Jilly Cooper - Bella

Bella put her arms round him. ‘There, there, it’s going to be all right. Lazlo’ll find her for you.’

‘Oh, he’ll get her back if anyone can,’ said Rupert. ‘With all his mates in the underworld, he can pull strings like nobody’s business, but I’ve got a horrible feeling this isn’t a straightforward money kidnapping, that it’s all got something to do with Miguel Rodriguez.’

Bella’s heart missed a beat. ‘The man Lazlo killed?’

Rupert nodded. ‘Miguel’s brother, Juan, has been trying to pay Lazlo back ever since.’

‘What was the real story behind it?’

‘Miguel and Juan Rodriguez ran a vice ring in South America. They had Buenos Aires so completely sewn up. The police were terrified of them. Miguel had a much younger wife called Maria, whom he treated like dirt. She and Lazlo fell in love and had a raging affair. Miguel found out and pulled a knife on Lazlo in a bar. There was a fight. Miguel was killed.

‘The next day — although no-one could pin it on him — Juan had acid thrown in Maria’s face. Her beauty was ruined. She couldn’t bear Lazlo to see her like that. A few days later she committed suicide. The police were too scared of Juan to do anything about it, but Lazlo and he have been stalking each other like a pair of tigers ever since. I think it’s Juan’s boys who have nicked Chrissie, and if they have, they’ll never let her go alive, however much we fork out. That’s what’s crucifying Lazlo.’

‘Was she very beautiful, Miguel’s wife?’ said Bella, trying to sound casual.

‘Maria? Oh, absolutely ravishing. I don’t think Lazlo’s ever really got over her committing suicide.’

After she’d let herself into her flat, Bella sat for hours, lacerated with jealousy at the thought of Maria Rodriguez.

Two days dragged by with no news of Chrissie. Bella tried to throw herself into rehearsals, but she could think of nothing but Lazlo and the hell he must be going through. She also tried not to feel disappointed when he didn’t telephone her. He must have far too much on his mind.

On the evening of the third day she came out of the theatre absolutely dead beat. She had rehearsed all day, followed by a gruelling performance of Othello in the evening. The audience had been as unreceptive as blotting paper, particularly a coach load from the Mothers’ Union in the stalls who had talked and laughed through the last act.

It was a dark, hot, sultry night, with no stars and a suggestion of thunder. She was wearing only a skimpy red and white spotted dress. The smell of frying garlic and onions from a nearby Italian restaurant made her feel slightly sick. She decided to walk part of the way home. She passed a telephone box and resisted the temptation to go inside and ring Lazlo to find out if he had any news of Chrissie. She would be too tongue-tied to do it properly.

You must stop thinking about him, she told herself angrily.

She turned right into a road only dimly lit by a few street lamps. Suddenly, she saw a cigarette glow in the dark and a figure stepped towards her.

She jumped nervously as a voice whispered, ‘Bella.’

Then she saw a gleam of silver blond hair, and her nervousness turned to irritation. It was Steve.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she snapped.

‘I must talk to you.’

‘Well I don’t want to talk to you. I’ve got nothing to say to you — nothing.’

‘Honey,’ he said urgently. ‘For Pete’s sake listen, I’m on the level. I’ve found out where Chrissie is.’

Bella turned towards him with a gasp.

‘Are you sure? Is she OK?’

‘I don’t know. They’re holding her in some deserted warehouse in the East End. It sounds like a pretty amateur job to me. One of the gang got cold feet and grassed to a mate of mine.’

‘Have you told Lazlo?’

‘I can’t get hold of him. He went to the races this afternoon and hasn’t been seen since.’

‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ said Bella, not stopping to think.

‘I’m parked over there,’ said Steve, pointing to a car under the trees.

Bella ran towards it.

‘Come on. We mustn’t waste any time.’

Her only thought was how pleased Lazlo would be if they found Chrissie.

Steve opened the front door for her, and she was just bending forward to get in when a voice in the back said, in a thick foreign accent, ‘Don’t try anything silly. We’ve got you covered.’

And she saw the gleam of a pistol butt.

Giving a scream, she backed out again, against Steve, but he shoved her violently into the car. The next moment something hard and metallic hit her on the head. And simultaneously it seemed, someone reached in front of her, suffocating her with a sweet-smelling cloth. She had the feeling she was falling forward, crashing her head on the dashboard of the car as she went. Next moment all was blackness.

She had no idea how long she was unconscious. When she came to, there was an excruciating pain pounding through her head, and she realized she was in a moving car. There was thick cloth tied over her eyes, ropes were biting into her wrists and ankles, and she could feel the back of her head bleeding still, the blood dripping onto the back of her neck.

She groaned and retched.

‘Steve, I’m going to be sick.’

No-one said anything, but the car slowed down. She was lifted out like a sack of potatoes and someone held her head while she retched and retched, sobbing with pain, humiliation and terror.

‘Let me go, please let me go. I’m innocent. I haven’t done anything.’

Next moment someone was forcing her mouth open. She struggled frenziedly as they poured liquid down her throat. They were trying to poison her. Then she realized it was only brandy. Her throat was burning. She thought she was going to throw up again.

They gave her another slug. She began to feel a bit better.

Hastily she was bundled back in the car. Still no-one spoke to her, and they set off again. Lulled by the brandy, she decided not to ask any questions. Why provoke them?

They must have driven about four hours after that. She kept worrying about the matinée next day, and how there was no way she was going to make it. And how the understudy would probably be much better than her. Then she thought of Lazlo and what he would think if he knew she’d been kidnapped — probably wouldn’t care anyway.

But why should they snatch her? Perhaps if they still thought Rupert was crazy about her, she might pull in a bigger ransom. But Steve had been there the other night. It must have been quite obvious that Rupert was only crazy about Chrissie now, and wasn’t in love with her any more.

Her mind reeled in turmoil. She’d never trusted Steve, but in all her dealings with him, she’d never dreamed he was a gangster, perhaps tied up with a cold-blooded murderer like Juan Rodriguez. If it hadn’t been for her, he would never have been able to meet the Henriques family and ingratiate himself into their good books and make off with Chrissie so easily. She was sure now he was behind Chrissie’s kidnapping as well.

Then, with a shiver, she remembered Rupert saying that if Juan’s boys nicked Chrissie, they’d never let her out alive. Perhaps she’d get acid thrown in her face like Maria Rodriguez.

The anaesthetizing effect of the brandy was wearing off. The pain in her head was excruciating. Panic took over. ‘Oh, Lazlo, help me, help me,’ she whimpered.

Someone kicked her viciously in the ankle.

‘Shut your bloody mouth,’ said the same thick foreign accent, rough with fear and anxiety.

She could feel the tension in the car. Someone was beside her in the back, perhaps two in the front. She could tell they were really scared. There was a sickly sweet goat smell of sweat, and over and over again she heard matches flare as cigarettes were chain-smoked. Being blindfold, her whole nervous system picked up things quicker.