Girl of Rage Read online

  “You’re a sociopath and a complete bastard, Richard. Would I be stupid enough to antagonize you?”

  Without a pause he reached over and pinched her thigh, hard, through her dress, twisting his fingers. She slid away from him, then grabbed his hand and tried to pull it off as the pain sharpened.

  “I hate you,” she whispered.

  “That’s fine,” he replied. “As long as you do what you’re told.”

  She didn’t respond, choosing instead to shut out the pain, staring out the window into the darkness. She reached a hand into her purse and clutched her rosary, tracing the beads with her fingers. She knew well that saying the prayers out loud would evoke an immediate violent response from Richard. So she prayed in her heart, tracing the beads, starting with the Lord’s Prayer. Sometimes she got stuck there, praying for protection from evil over and over again.

  Twenty minutes later, Richard pulled the car to a stop. Guards at the Embassy gate checked his identification and waved him in. He parked, then came around the front of the car and opened her door. She slid out of her seat, letting the rosary fall back into her purse. He placed his hand on her arm and walked her toward the entrance.

  Inside, it was clear this was to be an intimate affair. A dozen men of varying ages were in the room, many of them accompanied by wives or girlfriends. Adelina’s eyes sought out George-Phillip.

  He was across the room from her, talking with a slightly older woman in a mauve dress. Adelina felt a flash of jealousy, which was ridiculous. She had no claim on George-Phillip. The woman was shockingly tall, at least six feet. Her dark brown hair was cut in a reverse bob, and her green-blue eyes seemed unusually large.

  Despite the fact she had no claim on him, he took the woman’s arm and approached Richard and Adelina the moment he saw them.

  “Mr. Thompson, I’m so pleased you could come,” George-Phillip said. “And Mrs. Thompson.” He turned to the woman beside him and said, “Eloise, please allow me to introduce Richard and Adelina Thompson. Richard is an American diplomat and graciously hosted me for dinner two weeks ago. Richard and Adelina, this is my cousin, the Lady Eloise Percy.”

  Cousin, Adelina thought, feeling oddly satisfied. It made sense. Eloise was tall, though not so tall as George-Phillip, and she was afflicted with the same hooked nose and eyebrows that looked powerful on a man but not so much on her.

  “Charmed,” Richard said. He sounded anything but charmed. The others didn’t seem to notice, but Adelina’s survival depended on knowing Richard and his moods, including the moments when he was lying or manipulating. His voice was laden with syrup as he continued speaking. “Lady Eloise, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I don’t believe we’ve met before. Have you been in Washington long?”

  Eloise smiled, revealing two overhanging buck teeth. Adelina knew it was petty, but the teeth pleased her. “This is my first trip to Washington, actually.”

  “Welcome,” Adelina said. “I’m actually new to the city myself.”

  “Oh really!” Eloise said. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in learning about the city with me, would you?”

  Adelina smiled and tried to think of a way to politely beg off the invitation. She had no desire to spend days traipsing around the city escorting some over-privileged British—

  “I think that’s a delightful idea,” Richard said, his voice still sickening. “Adelina was just saying the other day that she doesn’t get out of the house often enough. We have a two-year-old daughter, and she’s a very devoted mother.”

  George-Phillip said, “Adelina’s father knew Alexandra.”

  Eloise’s eyes lit up. “Oh, really? She’s our favorite aunt. Your father is…”

  “Juan Ramos, Lady, he was the Marquis of Cerverales.”

  “Oh, yes!” Eloise said. “I’ve heard of him. He had some political disagreement with Franco, yes?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Richard said. His voice no longer held a sickly sweet tone. “Adelina was the daughter of a shopkeeper when I plucked her out of Spain.”

  Adelina kept a death grip on her smile.

  “Don’t be so modest,” Eloise said. “Our aunt spoke fondly of your father.”

  “He would have been delighted to know that,” Adelina said.

  “Oh dear,” Eloise said, even as George-Phillip almost imperceptibly froze. “You speak of him in the past tense?”

  “He passed away two years ago,” Adelina replied. “An accident.”

  “So sad,” Eloise replied.

  “Tragic,” Richard said in a dry voice. “Oh … isn’t that Eugene Jackson, the new Ambassador to the Vatican?”

  He sounded like an idiot, Adelina thought. But he clearly wanted to exit any conversation having to do with Adelina’s past.

  “I believe so,” George-Phillip said. “Oil man, right? Friend of your President?”

  “I must go pay my respects,” Richard replied. “Adelina?”

  “Coming, dear,” she said. “Please excuse us,” she said at a near whisper to George-Phillip and Eloise.

  “Of course,” George-Phillip said, his voice low and troubled.

  Adelina didn’t have time to pay any more attention to George-Phillip, however. Richard had moved very quickly to Jackson, the new Ambassador to the Vatican, and was already speaking by the time Adelina caught up.

  “May I present my wife, Adelina?”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Thompson,” Jackson said, his eyes dropping immediately to the cleavage at the front of Adelina’s bodice. He was a kindly looking man, with salt and pepper hair swept back from his high forehead and deep wrinkles on either side of his mouth. “This is my wife, Elizabeth.”

  Adelina shook hands and smiled at the older woman. The Jacksons were probably seventy. Elizabeth was a trim woman with white hair just long enough to reach her shoulders.

  “Congratulations on your appointment as Ambassador, sir.”

  “Thank you very much, young lady. Although it’s not quite confirmed yet.”

  “Oh?” Adelina said, blinking her eyes innocently.

  “There are a few old bigots still in the Senate,” Jackson said. “They don’t think we should reopen diplomatic relations at all.”

  “Oh, dear,” Adelina said. “I’m so sorry.”

  Elizabeth Jackson smiled and said, “It’s quite all right, dear. I’m certain Eugene is up to the challenge.”

  “I’m sure,” Adelina said. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

  “It’s all right,” Elizabeth said. “I will say, though, that I look forward to returning to Rome.”

  “How long have you lived there?”

  “Two years,” she replied. “We rent a townhouse in Celio. I’m trying to persuade Eugene to buy it and just stay there for retirement. It’s a lovely neighborhood.”

  Jackson smiled. “It is. Crowded and dirty and loud, but lovely.”

  “It’s Rome,” Elizabeth countered.

  “True,” Jackson said.

  Adelina smiled at the older couple then felt a sense of real relief as Richard excused himself. “I always wanted to go to Rome,” Adelina said. “I’d planned on going there after I graduated high school, but I got married instead.”

  “We love it,” Elizabeth responded. “It’s truly beautiful. Though I do miss California sometimes.”

  “Not Washington?” Jackson said, raising a bushy eyebrow.

  “Pshaw,” Elizabeth said, lightly smacking her husband on the shoulder. “Who could miss Washington?”

  Adelina felt her lips curl up. “Not me,” she said. “I haven’t been here long, and I’ll freely admit, it’s taking a lot of adjustment.”

  Elizabeth spoke in a kindly tone, like a loving aunt. “Well, you’re a very young woman, and I suspect with your husband in the Foreign Service, you’ll move a lot in the coming years. I’d suggest getting involved—local charities, or your church, or something. It can be a very lonely life following your husband’s career.”

  “It hasn’t been tha
t lonely for you, has it, dear?” Eugene asked.

  “You wouldn’t know, you silly old man,” Elizabeth said.

  Adelina’s eyes dropped to the floor.

  “Thank you for the advice,” she said quietly.

  The last thing she ever wanted to do was follow her husband’s career around the globe. But in her heart, she knew that unless she found a way to break from Richard soon, she might never escape.

  Someone moved next to her. She drew in a deep breath and looked up, already knowing it was George-Phillip. She felt her cheeks warm and darted a glance at him, then back at Elizabeth.

  “Elizabeth and Ambassador Jackson, may I introduce His Highness, George-Phillip, the Duke of Kent?”

  George-Phillip grinned and held out a hand.

  Jackson took it in his and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You go by George?”

  “George-Phillip, generally,” replied George-Phillip. “It’s nice to meet you. Congratulations on your appointment as Ambassador.”

  Jackson grinned. “It’s mostly ceremonial, to tell you the truth,” he said. “As they say, the Pope doesn’t have an Army, so as Ambassador I won’t have earth shattering matters to attend to.”

  “Soul shattering, perhaps,” George-Phillip said.

  “You’re a believer?”

  “My mother was Catholic,” George-Phillip said. “It caused quite a stir when she converted, actually. My father nearly had to abdicate. I’m loyal to the Church of England, as any good third cousin to the throne should be.” As he said the words, his face had an endearing grin.

  Jackson chuckled. “A diplomat despite your age.”

  “Forgive the lapse in this company,” George-Phillip replied, “but sometimes I think diplomatic is a bad word. Perhaps world affairs would be better off and more straightforward if everyone said what they meant.”

  Jackson’s grin actually grew wider. “Young and idealistic.”

  “You were young and idealistic once,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t knock him.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Jackson said. “Life will do that for him.”

  “I hope to always be an idealist,” George-Phillip said.

  His eyes were wide open, bright, and the slight flush on his cheeks seemed to indicate an intense awareness of Adelina. She looked away from him, searching out Richard.

  Richard was thirty feet away, in a small knot of diplomats and wives. George-Phillip’s cousin Eloise had moved to that group. He seemed unaware of her, but she knew better.

  George-Phillip said, “And what about you, Mrs. Thompson? Are you also an idealist?”

  For just a second she met George-Phillip’s eyes—eyes that stabbed her, gripping her by the throat.

  “One can’t live on promises and hope,” she said.

  “I can’t imagine what else you would live on,” George-Phillip retorted.

  “I’m afraid I have to step away,” Elizabeth said. “It’s been a delight talking with you both.”

  “I’ll get you a drink for when you come back,” Jackson said.

  Both of them stepped away quickly, leaving Adelina and George-Phillip standing alone. Adelina felt as if a spotlight were on her.

  “I must see you,” George-Phillip said.

  “I can’t,” she replied.

  “I must,” he said.

  Adelina took a step back. She felt tears threatening, suppressed emotion welling up in her throat. She only barely remembered what it felt like to be cared for.

  But she remembered all too well what it was like to be at Richard’s mercy.

  “I cannot,” she whispered.

  Then she walked away, to the safety of the crowd around Richard.

  Adelina. February 26, 1984.

  Julia had been difficult to get to sleep tonight—restless and irritable. Adelina finally gave up and lay down beside her daughter, lightly tapping her on the leg to soothe her. Julia’s eyes dipped, opening and closing repeatedly as she fought sleep.

  Finally, Julia’s breathing evened out, her eyes closed, her cheeks slightly flushed. Adelina sagged against the bed and slowly released her daughter’s hand. She desperately needed an hour to relax, uninterrupted. Now that Julia was down, she’d hopefully get it. It would be uncharacteristic of Richard to seek her out—she suspected he was finding some other source of sexual satisfaction than his captive wife, and nothing could make Adelina happier.

  The last thing she wanted was Richard touching her. Unfortunately, she had to talk with him. She approached him as rarely as possible, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

  Her mind kept returning to George-Phillip’s words the night before.

  “I must see you.”

  “I can’t,” she had replied.

  “I must,” he had said.

  George-Phillip didn’t understand. He must not believe her when she described the danger Richard represented. Or worse, he didn’t care. He didn’t care what risk she bore, what danger she was in.

  It seemed likely, until she thought of his kindness, of the concern in his eyes. George-Phillip was not a man looking for an easy sexual liaison, and if he were, he could find much better targets for his lust than Adelina Thompson.

  Which left her with one question. What did he want?

  She was attracted to him. Intensely so. In their few meetings, it had become clear that her desire was mutual. It was also equally clear that it was impossible. Even if her husband weren’t dangerous, the fact was, she was married. She didn’t love Richard—in fact, she hated him. But she still had to live with herself, and no matter how much she hated Richard Thompson, she’d married him in the church. She was married in the eyes of God. Those were the only eyes that really mattered.

  She stood, slowly, taking care to not disturb Julia. As she came to her feet beside the small bed, Julia’s breath paused for just a moment. Adelina waited to see if her daughter would open her eyes—if she would clench her fists or turn red in the face or scream loud enough to draw Richard’s anger. After a moment, Julia settled back into the bed a little deeper, her tiny chest expanding as she breathed in.

  Adelina stepped into the quiet hallway. From Julia’s room, she could see down the hallway: two more bedrooms on the right side of the hallway, three on the left. The master bedroom, Richard’s, at the end of the hallway. Thank God this place was huge. Adelina had taken the furthest possible room from her husband.

  His bedroom door was cracked several inches. She walked toward the door, feeling a sense of dread. His open door might mean he was careless, which occasionally he was. Or it might mean he was preparing to assault her. He’d only done that a couple of times since he’d returned to the United States, though.

  As she got closer to the door, though, she realized that it was carelessness. And something else. He was on the phone with someone, his words falling out in an uncharacteristic rush.

  “Christ,” he said. “How was I supposed to know Karatygin was going to use it on civilians? I thought we were all done with this.”

  Silence. What was he talking about? What was used on civilians?

  “Bullshit, Leslie,” he said, his tone harsh.

  Was he talking to his accountant friend? Leslie Collins?

  Accountant, hell, she thought. She didn’t know what Leslie Collins was, but he was most definitely not an accountant.

  “Fine. I’ll go and calm down Prince Roshan and then we’ll move on, all right? I don’t ever want to talk about this subject again.”

  He slammed the phone down, and Adelina’s heart suddenly lurched. What if he realized she’d been standing here? What if—

  It was too late. He stood in the doorway, still wearing his suit and tie. One eye narrowed slightly more than the other one and he demanded, “How long have you been standing there listening?”

  “I didn’t really hear anything—”

  “Sure you did. I know you heard something. Tell me what.” His eyes were cold as he said the words, his expression calm. Calculated.

  She swallow
ed then tried to speak. But she found herself stammering, the words colliding at her lips and unable to come out except in a jumble.

  “Let me help,” he said, his open hand swinging at her.

  She couldn’t move away fast enough. His slap hit her on the ear, staggering her.

  “Stop,” she cried out.

  “I’ll stop when you answer my god damn question.”

  “All I heard was you say something about civilians, and that you need to calm down Prince Roshan. I don’t have a clue what it’s about.”

  Another slap knocked her back against the wall.

  Against her will, tears ran down her face. He placed his palms against the wall on either side of her head and pressed his face in close to hers.

  She cringed, turning her face away from him.

  “Let me be clear about one thing, Miss Adelina. Make no mistake that my daughter would be far better off with a white woman as her mother.”

  She froze.

  “You just remember that. You never talk to anyone about anything I say, do you hear me?”

  She nodded, trying to suppress the tears.

  He shouted. “Do you understand me? Answer me!”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Down the hallway, she heard the sound of Julia sputtering in her bed. Damn it.

  “Please don’t wake the baby,” Adelina whispered.

  “I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” he whispered back.

  “Mama?” The word rang out from down the hall. Julia stood in her doorway, a hand stretched out to steady her. “Mmmm wet.”

  “Right here, Julia,” Adelina said, her voice shaking.

  Richard grimaced, and then in a display of frightening calculation, he winked at Adelina. He broke into a broad smile and turned toward their daughter.

  “There’s my little girl!” he nearly shouted in a cheerful, warm voice.

  Julia broke into a smile, her cheeks puffing out.

  Richard lifted Julia high in the air and she giggled.

  “Da!” she said, a smile on her face.

  Adelina. February 27, 1984.

  When Adelina awoke the next morning, Richard was gone.