The Bedroom Barter

Chellie stayed where she was. ‘What is it?’

‘Brandy,’ he said. ‘And a damned sight safer than your boss’s inferior and possibly drugged champagne.’ He paused, surveying her pale face and shocked emerald eyes. ‘Go on—have some. You need it.’

She shook her head. ‘My troubles are just beginning,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘Brandy won’t cure them.’ She swallowed. ‘I—I’d better go. Do you want me to send you one of the other girls?’

‘If so, I’d have asked for them in the first place,’ he returned brusquely. ‘But I picked you.’

‘I know.’ Chellie caught her trembling lower lip in her teeth. ‘And I’m sorry. I thought I could do this—I—I really meant to—but …’

‘For a moment there, I thought so too.’ He slanted a wry smile. ‘You almost had me fooled. However, I’m trying to live with the disappointment.’

She stared at him. ‘You’re saying that you knew I wouldn’t go through with it?’ Her voice shook.

‘Of course.’ He shrugged. ‘Now, sit down and drink some brandy.’

Chellie obeyed reluctantly, her gaze mutinous and suspicious. What was going on here? she asked herself. She’d been bought and paid for. Why didn’t he insist that she kept the bargain? And how could be possibly have known that she’d fall at the first hurdle?

The brandy was powerful stuff, and she nearly choked as she swallowed it, but she felt it warming her, thawing the icy core lodged deep inside her.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiltedly, as she handed back the flask.

He shrugged again. ‘De nada.’ He sat down too, but at the opposite end of the sofa, deliberately creating a distance between there. It should have reassured her, but it didn’t—because he was still there in her sightline—in her space.

‘Tell me something,’ he said, after a moment, ‘do you suppose this room is bugged in any way?’

She gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘It surely isn’t that hard to comprehend.’ He spoke with an edge. ‘Does Mama Rita use hidden cameras—microphones? Check what’s happening?’

Slowly, Chellie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. The other girls would have mentioned it, if so.’

He nodded. ‘Good.’

Tinglingly aware of his continuing scrutiny, Chellie tugged ineffectually at her skirt, trying to pull it down over her knees.

She said uncertainly. ‘Why are you staring at me?’

‘Because I’ve paid for the privilege,’ he said. ‘So I may as well take advantage of the time I have left.’

Her lips parted in sheer astonishment. ‘That’s all you want?’ she queried huskily.

‘It will do,’ he said. ‘Unless, of course, you’d like to take something off for me?’

There was a silence, then she said in a small, stifled voice, ‘I should have known that—all this was too good to be true. Was the brandy meant to give me Dutch courage?’

He said coolly, ‘I was actually hoping that you’d remove that ghastly wig. Or are you going to pretend that it’s your natural hair?’

She was startled into a faint giggle. ‘No—no, of course it isn’t. But Mama Rita insists I wear it.’ She pulled the wig off and tossed it on to the floor, running awkward fingers through her dark hair.

‘Good,’ he approved softly. ‘That’s an amazing improvement.’

Her face warmed, but she said nothing.

She still didn’t understand or trust this volte face. And even now her reprieve might only be temporary, she reminded herself. He was only at arm’s length. Perhaps he was just lulling her into a false sense of security. Whatever, she could not afford to relax.

A fact apparently not lost on him. He said softly, ‘You’re like a wire stretched to snapping point.’

Chellie sent him a fulminating glance. ‘Does that really surprise you?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘What does puzzle me is how you come to be in this hellhole. I’m sure you’ll tell me it’s none of my business, but, as a life-choice, it seems a seriously bad move.’

‘Choice?’ she repeated with stunned disbelief. ‘Are you mad?’ Her voice rose. ‘Do you honestly think that if it had been down to me I’d ever have set foot in a place like this?’

‘If that’s truly the case,’ he drawled, ‘why do you stay?’

Her hands gripped each other until they ached. ‘Because I can’t leave,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I have no money, no passport, and no other option.’

His brows lifted. ‘Were you robbed?’

‘Mama Rita took my passport.’ Chellie bent her head. ‘Someone—someone else had my money. As a result I was turned out of my hotel room, and they kept my luggage.’

She paused. ‘I’d been suffering from a virus, anyway, so I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.’ Quite apart, she thought, from realising that Ramon had walked out on me. Left me broke and stranded.

But she couldn’t afford to think about that—about her sheer criminal stupidity. Or she might break down—lose it completely in front of this stranger.

Instead, she straightened her shoulders. ‘I knew I needed to find the British consul pretty urgently,’ she went on. ‘So I stopped this police car to ask the way.’

‘Not very wise,’ he said.

‘So I found out.’ She shivered. ‘At first the policeman threatened to jail me for vagrancy. Then he seemed to relent. He said the consul’s office was closed for the day, but he’d take me somewhere safe in the meantime.’

She tried to smile. ‘I can even remember feeling grateful to him. Only he brought me here, where I’ve been ever since.’

‘Hardly your lucky day.’ His voice was expressionless.

‘No,’ Chellie admitted tautly. ‘But I know there are worse places than this, because Mama Rita has already threatened me with them if I don’t do as she says. I could have ended up in one of them instead.’ And it could still happen …

Her voice broke slightly. ‘You know—I—I really believed she was going to let me sing my way out of here. We had this deal—in writing.’ She attempted a laugh. ‘How naïve can you get?’

His tone was dry. ‘Mama Rita is a woman who believes in exploiting all the assets at her disposal.’ He paused. ‘The only question is—do you intend to stay here as one of those assets?’

‘You mean—why don’t I run away?’ Chellie shook her head. ‘With no passport I wouldn’t get very far. And she’d simply find me and bring me back—or hand me over to her friend Consuela,’ she added, shuddering.

He said softly, ‘In an ideal world, how far would you like to run?’

She lifted her chin. ‘For preference—to the other side of the universe.’

He said, ‘I can’t promise that—but there’s always St Hilaire, instead.’