The ‘office’ comprised five smallish rooms – a kitchenette, lounge, two bedrooms and a bathroom. All were simply, even sparsely, furnished. The flat was in a slightly shabby,
turn-of-the-century brick-built block not far from the railway station. There was no parking provided, and as the XK120 turned into the narrow street, James kept an eye open for a space. He found
one fifty yards from his block, slid the Jaguar into it and switched off the ignition.
‘Are Mummy and Douglas here yet?’
It was the first time Stella had spoken since they reached the outskirts of Nice. James could tell she was still uneasy; his attempts to jolly her along and draw her out had been pretty much
blunted by her taciturn responses. He decided she was still in mild shock after being confronted with her long-dead father. He didn’t blame the kid for that, but he didn’t particularly
care either. The main thing was he’d got her here, and once she was securely inside the flat, he could make his next move.
‘No, I can’t see them. Don’t worry, they’ll be here soon. Come on, let’s go up.’
Stella obediently got out of the car and walked with her father towards the apartment block. He looked at her covertly as they went. In profile, he could see how much she resembled her mother.
If Diana looked like a younger Vivien Leigh, her daughter had something of the rising American actress Elizabeth Taylor about her when she’d been a child star. There was the same, determined
jaw that Diana had, and although mother and daughter’s eyes were similarly shaped, Stella’s were the colour of James’s. The nose, too, was his.
But most of her similarity to her father, James decided, lay in her composure and bearing. There was a slight haughtiness about her; an unwillingness to reveal too much of herself or what she
was thinking. He approved of that. She was certainly giving nothing away as they climbed the steps to the apartment block’s front doors.
The concierge nodded coldly at them as they walked into the small entrance lobby. It was strange, James thought as he pressed the button for the lift. Nice’s concierges, almost all old,
wizened women like this one, were the only people who never seemed remotely afraid of him. Perhaps that was because they’d seen it all: the human tide that endlessly ebbed and flowed past
their little cubicles held no surprises any more.
The lift stopped at the fourth floor and James led his daughter to the steel door that opened into his flat. He’d replaced the original wooden one as a basic security precaution. Not that
any burglar in his right mind would think of breaking into this place.
Stella was disappointed when she stepped inside. The flat was dreary. A little entrance corridor opened onto the small sitting room, with a cheap sofa and armchairs, and a bare wooden table next
to a door leading onto the tiny balcony. There were no books on the single shelf that ran the length of one wall.
Stella gave him a measured look before moving into the kitchenette. There was a knife block with three kitchen knives and three empty slots. The oven was tiny,
Baby Belling
stencilled
on the door, and an ancient fridge hummed loudly in one corner. Stella opened it. It held three brown-paper carrier bags. She peered into them in turn. They contained milk, wine, bread and cheese.
Stella closed the door again and went back into the
salon
, where James was waiting.
‘You don’t live here, do you.’ It was a statement, not a question.
James nodded in agreement. ‘Well observed, Stella. Your mother’s right – you are indeed a clever girl.’
She stared at him for a few moments, sizing him up.
‘They’re not coming, are they? Mummy and Douglas. That was just a story.’
He was impressed. She was old beyond her years, this one. She was as bright as her mother and as wary as himself.
He smiled at her. ‘I can see I can afford to be direct with you, Stella. Yes. You’re quite right; they’re not coming. Not just yet, anyway.’ He motioned for her to sit.
She ignored him.
‘Why am I here? Why did you trick me?’
‘Please sit down, Stella. I can explain everything.’
She chose the chair furthest from him.
‘Good girl. Would you like a drink, or something to eat?’
‘No. I want to know what’s happening. If you don’t tell me, I’ll scream and someone will come. I can scream really loudly.’
He gave her a regretful smile. ‘Firstly, Stella, no one will come. Look – the windows are double glazed. The front door is very thick too, but I expect you noticed that.’
‘I did.’
‘Good for you! Secondly, even if someone
did
hear you screaming, they’d pretend that they hadn’t. There’s been quite a lot of screaming in these rooms here over
time, much of it far louder than anything you could manage, I assure you. My neighbours have learned that it’s best not to interfere. In any case, there’s no need to scream. I told you
I’d explain things.’
She glared at him. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’
‘And neither do you look as if you are, Stella. Bravo. You’re a chip off the old block.’
She said nothing.
He lit a cigarette and gestured with it towards the kitchenette. ‘I’m going to pour myself a drink. Are you allowed wine at home?’
‘Don’t be stupid. I’m only ten.’
He grinned at that and went to the fridge. When he returned, he held a glass of rosé for himself and one of Vichy water for her. She looked at it suspiciously.
‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘It’s not poisoned. Take it.’
She placed it carefully on the floor by her feet, not taking her eyes off him. He could feel her contempt for him and silently applauded his daughter’s spirit.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on or aren’t you?’ she asked. ‘I suppose you feel ever so clever and proud of yourself, tricking a ten year old.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t feel proud of that. But it was necessary, Stella, I’m afraid.’ He paused for a moment, considering how much to tell her.
‘OK, here’s the thing. I owe some rather unpleasant men rather a lot of money. Your mother kindly gave me some to help me – just yesterday, as it happens – but I need
quite a bit more.’ He sipped his wine. ‘This morning,’ he continued, ‘your mother was told some rather unfortunate facts about me, and I don’t think she’s going
to lend me any more of her money, to be honest. So I decided—’
‘You decided to kidnap me.’
He laughed. ‘Excellent! I wish I’d known about you a long time ago, Stella. I think you and I would make a good team. Perhaps one day we shall.’
She stared out of the window in silence. James took his time, finishing his wine and cigarette before continuing: ‘So, you’re to stay here until your mother, or your stepfather, sees
their way clear to lending me what I need. Then you can go home.’ He stroked his chin and gazed at the ceiling, choosing his next words.
‘But I’m afraid you can’t remain in this room, Stella; I don’t want you banging on the windows and waving and making all sorts of fuss. I have a bedroom all ready for
you. There isn’t a window, I’m afraid, but I doubt you’ll be there for long. I have a feeling all this will be sorted out very soon. Come along.’
Stella stood. Her eyes glittered like her mother’s had earlier that day, and for the first time that he could remember, James felt disconcerted. There was enough of himself in this child,
he realised, to throw him off-balance if he wasn’t careful.
‘I’ll do what you say because I have to,’ she told him evenly. ‘You’re bigger than me. But I hate you. I
hate
you! You’re nothing like the father I
thought I had. I thought my father was a hero. But you’re just a cheat and a liar and a bully. I wish you
had
died. I wish I’d never set eyes on you. I bet Mummy does, too.
You’re a horrible, horrible man.’
He recovered his poise sufficiently to make an ironic bow. ‘All perfectly true, I’m afraid. I can only apologise, Stella, for my failings. Perhaps one day I can convince you that I
have some good points too. And now, if you’d just . . .’ He gestured towards a bedroom door that led off from the
salon
. ‘In there, please.’
She stalked past him and slammed the door behind her. The click of his key in the lock was followed almost at once by muted sobs from within.
He put his ear to the door.
They were not the sounds of defeat or fear.
James Blackwell’s daughter was weeping in pure, undiluted rage.
‘He’s not here. Neither of them is.’
Douglas delivered the news to Diana as he slid behind the wheel of the Rolls-Royce, which he’d parked on the apron of the luxury apartments behind the Promenade des Anglais. He’d
insisted she wait in the car while he went in to speak to the concierge. After a thick wad of francs was produced, the woman had shown him up to James Blackwell’s empty apartment.
Now Diana gave a little wail. ‘Oh God! Where can she be, Douglas? What is he doing with her? We have to go to the police!’
He started the engine and pulled out onto the road before speaking.
‘From what you told me on the way here, I don’t think that would do the slightest bit of good. He’s got the
gendarmerie
in his pocket, hasn’t he? Anyway,
he’s Stella’s father. He’d just say he was spending time with his long-lost daughter, and even if Stella told a different story, the police wouldn’t pay any attention.
I’m afraid we’re on our own, Diana.’
She stared helplessly through the windscreen as they joined the evening traffic on the Promenade. ‘What are we going to do?’
Her husband drove in silence for a minute. ‘Right, here’s my assessment,’ he said finally. ‘He’s got a pressing debt to settle with the local Mafia,
correct?’
Diana tried to think as calmly as she could. ‘Yes. After my confrontation with him today, Armand and Hélène filled me in on a lot more detail. They say the word is that he
has a very short time left to come up with the money, otherwise the Mafia will simply take his business from him. I suppose they might even kill him. He’s under enormous pressure.’
‘How do they know all this? I thought the Mafia were a secretive lot.’
‘Not when they have an opportunity to show what they’re capable of,’ she replied. ‘If they can be seen to stamp on
Le Loup Anglais
good and hard, they might even
get some gratitude. Armand actually said he’d prefer dealing with the Mafia than with James, as they’re more flexible. That tells you a lot about my first husband, doesn’t
it?’
‘It certainly does. Well, it’s obvious what’s happening now. You tumbled to the kind of chap he really is before he could get any more money from you, and—’
‘But I don’t
have
any more money,’ she interrupted. ‘I gave him just about everything in my account. He knows that.’
‘That’s exactly my point, Diana. However, he knows you’re married to a wealthy man, doesn’t he? He was probably planning to persuade you to “borrow” my
chequebook and make him out a cheque. Forge my signature, and so on.’
Diana was shocked. ‘I would never have agreed to do that!’
‘Of course you wouldn’t. But in any case, he’s lost that option completely, now that you know him for what he is. So he’s grabbed Stella and you can bet your bottom
dollar he’ll be on the phone this evening suggesting a cosy little exchange. A nice big bag of cash in return for her. So we need to get back to the villa and take his call.’
He switched lanes and took the turn-off to St Paul de Vence, leaving the palm trees of the Promenade behind them and heading towards the pine-clad foothills that rose immediately behind the
coastal plain. The sun was setting over the mountains to the west, and late-evening cloud over their summits was flushed pink. In a couple of hours it would be dark.
Diana was filled with a sudden premonition. What was happening now was incredible, but beyond this moment lay – what, exactly? Instinct told her that something was about to reach
fulfilment; completion. An ending.
She knew it in her heart, irrefutably, and she shivered.
Douglas glanced towards her as the road began to rise into the hills. ‘What are you thinking?’
Diana gazed at her lap. ‘I’m thinking that I’ve put Stella in great danger, Douglas. If I hadn’t been so stupid, if I’d told you everything in the first place, from
the moment I thought I saw James, we wouldn’t be here now, would we? I’ve been so selfish and foolish. And now, if you’re right, and I pray that you are, we’re being
blackmailed. It’s extortion pure and simple, isn’t it? You’re going to have to pay a huge ransom for Stella, and it’s all my fault.’
He snorted. ‘Pay that scoundrel? You’ve got it all wrong, Diana. I’m not going to give that creature my money. Not a single penny. He can whistle for it.’
The volcanic argument that erupted in the car intensified when they reached the villa. Diana had never felt so helpless and terrified and enraged in the same moment.
Douglas, however, was intractable. James, he insisted, had no intention of harming Stella. She was his own daughter, for God’s sake. Even the Mafia didn’t kidnap and murder their own
children. This was all a ruse; the last throw of the dice by a desperate man. As soon as James realised that he, Douglas, had his number, Stella would be released unharmed and her father would seek
another way out of his current difficulties. It was obvious. James Blackwell didn’t know it yet, but he was going up a dead end.
Diana wanted to strangle him.
‘Haven’t you heard a
word
I’ve been telling you about him? He’s a cold-blooded murderer, Douglas! He told me himself he doesn’t think he possesses a soul!
Stella is in terrible danger every minute she’s with him, wherever they may be. You’re talking about him as if he’s some sort of businessman who makes rational decisions.
He’s nothing of the kind. I think he may be insane!’
They were on the marble stairs of the villa. Douglas was pale with anger, his sparse hair awry.
‘And
I’m
telling
you
that Stella isn’t in the slightest danger! This man is playing games with us in exactly the same way he’s played games with you,
Diana, right from the first day you met him all those years ago. I’m sorry, but I’m not falling for it. And don’t you lecture me on business. That’s my field. James
Blackwell – James Blackguard, more like – is just another shark. I’ve been dealing with his type all my life. He’s a chancer. But he
won’t
harm his daughter.
No father would.’