The food Von Joel had prepared was placed in front of Charlotte with a flourish. The wine was uncorked, and he poured a glass for her, but drank only water himself. He rarely, if ever, drank, and loathed anyone smoking.
Charlotte waited for him to be seated. He had once quietly suggested to her that it was polite to wait for him to sit before she ate, and when they all dined together they waited until Maria had served the meal before beginning to eat.
“You like it? Maybe too much garlic, not enough basil? What do you think?”
Charlotte shrugged, and he stared at her. “I asked if you liked it or not...?”
“It’s fine!”
“Fine? Does that mean you like it, or it’s just so-so?”
“It’s nice.”
“Nice?”
She flushed, and he gave an irritated sigh, and then began to discuss a new painter he had discovered and for whom he would arrange a show in his smaller gallery. Charlotte by this time had lived in the villa for one month. She had gone into the gallery for the first time six weeks previously. Von Joel had been standing viewing a painting, and had turned to watch her as she, too, looked over the canvases. He had been charming but dismissive, and had talked a few moments to Lola before he had left. Lola had asked if she was staying in Marbella, or just on vacation. Soon Charlotte was offered a job working in the gallery, and she didn’t return to England until the arrest of Von Joel.
Charlotte turned off the lights and went into the bedroom. Lola was sleeping, hugging the pillow in her arms, her face like an innocent child’s. Charlotte quietly washed her face and cleaned her teeth in the en suite bathroom.. Von Joel’s bathroom at the villa was like an Aladdin’s cave of perfumes and creams. He was almost obsessive about cleanliness, and because he spent a lot of time in the sun, and swimming, his body oils took up an entire shelf. The sudden realization that he was in the hospital hurt, and unexpectedly made her want to weep. She sat on the edge of the bath, tears streaming down her cheeks, but she didn’t cry out loud, she didn’t want to wake Lola. She missed his presence so much. She missed his strength, his whole being with such intensity that she began to shake uncontrollably.
Von Joel had chosen all her dresses, shoes, even her underwear, but without her really being aware of it. He had also chosen Lola’s clothes, but it had been such fun, the three of them going on mammoth shopping expeditions, returning to the villa laden with purchases, all designer labels. But at no time did he ever say, I want you to wear this, or that, he just smiled when they paraded in front of him, and that was all the indication the two girls required. He had a smile that made the darkness in his face boyish, and often when that sweet smile appeared he was the vulnerable one. Even his wide dark green eyes seemed different when he smiled; they were so clear, yet she had seen them become frightening, like chips of hard granite. The sweet smile that appeared so fleetingly was often a tight hard line. That was the cruel face she saw when something, usually someone on the end of the night telephone calls, said or did something that made him unleash his anger. Yet he rarely raised his voice. He enjoyed the control he had over his emotions and it was that control she had found impossible to break, or to see through in order to understand if he ever had any feelings for her.
Charlotte, under Von Joel’s instruction, began to run the small gallery; Lola ran the larger one. He would make fleeting appearances, and often he would disappear for days on end. They never knew where he was, and he never divulged his whereabouts. There was the vast antiques warehouse, and shipments were constantly arriving, but neither Charlotte nor Lola had any knowledge of that part of his business. The galleries ran at a loss, but it did not seem to concern Von Joel, and it was never the girls’ job to bank or settle the accounts. Money was never short, it was always in supply, and in their innocence both girls believed him to be a man of private wealth. They rarely, if ever, met any of his contacts or friends, and they had no idea that he was laundering vast amounts of stolen money, that he was a criminal. Von Joel used his powerful Monterey boat on weekends, sometimes for simple fishing trips, and then the girls were welcomed aboard. At other times he made it clear he wished to be alone. They knew he was well known in Marbella, and many evenings watched from the balcony as he drove out in the Rolls, waving to them as if they were his children rather than one his mistress, the other besotted and desperate to become his lover. They even saw him occasionally with other women, older, sophisticated women, but he never brought them back to the villa. Social invitations were stacked on his desk, he was exceptionally popular, and his art shows were always well attended, the champagne flowed, and he was as charming to every guest as he was to his two little girls. Lola did not seem to mind, but it became torture for Charlotte. Her eyes followed him, jealous, envious of any woman he was attentive to, until, after one of his art shows, she could not stand it a moment longer.
Perhaps the champagne had given her the courage, but she went to his bedroom, didn’t even knock, but walked in. He was lying facedown on his bed, deeply asleep. The pure Egyptian cotton sheet was draped across his buttocks, his lean muscular body stretched out, his arms wide. Charlotte let her nightdress fall to the ground, drew back the sheet, and slipped in to lie beside him. He stirred, half turned, and rolled over.
“I love you, I love you...”
He looked into her determined, quivering face, reached up, and traced her cheek with his forefinger.
“Do you now?”
“Yes, and I can’t bear it another day, another hour, without being close to you. I want you...”
“Do you now?”
“I don’t know what you feel, if you like me, I don’t understand you, I don’t understand what you want.”
He leaned his head on his elbow, looking down into her young, beautiful face. “You are living in my home. Doesn’t that mean anything to you — that you are inside my home, my territory.”
“I don’t understand why... why you let me here, when you don’t seem to... I know about you and Lola, so why have you got me here?”
“Don’t you like it here?”
“Yes, I’ve never been so happy...”
“Ah, you are happy, are you?”
“No, no, I am... I want...” She just couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t say she wanted him.
“What is it you want?”
“You, I want you...” She’d said it.
He spoke so softly, it was hardly audible. “I am here.”
There were no more than seven or eight inches between them, but he never moved. He kept on looking at her, watching her. She felt as if she were about to explode. Did she only have to reach out? Was it that simple...? She could feel her short, sharp, panting breaths. She moved a fraction closer, closer... she could feel the heat from him, was about to touch him, when she drew back.
“No, you come to me...”
She threw the sheet aside and all her sexual frustration turned into blazing anger. Did he want some slave, was that what he was after? The clothes? The villa? She wanted to hit him as he lay there smiling, watching her, playing around with her when he knew, knew how she felt.
“ ‘I am here!’... Is that all?... Fuck you! I’m not some kid you can turn into your little whore! Is that what you want?... Is that what you’ve done to Lola? I’m leaving...” He rolled onto his back and laughed. She threw herself at him, fists flying. He was so strong he simply gripped her wrists tightly, and drew her down beside him. He bent his head to bury it in her neck, and emitted what sounded like a low growl. His bite was hard, hurting her, and she struggled, kicked out at him. Then he released her wrists, and gently cupped her face between his hands. He kissed her. He was a gentle lover, an aggressive lover, a man who made love to the sweetest creature he had known in years, a frightened little girl he had turned into the woman he wanted. He knew she would never betray him and that was more important to him than anything else. He lived on an edge, always looking over his shoulder, and now he had and knew he had another pair of eyes that would watch his back, that would join with Lola’s like his two guard dogs; his two beauties would be wary of strangers, be protective, guard him, obey him.