I was ever here. I promise I won’t tell any of his secrets. I just want to go home.” Tears flowed with increased intensity and her next question was barely audible. “Do you think he will ever let me go?”
Catherine looked into her eyes. “Mr. Rawlings is a man of his word. If he said he will release you when your debt is paid, then he will.” The obvious question was when would that be? “Now after you shower, would you like your lunch in here or downstairs?”
Claire began to get out of the bed as Catherine helped with her robe. “I will shower, but I am really not hungry.”
“It is sunny and beautiful outside, the sun will make you feel better. I will have your lunch brought to the pool.” Catherine started for the door and stopped. “Unless you need my assistance?”
“Thank you, I will be all right. I will be down to the pool in a little while.” Claire slowly walked into the bathroom. She turned the shower on as hot as possible, stood under the stream, and let the flow hit her face and skin. It didn’t stop her head from aching, but it washed away the scent of him. As the steam built and her skin turned red, she found herself sitting on the bench, spray hitting her hair, and tears resuming.
She couldn’t be sure how long she sat in that position but the temperature of the water began to cool when she snapped back to reality. Drying herself she noticed new bruises, both hip bones and left forearm were red and tender to the touch, and when placing sunscreen she found some more on her legs. Momentarily, she considered the need to camouflage the bruises while at the pool, then she realized, why? Maybe the staff didn’t have access to the videos of her room, but what about the pool, his office, and any other place he chose to require her services?
She combed her wet hair, put on a bikini, a beach cover, flip-flops, and found her new sunglasses. Her eyes looked scary in the mirror. The sunglasses would definitely help. On her way to the pool she stopped in the library and grabbed an older magazine, People. Some light nonsense reading to help her mind stray.
As soon as she stepped outside of the house Claire realized Catherine was right about the weather, lower humidity with bright sunshine. When she reached the pool, Cindy brought a tray with her lunch: a turkey sandwich, mixed fresh fruit, and an iced tea. She asked if Claire needed anything else.
“No, Cindy, I am fine. Thank you for lunch.” The sound of defeat was heavy in her voice. The sight of the food made her ill. It reminded her of dining, and dining of Tony, and Tony of his rules, instructions, and video surveillance. She started to shove the tray off the table, but stopped. Someone would need to clean it up and that seemed unnecessary. She picked up the glass of iced tea and walked toward a chaise lounge. Remembering scenes on that lounge chair, she chose another.
The sun felt wonderful on her skin and the tea tasted refreshing. Her head still ached and eyes hurt. She suddenly wished she had asked Cindy for some headache medicine. Thumbing through the magazine she looked at pictures of celebrities. They all smiled, pretty and happy. She read an article about a little girl who was saved by her dog, sweet.
Then the latest gossip, who was with whom and who was splitting from whom. It was then that she saw the picture. In a section called “Star Tracks,” it was her! The photo showed her and Tony sitting in the private box at the symphony, her smiling at him and him holding her hand. It contained the title: Mystery Beauty? The caption read:
“Anthony Rawlings, forty-five, confirmed bachelor, mega millionaire and red-hot sexy has been seen at numerous events in the last month with this beautiful woman. Sources say her name is Claire Nichols, but who is she? Mr. Rawlings’s publicist would not comment about speculation that there could be someone special in his life.”
Claire looked at the photo in disbelief. Tony is forty-five, really? And who would care that she was at the symphony? Well other than her, since it was her first time allowed out of the house in two months. Has Emily seen this? What about her friends in Atlanta? The stupid magazine was supposed to take her mind