'You can come out now,' he said, beckoning towards her with his finger. 'They've gone.'
She didn't move. Why had Kenny sent him out to tell her? Or had he? Had the man overheard her talking to Kenny? She was frightened, very frightened.
'I know you're behind the drum,' he said, taking a step towards it. 'I told you, they've gone. You're safe now.'
She slowly got to her feet, her eyes wide with fear. The cold didn't bother her any more. He held out a hand towards her. She instinctively shrunk back against the wall, her hands clasped tightly against her chest. His smile was chilling. She opened her mouth but she couldn't speak. Her throat was dry; her lips were dry. He stopped in front of her and wrenched her hands away from her chest. She wanted to run but her legs wouldn't move. She wanted to scream but no sound came from her throat. A faint sneer of satisfaction touched the corners of his mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt his hand slip under her T-shirt.
'Leave her alone!'
The man looked round sharply at the figure who had emerged silently from inside the bar. He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, a white shirt and a black leather jacket. A faint scar ran the length of his left cheek.
'You'll get your ass out of here if you know what's good for you,' the man snarled menacingly.
Bernard glanced at Rosie. 'Go inside. The two men have gone.'
'Like hell you are,' the man snarled and grabbed her arm.
She raked his face with her fingernails. He cried out in pain and stumbled back against the wall. She jerked her arm free and ran to where Bernard was standing.
'Inside,' Bernard ordered, indicating the door with his head.
Her eyes flickered momentarily between the two men then she pulled open the door and hurried inside.
'You're going to pay for that, you son-of-a-bitch,' the man hissed through clenched teeth as he wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.
Bernard eyed the man contemptuously then dropped his cigarette and ground it underfoot. The man lunged clumsily at Bernard who ducked his wild punch and landed a vicious one of his own, catching him painfully in the kidney. The man stumbled against the wall and Bernard followed through with two more crippling kidney punches, dropping the man to his knees. He grabbed the man's hair and slammed his face against the wall. The man slumped into an unconscious heap at Bernard's feet. Bernard brushed his hands together then walked back to the door. It swung open as he was about to reach out for the handle. Doyle stood in the doorway, a baseball bat clenched tightly in his right hand.
'It's O K,' Bernard reassured him. 'He won't touch the girl again tonight.'
Doyle peered at the crumpled figure. 'Bastard. I was ready to take his head off when Rosie told me what had happened.'
'You know him?'
'Never seen him before,' Doyle replied then held open the door for Bernard. 'Thanks for helping her. Most people around here would have just looked the other way.'
'Is she your girl?' Bernard asked as they walked back to the bar room.
'Just a friend. A good friend.'
The waitress who had been covering for Doyle behind the bar eyed the baseball bat questioningly when he returned.
'I didn't have to do anything,' Doyle replied, placing the bat under the counter again. 'This gentleman took care of the situation.' He looked at Bernard. 'The least I can do is buy you a drink.
'A Diet Cola if you have it,' Bernard replied then eased himself onto the stool beside Rosie. 'Are you alright?'
She nodded. 'I don't know how I can ever thank you. If you hadn't come along when you did…' she trailed off as she struggled to hold back the tears.
'Would you like another drink?' he asked, indicating her empty glass.
'Please,' she replied softly then looked at him for the first time since he had sat down. 'I don't even know your name.'
'Marc Giresse,' he replied, quoting the name on his passport.
'I'm Rosie Kruger.' She looked round as Doyle returned with the Diet Cola. 'I was just saying, if you hadn't sent Mr Giresse out when you did I hate to think what would have happened to me.'
'I didn't send him out,' Doyle replied. 'I was about to come out myself.'
Rosie and Doyle looked at Bernard simultaneously.
'I was at the table behind you,' Bernard said to Rosie. 'I saw what happened when that guy tried to pick you up. Then when he followed you down the corridor I thought I'd better make sure you were alright.'
'How did you know about my father and my uncle?'
'I overheard you two talking,' Bernard replied with a sheepish grin. 'It's a bad habit of mine. I tend to do it when I'm bored.'
'I'm sure glad you did,' Rosie replied with a smile.
Doyle's eyes flickered to the nearest table behind Rosie. It was occupied by a young couple in their early twenties. Although he didn't know them, he could have sworn they had been there for the past hour. And they were sitting on the only two chairs at the table. He looked at Bernard, frowned, then glanced round sharply when he heard someone calling him from the end of the counter.
'A drink for the lady, when you have a minute,' Bernard said as Doyle turned to go.
'Sure,' Doyle replied then went off to serve the customer.
'Giresse?' Rosie said thoughtfully. 'Is that French?'
Bernard nodded.
'You don't sound French. You don't look it either. You're very swarthy.'
'My father was French. I was born in Tarabulus.'
'Where's that?' she asked.
'The Lebanon.'
A sly smile touched the corners of her mouth. 'You're not a terrorist, are you?'
'Sure,' Bernard replied then shook his head. 'You Americans never cease to amaze me. Everyone has to be neatly packaged into defined groups. If you're Russian you must be a Communist. If you're Colombian you must be a drug dealer. If you're Libyan or Lebanese you must be a terrorist.'
'I was only joking,' she said with a grin.
'I know. I only wish I could say the same about your politicians.' Bernard took a sip of the Diet Cola then leaned his elbows on the counter. 'I'm a humble businessman, that's all. Meat packaging — far less glamorous than being a terrorist, I'm afraid.'
'Do you know… any terrorists?'
'You meet lots of different kinds of people in the
Lebanon,' Bernard replied then dismissed the topic with a vague flick of his hand. 'Are you a runaway?'
The question caught Rosie by surprise. Normally she would have clammed up at that juncture. She made it a point to tell people as little about herself as possible. She never shared her inner thoughts with anyone, not even her friends at school who had come to regard her as something of an enigma. Yet she felt completely at ease with Bernard. It was a feeling she had never had before, not even with Kenny, and he was probably the best friend she ever had. She felt as if she could trust Bernard. And she had never trusted anyone before in her life. Part of her was frightened. It was a new experience for her to want to open up to someone, especially a man; but another part of her was relieved to have found a kindred spirit she could confide in.