Chapter 1

Monday 3.00pm

He stood in the shower, his legs still shaking slightly from the exertion. He'd taught the filthy little bitch a lesson, he thought complacently. She'd finally broken her silence and screamed, the sound forcing its way through the gag as he showed her what a man could do when he had a mind to. They all deserved it, flaunting themselves through the streets, deliberately provocative, deliberately ignoring him, laughing at him with their friends. This one couldn't run away though, and he'd shown her what sort of punishment bad girls earned. Let her tell her laughing friends about that if she dared. He soaped himself thoroughly, cleaning her filth off him and letting the cool water rinse the suds away. He felt energised and alive, ready to take on the world again. He remembered the noises she'd made as she tried to beg him to stop and the feeling of strength that ran through him as he'd pondered her plea and then refused. Next time he'd show her just how powerful he could be when he'd been pushed too far.

In summer in Madrid, taking the bus is often the only way to cool down. As the driver swung into Plaza Castilla, I shuffled reluctantly out of the air-conditioning into the hot July sun. I was going to spend the next few hours playing doctors and nurses with six young women.

All in the line of duty, of course. These particular young women were qualified nurses whom the Spanish state had so far declined to employ, and had therefore answered advertisements to go to England and prop up the NHS, which apparently is short of the home-grown article. Being sensible girls, they had decided to improve their English before leaving, and luckily for me I was the chosen imparter of this arcane knowledge. They got discounted lesson costs and I made more than usual, all in used notes. Win- win situations are always good. In summer I usually just do the hostal, but these students were enticing enough to persuade me. I set off down Calle Bravo Murillo.

Three hundred metres later I was buzzed into the building and toiled up the stairs to the third floor. Pilar opened her front door, and I tried to look as professional as possible. I've learnt always to wear a dark shirt so that the sweat-stains aren't too obvious.

It would have been difficult to be less professionally dressed than these students. The small front-room was full to bursting with overheated girl, and the temperature was almost as high as on the street. A fan was making no impression at all and they had reacted by reducing their clothing to minimal levels. I dumped my lesson-bag on the coffee table.

'OK, everyone here?'

Everyone was. We warmed up, revising some old material: how to deal with guys in pubs. I was the guy in the pub, and the girls took it in turns to repel your average half-pissed Englishman on the prowl for a new friend.

'Ana, "I don't want your meet" can be ambiguous; "I don't want to meet you again" is clearer.'

'Pilar, if someone offers you a drink, and you don't want one, what do you say?'

'Belén, if someone stands too close to you, what do you say, and what do you do?'

'Nuria, if you want to call a taxi, but you don't know the phone number, what do you say? Who's the best person to ask?'

And so on and so forth. They enjoyed the game immensely, although they distrusted my explanations, wondering if they were victims of the famous English sense of humour. They didn't believe me when I told them that in English pubs you have to pay for each round as you buy it, rather than running a tab and settling up later. They laughed when I told them that the reason for this was that at least half the clientele would do a runner at the end of the night. When I tried to explain how different England was they were convinced that I was exaggerating. Well, so I was, but better safe than sorry, especially for them. We moved on to more serious stuff and I concentrated harder: I had plans to ask Pilar if she wanted some extra-tuition, and the happier she was with me as a teacher the more likely she was to welcome the idea of a little horizontal homework. Apparently her boyfriend had not taken at all kindly to the news that she was leaving, and stormed off back to his mother. I tried to imagine my mother's reaction if I stormed back to her after an unsuccessful relationship, and failed dismally. Spanish mothers are different, so they say.

We broke for a drink. I felt as if I'd spent the last two hours doing mental arithmetic in a sauna, and the first bottle of Mahou went down in one smooth wave of pleasure. I opened my eyes as I came up for air, and realised that Pilar was standing next to me with number two. Promising.

'Alex, can I ask you something?' She sounded hesitant, and I realised her friends were pretending not to listen.

'Sure, Pilar, after the class, OK?' She nodded and started to clear the drinks. A serious girl, dark and slim, who looked as if she had a sense of fun that had never really been exercised, and apparently unaware that she was a knockout. I specialise in fun, and thought happily about teaching her how to have more. Life's short enough: it should be a comedy, not a documentary.

We settled down again. The beer did its job and I felt a nap hovering. The girls had drunk coke in the break: maybe they were more sensible than me. We did some role-plays interpreting patients' comments.

'Nurse, I need the wotsit because I gotta go.' You need a thick skin to explain this sort of stuff. They didn't seem to be put out, and begged for more examples of English euphemism. With forty minutes to go I gave in and told them that as they'd been working so hard they'd earned the video. I had a tape of an episode of East Enders that we had been watching, and I nearly had them convinced that it was a fly-on-the-wall documentary. Reality TV has done us no favours.

Explaining the shenanigans of Albert Square kept me alert; I fielded cultural questions, and with five minutes remaining began to wind the session down. I reminded them that we had only four more days, and hinted that I would be giving them a small exam on Thursday. They nodded and began to drift off, kissing their hostess good-bye punctiliously. By twenty-five to eight only Pilar was left. She looked nervous but determined, and I felt as if I was being set up for something.

'Pilar, why don't we go somewhere cool? I'll buy you a coke or something, and we can chat.' She looked more uncomfortable than ever.

'Alex, I want you to come in my bedroom.' I was too startled to correct her. Suppose my luck was in? I saw a tide of colour flood up her neck to her face as she realised she'd said something odd. She switched hastily to Spanish. 'No, Alex, there's someone I want you to speak to.'

I could smell a pretty large rat, and from what Pilar was hinting it was concealed between her sheets. 'Pilar, what's going on? I can't just walk into your bedroom, for heaven's sake; what about my reputation?' She tried to laugh, then left the lounge, and I heard her open another door. There were shuffling sounds and she came back with her arm round someone. As they turned I saw the someone was a young girl.

Some thoughtful altruist had given her a thorough going-over. She stood awkwardly, with the careful stillness that painful ribs give you, and tried to keep her face turned away from me. That had been worked on too, and she'd lost a couple of important teeth in the process; her eyes were rainbows of bruising and her nose was taped and had probably been broken.

The other Alex, the sardonic commentator at the back of my head, decided to put his oar in. Whoever did this needs a good kicking. I hate seeing people who have been hurt. Pilar lowered her burden onto the couch, and turned to me.

'This is Elena, she is Rumanian.'

'She came from the hospital?' I asked, needlessly.

'Yes. One of my friends heard how this happened and asked me to hide her.'

God knows why people ask me. Maybe it's because they sense I hate saying no and then feeling like a total shit. Last time it was collecting a complete stranger with a history of psychiatric problems from the airport for a mere acquaintance, although to be fair she'd been enthusiastic in expressing her gratitude. So she should have: controlling two suitcases and a barking mad Little Englander whose idea of amusing the natives was to sing Rule Britannia in a crowded Metro train had deserved an enthusiastic reward.

'Pilar, three questions.' Information without commitment. 'One, how did, er, Elena get these injuries, and two, why isn't she still in hospital, and three, why does she need to hide?' Pilar looked at me solemnly.

'La Casa de Campo.'

Great. The girl who'd been beaten up was a hooker, certainly an illegal immigrant, almost as certainly controlled by some bastard who had put her out like a slot-machine, and was probably being sought by this gentleman, which was why she'd been whisked out of the hospital and become a free-lance problem. The Casa de Campo is a large park on the western edge of Madrid. Like the Bois de Boulogne in Paris, it has become the haunt of the sex-seekers, their prey, and the profiteers. I sat back and looked at them. The Spanish girl, compassionate, wanting to help but at a loss as to what to do. The Rumanian, waif-like, brutalised, and knowing far too much about things that I couldn't even imagine. Don't you want to know how this happened?

'Why me?' Keen to know my role.

'To talk to her of course, ' came the unexpected reply. 'She hardly speaks any Spanish, but she was at university and knows English. And you're the only English person we know.'

'Your friends know about her, then?'

'Oh yes, and we thought you could suggest how to help, and... ' Hmmph.

'Pilar, I don't know anything about the Casa de Campo, or nursing, or hiding people. What do you think I can do? And why aren't your friends here?' She looked uncomfortable, and there was annoyance in her voice when she spoke.

'Because they're worried about the police, and their parents, and they just want to feel good, like giving to a disaster-fund, and to... '

' ... And to let you do it because they know I like you?' She flushed, and I tucked that away for further consideration. I really didn't blame her friends at all. Somebody smacked the poor kid around though. I thought about being young and alone and frightened, and felt queasy. Elena refused to meet my eye and I didn't blame her: men couldn't have featured pleasantly in her life recently. Better to try for some input from her, rather than talking about her as if she were a sick animal.

'Elena? Do you understand what we've been saying?' She seemed to disappear further inside herself and I didn't know how to go on. I pulled a cushion from the couch and sat looking up at her.

'Can we speak in English?' The puffed and inflamed eyes finally focused on me. She nodded, wincing as her ribs caught her, and I smiled encouragingly.

'OK. If you don't understand anything, say so, and I'll try a different way.' Again a tiny nod. I explained who I was, emphasised that Pilar and her friends wanted to help her, that they'd decided to ask me for suggestions. I told her that I could guess something about her background, but that no-one had told me any details. I didn't ask her anything directly. She'd probably had enough of that from the girls.

She didn't interrupt and her eyes didn't look puzzled but she needed time to think about what I'd said. I turned to Pilar, still speaking in English.

'Is there any more beer in the house? This is thirsty work.' Not a slow girl. She smiled and went out to the kitchen.

I was thinking about the authorities. The Spanish police are always keen to have a go at organised crime, especially when it involves people-smuggling, but I was not, under any circumstances, going to come to the attention of the cops by turning up on their doorstep with a sexually-abused, battered illegal immigrant. The immigrant probably wouldn't enjoy it much either. I cursed Pilar and her friends for their compassion, and the wretched victim for being herself, and myself for not just taking a walk. Shamefully, I also thought about not jeopardising the money that I was going to be paid on Friday. Underneath the selfish wriggling there was a tingle of anticipation. Good of you to acknowledge that.

Pilar came back with beer and orange juice and coke. There was something about her concentration on the chore that was touching. Worried, in a situation she had no idea how to get out of, but forcing herself to behave as if we were just three friends passing time together. A Spanish version of the Dunkirk spirit. Unfortunately I know some history and I can remember what came after Dunkirk. Blood, toil, tears, sweat, Pyrrhic victory, national bankruptcy, loss of Empire, and the Cold War. But it was, after all, our finest hour. I drank thirstily and looked at Elena...

'Are you ready to talk a little now?' She put her glass down, wincing again, then twisted her hands together and looked at them for a minute.

'I am sorry that I am being such a burden. They brought me here on Saturday night and since I woke up I have hardly been able to think or anything.'

I nearly fell off the cushion. The girl spoke better English than me. Well, not really: there was a definite accent and she spoke carefully, as though English grammar was something to concentrate on, but she was way beyond Pilar and her friends. Her voice was slurred by the bruised mouth and the missing teeth. Pilar shifted and spoke directly to her.

'Elena, you really must not worry. We will try to help. Alex is a good person and he is very clever. Tell him what you said this morning.'

'Where did you learn to speak English?' I asked. As far as I was aware, language proficiency isn't part of the required skills package if you work the back-seats of cars.

'My mother worked in the Foreign Ministry and she taught me. Then I went to university and I met an English girl who gave me lessons.'

'You must have worked very hard. What did you study at university?'

'Agronomy and Economics, ' murmured Elena. She sounded nostalgic, but I didn't want trips down memory lane at this point. Too late to walk out and too early to solve anything. I needed a damage-control plan that left me as uninvolved as possible. I ran my finger along the edge of the coffee table, hoping the varnish was thin and worn. Touching wood doesn't usually help, but it's the thought that counts.

'Elena, tell me how you got to the hospital, and why you had to leave.'

She began to talk in a dead little voice. A client had decided that a beating was the best form of payment and had left her semiconscious under a tree with a euro coin forced into her bleeding mouth. Her pimp had found her and kindly left her on the steps of the hospital, telling her very forcefully to say nothing and that he'd come back later to collect her. She'd been admitted and one of Pilar's friends had been the duty nurse who attended to her. She'd tried to leave, but had been put to bed and two policemen had come to talk to her. She'd refused to understand and they'd left when the nurses protested at their interrogating an assault victim so soon. She was afraid that her pimp would come and drag her away and afraid that the police would do the same. Pilar's friend had had a rush of blood to the head and spirited her out of the ward and into her car. She'd brought her to the flat. Pilar glanced at me and stood up.

'I will put Elena back in bed, ' she said firmly. 'She is tired and she must rest.' I nodded with relief. No hurry to move her then.

The younger girl followed her passively to the door. Pilar's expression told me quite clearly that I was to stay put. I thought of the fact that she liked me, and of the money again, and of getting up and leaving. Democratic vote: two to one in favour of staying. Some bastard had smacked a young girl around for no reason and the only way to thwart him was to help his victim. The little tickle of anticipation grew stronger and I rose stiffly to my feet and made for the kitchen. Beer comes in packs of six. I was looking for the opener when I heard Pilar's voice from the bedroom.

'He will help you, and he will not hurt you. And he will not go to the police and he will help you to find her, I promise. And now you must sleep. I will go with him for a little walk.' I opened the beer and slipped back into the living-room. In a moment Pilar came in too and closed the door behind her.

'Did I hear conversation?' I asked, wondering how far to push it.

'I was telling her not to worry.' We were speaking Spanish again, and the look of concentration that she'd worn had gone.

'Someone should.' How long till you start bugging me to do something? 'How long is it going to take her to heal properly?' She nibbled her lower lip and I wished it was mine.

'Well, a few more days at least; she's much better than she was yesterday, but... , and she ought to see a dentist and stuff as soon as possible'

'She can't go to a dentist yet, and this is the best place for her to be looked after, no?' She nodded and I looked at my watch. 'Shit, I've got to go. Anita will kill me.' I knew I couldn't make any sensible decisions while Pilar was playing Old Macdonald on my hormones.