Vengeance in the Sun (11 page)

“
And
he denied being there the other night when we saw him.” Steve said flatly.

I nodded unwillingly. “ He was quite emphatic about it. He said we had made a mistake. That people often make mistakes about him.”

“I bet they do!” Steve said.

We walked on in silence for a little while, and then I said: “ What was the other thing you were going to tell me?”

He breathed in deeply, staring straight ahead of him to where Danielle skipped happily along on the pavement.

“I went to the police to tell them the car they were looking for had, in the past, been regularly parked outside the Ria Square flats.”

“And?”

“They didn't know what I was talking about. No incident involving a powder-blue Cadillac has been reported to them. They have no record of Helena Van de Naude ever telephoning them. If they had, they would most certainly have wanted to speak to you themselves.”

“But why.…” I said, completely bewildered.

“That,” Steve said, “is what I'd like to know. Why indeed?”

The heat didn't help me think any clearer. It beat out of the ground in relentless waves.

“No matter how I try I can't think of a logical explanation,” I said as we crossed the street and entered a small square, gay with flowers.

“There isn't one that exactly hits you between the eyes,” Steve agreed.

“But there will
be
one,” I insisted. “At least where Helena is concerned.”

“And Ian Lyall?”

I remained silent, pondering on the puzzle that was Ian Lyall. We walked on for a little way beneath the welcome shade of lime trees, and then he said quietly: “Has it occurred to you that she may have known the car was one Ian had the use of? That it belonged to a friend of his? If that's the case she may well have been reluctant to telephone the police and get Ian involved.”

“But she knew it wasn't Ian driving! I would have recognised him!”

“But if it was a friend of his?” Steve persisted.

“
Her only child was nearly killed!
” I said, feeling again all my rage at the unknown driver. “ Dear God, it wasn't a minor traffic offence! Even if it was a friend of Ian's she would have still wanted him caught!”

“But she didn't report it.”

“Then she must have had a reason.”

“Like Lyall has a reason for saying he isn't in Ria Square when we both clearly see him? Like he has a reason for not admitting to the fact that he, too, often drives a powder-blue Cadillac?”

“
Stop it!
” I said, my nerves stretched to breaking point. “We're just going round in circles. The only thing to do is to ask Helena why she didn't report the accident to the police, and ask Ian outright about the car and the visit to the flats he made with Janet!”

Steve's mouth was set in a tight line. “Not yet, Lucy. I don't want you to say anything to either of them just yet.”

“But why? The sooner we find out the better!”

“No. There's something else. Something I haven't told you yet.”

People brushed past us but I was hardly aware of them. The tone of his voice froze me.

“Will you trust me, Lucy? Go back to the villa and behave as if nothing has happened. I'll come out tomorrow afternoon and we'll speak to them together.”

“And the thing you haven't told me yet?”

He breathed heavily, the corners of his mouth pinched and white.

“That can wait till tomorrow as well. After all, I could be wrong. I want to make sure first. Quite, quite sure.”

“And you'll know by tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

We carried on walking in silence till we came to the car. Then he took both my hands in his.

“I'll be over tomorrow afternoon. We'll speak to Helena Van de Naude then. Okay?”

I nodded. He bent his head and kissed me gently. “Take care, Lucy.”

With my headache raging worse than ever, I drove through the busy streets of Palma and onto the mountain road home. For once Danielle was quiet, Emmeline hugged close to her chest, her breathing deepening as she fell asleep.

It wasn't only Steve's mystery that was causing the blinding pain behind my eyes. It was the thought of Max. The air of cold finality as he had walked away from me. The minute I reached the villa I would telephone all the leading hotels in Palma. It wouldn't take long to find him. To explain what a fool I'd been. And then … and then.…

The image of Leonie, silken-haired and softly laughing, made me bite my lip till I tasted blood. It was Leonie who had told Ian Max had married Claudette. Leonie who had deliberately lied, calculatingly making her entrance with him at the party in the company of Claudette and Fedor, knowing full well what I believed and letting me go on believing it. Leonie who wanted Max for herself.…

The car slowed as we climbed up the jutting headland to the villa. The courtyard gates were open wide and Mario, white-faced, was standing agitatedly by the fountain, waiting for us.

“Mario! What is it?” I asked alarmed, as he ran towards us.

“Peggy wants you,” he said tautly to Danielle. “Be a good girl and run in and see her.”

“Has she made a cake?” Danielle asked as she began to run towards the archway. “ There wasn't any yesterday, and.…”

“Mario! What's happened?”

“Mr Van de Naude has had a heart attack. Mrs Van de Naude is leaving immediately. We were frightened you wouldn't be back in time for her to say goodbye to. Danielle.”

He was already striding beneath the colonnades. I hurried after him, the late afternoon sun flooding the villa a soft gold. Peggy came running from the direction of the kitchen, her plump face tense and strained.

“Thank goodness you got back in time. How we would have explained to Danielle if she had come back and found her mummy gone I can't imagine!”

“Does she know what has happened?”

“She knows her daddy isn't very well.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and Helena, an overnight bag clutched in her hand, said breathlessly: “ Can I have a few words with you, Lucy?”

She was wearing a beige linen suit, her hair hastily scooped back into a french pleat, tendrils escaping wispily around her face. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and the usually laughing mouth was slack, making her look suddenly old.

“I don't know when I'll be back. I can't tell till I know how bad John is. I want you to take full responsibility for Danielle while I am away.” Her eyes held mine, the expression tigerish. “I can trust you, can't I, Lucy?”

“Yes, of course.…”

Her naked intensity alarmed me. I took her hand. “I'll look after Danielle. She'll be perfectly safe till you get back. Please don't worry.”

Her eyes were suspiciously bright. “I'm sorry. I'm a fool. Of course you'll look after her, and Ian will be here.” Her grip on my hand tightened. “If there should be any more accidents.…”

“There won't be,” I said firmly. “Please stop worrying. Everything will be all right.”

“I hope so. Dear God, I hope so. I've left the telegram for Ian to see. Tell him I'll telephone the minute I can.”

“Doesn't he know?”

“No. He's not expected back till tonight and I can't get hold of him anywhere.…” There was a break in her voice. “ Danielle is in her room. I've tried to explain to her. Would you go to her?”

“Yes, of course.”

She squeezed my hand and was gone.

Wearily I climbed the stairs, wondering what other ghastly surprises the day could hold. As I neared Danielle's room there came the muffled sound of crying and my heart sank. She was sat on the floor, her shoulders hunched, her arms around her knees.

“Don't cry, Danielle,” I said gently, pulling her to her feet, putting my arm around her shoulders. “Your daddy is going to be all right and Mummy will be back soon.”

I sat down with her on my knee and she cuddled close.

“Really and truly?”

“Really and truly. Remember how brave you were when we had our accident? Well, now you have to be brave in another way.”

“It's hard sometimes,” she said forlornly. “ I don't like it when people go away.”

“But think how nice it is when they come back. Perhaps we could plan a special party for when Mummy and Daddy come back, make some decorations?”

She wiped her tear-streaked face. “I'd like that. I'm good at making decorations. I made some at Christmas with Janet. Can we do some tomorrow?”

“Yes. There's plenty of crepe paper. We could make some paper flowers as well.”

“Can I go and get the paper now? I know where it is.”

I nodded and she slipped off my knee, her tears already drying, her thoughts now firmly on decorations and paper.

My thoughts were back on Max again. I went in search of telephone directories and stood in the sun-filled hallway, flicking through them and writing down the numbers of all the five star hotels. Peggy came across to me, a cup of coffee in her hand. I took it gratefully.

“I thought you'd be needing one. Is Danielle all right?”

“Yes. She's planning a welcome home party and busy searching out crepe paper to make decorations with.”

Peggy gave a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness she's not brooding. Though when they'll be back goodness only knows.”

“How bad is Mr Van de Naude?”

“The telegram didn't say. Just said he'd had a heart attack and gave the address of the hospital. Nothing else.”

“Mrs Van de Naude will be there in another few hours,” I said comfortingly. “She said she would telephone Ian the minute she gets there. We'll know this evening how he is.”

“Oh no,” Peggy looked at me in surprise. “ She hasn't gone to London!”

I let the pages of the directory fall shut and stared at her.

“Not gone to London? What do you mean? Of course she's gone to London.…”

“No,” Peggy said. “ She's gone to stand in for him at the summit meeting. She's gone to Lusaka!”

It was nine o'clock before Ian Lyall returned to the villa, and I wasn't in the best of moods. I had found the hotel Max was staying at easy enough, but had been unable to speak to him. Senor Wyndham was not in. No, they did not know when Senor Wyndham would return. Yes, they would leave a message. I had stayed downstairs near the telephone, fortified by vodka and tonic and still the phone hadn't rung. As the Audi had not returned I could only assume he was still with Leonie. The thought seared like a knife.

I jumped when there came the sound of a distant closing door, waiting for the sound of high heels in a mixture of dread and hope. But the footsteps were the heavy steps of a man. Seconds later the salon door opened and Ian Lyall said briefly: “Where's Helena?”

“Lusaka.”

“Lusaka!” he stared at me rigid with shock.

“Mr Van de Naude has had a heart attack. A cable came this afternoon. As he won't be able to attend the conference she has gone in his place.”

“
She's what!
” he said disbelievingly.

“She's gone to Lusaka,” I repeated again.

He strode towards the telephone. I said: “ She told me to tell you she would ring the minute she could.”

“She'll never get a line through!” he was talking to himself more than to me: “Of all times to have a bloody heart attack! Now! Only days away from the conference!”

I rose to my feet and as I left the room I heard him asking tautly for a person to person call with David Katjavivi in London.

Sick with suspense I paced the floor of my room, waiting to hear the ringing of the telephone that could mean Max. Once or twice I went in to look at Danielle. She was sleeping soundly, her arms tightly around Mr Sam, her teddy-bear. Emmeline, resplendent in starched gingham and frills, had been relegated to a chair. Danielle, it seemed, had a loyal heart.

I tucked the covers over her shoulders and went back to my fruitless wait. At eleven o'clock, unable to bear it any longer, I went back downstairs. The salon was empty, but the light from Helena's study flooded out onto the terrace and there was the dim murmur of a voice. Ian was either talking to Mario or telephoning. Nervously I picked up the receiver and dialled the number of the Illa d'Orr.

“I'm sorry, madam. Senor Wyndham is not in his room. Yes, I will leave a message.…”

I walked over to the French windows, staring out over the tops of the pines to the silk-black of the sea. Around a distant headland a line of pale foam gleamed luminously in the moonlight.

Mario said suddenly from behind me: “ Would you like a coffee?”

“Thank you, Mario. That would be lovely.”

He left the room, returning minutes later with a steaming jug of sweet smelling coffee and two cups.

“You are very restless tonight?”

“I'm waiting for a telephone call.”

“From Mrs Van de Naude?”

“No. A friend.”

The telephone rang shrilly, and I jumped, sending scalding coffee splashing over my knees. As Mario leapt forward with a handkerchief I grabbed at it. An impersonal voice said in Spanish: “I have a telegram for you.”

Fighting crushing disappointment I handed the receiver to Mario. He scribbled the message down, frowning.

“Is it bad news?” I asked fearfully.

He shook his head. “It's from Mr Van de Naude. He wants Ian to fly out to him immediately,” and he hurried out of the room and along to the study.

It was three o'clock when I woke stiff and cramped on the sofa. Through the still open windows the sea whispered faintly, the house around me uncomfortably silent. With a last, bitter look at the dark shape of the telephone I padded softly up the stairs to my room.

The next morning there was no Ian, and no Leonie. Striving to keep my voice uninterested I asked Peggy if she was in. Peggy, never one to hide her feelings where Leonie was concerned, said spiritedly: