where you work?’

      He nodded. ‘Would you like something to drink while we wait for the police?’ He gestured to a modern creamcovered couch on one side of the room. ‘We’ll be more comfortable over there.’

      She didn’t like the sound of that, but he took her elbow and steered her to it.

      ‘Would you like a brandy? It might calm you down.’

      ‘No, thank you. I’d much rather have some orange juice—if you have any.’

      He nodded and opened a cabinet on the wall, which held a mini bar; he got out glasses and poured her chilled orange juice, poured himself some whisky and added a dash of soda. ‘Ice?’ he asked over his shoulder.

      ‘No, thank you; it waters the juice down.’

      He carried the glasses over and sat down beside her, handing her the juice.

      She sipped, anxiously watching out of the corner of her eye as he swallowed a mouthful of whisky. He was sitting far too close; his knee was touching hers. She could hear the clock ticking on the wall, hear the intake of her own fast breathing.

      She felt his eyes wandering over her and her alarmed glance shot to him and away again. She tried to think of something to say but her mind had frozen; her body was entirely in control of her.

      Any minute he was going to touch her. She knew it. She wanted it, which was worse. But she was terrified.

      When someone knocked on the door she almost jumped out of her skin. Her orange juice shot over the rim of her glass and fell on her skirt. She frantically rubbed at it, trembling.

      ‘My God, your nerves are shot to hell, aren’t they?’ Gil Marquez said, staring, then he called out something in Spanish and the door opened.

      Two Spanish policemen stood there. Gil got up and put down his glass, went over to shake hands with them, speaking to them in deep, grave Spanish. Bianca struggled to pull herself together, grateful for the fact that he stood between her and the policemen.

      By the time she had to face them she was more or less in control of herself again and was able to answer their questions calmly enough.

      They did not stay long. Clearly, her replies were disappointing to them; they had hoped she could give them a good description of the faces of the two men, but she had never seen their faces, and could only guess at theirheight and weight, and describe the bike they had been riding.

      After asking her to go down to the police station next morning to attend an identity parade, they left, and she immediately told Gil that she wanted to go back to her apartment.

      He didn’t argue this time; he walked her to the lift and took her down to the ground floor. As they went out of the exit into the garden they walked past the blonde German woman Bianca had met in the bar that evening. Freddie didn’t notice Bianca, but she did do a double-take as she spotted Gil Marquez.