He put down his mug on the thick wood beam that
made a mantelshelf. His eyes caught and held my
gaze.
“Gail... you’re not regretting last night, are you?”
I shook my head and glanced away from him, down
at the hearthrug. I couldn’t take back those whispered
words of love. Last night had been pure delight for me.
I thought that I had found the truth again, but I’d been
utterly wrong. Quite cynically, Brett had stirred the
dormant love within me, just as I’d watched him stir
the embers of the fire, making the flames leap high.
Had it been just to satisfy his own casual desire, or to
test his power over me? Or perhaps even—and I felt
a flush of color stain my cheeks—because he thought
I
expected
him to make love to me and wanted to keep
me unsuspecting.
“Tell me you don’t regret it, Gail,” he insisted.
“No,” I said quickly. “Of course I don’t. But I feel
a bit shaken up ... from that fall.”
His face relaxed, and he smiled at me. “You poor
darling, it must have been worse than you made out. Is there anything I can get you?”
“No, nothing.”
“Look, why not put your feet up and try to sleep a
bit more. It’s still quite early. Then when you wake up, I’ll get some breakfast.”
“All right.”
I pulled a blanket around me and closed my eyes,
pretending to settle down. But I kept rigidly alert, trying to gauge what Brett was doing as he moved about.
I could sense him watching me, and I breathed deeply
and steadily. After a while he seemed satisfied that I
was asleep. He went over to the door, quietly letting
himself out.
I jumped up and ran to the window, peering out
from behind the curtain. I could see Brett walking with
purposeful strides in the direction of the crag. I
watched him until he disappeared from sight along the
curving path. Had he gone to obliterate any telltale
signs he might have left behind? To wipe out that
incriminating footprint in the snow?
I remained standing at the window, staring out blind
ly. There were more snowflakes now, whirling past in
the wind, beginning to settle on the Renault parked a
few yards away. Slowly, dimly, I became aware that
what I was looking at ought to have a special signifi
cance for me. Then at last, with a jolt, it penetrated
my fogged brain.
The car. Was that my chance of escape? My one
chance, while Brett was away from the house. I might not get another.
Frantically, I tried to think, to remember. I knew
Brett hadn’t bothered to lock the car, but had he left
the key in the ignition? I just had to pray he had.
I grabbed my handbag and was on my way to the
door when the shrill noise of the telephone pierced the
silence. For an instant I froze in panic, then I ran back
across the room to answer it. It could only be Dougal.
“Hello,” I gasped breathlessly.
“Is that you, love?” The soft Highland hit was un
mistakable. “Er... can I speak to our mutual friend?”
I said urgently, “Please, Dougal, have you any news
of—?”
He interrupted me roughly. “No names. Yes, the
man in question has turned up again. He seems to be
mighty unsuccessful in keeping his whereabouts dark.
But what can he expect if he sticks to top resorts and
posh hotels?”
“Where is he?” I cried impatiently.
“Geneva, actually. But look, love, you’ll have to be
careful. That’s why I want to talk to
...
to you know
who. So be a good girl and put him on the phone.”
“He’s not here. He
...
he’s gone out for a minute.
Can’t you tell
me?”
“I’ll have to. I can’t wait. I’ve got to get moving my
self. Just explain that he must play it very canny if he wants to keep your identity secret. Once the press boys
latch on to the fact that you’re on the scene again, you won’t escape so easily a second time. Good luck, and
maybe I’ll see you in Geneva.”
“But where is ... my uncle staying? Which hotel?”
“Didn’t I say? It’s the Cosmos, a damn great palace of a place on the lakeside—west shore. You couldn’t
miss it if you tried. Must be off.”
I
put down the phone, feeling a sudden uprush of
hope. The call from Dougal coming at the precise
moment that Brett was out of the way seemed like a
good omen. Perhaps I would be able to escape from
Brett, find Alexis, and get this terrible business finally
sorted out.
All my hopes depended on a tiny key. The ignition
key of the car.
Carefully, I opened the door and peered out. There
was still no sign of Brett returning. Fear speeding me,
I ran to the car and wrenched open the door. My heart
skipped in relief. The key was there.
At the first attempt the engine merely kicked and grunted. I tried again, spinning it madly. It fired lump
ily and died. But at the third feverish attempt the en
gine started and ran smoothly.
I had never driven a Renault before, but this was no
time for caution, for feeling my way with the controls.
As I swung onto the track, I glimpsed a movement in
the mirror. Brett was running down from the crag,
waving frantically for me to stop.
I put my foot down hard. The little car gagged, then responded. The track was rough, full of potholes and
strewn with loose rocks. Taking it at speed, I was flung
about in my seat as I clung grimly to the wheel, fighting
to keep the car straight.
I flashed another glance in the mirror. Brett was
falling back, the distance between us increasing fast.
Then I was in among the pine trees, and he was lost
from view.
Where the track joined the public road, I hesitated a
moment, wondering which way to turn. But left, the
way we had come, led back to the coast. I turned right, heading deeper into the mountains. Switzerland lay in that direction.
The gun-metal sky had darkened almost to black, and
it started to snow in earnest. I switched on the head
lights, but they didn’t seem to help much.
I had no time to spare for thinking, beyond the need
to press on, somehow keeping the unfamiliar car on
the narrow, tortuously twisting road. To escape from
Brett.
After a few miles I came to a village, a small place that seemed completely shuttered against the snow. Suppose I were to stop and ask for protection—there
might even be a local
gendarme.
But protection against what? Against whom?
Against the man who had been my lover, who had become my lover again? The man who had been my
companion on a journey of hundreds of miles, who had
apparently done nothing but help and sustain me in
my search for my uncle?
I passed straight through the village without stopping.
It seemed like hours before I reached a main high
way, where there was other traffic to reassure me. But
I had lost all sense of direction. A signpost by the road
side was obscured by driven snow, and I had to get out
of the car and clean it with my fingers to read the
directions. I found it was Routes Nationales 207. To
Digne, it said. And Sisteron, Grenoble.
My geography was hazy, my mind hazier. I went
back to the car and consulted the map Brett had
bought, finding the road and tracing it with my finger.
Digne was in the right direction, and Grenoble. A good
road, it looked, right through to Geneva.
At Digne I stopped for gas and then pressed on
again. I had never driven in such bad conditions. Even
on the main highway I had to concentrate every
second. Faster, bolder traffic passed me, flinging up a
veil of snow and slush that my windshield wipers
found difficult to clear.
The need to escape from Brett was not quite so
urgent now. Surely I was well clear of him. But through
all the confusion of my mind one thought stabbed re
lentlessly. I had to reach Alexis. It seemed more vital than ever before. Something told me that this was the
last opportunity I would be given. Fail now, and I
would have to abandon the search and return to Mad
eleine defeated.
It was past three in the afternoon when I reached
Grenoble. Daylight was fading fast and still the snow fell, streaming back unendingly into the beams of my
headlights. My eyes pricked with the strain of peering
into blinding whiteness for hours on end. My head
throbbed. I longed to stop and rest. I needed a hot
drink, something to eat.
I decided to give myself a break of thirty minutes.
To avoid the problem of finding somewhere to park
in the center of the city, I waited until I was out on the
other side. Then I pulled up at the first roadside cafe I
came to. It turned out to be a drive-in for truck drivers,
a scruffy place. But I was past caring.
I found I was ravenous. I demolished a large plate
of veal cutlets and fried potatoes which was surpris
ingly good. Then in the hot, steamy atmosphere, with
the pulsing beat of the jukebox, I could no longer fight off tiredness. I dozed, my head resting against the bare
wall beside me. When I awoke, my coffee had gone
cold.
A truck driver at the next table got up and brought
me a fresh cup, flatly refusing to let me pay for it. I
realized that in my grubby coat and torn slacks I must
have looked in need of charity.
This act of kindness from a stranger gave me new hope, and when I got outside I found the snow had
stopped. There was even a faint rose-red glow in the
western sky where the clouds were beginning to part.
Even so, the last lap to Geneva seemed a long one.
By the time I drew up at the customs post it had been
dark for some time. The Swiss officials dealt with me
efficiently, courteously. Within a few more minutes I
was entering the bright lights of Geneva.
A policeman, equally courteous and speaking excel
lent English, gave me directions to the Hotel Cosmos.
I drove past clanking streetcars and over a bridge, fol
lowing the one-way system. There seemed to be hotels
everywhere, all along the waterfront. But then I spotted the Cosmos—immense, a modern palace of white stone
and stainless steel and glass, bathed in a golden glow
from floodlights.
I turned into the driveway which ran the entire
width of the building and found an empty parking
space. I had the car door open when I hesitated.
Dougal’s words came back to me in a rush.
Play it canny ...
the press boys won’t let you get away so
easily a second time.
For all these long, tortuous miles, I’d been spurred on by the need to reach Alexis. And now that I was
here, so close, I mustn’t ruin everything by being too
impetuous.
Yet I had to take risks if I was to get to see him.
And I was really past caring if the reporters
did
recognize me. I decided to walk straight into the hotel and
simply play it by ear.
Inside, the Cosmos was every bit as magnificent as
the hotel at Nice. But unlike the Edwardian splendor
of the Alpes-Maritimes, this was up-to-the-minute luxury—subdued, flattering lighting, acres of thick-pile
carpeting. Another place in the very top price bracket.
In the lobby there were a good many people around,
and I couldn’t tell if any of them were reporters.
I got a few curious
stares as I walked in, but I put this down to my appearance. I cursed the torn slacks and grubby, crum
pled coat. I should have thought to clean up a bit at the
cafe, but it was too late now.
The suave desk clerk looked down his nose at me.
“Que desirez-vous?”
“I wish to see Dr. Karel, please. I’ll go straight up.
What is the number of his room?”
“Dr. Karel is seeing nobody,” he said loftily and
turned away from me.
“But it’s very urgent. I’m his
...
his secretary.” I
held up my handbag. “I’ve brought some papers from
England for him to sign.”