“What’s the matter? Aren’t you well?”
“I’m all right,” I snapped, furious with myself.
“Have you heard something from Dougal?”
“No, not yet. But it’s more than time we had some dinner.”
I shook my head. “I don’t feel like anything to eat.”
“You’ve hardly had a thing since breakfast,” he
protested. “Gail, are you quite sure you’re all right?”
His hands still held me by the shoulders, supporting
me. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I broke away and
took a step back.
“I was lying down when you knocked, and I sup
pose I must have jumped up too quickly. I was a bit
dizzy, that’s all. I’m okay now.”
“Then come and eat. I’ll see you downstairs in ten
minutes.”
Brett had made the hotel reservation from Nice Air
port because we needed to give Dougal a definite
phone number where we could be reached in a hurry.
Dougal was staying a few miles along the coast at
Cannes, in a hotel where he’d often stayed before.
“It’s just as well for us to separate,” he’d said. “On
a hot story like this, everyone’s jumpy, suspecting
everyone else of pulling a fast one. If we stick together,
it might raise suspicions. Anyway, you two won’t want
me sticking so close to you.”
The Hôtel de l’Etoile was very French, a superior
family-type establishment to which I could imagine the
same people returning year after year for their
va
cances.
The staff tended to speak in murmurs, adding
to the general atmosphere of hush. The dining room
was ornately splendid in Empire style, dominated by
a pair of glittering crystal chandeliers.
The food was splendid, too, and I quickly found my
appetite. We ate a delicious sort of onion tart with
anchovies, and then pork cutlets. With it we drank a rose wine, light but quite heady. I found myself re
laxing, my thoughts straying. Once upon a time, I re
flected dreamily, Brett and I would really have en
joyed eating in a place like this.
Brett was more relaxed, too. He smiled at me across
the table.
“Upstairs just now, I really thought you were going
to pass out on me. Gail, why don’t you give up this
fool idea of finding Alexis? No one would blame you.”
“Except myself. No, Brett, I’ve got to go on now
that I’ve come this far.”
“Time was,” he said bitterly, “when you’d have
listened to me.”
Time was when I had loved him. When he could
do no wrong in my eyes—except to find another woman more attractive than me.
Brett must have seen the color creeping to my
cheeks. With a little dismissive shrug, he muttered something under his breath. I wished I could ask him
what it was he’d said, but I didn’t want to show him I
was curious.
After we’d had coffee in the salon, I went back upstairs to put through a call to Rudi. This time the con
nections were made quickly. Rudi answered at once,
as if he’d been waiting right beside the telephone.
“What’s happening, Gail?”
“We’ve come to Nice. There’s no doubt Alexis is
heading here. Any time now we expect to get news of
his arrival, and then I hope to see him. Rudi, how is Madeleine?”
“She’s been in low spirits today. It would be better
if you were here with her, Gail.”
“She doesn’t know anything, does she?” I asked in
sudden panic. “You haven’t told her?”
“No, she knows nothing yet. But how much longer
can we hope to keep her in the dark? Give up and
come home, Gail, and you and I will break it to Mad
eleine together.”
I fingered the pale-blue damask of the bedspread, feeling painfully torn and undecided about what to do
for the best.
“Rudi, I know how difficult it is for you, but please
try and hold on just a little longer, just another day or
so. You want to have this horrible business cleared up, don’t you, as much as I do?”
“Of course I do, Gail!. But we’ve got to think of
Madeleine.”
“I think of her all the time, Rudi,” I said. “Give her
my love, won’t you? And look after her for me.”
I went straight to bed. After the long hours of ten
sion my body was greedy for sleep, and I dropped off
almost at once.
It wasn’t restful sleep, though. My mind was like a
kaleidoscope full of changing patterns of faces. Alexis,
looking directly at me but his eyes not quite meeting
mine. Belle, her long copper-colored hair shaken loose
and free, the sexily provocative Belle of the newspaper
picture. Madeleine, pale and fragile, holding out her arms to me beseechingly and uttering a thin plaintive
cry that I couldn’t quite catch. And Rudi, his dark
eyes concerned for me, a little anxious about the wis
dom of what I was doing. Then Brett and Elspeth
Vane, together in a close embrace, and Elspeth smiling
at me over Brett’s shoulder in supercilious triumph.
In my sleep, in my dreams, I began to shed bitter,
hopeless tears.
I heard Brett calling my name, sharply, without
gentleness. I felt him shaking me.
“Come on, Gail! Wake up. You’re out like a log!”
My eyes flew open and I blinked, dazzled by the
light of the bedside lamp. Brett was bending over me.
He was fully dressed, carrying his sheepskin jacket.
“Your door was unlocked, so I came straight in.
I’ve just had a call from Dougal.” He broke off, peering at me closely. “Gail, you’ve been crying.”
Impatiently, I brushed my tears away. “What’s hap
pened? Have they landed? Did Dougal tell you
where... ?”
Brett nodded. “We’re dead lucky—luckier than
Dougal himself. They’ve turned up right here in Nice.
La Golondrina
berthed about a half hour ago, and
Alexis and Belle have checked in at the Hotel des
Alpes-Maritimes.”
I was suddenly gripped with nervous excitement. I
threw back the bed covers and swung my legs out.
“What time is it?”
“About six
A
.
M
.,
so you’d better put something
warm on. It’ll be chilly out.”
I went over to the washbasin for a hasty splash,
expecting Brett to leave me alone. But he didn’t move,
and I was aware of his eyes watching me. I suddenly
became self-conscious in my wispy nylon pajamas.
“I’ll only be a minute,” I said tersely. “If you’ll
just____”
“Wait outside?” Brett gave an amused shrug. “Okay,
if you say so.”
Hurriedly, I pulled on slacks and a white sweater. I
flicked a comb through my hair and grabbed up my
coat and handbag.
Brett was right outside the door. “That was quick.
But then you never did hang about getting yourself
ready, I remember. It was something I always—”
I chopped him off abruptly. “Where is this Hotel
des Alpes-Maritimes?”
“It’s one of those enormous places along the Prom
enade des Anglais. Those two certainly like living it up.”
The garage of our hotel was at the rear of the build
ing. It was by no means full, but to my dismay we
found a big black Citroen parked so that it blocked
the exit of our hired Renault.
“Damn,” exclaimed Brett. “We’ll have to shift this
brute before we can get out.”
I was in a fever to be moving. “Hadn’t we better
forget about the car and walk, Brett?”
“No, it’s quite a distance. This shouldn’t take a mo
ment.” Brett went around the Citroen, trying each of
the door handles in turn. They were all locked.
“I don’t mind walking,” I persisted. “Or perhaps
we can find a taxi.”
“No, you wait here a minute, and I’ll go and fetch
the night porter. He’ll be able to help.”
It seemed an eternity that Brett left me there in the
semi-darkness of the garage, lit by just one light at the
far end. I was so on edge that my eyes started imagin
ing menacing shapes in the gloomy recesses, and I
shivered. This was the final moment of my quest. In a
matter of minutes I would know the truth about Alexis.
I would discover once and for all what sort of man my
uncle really was.
At last I heard the echoing sound of footsteps. More
lights were turned on, and Brett appeared with a short,
tubby little man who wore steel-rimmed glasses.
Tutting to himself, the porter repeated Brett’s tour
of the Citroen door handles, refusing to take our word
that they were all locked. When convinced, he pro
duced an enormous bunch of keys and started trying
them each in turn, methodically.
He could not understand it, he muttered. The gentle
man who owned this car always parked it over there
in the corner. Not here. And anyway, he never locked
it. But perhaps last night he was a little ...
Maddened by the man’s slowness, I had to watch
while he inserted one key after another. He must have
tried at least twenty-five before the lock gave a click.
He turned to us and beamed as he opened the door.
“Voila.”
With the handbrake off, the two men started to push
the big, heavy car clear of ours. I threw in my own
weight to hurry things along. Then Brett fished in his pocket for a tip.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “For heaven’s sake.”
“A few seconds isn’t going to make any difference,”
Brett reproved me.
At this hour of the morning it was still dark, and the
streets were almost deserted. In only a few moments
we were driving along the broad Promenade des An
glais, with the long curving line of street lamps tracing
the huge sweep of the bay, mile after mile of tropical
palms and luxuriant flower beds.
The Hotel des Alpes-Maritimes had a colonnade of
white pillars the entire length of its facade. Of the hun
dreds upon hundreds of windows, most were in dark
ness.
Brett swung into the forecourt and found a place
to park.
We pushed through glass revolving doors into a vast shadowed entrance hall that was like a Byzantine palace
of marble and mosaic under a lofty vaulted ceiling. In
the pool of bright light around the reception desk a
group of men were talking excitedly among themselves.
Brett took one look at them and halted. “Damn.
They’ve beaten us to it, Gail.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re newspapermen, that’s what.”
“Oh no,” I cried in dismay. “But how could they
know? And so quickly.” Dougal had seemed confident that no one else knew about Alexis’s plans.
“These chaps have an uncanny instinct when there’s
a good story,” said Brett. “Come on, we’ll just have to
bluff it out.”
Seizing my hand, he thrust his way through the
bunch of reporters to the desk, pulling me after him.
He addressed the
concierge
in a brisk, commanding
voice.
“The number of Dr. Karel’s room, please. Dr. Alexis
Karel.”
“I regret,
monsieur,
but you must wait with the
others.”
The man was enjoying to the hilt his brief moment
of power. “Dr. Karel has agreed to receive the press
in half an hour.”
“Oh, but we’re not reporters,” I said impulsively.
“We want to see Dr. Karel on a private matter.”
The hush that fell upon the group of newsmen was
something tangible. Six pairs of eyes all turned to stare at me. Dimly, I heard the
concierge’s
impatient voice.
“Dr. Karel will see no one until he is ready,
madame.
Those are his precise instructions. He is angry at being
hounded by newspapers in this way.”
Someone took a step toward me, a middle-aged
gray-haired man who looked as if he’d dressed in as
great a hurry as I had.
“Hey, miss, what d’you want to see Alexis Karel
about?”
“The same as you,” said Brett quickly before I
could speak. “You know how it is—we thought it was
worth a try.”