Belle - Lesley Pearse [143]
‘Faldo, no, no,’ she cried out. ‘Surely I don’t deserve this?’
She fought to get away from him, but that only inflamed him more. He pounded harder and harder at her, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh on her buttocks, and the excitement of such a brutal and frenzied attack made his heart race.
Belle was terrified. Faldo might have been cold and undemonstrative with her for some time, he might have shocked her earlier when he struck her, but she would never have thought it possible that he could become a crazed brute pummelling into her like those terrible men did back in Paris.
First she attempted to fight him off, and when that made him even more ferocious, she tried putting up no resistance. But she couldn’t stop herself from crying, not just because he was hurting her physically, but because he wanted to humiliate her. His face was buried in her neck, and as he panted and wheezed his breath was as hot as steam from the kettle.
It went on and on; his shirt was wet with sweat, and his breathing more laboured. But when he began to make a kind of strange growling, yelping noise her first thought was that at last her ordeal was almost over.
But then, while still inside her, he arched his body away from her and clutched at his chest with one hand, and although the light in the bedroom was dim she could see his face had turned a deep mottled red. Instinctively she knew something was badly wrong.
‘Faldo!’ she shouted, wriggling from under him and at the same time pushing him down on to the bed and rolling him on to his back. ‘Mary, Mother of God, what is it?’ she asked, for his eyes were rolling back into his head and he was jerking as if having a fit.
She ran to the kitchen and got a glass of water and a wet cloth. But the water just ran out of his mouth when she tried to make him drink, and putting the cold wet cloth on his forehead didn’t seem to have any effect.
‘Faldo, listen to me,’ she pleaded with him, ‘try and tell me what’s wrong.’ But even as she spoke she knew he was unable to answer, that this was something really serious and she’d got to get a doctor for him.
She dressed herself quickly, then turning back to Faldo she tucked his penis away in his pants and buttoned them up. Without even stopping to grab a shawl, she rushed out on to the street. As was usual at ten at night it was deserted, so she ran up to Canal Street where she hoped she might see a policeman or a cab driver who might know where to find a doctor.
Luck was with her. Two police officers were walking down Canal Street together. ‘Please help me!’ she shouted as she ran towards them. ‘A friend has had some kind of turn. I don’t know how to find a doctor.’
Less than five minutes later the younger of the two men entered Belle’s house with her. The other officer had gone off to call on a doctor.
For a brief moment Belle thought Faldo had recovered, for he’d turned on to his side and in the dim gaslight he looked as if he’d just fallen asleep. But something made her stand back and let the officer go forward to examine him.
He put his fingers on Faldo’s neck, then felt for the pulse in his wrist. The officer straightened up and turned slowly round to look at Belle. ‘I’m very sorry, miss,’ he said. ‘But your friend is dead.’
‘He can’t be!’ Belle exclaimed, clamping her hand over her mouth in horror. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her, that one minute Faldo was red-hot with anger and passion, the next dead. Was she responsible?
Her cheek was throbbing where he’d hit her, and she remembered that he’d said he wanted her heart, and all at once she was sobbing.
‘I’m so sorry, miss,’ the officer said. ‘Can you just tell me who you both are and what led up to him having this turn you spoke of?’
She looked at the young man bleakly. He had bright blue eyes and he looked very sympathetic, but she knew she mustn’t let that influence her into telling him the whole truth.
‘His name is Faldo Reiss, and he came round about nine to visit me,’ she sobbed. ‘We were