The Soft Centre

‘Yes.’?‘Don’t forget… if you want me, call me. I’ll be back at the office around five o’clock. You can’t reach me before as I’ll be moving around, but…‘

‘Why should I want you, darling?’?‘Just remember. My love, Val… bye.’

She hung up and got out of the bath, aware she was very cold. She briskly towelled herself, and then slipping into a blue and white polka dot wrap, she walked quickly into the big bedroom and out on to the balcony that overlooked the beautiful bay with its coves, its miles of sands and its sun umbrellas. She looked down at the terrace where Chris had been sitting.

The lounging chair was empty. The blue covered copy of Oliver Twist lay open on the green paving of the terrace.

With sudden fear gripping her heart, she looked frantically up and down the length of the terrace at the groups of people drinking and talking and the white-coated waiters who moved to the various tables, carrying drinks, to the big doorman standing in the sun in his white tropical uniform, and beyond him to the gently moving sea and the almost deserted sands, but she could see no sign of Chris.

Spanish Bay hotel was one of the most expensive and luxurious hotels in Florida. It catered only for fifty guests, but offered them a service that more than justified the cost so high that only the extremely wealthy could afford to stay there.

Charles Travers, Val’s father, had chosen the hotel. As the doctors had said that Chris needed quiet, relaxation and pampering, Travers said this was the obvious hotel for them to stay at. He had arranged everything. The bill was to be sent to him, and he even had given them a Mercedes convertible for a run-about during their stay.

Val would have preferred to have gone to a less luxurious hotel as she knew her father was by now irritated that Chris could no longer support his wife in the way a multi-millionaire’s daughter should be supported. However the hotel was so perfect that she quickly forgot her scruples, and was glad her father had insisted on them going there.

Their first week’s stay had been without incident. She had come to accept the fact that Chris had lost all his initiative, that he appeared completely happy just to sit in the sun, to read and to talk to her in a vague way about anything that wasn’t personal to themselves. That they had separate bedrooms, and he never showed any desire to touch her, gave her a hollow feeling of frustration, but this was something she could and did cope with. When they first arrived, she kept a close watch on him. This wasn’t difficult as the hotel was so situated that you could see for miles across the sands, and there was no way of reaching the nearest town unless by car. She kept the ignition key of the car always in her bag, and out of Chris’ reach.

But as the days passed, and Chris seemed content just to read and sunbathe, she realised now, she had become complacent and careless. She should never have let him sit on the terrace alone, she told herself as she slipped into a pair of beach slacks. As she pulled on a cotton sweater, she suddenly thought of the car key, and she ran across the room to where her bag was laying. With shaking hands, she opened the bag and searched for the key but couldn’t find it. She dumped the contents of the bag on to the dressing-table and looked again. She realised with a feeling of panic that Chris must have come to her room when she was in the bath and taken the key.

She went out on to the balcony and looked towards the car park at the far end of the terrace.

The white Mercedes was missing.?She returned to the bedroom and hastily rah a comb through her hair.

You’re panicking for nothing, she told herself. He’ll be back. Why shouldn’t he go for a drive if he feels like it? I said I would be down at half-past twelve. It’s not twelve yet. He probably got bored with his book and went for a little drive. But she knew she was thinking nonsense. Chris had refused to touch any car since the accident and she had always done the driving. Why had he waited until she was in the bath before sneaking in and taking the keys unless something… something…

Unable to contain her panic, she snatched up her bag and hurried down the long corridor to the elevator.

She pressed the call button and immediately the green light appeared. A moment later the cage came to rest before her.

The boy, immaculate in white, said, ‘Good morning, madam: lounge floor?’?‘Yes, please,’ Val said and leaned against the mirror that ran the length of the wall of the cage.

‘Perhaps another, madam?’ he asked cautiously. She had never had more than one dry martini before lunch, but the waiter seemed to sense she needed a second. This was proof again of the superb service the hotel offered.

‘Why, yes… thank you. I think I will,’ Val said.

The martini was placed by her side, the empty glass removed. The waiter silently walked away.

Val looked at her watch. She reached for the glass and sipped the drink and put the glass back on the table.