It was a question I’d been asking myself constantly,
a question I could find no answer to. I fell back on
repetition. “I tell you it’s all over between us. Surely you could see that for yourself, when Brett and I met
at Deer’s Leap yesterday.”
“Perhaps,” said Rudi. He made one last attempt.
“Gail, if you have no more news of Alexis within the
next twenty-four hours, then will you agree to give up
and come home to England?”
“I can’t promise anything, Rudi. But I’ll call you
again sometime tomorrow. Tell Madeleine I phoned, will you, and give her my love. And Caterina. Good
bye for now.”
For a moment my hand lingered on the telephone,
reluctant to give up the feeling of closeness with Deer’s
Leap. Then I turned off the bedside lamp and lay
back. I felt tired to the point of exhaustion, yet I knew
it would be hard to sleep.
My mind was dazed, bewildered by the day’s swift
flow of events. More than once when sleep was edging up on me, a knife-thrust memory of glaring yellow headlights and the scream of a revving engine brought
me snapping back to wakefulness. I was left weak and
shaking from the sudden recall of those terrifying
seconds when my death had seemed a certainty.
But I must have slept, because I wakened to a new
day.
* * * *
Brett and I breakfasted on the paved terrace that
overlooked the bay. A soft breeze blew in off the sea,
and the golden sun shone down on us. It was blissfully
warm—February like April sometimes is in England.
Below us, a sloping shrub garden hid the traffic-busy
Paseo Maritimo that rimmed the sea. Mimosa and
almond trees nodded their delicate blossoms, and free
sias grew at their feet. The air was filled with birdsong.
On such a glorious morning I couldn’t believe that
things were really as bad as they had seemed last night.
I felt bright with confidence that today we would get news of Alexis, news that would lead us to him. And
when I had seen him, talked to him, then everything
would come right again. As if the clock had miracu
lously been turned back.
I was going to succeed. I
had
to succeed. To fail would play right into the hands of Alexis’s enemies.
My uncle, I felt convinced, could have no idea how his present behavior was aiding the Communist cause— deserting the wife who had suffered so deeply on his behalf, seeming to turn his back on millions of friends
and admirers, callously abandoning the refugees he
had always helped—and now leading a life of ostentatious luxury. As a piece of propaganda for the Com
munists, it was devastating.
Nobody who was not on their side, openly or secret
ly, could wish me to fail in my mission.
Brett signaled the waiter. “Could you get me an
English newspaper, do you think?”
“
Sí,
senor.
I will send for one.”
The paper, when it came, was yesterday’s edition,
which Brett had already seen in London. He handed
it to me. “You’d better read it and see what they’re
saying about Alexis. He’s certainly been given the
treatment.”
The story began on page one and continued on an
inside page. There were pictures of them both—Alexis
walking on the grounds at Deer’s Leap, the lake in the
background. I recognized it as the one chosen for the
dust jacket of his book. It was a splendid likeness of him, showing the strong jawline and fine intelligent
eyes, the thick white hair which made him look so
distinguished.
But the photograph of Belle was quite something
else. Where the paper had dug it up I couldn’t imag
ine. Very overposed, it made Belle look cheap and
tarty, completely lacking the cool, poised beauty that characterized her. Maybe it was because her hair was shaken loose about her shoulders instead of in the neat
coil she usually wore.
Miserably, I passed the newspaper back to Brett.
“They make it all sound so horribly sordid.”
“How would you describe it, then? Romantic?”
I had taken all I could stand of Brett’s cynicism
about Alexis. But as I started to denounce him for it,
he laid a warning hand on my arm.
“Look out. Here comes Dougal Fraser.”
I saw a man’s head and shoulders moving among the shrubs of the sloping garden and realized there
must be a zigzag path leading up from the promenade
to the hotel terrace. Brett hailed him, and the man
waved back.
Leaning toward me, Brett said, “Don’t show too
much interest in Alexis. Dougal doesn’t realize who
you are, and it’s better to keep him ignorant.”
“Who does he think I am, then?”
Brett gave me an odd look. “Gail, you’ve got to understand that if it leaked out to the press boys that you’re Alexis Karel’s niece, they’d be after you like a pack of wolves. It would put new meat on the bones of
a tired story—the way you’ve come flying out here to bring your errant uncle to heel.”
“Why do you always have to put things ... ?” I
began. But again he touched my arm.
“Careful. He’ll be here in a second. Wipe that angry
expression off your face and smile sweetly. Come on
now—as far as Dougal Fraser or anyone else in Majorca is concerned, you’re my girlfriend.”
I stared at him, frowning. “Is that what you’ve been
saying?”
Brett’s eyes narrowed swiftly. “Is it such a difficult thing to pretend, Gail?”
Perhaps it was as well I had no time to answer that.
Dougal Fraser sprang up the last of the steps and came
striding over to our table. He was around thirty years
old, big-boned and tall—taller even than Brett—with
sandy hair and very deep-blue eyes. Outwardly, he had a cheerful, carefree manner. Inwardly, I guessed, he
would be very shrewd. When he spoke his voice had
the attractive lilt of the Highlands.
“Hi, Brett. You seem to be enjoying life, lazing
around in the sun, taking it easy.”
Brett leaned back and hooked an extra chair for
him from the next table. Dougal flopped into it and
proceeded to look me over. “Some people,” he re
marked to Brett, “have all the luck.”
Brett signaled the waiter to bring another cup for
Dougal. “I thought you were going to phone me. Why
come yourself—is there some news?”
“Yes. But I don’t trust the telephone when there
are too many press guys around. So I thought I’d stroll
over and see you.”
I couldn’t contain myself a second longer. “What
is
the news? Where is Alexis—er, Dr. Karel, I mean?”
Dougal turned his blue eyes on me, speculatively. Brett gave an uneasy laugh. “Gail’s even more burned
up than I am about my film being ruined.”
“So it seems.” Dougal shrugged. “The fishing boat
they’re on is still at sea. But I’ve got a few contacts
with airline people, and I’ve just had a call from the
captain of a freight plane which landed at Marseilles
this morning that he spotted
La Golondrina
soon after sunup. A positive identification—he went down low
enough for his navigator to read the name through
glasses. At the moment, it’s still exclusive to me. And apart from you, Brett, that’s how I’m going to keep it.”
“So it’s Marseilles next stop?” said Brett.
Dougal shook his head. “Not necessarily. They were
still well out to sea. It could be anywhere along the
Cote d’Azur. Marseilles, Toulon, Cannes, Nice. Or
one of the smaller places.”
“How are we going to find out which?” I asked and
too late saw Brett’s swift warning glance.
“You can leave that to me.” Dougal gave a slow
grin. “The dear old
Globe
has a long reach when it
comes to a really gutsy story. There’s a flight from here
to Nice this afternoon, and I’ll be on it, ready to shoot
off to wherever it is that pair finally turn up.”
“Brett,” I exclaimed. “we must be on that plane,
too. Can you go and phone right away?”
From the look Dougal flashed me, I knew with a
sinking heart that I’d been too eager. As Brett tried a
second time to cover up for me, Dougal waved him
down to silence.
“You called her Gail just now. Gail what, might I
ask?”
Lifting his shoulders, Brett said carelessly, “It’s Gail Fleming. Does it matter?”
Dougal’s eyes widened with interest. “In other
words, she’s the niece. Brett, I thought we were bud
dies. You’ve been taking me for a ride.”
“You don’t have to worry. I wasn’t trying to steal
your story.”
“Maybe not, but you were sitting on an even bigger
one.” Dougal turned to me with a slow, confident
smile. “Suppose I do the escorting from now on, Gail?
I’ll get you to see your uncle, on condition that I’m in
on the meeting. But I want it exclusive, mind.”
“It’s no go,” said Brett. “Gail stays with me.”
“The only trouble is, Brett, that you won’t know
where Alexis Karel is unless I choose to tell you. And I’m not going to, not any more.”
I said beseechingly, “Please, Dougal, don’t you see,
it would ruin everything if you were present. I’ve got
to talk to my uncle privately. Given a chance, I’m sure
I can persuade him to return home.”
Brett weighed in too, pressuring Dougal out of
friendship. It was an unfair tactic, and not unnaturally
he resented it.
“You’re asking the impossible,” he said at one point.
“You of all people ought to know that, Brett.”
But in the end Dougal did agree to help us track
down Alexis. And to keep the secret of my identity.
“Thanks,” Brett said warmly. “I won’t forget this.”
Dougal made a sour face. “If my editor ever finds
out what I’ve done, I won’t be
allowed
to forget it.”
He finished his coffee in one gulp and stood up to
go. Then he hesitated, looking down on Brett and me.
“Bless you, my children,” he said indulgently and
strode off down the terrace steps, his jacket hitched
over his shoulder.
It was five in the afternoon when Brett and I arrived at
the Hôtel de l’Etoile in Nice. We checked in and went
upstairs. At the door of my room, Brett paused and
looked at me, his dark eyes lingering on my face.
“Gail, can I trust you not to run off again on your
own? Dougal is really going out on a limb for you, so you’d better play it straight with him, even if you don’t with me.”
Remembering where my rash act of independence
in Majorca had led me, I shivered.
“You needn’t worry. I’m not moving an inch until
we hear from Dougal. When do you think it’ll be—
this evening?”
“I’ve no idea. From what I could make out, that
fishing boat Alexis hired is a slow old tub. You’ll just have to be patient.”
Left alone, I slid out of my coat and sank down on
the bed, kicking off my shoes and drawing up my legs. I lay back, gazing out through the window at the
hyacinth-blue Mediterranean sky.
All the way from Palma to Nice, I had scanned the
sea far below us, wondering if I might catch a glimpse
of the small boat that carried Alexis and Belle. But it
was a vain hope. There were dozens of tiny craft upon
the glittering water, any one of which could have been
theirs. Or they might have been on a different course
altogether.
Surely, though, they’d have to make landfall soon.
But where? Brett and I were all set to make a quick
dash to any point along the Riviera coastline the in
stant Dougal gave us the answer to that question.
There was a car waiting for us downstairs in the hotel
garage, a little Renault that Brett had hired at the air
port.
The feeling of expectancy had me all tensed up and
on edge, as if even a split second lost might prove vital.
I roused, startled by the sound of a knock on my
door.
“Gail. It’s me—Brett.”
In a single moment I leaped up off the bed, running
in stockinged feet to let him in. As I opened the door, a sudden wave of giddiness hit me, and I staggered.
Brett shot out his arms to steady me.