Desires Captive. PENNY JORDAN
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stairs leading to the upper storey. Four doors opened off the small landing and one of them bore a new, shiny padlock. Olivia opened it and pushed back the door, disturbing clouds of dust as she thrust Saffron inside. The room was small with a small window, the air stale. A narrow camp bed occupied one corner, a sleeping bag flung down beside it.
‘Your room,’ Olivia told her in a parody of politeness. ‘I trust the signorina finds everything to her liking?’
The door was closed and locked before Saffron could make any comment.
Left to her own devices, she ran to the window, but she could see nothing other than the barren countryside and the narrow river meandering through one of the meadows. They were professionals, she acknowledged, mentally reviewing her situation; by the time her father learned that she was missing it would be far too late for anyone to find her. She had read about these politically motivated organisations; ruthless fanatics whose vicious treatment of their victims was not something she dared allow herself to dwell on, and yet unbidden, all the horror stories she had ever read came crowding into her mind. There had been the Getty heir; he had lost an ear, hadn’t he; and then Patty Hearst, forced to join the ‘gang’ who had kidnapped her, and there were dozens of others. All at once the self-control which had sustained her from the beginning of her ordeal deserted her. Her whole body started to tremble, and she had to force back a desire to scream and scream until she was hoarse. Panic, once allowed to force its way through her guard, flooded her mind. She flung herself face down on the camp bed, muffling the sound of her crying with the sleeping bag as tears overwhelmed her. And then to compound her misery, hunger pangs gnawed insistently at her stomach. Were they planning to starve her in addition to everything else? Her tears stopped flowing, and as she straightened up she acknowledged that she had probably needed that brief release. Gradually her body stopped trembling. Footsteps on the stair alerted her. Frantically scrubbing at her face, she prayed that in the dimness of the badly lit room no one would be able to tell that she had been crying. Stiff with tension, she listened.
‘Guido, come back!’ she heard Olivia call. ‘Nico’s here!’
The footsteps faded away and Saffron breathed a sigh of relief. Something about Guido’s small reptilian eyes made her skin crawl with revulsion. Dear God, if she ever managed to escape she would make them pay—all of them; but most of all Nico. Nico, who had tricked her into believing that he cared about her, when in reality all he cared about was her money!
‘So, you understand the position?’ They were standing in the downstairs room, Nico and Olivia ranged on one side of the bare, scrubbed table, Saffron on the other, while Guido and Piero stood guard.
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