Shilo's Secret (12 page)

   At three in the morning he awoke, soaked with sweat, and with snippets of some erotic dream still in his mind. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest and he remembered some woman’s hair cascading over him as her lips had caressed his mouth, neck, chest, and stomach… He remembered gentle hands sliding over his body and then a welcoming, warm wetness…

  He opened the shower and let the ice cold water engulf him and dampen any desire he might have had. When he looked out of the window, he saw Shilo’s bathroom light was still on.

                                                                          *

   Shilo’s thrashed under the sheets as an invisible weight pinned her down; her head turned violently from side to side as Bill Moffatt tried to force his tongue into her mouth; her body bucked as something terrible was forcing its way into her, ripping and tearing. There was searing pain that wracked her entire body. She could smell his odour, acrid from hours of work and lack of washing, his breath was rancid and his saliva was sour from nicotine. There was a weight pushing down on her and she could feel the hay underneath her and then the hard barn floor…

… And then suddenly she was scrambling to her feet and running as fast as her legs could carry her, sometimes upright and sometimes on all fours depending on the slope of the land. Her thighs felt sticky and wet, and she could see her bright red blood as far down as her knees. Her legs were like jelly and she had trouble keeping them going as they constantly threatened to buckle beneath her. She could hear a thud, thud, thud of footsteps and groaning, and she thought Bill Moffatt was right behind her… and if he caught her… The pain was excruciating and her vision was blurred, but, through the haze, she saw the grove behind the greenhouses, she crossed the stream on the rickety wooden footbridge, and finally she was running through the vegetable garden and could see the rose-covered pergola that led into the overgrown Victorian croquet lawn sprinkled with tiny, white daisies and then the neatly mowed garden proper with its manicured shrubbery; the rose garden, its immaculately planted flower beds; white washed, wooden benches and fish pond. She started screaming then, as she knew someone in the house would hear her from there. She past the old, moss-covered sun dial and she knew the steps were just beyond. Yes, she could see them leading up to the house… A figure loomed above her at the top. She tried to scramble up the steps, but she was too weak… everything started spinning and then she collapsed…

      Her eyes opened suddenly, and she remembered where she was. She was drenched in sweat, and gasping for breath. Why had these terrible nightmares returned after all these years? She arose and went to brush her teeth to get the taste of Bill Moffatt out of her mouth.

                                                                        *

   It was eleven fifteen when he had picked up the hitch hiker just south of Fiddlersbeck. She was sixteen and running away from an unhappy home and a lecherous stepfather. She was such easy prey as she was so easily impressed: impressed by his German luxury car with leather bucket seats, his London accent, his vast selection of compact discs, his hi-tech cellular phone, his suave dress and expensive cologne. She knew he was wealthy, he reeked of old money, and she wanted to have a part of it. So she lapped up his advances, allowing him to touch her legs while he drove. And when he pulled up in a truck stop, she thought nothing of it. When he asked her if she would like to take a walk with him a little way to get out of the view of the passing traffic, she had thought it was a brilliant idea. It was only when he shoved the wad of cloth soaked in chloroform over her mouth and nose, did she start to panic. She would have slept with him: Why was he going to rape her? She tried to fight him off, kicking him in the groin, scratching his cheek with her long black-painted finger nails. He punched her hard, and then grabbed her throat until she did not move any more. Once she had slumped to the ground, he bound her hands and feet, checked for her non-existent pulse and then left her lying face down in the dirt behind a low, stone wall a little way into the woods. The bitch. How dare she kick and scratch him! Then he skidded back onto the road and sped off in the direction of London. It would be days before they found her body, he thought, in that remote truck stop behind that inconspicuous wall.

C
HAPTER 7

   Music emanated from the dining room as Shilo tried to find something to wear in her fairly extensive vacation wardrobe. She eventually selected a short, tight fitting black dress, which accentuated her figure and exposed a lot of back and leg. High, strappy black sandals completed the outfit, and she spent a painstaking hour fixing her hair. What she would do to have her stylist on call like at home!

   The dance was in full swing when she finally arrived. Couples gyrated rhythmically to the popular beat of Demi Lovato. Aunt Dorianne was dancing with Philip Ogilvy, the two of them lost in their own world as he clutched her possessively. Sub-consciously Shilo immediately scanned the room for Stratt. She could not see him anywhere. Then she noticed Regan, another ranger and Stratt’s darts’ partner from the night before, under a bunch of yellow and white balloons, serving fruit-filled punch to the guests. She wandered over.

“Hi,” she said nervously, “Can I have some please?”

“How’s our darts’ expert this evening?” he said.

   There was some idle chatter between the two of them about her sunburn and the snake in her room. Then she spotted Stratt at the other side of the dancefloor leaning against the wall talking to a young French girl that had arrived with her parents that afternoon. He looked very dapper in his smart, black trousers and crisp white shirt. A tie hung rakishly loose at his neck. A knot of jealousy settled in her stomach, and impulsively she asked Regan to dance with her. She led him onto the dance floor just as the rock and roll number dissolved into a romantic ballad. Regan put his arms around her awkwardly, and they began to sway in time to the music.

   Regan was a dark-haired man with closely cropped hair. He was fairly attractive although he had a badly pocked skin, evidence of a difficult adolescence. He was amiable enough, yet Shilo felt he was, well … a bit dopey! He spoke in almost a drawl and appeared a bit absent minded. Regan, on the other hand, was decidedly uncomfortable about the dance, having observed Stratt’s flirtation from the night before, and not wanting to intrude on what he thought was a budding romance. Stratt needed a fling to get that stupid Iris off his mind, and maybe this English beauty was just the ticket.

“I thought you and Stratt were supposed to be doing the music tonight?” she inquired.

“We had to set up the mobile disco, and then just organise one of the waiters to change the discs,” Regan laughed. “Stratt is the king of delegating and then we are free to enjoy the party.”

“Stratt’s certainly enjoying himself,” she said cynically, casting a wary eye at Stratt against the wall, and seeing that he appeared not to have even noticed her.

   Stratt had certainly seen Shilo enter, and his breath was taken away by her beauty. But he had promised himself the night before that he was going to try and get her off his mind and out of his system. The arrival of the French couple and their young daughter had been a suitable diversion, but Marie-Louise was only sixteen. He could not keep his eyes off Shilo as she moved on the dance floor with Regan, and he also felt very envious that his colleague’s arms were around her, albeit, he observed, reluctantly. The attractive sixteen-year-old was immature and beginning to irritate him with her constant giggling and inane comments. He excused himself politely and mounted the raised platform on which the mobile disco was situated. From there he watched Shilo, partially hidden by the disco set-up. He loved the way she had put her hair up, and the way ringlets that had escaped hung down her back. He marveled at her lithe figure in the black dress. She danced with Regan three times, and then Ronald, the Californian, stepped in. Ronald had his hands all over her, and kept on dipping her playfully. She seemed to really be enjoying herself … and to Stratt it was like a red rag to a bull. The American’s hands kept on slipping onto Shilo’s buttocks, even though she kept on brushing them away. He was nuzzling her neck and whispering in her ear. He had his hands around her slim waist as he spoke to her, and then held her too close as they swayed to the music. Stratt became more and more angry with himself for being so overwhelmed, so totally consumed with jealousy. At eleven thirty he could bear it no longer. He left the stage, where he had been half-hidden by the giant speakers, and was going to leave and go to bed. But something made him quickly choose a disc, hand it to the deejay and walk purposefully towards Ronald’s and Shilo’s pulsating bodies. The deejay had been told exactly what to play next.

“I’d like to cut in here,” Stratt said firmly, “if you don’t mind.”

   He took Shilo’s hand and gently turned her around. Ronald was about to object at the disruption, but a withering stare from Stratt made him reconsider.  Stratt’s body language indicated that he was not going to take no for an answer.

“Excuse me, Stratt,” Shilo said, “I actually do mind. I was busy dancing with Ronald.”

“I don’t care. You’re going to dance with me now.”

“Oh, am I? Says who?” she said.

“Says me.”

He gripped her arms so there was no escape, and he drew her closer to him.

“You’re going to dance with me, Shilo,” he reiterated through clenched teeth, as she began to struggle.

   Just then, on cue, the rock and roll number faded into
“Lady in Red”,
Stratt’s favorite song and one that the ladies always liked too.  He picked up Shilo’s arms and placed them around his neck. And then he put his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

“I don’t understand this,” Shilo began, “You ignore me all evening and you don’t want to dance with me, you chat up young school girls in full view of everyone, and then suddenly I am forced to dance with you at gun point? I’m really getting mixed messages here. I just don’t get it, Stratt. It’s just not fair. You can’t play with people’s feelings like that.”

“Just dance with me, please, Shilo,” he said gently, drawing her closer until she was crushed against his body.

   She could feel his warm breath on her hair again, could smell his exotic cologne and hear his heart beating in his chest. She could feel his strong arms around her, holding her close – too close, in fact. She gave up her fruitless struggle and surrendered to the moment.  She could feel one of his legs between hers as they danced and she found it terribly sensuous. She tried to convince herself that these feelings were silly … but they kept on coming, thick and fast. His hands were on the bare skin of her back and moving gently over her silky skin, her breasts were crushed against him and he was breathing whispers into her hair. She began to feel some deep awakening, some hard and bitter core beginning to melt inside her, and tears welled up in her eyes.

   Then suddenly the song was over. He lifted her face gently with both hands. He wiped her tears away with his fingers, and looked deep into her eyes.

“Thanks, Shilo,” he breathed.

“Don’t even think about it,” she began as she predicted what was going to happen next.

   But his mouth had already descended on hers in a long, tender, lingering kiss. Then he released her and was gone.

   Shilo stood there, bewildered, trying to make sense out of what had just happened. Why had he acted like that? Stratt had disappeared from the room, and Shilo, unsure of his motivation, gave chase. She checked both bars. Empty – except for a lonely barman polishing glasses. Everyone was dancing. She looked into the darkened lounge, the television room, even the darkened passage to the kitchen. No one. She met a waiter on room service duty in the foyer. He directed her to the top floor. A huge sign boasting ‘STAFF ONLY’ greeted her as she stepped out of the elevator, and walked along a corridor where guests were normally forbidden to go. There was a light shining from underneath one door only, and she presumed that it had to be Stratt’s room. She knocked lightly but there was no answer. She opened the door silently and looked around nervously. It was Stratt’s room: She could tell from the photographs and certificates that adorned the walls. What a luxurious apartment, as it certainly wasn’t a room. A brown leather lounge suite stood in a nook nestled comfortably around a chrome and glass coffee table. A king-sized bed stood on a carpeted platform against the wall, with continental pillows and silk sheets in a deep burgundy. A wall unit boasted a huge flat screen television, a very fancy stereo and sound system, a collection of music CDs, DVDs and oddly enough, a set of leather bound plays by William Shakespeare. Naturally there were many books about animals, about Africa, about conservation.