Her words came between whimpers. “Catherine, I can’t. I can’t get up. I can’t face the staff. They all know. They have all seen me, seen him . . . I just can’t.”
“No, Ms. Claire. Only I have access to view the inside of your room.” Claire pulled her hand away from Catherine and rolled from her gaze. Catherine reached out to lightly touch her shoulder. “I only use that access to know when to send the staff inside or to check on your safety.” Claire continued to face away from Catherine. “And now I am concerned about you. Ms. Claire, please let me help you. It is a beautiful day outside.” Claire didn’t move. “Would you like your lunch in here or downstairs?”
Claire shook her head no. “I don’t want lunch. Thank you for your concern, but I am too . . . too . . .” She turned around to face Catherine. “I don’t know what I am. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“Ms. Claire, you are a beautiful strong woman. That is what Mr. Rawlings finds so attractive. He is astounded by your strength and resilience.”
“That isn’t true. He hates strength in anyone but himself. He has to have total control.” Claire replayed scenes from the past that caused her body to shiver.
“Miss, you are partially right, Mr. Rawlings does not want to let anyone else have any power over him. Therefore, if he admits he has feelings toward you, he gives up control. And if I may, that scares him.”
Claire really didn’t think that anything scared Anthony Rawlings. “I don’t want his feelings. I want out. I want to go to Atlanta and forget 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 off everything, not make it public. Claire flipped the magazine over. It was dated June 14. Today is Sunday, but what is the date? It is August, August 8, and Tony won’t return until the eighteenth. When she thought of it that way, it seemed even longer. She smiled, threw the magazine on the ground, and closed her eyes. The clock by the pool house read 3:15 when Catherine woke her again.
“I brought you something special, Ms. Claire.” Claire opened her eyes to see Catherine holding a tall glass containing something that looked like a smoothie. “It is my secret recipe, banana, strawberry, and yogurt.”
Claire appreciated Catherine’s persistence and took the drink. It tasted sweet and felt cool in her throat as she swallowed. The nutritional ingredients gave her body the sustenance it needed. While she drank Catherine pulled up a chair and chatted. Claire knew she was being watched. This wasn’t a depraved voyeur. It was an act of compassion and concern. Catherine didn’t talk about anything that happened, she just talked. Claire liked the sound of her voice. Once she finished, Catherine left with the glass.
Claire closed her eyes and recognized a new sense of emptiness and relief. Four months of despair had been washed out of her through gallons of tears. She remembered her grandmother saying that sometimes we all need a good cry. To that end, Grandma would read a sad book or watch a sad movie. Claire decided she’d watched the sad movie.
The sun still shimmered on high but began to move toward the front of the house, casting shadows on the pool and deck. Claire decided to go back upstairs, but realized she had no privacy in her suite.