anyone. I didn’t sleep well. Something kept me awake all night.”
“Oh, and what was that?”
“Something came up. Something pressing…” She touched his lips with her fingertip. “Now don’t say another word, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to go into town.”
“Then I shall run you.”
“No! I’ll take a taxi. You get on with whatever you have to. I’ll be okay. I need to indulge in a spot of good old retail therapy.”
“I’ll take you. I insist. As your host, I’ll provide you with any amenity you wish.”
“And as your guest, I insist I take a taxi.”
Rafael gazed her. She said, “Stop dribbling, Señor. We all know the extent of your libido.” She smoothed her top with mock reserve. “Now if you’ve finished ogling me, I shall telephone for a taxi”
“A compromise?” Rafael fumbled in his pocket and produced a bunch of keys and dangled them. “The Lamborghini.”
“Wow! Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
She raised an eyebrow and gave a quick peck on his cheek. “With this, I should be able to pull loads of gorgeous men.”
“More like, scare them off. Don’t you realise, men are threatened by glamorous women in fast cars?”
“Are you threatened?”
He smirked. “The car is insured for any driver. Go where you wish. There’s a sat-nav if you get lost.”
“You’re a darling.” Kat kissed him on the cheek then went to her room to pick up her handbag, but stopped dead. The bag was closed. She had left it open. The horrid Aliaga must have been messing with her things. The bed wasn’t made, so it wasn’t as if Aliaga closed it whilst tidying around.
Kat collected her things, put on her coat and after locking the bedroom door hurried to the front entrance. She made her way across to the car, dodging puddles.
The Lamborghini roared into life at the first touch of the key, and growled each time she touched the pedal. Kat drove carefully, testing the car’s response, feeling nervous of the power. To reach Moraira, took about thirty-five minutes along the N332, and through the tangle of new roundabouts in Teulada.
The reasons she wanted to go to Moraira, were several international fashion stores, all with designer-labels. She felt like pampering herself. In one, she found a ‘Betty Barclay’, satin blouse she liked, and held it against herself in a mirror.
“Do you often indulge in shopping when you could be making money?”
She turned to the man who spoke. He flashed a press-card. “My name is Billy Mellor… reporter.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
He shrugged. “Finery & Frocks, Las Modas Ibéricas? What are these tales of exciting new ideas being tossed around?”
Kat eyed him. “You tell me?”
“News about the fashion world always interests my readers. A company like Las Modas Ibéricas, fishing among the British textile industry, is even better.”
“So?”
“And what are these new outfits I’ve heard you’re tinkering with? The press so far has shown nothing… Do I smell a scoop?”
“I don’t think the Great British Public would bother about Finery & Frocks. We’re small fry. As for new lines, you’ll have to wait and see.”
“Doesn’t an aggressive shark swallow small fry?”
“Is that what you think?” She turned from him and rummaged through the rack of skirts.
“And your father?” he said drily. “Does his penchant for casino tables, have anything to do with the business deal?”
Kat almost choked. How had the press got hold of that? What had dad been up to whilst she was over here? She felt blood drain from her face, but refused to look up from the skirt rack.
He walked around the rack so he faced her. “Of course riotous parties involving celebrities always fascinate readers, particularly when they get out of hand.”
She looked up at him now. “You’re talking in riddles.”
“A takeover is always a good reason for a party. Have you anything planned yet?”
“I have no idea what you’re on about.”
“Shall we say Señor Saval and his renowned social gatherings make good reading? His notoriety goes way beyond destroying whoever stands in his way. Maybe you’d like to talk about it?”
She said stiffly, “Where is this leading?”
“Ah, I think you already know. Your Spanish gentleman plays games a little frayed at the edges.”
“You are talking nonsense.”
“Let’s say that if I were your brother, I’d advise you to keep your distance from Señor Saval, but you perhaps already know.”
Kat clenched her fists. “Mister Mellor, I have no idea what you’re referring to, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell the likes of you.”
He ran his hands through the rack of skirts