‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘Why not take up Gerry’s idea of working in London—’
She began to interrupt him but he held up his hand. ‘Your apartment will still be here for holidays or if you change your mind about London and want to come back. I’d miss you, of course, but you’ve done all you can.’
‘Have I?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but think about what I’ve said. At least do that. I’m worried for your safety.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you for caring.’
‘Of course I care.’
‘I think I’ll turn in now if that’s all right. I’m dead on my feet.’
As she started to turn away, she glanced out into the darkness as a pair of headlights caught her eye. The vehicle seemed to be approaching carefully, then it disappeared. She went down to her apartment and forgot about it. She didn’t even undress, just climbed into bed, flicked the switch and the room plunged into darkness. She fell asleep instantly but awoke very soon after to the sound of thunderous knocking on her door.
She grabbed her robe and found Addison standing at her open door with a police officer.
‘What?’ she gasped.
‘It’s Otto. He’s been hurt.’
‘An accident?’
‘No. He was attacked. He’s asking for you.’
Otto remained in hospital for a week with broken ribs and concussion, unable to remember much of what had happened. When he was allowed home, she visited him and spent time in the apartment. ‘Safety in numbers,’ she laughingly said to explain her presence to him, but she had already arranged for stronger locks to be installed on his apartment door.
‘You didn’t see who did this?’ she asked, hoping something might have come back.
‘No. It was too dark. More than one, I think.’
‘They say anything?’
‘Threatened me with worse. You too. That’s all I remember.’
‘You think Stanley Lucas was behind it?’
Otto shrugged.
A week later the enquiry was published. As Addison had predicted, its findings focused on the immorality of female foreigners and unfortunately that had fostered the growing feeling of xenophobia on the island. It was not only clever but easy to prey on people’s semi-dormant fears. Just beneath the surface lay so much hate; God help them if it ever found a way to erupt.
Women To Blame, screeched the headlines.
The enquiry’s solution was to denounce the corrupt girls and make them shoulder the blame, rather than confront the impact of British rule on Maltese society. And the British military authorities focused on the threatof sexually transmitted diseases to their labour force, rather than exploring their own accountability.
No British girls exploited, screamed more headlines while non-British girls were ignored.
Any mention of white slavery was completely denied. It did not exist. All the girls interviewed, barmaids and cabaret performers alike – and most of them foreign workers – had arrived in Malta willingly and none were involved in prostitution. Anyone who read the report, or the newspapers, would reach the conclusion that there was no prostitution in Malta and no exploitation of women at all.
Riva sought an interview with a minister from the Treasury to complain. Declined. She wrote to the minister who dealt with National Security and Law Enforcement. Also declined. Not a single soul in charge of the Government of Malta either in Valletta or London was prepared to discuss the issue. With Otto out of action, she wrote an article condemning the enquiry’s findings. No one would print it.
When she met Tommy-O for coffee, he shrugged his shoulders, bemoaned what was happening politically and warned Riva from going any further on the human trafficking issue.
‘It’s getting more dangerous, my girl. All that fuss, and prostitution has just become even more clandestine. The girls are kept in debt by the criminals who control them and dare not speak. Nothing changes.’
Riva sighed. ‘They’ll never give evidence?’
‘Threats from the traffickers make sure of that. And the agents with their offers of extortionate rooms, and thematroneswho “loan” the girls jewellery and clothing. It keeps them trapped.’
