Peter Jensen - The Captive Bride

The clear aquamarine water of the Mediterranean had felt heavenly as it had gently surged over her almost naked body. At first, she had felt a little shy and uncomfortable about appearing in such a revealing bikini, but when she got to the beach she saw all the women were wearing them. She would have felt out of place, she realized now, if she had worn her old one-piece suit from back home. Undoubtedly, Jack was right when he teased her and said she was slightly old-fashioned and too modest.

Of course, Jack wasn't audacious or extreme himself, and she was glad of that. Let others have their new-fangled ideas, she thought, but when it came to marriage she was a traditionalist and wanted a marriage that would last forever. With Jack's boyish manner and dry sense of humor she didn't expect to ever be bored. It was all going to be so perfect! When they returned home, Jack had a job with a new up-and-coming corporation, and she planned to work two or three years as a teacher. She knew they could have had a family right away if they had wanted to accept more help from their parents. But it was better, they had decided together, to struggle on their own and be independent.

So it wasn't really selfish of them to have allowed Jack's generous and wealthy senator father to send them on this wonderful honeymoon. Even at the beginning, she had instinctively sensed it would have been rude to refuse her future father-in-law's gesture. She had to smile as she thought of Jack's famous and rather flamboyant congressman father. He was an awful lot like Jack – exuberant and good-natured on the outside, but surprisingly sensible and old-fashioned inside.

So now, because of Jack's father, she and her new husband were in their plushly modern hotel with a whole suite of three rooms to themselves. The living room had sliding doors that opened onto a terrace from where they had a good view of the water. This morning they had gotten up from bed and walked out on the terrace to see droves of white swallows flashing back and forth through the clear blue sky over the ancient white-painted architecture close to the port. Then Jack had called down to room service and had breakfast brought up to the terrace. They sat quietly in lounge chairs, sipping on strong black coffee and trying to eat these hard European rolls.

Now, as she lit a cigarette in the cafe, she realized that through the elegant morning breakfast Jack had probably been trying to make up for last night. He knew that would make more of an impression on her than more meaningless apologies. But she quickly shoved the memory of that agonizing first night together out of her mind with one quick stroke. No, she wouldn't allow herself to think of it. She had already decided this morning that some things only became worse when you stewed about them and were best left forgotten.

Her attention was suddenly occupied by Jack who was picking his way through the closely positioned tables on the sidewalk toward her table.

"That's some conversation I had with that woman over there," the tall, dark-haired young man said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. "According to her, this cafe is about the most infamous hang-out on the island."

"What did she mean by that?" Becky asked curiously and laughed. The cafe looked ordinary enough to her. Its canopied top stretched out over the sidewalk, and groups of businessmen hovered around small tables. She noticed two quaint-looking older men playing cards just inside the wide door.

"Some criminal types, to hear her tell it, frequent the place," he said as he looked to the side.

Becky gave a sudden start of fright as she recognized the desk clerk in the hotel where they were staying. He was sitting with a group of men at a back table, which was probably why she hadn't noticed him before. During their few brief encounters, she had thought him pleasant enough, but now she found herself wondering about him.

"My Lord! That's the desk clerk at our hotel!" Becky laughed nervously and turned back to her husband.

"He seems nice enough," her husband raised his second gin and tonic to his lips. "As a matter of fact, he's treated us rather royally since we arrived here."

Becky tried to recall their few contacts with the red-haired man, but it was virtually impossible since only Jack had talked with him when they had checked in yesterday. She had stood to the side with her mind totally wrapped up in the fact that she was checking into a hotel with a man, now her husband, for the first time. Later that evening – when they had finally returned from their conversation with the German and his gorgeous-looking wife in this same cafe – he had escorted them back up to their room. But once again her mind had been absorbed in what would happen in the next few hours of their first night together.

"I don't think he's too much of a desperado," Jack went on. "That Swedish woman says that he used to be involved in an agency that provided tourists with illegal guides. He charged them for a tour around Palma with local boys who didn't know much of anything. Now it's suspected he's involved in the illicit drug traffic. According to her, the police investigate him a lot, but can't pin anything on him… I don't know. I'm not going to worry about it. It doesn't seem to have anything to do with his work at our hotel."

"Do you think we should tell the hotel?" Becky frowned.

"On the basis of what that woman said? No, honey, she's probably just a gossip. Let's forget about it," he reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

"Agreed," Becky smiled back.

Jack finished off the last of his gin and tonic. "I think I'll run over to American Express to see if we got any mail," he said. "I'll ask the barman to bring you another drink in the meantime. Then we'll go back to the hotel for a little siesta. Right?" he gave her a hopeful expression.

Becky nodded uncomfortably.

She watched Jack move to the bar and then wave as he came back through the tables and moved out onto the sunny street. She looked down the street which was lined with trees and noticed several shopkeepers pulling down the latticed shutters to their open stalls. The caf? tables on both sides of the street were filling up even more now. Palma's business people were coming out of the shops and crowding with the tourists onto the narrow sidewalk.

Siesta, Jack had said, and Becky knew what that meant… He wanted to make love again. She stared gloomily down the street at a palm tree. Despite herself, a small knot of fear and humiliation tightened in her stomach. Siesta. She hoped it would be nothing like the brutal animalistic way he had acted when he had almost raped her last night.

Olaf Jorgensen, the Swedish desk clerk Becky and Jack had been warned about in the cafe, had been closely watching the young American couple from the first moment they arrived at the swank Hotel Del Palacio around noon of the previous day. From his earlier experiences with American honeymooners, he had guessed they had been married the day before, and that they had left the wedding party early to catch their night flight from the United States to Mallorca. He knew that they had been in the plane overnight by the way they had arrived at the hotel desk looking typically giddy and exhausted. Well, the husband seemed nervous, but his lovely young bride was one of those poised blondes who never looked tired or rumpled. The desk clerk had watched her standing to the side of the counter while her husband anxiously asked about their reservations. Olaf had hardly listened to what the groom was saying since he was so lustfully fascinated with the ripe young figure of the new bride. He expected to get a full view of that luscious young body later that night as he peeped into the Bridal Suite from a small aperture he had long ago installed in the wall of the adjoining hotel room.