"Agreed," Becky smiled back.

Jack finished off the last of his gin and tonic. "I think I'll run over to American Express to see if we got any mail," he said. "I'll ask the barman to bring you another drink in the meantime. Then we'll go back to the hotel for a little siesta. Right?" he gave her a hopeful expression.

Becky nodded uncomfortably.

She watched Jack move to the bar and then wave as he came back through the tables and moved out onto the sunny street. She looked down the street which was lined with trees and noticed several shopkeepers pulling down the latticed shutters to their open stalls. The caf? tables on both sides of the street were filling up even more now. Palma's business people were coming out of the shops and crowding with the tourists onto the narrow sidewalk.

Siesta, Jack had said, and Becky knew what that meant… He wanted to make love again. She stared gloomily down the street at a palm tree. Despite herself, a small knot of fear and humiliation tightened in her stomach. Siesta. She hoped it would be nothing like the brutal animalistic way he had acted when he had almost raped her last night.

Chapter Three

Olaf Jorgensen, the Swedish desk clerk Becky and Jack had been warned about in the cafe, had been closely watching the young American couple from the first moment they arrived at the swank Hotel Del Palacio around noon of the previous day. From his earlier experiences with American honeymooners, he had guessed they had been married the day before, and that they had left the wedding party early to catch their night flight from the United States to Mallorca. He knew that they had been in the plane overnight by the way they had arrived at the hotel desk looking typically giddy and exhausted. Well, the husband seemed nervous, but his lovely young bride was one of those poised blondes who never looked tired or rumpled.