Jilly Cooper - Bella

‘Don’t hurt her,’ said the voice with the thick foreign accent.

She blinked in the half light. Two men stood in front of her. Both were masked. But she realized neither was Steve. One was very stocky with black hair, a black beard sticking out from under his mask, and massive shoulders.

The other was taller and slimmer, with thinning dark hair.

‘Listen, baby,’ he said. He also had a Spanish accent, but less strong than the other one. ‘You’re going to be here a long time. Don’t do anything silly. If you want anything, we’ll try and get it for you.’

‘I must go to the loo,’ said Bella desperately.

The taller one laughed. ‘There’s a bucket in the corner.’

She was flaming well going to wait till they’d gone.

‘Where’s Steve?’ she said. ‘Is he here?’

The taller one shook his head and showed her his gun.

‘I repeat, don’t try anything silly like escaping. There are five of us here guarding you.’

Suddenly Bella was terrified they’d taken off her blindfold, because she knew if one of them forgot their masks or if it slipped off they’d have to kill her.

They left her after that, and she had time to examine the room. It was very small, about ten feet by ten feet, and lit by a twenty watt bulb. A heavy wooden shutter was nailed over the window, the wallpaper was stained dirty brown, and thick dusty cobwebs hung from the smoke-grimed ceiling. The only furniture was a broken chair and the bucket in the corner.

She tried the bars on the window, but they were firmly nailed down. There were no weaknesses in the walls. Anyway, she’d bitten her nails so far down in the last few days they’d be no good for burrowing a hole.

A few minutes later another man came into the room to clean up the wound on the back of her head. He had long, blondish hair, was very thin, and had a quiet, soft voice with the same accent as the other two.

She found herself ridiculously grateful for the gentle way he handled her, warning her that the antiseptic was going to sting. She sensed he felt sorry for her. She noticed that he wore trousers that were too short, rather flashy yellow socks on his thin ankles and ill-fitting basket-weave shoes.

Afterwards she lay down and tried to make herself as comfortable as possible. Outside, she could hear them speaking to one another in Spanish. They must be Juan’s boys.

Sometime in the afternoon the thin blond boy brought her in a cup of tea and baked beans on a piece of bread on a greasy tin plate. Starving, she wolfed the lot, then, two minutes later, threw it all up, only just reaching the bucket in time.

Her head seemed to be splitting open. Clutching it, she crouched on the floor, sobbing. She must get out, she was going mad. Then she remembered reading somewhere that if you could survive the first forty-eight hours of a kidnapping, you could survive anything. She must get a grip on herself.

Our Father which art in Heaven, she began.

She noticed they hadn’t risked giving her a knife and fork with her food. She examined her face in the spoon. Her eyes were huge, her face pale and streaked with blood.

She decided to try and recite the whole of Othello — anything to keep her sane; but as she got to the third act, as Othello’s jealousy is slowly awakened by Iago, her mind kept straying to Lazlo, reliving the moments they’d spent together, the fights they’d had, the weekend in the country when he’d held her in his arms after the nightmare. What was it he’d said? That she was funny, talented and beautiful.

She looked at her reflection in the spoon again. He wouldn’t think she was beautiful now. She felt a black churning hatred against Steve.

At last, out of sheer exhaustion, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

She was woken by crunching on the gravel outside. Light was no longer filtering through a crack in the shutters. She heard three knocks, then the front door being opened quickly and quietly, and then shut again, then whispered voices and a slight laugh and someone coming up the stairs past her door.

She still felt sick, but the pain in her head was receding a bit. She struggled to her feet, feeling stiff and dizzy. Her mouth tasted awful. She could feel a film of dirt when she ran her tongue over her teeth.

No Colgate ring of confidence for you, she thought, licking her fingers and trying to rub away the bloodstains on her cheeks.

Logic told her that if the kidnappers liked her and thought she was pretty they would be less likely to do her in.

She wondered who the latest arrival was, but she didn’t have long to wait. Next minute the door opened and two men in masks came in, carrying guns. One was the stocky, bearded one; the other, whom she hadn’t seen before, was taller, wearing very tight trousers over slightly overweight hips, and a dark blue shirt. He had a very large torso. She could see patches of hairy chest between each button.

‘Come on, beauty,’ he said, tying her hands up, in an oily, lisping voice that made Bella shiver. ‘It’s time for a little chat.’

They led her down the passage to a brightly lit room. In it were several chairs and a table covered with bottles, glasses and tins of food.

A man lounged on an old sofa. He was also masked, but Bella noticed he was wearing an expensive, if slightly too flashy, blue suit, expensive gold cuff-links and watch, a pale blue silk shirt and he smelt strongly of aftershave.

‘Hi, Bella baby,’ he said. ‘What’ll you drink?’

He had a nice voice, deep, slow and soft, with slight American overtones.

‘We’ll have her hands untied, too, Carlos,’ he said to the stocky, bearded gunman.

‘We don’t want you to be any more uncomfortable than you need, and I guess we can trust you not to do anything silly.’

Why do they keep saying that, thought Bella, irrationally. Lazlo would say she was always doing silly things.

Carlos undid the rope with a bread knife. It had left purple marks on her wrists. The man on the sofa got up and rubbed them gently.

‘You really shouldn’t have tied them so tight,’ he said reproachfully.

Bella was frightened by this soft approach. She could feel the sweat running down her sides.

‘You’d like a drink,’ he said. ‘Scotch?’

Bella nodded.

‘I’m afraid we don’t run to ice.’

He poured her a large whisky and put the glass on a chair beside her.

She glanced round. The two guards leant against the door behind her, fingering their guns.

She picked up her glass, but her hand was shaking so much she could hardly get it to her mouth.

‘You’re frightened,’ said the man in the blue suit. ‘What are you afraid of?’

‘Your mob haven’t behaved with much gentleness so far.’

‘You’re afraid we might spoil your beauty. Forget it.’

He picked up the bread knife and started to cut the end off a cigar.

She noticed he had beautifully manicured hands, the nails slightly too long.

‘Why have you brought me here?’ she blurted out. ‘It’s tied up with Chrissie, isn’t it?’

‘Sure it is.’

‘Is she OK?’

‘She’s just fine. Not bearing up under the strain as well as she might, but she’s been cooped up longer than you have, and I guess she’s led a much more cushy life than you — not used to roughing it. Not a great fan of yours, is she?’

Bella flushed. ‘It’s no business of yours.’

‘Can’t say I blame her. You took her boyfriend off her, didn’t you?’

‘I didn’t,’ said Bella, nettled, taking another slug of whisky. ‘He came of his own accord.’

‘I don’t blame him,’ he said, getting up from his chair, and running his hand down her face. ‘You’re very lovely,’ he added softly as Bella flinched away. ‘And I’m not surprised El Gatto’s got the hots for you as well. He’s been trying to cut Rupert out, hasn’t he?’

Bella looked bewildered, then suddenly realized they meant Lazlo. ‘No,’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘It’s not true.’

Her early warning system wasn’t working very well, but it seemed vital to convince him there was nothing between her and Lazlo — or she’d never get out alive.

‘Is he going to be able to raise the dough?’

‘Of course he will, but it takes time in the present economic climate.’

‘Sure,’ said the man in the blue suit.

‘But he’s got steel nerves, Lazlo,’ Bella went on. ‘He won’t hand over a penny till he has assurances Chrissie’s safe, and going to be handed back.’

‘Well, to help him get his finger out, we’d like you to make a little tape tomorrow, telling him how much you’re missing him and how miserable you are.’

Bella went white.

‘No,’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘I would if I were you. You’ll find us very easy going as long as you agree to play ball.’

‘Can I see Chrissie? Is she here too?’

‘Sure, why not. She’s in here.’ He opened a door on the right and filled up her glass. ‘Take your drink with you.’

Bella’s first thought was how beautiful Chrissie had grown. She must have lost pounds. The black dress she’d been kidnapped in hung off her, her dark hair looked even darker because it was greasy, and her eyes were huge in her dead white face.

When she saw Bella she shrank away.

‘Go away!’ she screamed. ‘I don’t want her near me. I hate her, I hate her!’

She collapsed on to the bed, sobbing hysterically.

The door closed behind Bella; a key clicked in the lock. She bent over Chrissie, close to tears herself.

‘Please don’t cry. It’s going to be all right. Lazlo’s going to raise the cash.’