Night Without Stars (31 page)

At ten-thirty I smoked my last cigarette, but now my nerve was gone and I didn't go out for more. Now it might come any time. But it didn't come.

Watch the clock round to eleven-fifteen. A great temptation to ring her up, but silly to get in a panic for a quarter of an hour. Mustn't look as if I didn't trust her. Probably Charles was late getting home. If he drove up from Toulon he might not get there before lunch. Or something had delayed him.

At eleven-thirty I phoned down for some cigarettes and checked up that no call had come for me. There hadn't been one. The porter brought the cigarettes. They were a particularly poisonous brand, but I don't think it would have made much difference if they'd been brown paper.

At a quarter to twelve the phone tried to ring, but I had it off before it properly got going.

“Is that you, Giles?”

“Yes, is that—” I stopped.

“This is Claire, darling. How nice of you to answer so promptly.”

I said: “ Oh, hullo.”

“How are you? We haven't seen
anything
of you for nearly a fortnight. It's neglectful, dear boy. Have you been enjoying yourself so much?”

I said: “I'm frightfully sorry, Claire. I wouldn't call it enjoying myself altogether.…”

“Anything we could help you in?”

“Well … no, I don't think so. It's kind of you to offer. How's Walter?”

“Rather hurt about his new car. It's got a gadget missing or something. We were wondering if you'd like to come on Sunday again. Nothing grand this time. Just ourselves and a few family friends.”

“It's
very
nice of you. I don't think I can manage this Sunday. Next perhaps. Could I ring you in a day or two?”

“Do. Of course.” She went on and on. I knew Claire. Normally a reasonable talker, the sight of a telephone did things to her so that she never knew how to end a conversation and ring off. This morning it took me ten minutes by the clock to get away without offending her deeply. The second she'd gone I picked up the phone again and asked the hotel operator to get me the number of the Villa Lavandou.

I thought, what's wrong? It's midday now.

The bell went.

“Hullo.”

“You're through.”

“Villa Lavandou?”

“Yes, m'sieu.” It was the manservant.

“M. Gordon here. I want to speak to Mme. Delaisse.”

“I'm sorry, m'sieu, Mme. Delaisse is out.”

“Out? Can you tell me where she's gone?”

“No, m'sieu. She went out half an hour ago. But we're expecting her for lunch.”

“Oh.… I see. Is M. Bénat back?”

“Yes, m'sieu. I don't know if he is in the house at the moment. D'you wish to speak to him?”

“No. It doesn't matter, thank you.”

I rang off. Perhaps she was coming down to see me; that seemed the most likely thing. But they were expecting her back to lunch. I hadn't wanted to speak to Bénat until I heard from her. Wait. Have patience. Take a cigarette, just for a change; or write to Cousin Lewis. If you can't concentrate on that, at least write a cheque for your hotel bill. Wait. They also serve.

She might be here any minute. “ Don't let me go,” she'd said. I should have held her to that, made her spend the night at some place in Nice, kept a close hold on her. The change was too sudden. She'd slipped back. Perhaps if I saw her again she'd look at me blankly, like a stranger, deny last night had ever happened. What the devil was I so jumpy for? In a minute she'd be here. Then I'd have to pretend confidence, as if I'd never doubted at all.

The phone rang.

Hullo,” I said.

“Giles Gordon?” said a man's voice.

“Yes.”

“This is Charles. Charles Bénat.”

“Yes. I thought so.”

“Alix asked me to ring you. We've had a long talk this morning. She explained what happened last night.”

“Oh, yes.” My throat was a bit dry.

“Frankly my first reactions weren't very favourable.”

“I'm not awfully surprised.”

“On principle I've nothing against you, Gordon. But I think the whole thing's been rather rushed, and I'm not satisfied she's as much in love with you as she thinks.”

“Isn't that for her to decide?”

“Ultimately, yes. But it's my duty to stop her plunging into another unfortunate marriage like the last. If you'd heard her talking about you even as recently as Monday you wouldn't have thought her likely to make you a suitable wife.”

A drop of extra poison. “ I'm willing to take the risk.”

“No doubt. The point is whether I'm willing to let you take it. Of course she's her own mistress, but I can raise certain obstacles. I'd like to talk the whole thing over with you.”

“Gladly.”

“You realise, I suppose, that she's not very—stable.”

“I realise she hasn't grown up in a stable world.”

“It's more than that. One doesn't like to say it, but … sudden impulses which sway her first this way and then that. It makes her difficult to rely on from one day to the next. You must have realised that yourself. Last year she almost admitted her love for you, this year she hated you. Now … well …”

I began to get hot. “Are you trying to tell me she's not in her right mind?”

“Don't be silly. You're not trying to understand. I want to talk this over in a quiet way.”

“Then we should meet.”

“I was going to suggest it. Preferably all three of us. What are you doing to-day?”

“Nothing.”

“Then, let me see, I've an appointment at … can you come up to the Villa Lavandou late this afternoon—say about six?”

“I can.”

“Very well, we'll talk it over then.…”

I said: “ Before you ring off I'd like a word with Alix.”

“She's not here. She asked me to ring for her.”

“All the same I'd like to speak to her.”

“My dear man, she's gone off somewhere in a huff. You'll see her, I promise you, when you come up. Well have it all out then.”

So with that I had to make do.

I went out and had an early lunch, thought of looking up John, but in the end decided against it. This was no day for the social call.

Charles's objections were quite natural. In fact they were less vehement than I'd expected. He objected, but in reasonable terms, and might yet possibly be won over. There was nothing in what he said I could jib at. Like a reasonable man he proposed a discussion between the three of us. I had nothing to fear from discussion. Then what was there to fear?

After lunch I took out the car. It was a smallish Pugeot of uncertain vintage. The engine was in quite good condition, but had a disagreeable habit of dying on you as soon as you declutched, and no amount of adjustment of the carburettor would cure it.

I drove along the Promenade des Anglais and chain-smoked and watched people bathing, but didn't feel in the mood for it myself. A man came past with the afternoon editions, and I bought a paper and glanced through it idly. There was nothing new and I dropped it on the seat, then sharply picked it up again as a small paragraph caught my eye.

It ran: “Villefranche Raid.”

“A well-known café in Villefranche was raided in the early hours of this morning by the police, acting on the instructions of the Service de Sûreté. Several arrests were made including, it is understood, one woman, who was a prominent member of the Resistance movement during the Occupation. Charges will be preferred against the arrested persons for illegal traffic in gold.”

There followed some stuff about the new drive which was being made against the black market, but I'd read enough. So some of my Villefranche friends were in trouble after all. It was a shock. Rather disturbing to-day of all days. In spite of Charles's self-confidence, Deffand had been able to make a move. I wished now I'd dropped a rather more obvious hint to Alix about it.

This raid had been last night—perhaps in progress while I was talking to Alix. Would Charles and Alix know? Obviously. But his self-confidence evidently remained. There'd been no hint of anxiety in his voice, and he was prepared to spend this evening arguing a domestic matter with Alix and me.

The development both complicated my case and made it more urgent. If Deffand was on the kill it was all the more important to get Alix away, however sure of himself Charles might be. Possibly all the strings were cut between the Café des Fourmis and the Villa Lavandou, but I didn't trust Deffand's long, thin nose.

By now it was getting too hot in the car, so I drove back to the hotel, had a shower, put on clean clothes, and brewed a cup of tea. One never really appreciates tea except on the Continent where it's hard to get. At five I was off.

On the way to Cagnes the car began to wander about the road, so I got out and found the off front tire nearly flat. It just took me to a garage, and I stopped and had the wheel changed. I was ahead of time, so let them repair the tire before going on. The garage was just in Cagnes, and I bought another paper to see if there was any later news, but it was the same paragraph about Villefranche. I was uneasy and could have wished it to happen any time but now.

The tire was mended and stuck in the boot. I got going again.

From Cagnes, gently climbing the green wooded slopes towards Vence. It was twenty minutes to six now, so I should be almost dead on time.

Through Vence and blanching off from the main road. The hairpin bends didn't seem so bad when you could see where you were going. Whatever happened I was no longer an invalid, a cripple, jogging along beside a French driver like a useless sack. That was what counted. Keep a sense of proportion.

Now the narrow bit, now another bend, now a slight drop in the road for a change. Across the other side of the valley among a bunch of trees were the chimneys and roofs of the Ville Lavandou. This bit of the road was nearly as bad as ever. They'd started repairing it and done about half and then left it.

But they hadn't altogether left it. As I got round the corner of the bluff I found about six workmen just giving up work and throwing a few things into a lorry.

The lorry was on the inside of the road and he wasn't as far in as he might have been, so I hooted and a man got into the lorry and drew it back a bit. Four of the others leaned on their spades to watch while a fifth, in blue trousers and a dirty singlet beckoned me languidly on.

I thought the chap in the lorry might have been a bit more obliging because he'd only gone in a foot, while he could easily have backed a couple of dozen yards to a wider part. Anyway, he lit the stub of a cigarette and sat waiting for me, so I went. I'd probably a good foot to spare but it felt about an inch and a half, with not being too sure of distance.

I got abreast of the lorry all right and could see my way clear, when I happened to glance at the lorry, which was on the blind side. For a second I thought I'd stalled my engine, but realised that in fact the lorry had started to back and was keeping level with me. My eyes flicked forward and I saw the back of the lorry was going to touch my wing.

I braked and yelled. The wooden side of the lorry grated, jarred, pushed. My car shivered. I pressed the horn, yelled again; a great jolt; my front wheel had slipped. I grabbed the door, thrust it open, couldn't get out for lorry. Jolt. Back wheel. The sky was turning, cliffs moving away. Lorry left behind. Get out of door. The door faced the sky as I got out, and the car fell away and I fell with it.

As it happened the drop beside the road was not a precipice but a slope covered with grassy stuff and trailing weeds. I stepped out of the car as it fell, just too late to catch at the broken parapet of the road and so slid down this slope clutching wildly at grass and weeds—which would not stop me, but made the rate of the slide pretty slow. Ahead the car rolled and crashed and then disappeared into silence. I, too, fell over the edge of something, and there was a horrifying instant before I landed in a hazel bush which ended the fall. Then came the last crash of the car a long way down.

After that for a bit there was no more noise except for the crying of a frightened bird.

We'll meet this afternoon at six, Bénat said, discuss the matter then. Alix will be there as well. Perfectly reasonable. Nothing one could object to. All the time instinct hanging out the flags. Ignore instinct. Behave as a civilised person in a civilised society. After all, Pierre might have been killed, but Pierre was a despicable traitor. He got what was coming. Not an English gentleman. Not Giles Gordon, whose only error was an outsize curiosity and a tendency to overrate his own charm.

Little Alix must be protected from her own sentimentality. She'd made a fool of herself over Jacques Delaisse in spite of her brother's objections. Wouldn't do to let it happen again. Alix was Charles's girl. Little Alix had always been there in the past, ever since memory began. Alix was a part of himself, a separate and at times exasperating person, yet tied by some post-natal cord—necessary to him and complementary. Little Alix must go to Dijon again while she got over her new infatuation.

Johnny had been right. Playing with fire. He might have needed his black tie after all. Might still …

In a rage I tried to get out of the hazel bush—and looked down about two hundred feet on to grey-green treetops.

The shock of being so near the edge made me draw back. There was something glinting a good way down: a window perhaps, or a door that had been smashed out. I thought, well the carburettor won't be a trouble on that car any more.

I didn't seem to be hurt. When I looked round I began to see how lucky I'd been. Just here the cliff was in a series of limestone buttresses, one below the other, a slope and then a drop, a slope and then a drop. I'd come gently down the first slope, come over the first drop, which was small, and there stuck. It was a good job because this next slope was steeper than the last and much barer. Only under the protection of the cliff, where the soil could lodge, was there this thick growth of weeds and small bushes. I thought, perhaps there's something in the idea of luck averaging out. Four years ago, when the shell burst, the full blast had caught me, while the two nearer men got away with it.…