Tobias stayed close to home for the next three days, to Rochelle's dismay. He acted like the happy husband on his honeymoon. He had sex with her so frequently she ached with bruises and abrasive soreness. By the third day, she was miserable from his touch and from his overly stimulated need. If he noticed her discomfort, he didn't let on. His gentleness quickly fled soon after her arrival home.
It just wasn't Tobias's nature to be gentle. It would probably be only a matter of time before his energies extended to his women friends to humiliate her with the stench of them on his person while he groped and abused her. She believed he needed other women to authenticate his belief in his own sexuality. Whatever his reasoning, she knew he was a perverted and immoral monster.
Rochelle was greatly relieved when Tobias turned his attention to business once again. Strange looking men in expensive suits started coming to his study, much as they did before she ran away.
She often wondered if they were all local, or if they perhaps had flown in from some other state or locale. Regardless, it was a reprieve for her, knowing Tobias would be too busy to disturb her.
Late afternoon, they would get dressed and go out for cocktails and dinner with the old gang she remembered so well. None of them had changed. The men were still like uncivilized morons, their social habits as despicable as ever. Nevertheless, she could almost stomach the men more than she could the women. Each of them quizzed her about her vacation, as they chose to refer to her running away. They wanted to know how she did it, how she managed to survive, what she did during the time she was gone.
“I lived like a normal person,” was all she ventured to say to them, drawing their disdainful snorts and stares. No doubt, they probably enjoyed a field day talking about her while she was gone.
She was always glad when those evenings were over and she could return home to the solitude she preferred to their company.
When she wasn't outside on the lawns or by the pool, her and Tobias's bedroom became her refuge, a place where she read, watched television, or lay thinking of Michael. Finally, one day while Tobias was busy with the men in his study, she had a strong need to get in touch with Michael. Locking the bathroom door, she sat on the toilet and wrote a letter to him. She told him she was okay. She told him how much she missed him. She told him she hoped he hadn't been too badly hurt by the bullet wound.
When she read what she wrote, she tore it up, flushed it down the toilet, and started all over again. What could she say to someone she loved more than life, but would probably never see again? Most importantly, how would she prevent Tobias from intercepting the letter? How would she mail it unobserved?
Tears seemed to come easily now when she was alone. Her anguish tore at her heart in waves, and there were times when the thought of taking her life grew increasingly stronger. Once she looked in the bedside stand where Tobias always kept a gun. It was still there, and she thought he must be completely crazy to trust her enough to leave it there. She closed the drawer, fearing she might actually find the nerve to turn the gun on herself. Yet, she did not really want to die. She just didn't want to spend her life with Tobias.
Sitting on the toilet, she shook her head despairingly after flushing her first letter. She started writing again, determined to communicate with Michael at all cost.
Dearest Michael,
Our time together was too brief, but it was the most important and blessed time of my life. Your affection, your gentleness, your every endeavor on my behalf fills my thoughts each minute and allows me to believe there might still be reason to go on wanting to live.
As I write this, I am thoughtful as to how I will be able to mail it. I also have some dread of where I can hide it to keep Tobias from finding it, or how I will be able to sneak it from the house without detection. I am determined to find a way, and if Tobias allows me freedom to shop again, I know I can get Remy, the manager of a shop I frequented, to mail it for me. She was a good friend before, and I believe trustworthy.
Perhaps if you wish to, you might write me and send it to her address. (She jotted down the address.) I must close now, but all my love accompanies this letter, and I pray you are healing from the bullet wound, and growing stronger.
Tears blurred her eyes as she signed her name. Then putting the letter in an envelope and addressing it to Michael, she tucked it in the pocket of her robe. She began a thorough search of places to conceal the letter until such time when she could go shopping. She pinned it beneath the lining of a long winter coat shoved to one end of her closet in the dressing room and prayed Tobias wouldn't search through her things. If he ever found it, she might possibly pay a penalty with her life. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.
When Tobias had threatened to kill her if she ever tried running away from him, she took him literally. The fact he had not carried out his threat, did not deceive Rochelle into believing she was immune to him following through if the notion struck him. A moment of intense anger is all it would take. She knew his bent for deadly violence. She was aware that three guards had disappeared, and no one ever found their bodies. The second time, Tobias disappeared himself for two days, and when he came back he was highly agitated, nervous, and tense. The papers carried a story about a woman who was murdered and found on the beach. Tobias followed the story diligently every day until it lost its reader appeal and the newspapers quit writing about it. He was shaky and nervous for a long time following the release of that story, and everyone around him felt the tension of his irascible behavior.
Rochelle believed he might have killed the woman himself.
All those things were coming back to her now, and not least among them were the deaths of her parents. There was hardly any doubt in her mind anymore that Tobias had perpetrated their deaths.
The belief caused so much hate for him that she sometimes dwelled upon taking his gun and shooting him. Fear of her own inability to pull the trigger kept her from attempting such an action.
Rochelle dressed to go out, pinned the letter beneath the skirt of her dress, and then pushed the button for the in-house phone that a security guard answered. “Tell Johnson I'd like the car brought around, please. I'd like to go out.”
“Johnson no longer works here, Mrs. Chandler. You have another driver, Ted Anderson. A bodyguard will also accompany you from now on. The bosses' orders,” Dave stated.
“Where is Johnson?” Rochelle asked, fear surging up in her throat for the middle-aged man who always treated her respectfully.
“He left town soon after you disappeared.”
Dear God, Rochelle thought, Tobias probably had him killed.
She was silent several moments, unable to get the thought of Johnson from her thoughts. “Did he really leave town?” she asked, needing confirmation that she hadn't been responsible for the man's death. She was aware of how Tobias's associates disappeared upon their release from jail after bail was set. Killing or having someone killed meant no more or less to him than planning an evening out on the town.
“He really did leave town, Mrs. Chandler. Your disappearance made him too afraid to hang around.” That part was at least the truth, Dave thought, careful not to discuss such ugly details as Johnson's death with the delicate young wife of his boss.
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you for telling me that, Dave. I would be very unhappy if I thought something had happened to him because of me.”
“I'll have the car sent around, Mrs. Chandler,” Dave replied, deeply sorry that Johnson had not been spared the fate Tobias dealt him. The man had never bothered anyone, just did his job without complaint.
Dermot Gibson, the bodyguard who would accompany them, introduced Rochelle to Ted Anderson, the new chauffeur. Ted was a much younger man than Johnson had been. In his late twenties, he was tall, muscular with an angular face and features, and he wanted to make a good impression on his boss. After finishing with the exchange of greetings, Rochelle slid in the back seat while Dermot Gibson sat up front with Ted. Neither of them said anything after Rochelle stated where she wanted to go, until they arrived at The Boutique.
“I'll probably be here for about an hour,” Rochelle said, thinking both men would wait in the car for her. However, when Gibson opened the door and she stepped out, starting toward the shop, both men fell in pace with her, dwarfing her on either side.
She stopped, and glanced from one to the other. “If you don't mind, I'm capable of walking by myself.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Chandler, the boss said to stay with you. You're not to get out of our sight,” Dermot Gibson said.
“I hope that doesn't mean you plan to come in the dressing room with me. I think my husband's orders may not extend that far.”
Now, she felt like a prisoner must feel out on parole. Tobias would make sure she didn't run again, and if she did anything at all suspicious he would know about it—maybe even prevent her from shopping. Not wanting to lose that freedom, she would have to be extremely careful.
Gibson, the spokesperson, smiled. “No, Ma'am, we won't be obliged to do that.”
The three of them entered the shop. Ted Anderson walked straight through to the back door and stood there with his legs spread and his arms crossed, looking totally out of place. Gibson looked about the shop to see who was there, then tried to become less conspicuous by backtracking out the front door where he stood next to it. He turned in silhouette, so he could cast glances into the shop through the plate glass.
Upon seeing Rochelle for the first time in more than four months, Remy exclaimed delightedly and hurried toward her.
“Rochelle, where have you been? I was so worried when I heard you'd disappeared. Are you all right?” She threw her arms about Rochelle's neck and hugged her.
“I'm all right, Remy. I've been away for a while. Do you have any new things I might like?” she asked, trying to think of a way to communicate with Remy without the hound at the back door overhearing.
“We just got in a new shipment yesterday,” she replied, leading Rochelle to a rack that hid them from Ted Anderson by a narrow partition.
Rochelle got Remy's attention and put her forefinger to her lips.
“Remy, this is your shop. Make the man at the back door wait outside. I need to talk to you,” she whispered.
Remy nodded. Then in a raised voice, said, “Go ahead and look.
When you find something, let me know.” She headed toward the back where the chauffeur stood in front of the back door. At first, she pretended something else was occupying her attention as she went through a rack of clothing. When she finished, she turned about, stopped, eyed the chauffeur disdainfully, and said, “Is there some reason why you've planted yourself at my back door?”
Ted's spread legs came together, and he wavered only slightly before replying. “Yes, I'm Mrs. Chandler's bodyguard.”
“Well, I'm sure that with one of you at the front of my store, you can surely wait outside. I have women customers who will not step a foot in this place if they see a man parked here.”
Remy pushed the back door open. “You can wait outside here at the back door, or you can join your friend up front.” Remy could sound very authoritative when she wanted, and Rochelle mentally applauded her performance that brought only mild resistance from the young chauffeur.
The man wavered beneath her gaze, thought about the directions his boss gave him, saw the critical look in the woman's eyes and realized he was trespassing. If she wanted, she could call the cops and have him thrown out. Not wanting a problem, he opened the door and stepped outside in the alley.
Rochelle quickly took a couple of dresses from the hanger, handed them to Remy, and then went toward the dressing room. As soon as they were inside, Rochelle whispered quickly. “Remy, I need your help. I have to send a letter to a friend, and I need you to mail it. He will also be sending me mail here. If you have objections, just say so, and I won't ask you again.”
“Of course I'll mail your letters, but I just don't understand.”
“You recall when we used to have lunch together and I told you how I wish I wasn't married?”
“Yes, I knew you were never happy with your husband.”
“I left here, but he forced me to come back. He is having me watched so closely I won't be able to get away again, but I need to be able to communicate with the friends I made while I was away.
Will you help me, Remy?” She spoke quickly in hushed tones.
“I helped you before when you disappeared by not telling them that I knew you had made several trips from my store through the back door. Considering there is a bodyguard on it now, your husband must have guessed what you did. You know I'll help you, Rochelle.”
“If I get a reply to this letter before I return here, call me at home and say my dress has been altered and is ready to be picked up. Say nothing about any of this when you call. I'm sure my phone is monitored.” Rochelle gave her the phone number. Then she took the letter from beneath her skirt and handed it to Remy who hid it beneath some dresses she took from the dressing room. She added it to her own outgoing mail.
Rochelle chose an assortment of items, a dress, pants, blouses, a skirt, and some lingerie. When the items were packaged, Remy went to the back door and told Ted Anderson Mrs. Chandler was ready to go. Remy loaded him down with Rochelle's packages and watched them leave, having heard enough about Rochelle's marriage over their lunches to know how unhappy she was. She also knew Rochelle was no less than a prisoner with two guard dogs watching her every move.
In the car, Rochelle leaned back comfortably against the seat and sighed almost contentedly. Knowing she would be able to communicate with Michael brought a semblance of peace. The deep loneliness from her separation from him felt soothed by the knowledge he wasn't totally lost to her—not if he still lived.