Home through the Dark (21 page)

“Thank you,” I said humbly and followed her into the vast first-floor drawing room overlooking the park. She was a charming woman, rather plump now and in her late sixties but still with the unassailable chic of the true Frenchwoman.

“
Eh bien,
” she said, when the pert little maid had brought in a tray of coffee. “Tell me about Etienne.”

So once again I went through the outlines of the story, of how I had first heard of the kidnapping and how it was through Suzanne that I too had learned of the victim's identity.

“I hope you will forgive a foolish old woman her pride,” Madame said ruefully, passing me a delicate bone china cup and saucer. “I could not bring myself to tell even my closest friends of the true position.”

“Of course we understand,” I said gently.

“And now of course we must go to his assistance.” Her eyes clouded and I knew achingly that she was preparing, because she would admit of no choice, to go back to a life of uncertainty and intermittent assault with Etienne concealed once more on the premises. And I thought how hard it was to equate the different parts that made up this man: the ruthless drug pusher, Suzanne's passionate lover, the laughing voice that had spoken to me through the locked door and the heartless, bullying son.

Carl said quietly, “Will it be possible for us to get into the theatre, Ginnie? Surely it will be locked up, being Sunday?”

“Yes, they have a day's break after the last night of a production before they really get under way with rehearsals for the next one. However, the caretaker has a key and he knows me.”

He glanced at his watch. “What time did you say Rachel takes his meals?”

“About midday and again at six.”

“It's eleven now. We haven't a hope of being there for his lunch, which means we must wait for the evening meal. I've a pair of wire cutters in the boot, so if she hasn't got the padlock key with her we should still be able to free him quite easily. I've a torch as well. I can't think of anything else we might need.”

I shivered involuntarily and Carl's hand closed over mine. “Hang on, darling; it's nearly over now.”

Madame said worriedly, “I do not like to think of you putting yourselves in danger for my son. Perhaps after all the police –”

“No,” I said quickly, “it's better this way. Try not to worry.”

She said in a low voice, “If only he would return to France –”

“We'll certainly suggest it,” Carl said grimly. “After all this trouble, I feel it's the least he can do.”

She shrugged expressively. I leaned forward and replaced my cup and saucer on the tray, and Carl got to his feet. “We might as well be on our way.” He took her small plump hands in his. “
Soyez tranquille, madame, tout sera bien.
”

Her lips trembled as she reached up to kiss his cheek. “I shall pray for you,” she said simply.

Then we were in the car again and following the route I had taken so haphazardly four weeks earlier. There were quite a lot of cars about on this cold, sunny Sunday morning, but the holiday traffic of my earlier journey was past.

“In a way I'll be quite sorry to leave Westhampton,” I said reflectively. “I've made some good friends there.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Oh, by the way, they told me at the Kingston there was a telephone call for you this morning, a Mr. Sinclair. He didn't leave a message. I presume that would be Marcus?”

“Yes.”

Carl's eyes were on the road, narrowed against the sunshine. “Was there ever any point when you felt you might be able to – reciprocate his feelings?”

“Not really. He said himself it was a pity I was so hung-up on my husband.”

“Bless you for staying ‘hung-up,'” Carl said quietly, “and don't grieve too much for Westhampton. From what I hear, Roydstone Park sounds a similar kind of town.”

“How soon will we be moving?”

“Not until the spring, and of course
Richard
is looming in the meantime, but we can go up at weekends and get the feel of the place, perhaps start house-hunting. Once we get settled there I hope to do more television work, too. Yorkshire Television have approached me several times but I've been too involved down here to be able to accept anything. Though of course, it's the theatre up there which I'll be mainly concerned with. Just think of it, a theatre where we'll have a more or less free hand! In time we can build up a touring company, too. There's just no limit to the scope which will open up.”

“Carl, I've been thinking. I'm afraid I'll have to stay in Westhampton at least for this week. For one thing I'm working at the George and they're entitled to a week's notice. They're very short-handed at the moment. Then there's the flat. I'll have to arrange to sublet it or something. Mr. Henry will probably be able to help. And there are so many people I couldn't possibly miss saying goodbye to.”

“Far be it from me to try to deflect you from your principles, my love! I might not manage the whole week with you, but I'll stay as long as I can. Robert Harling is one of the reasons I ought to get back; he'll be signing in for rehearsals shortly. Let's hope none of this will reverberate on him. I'd be most loth to see my brand-new Clarence in clink! We've not far to go now. Will we be in time for lunch at the George? It would save you having to start cooking the minute we reach the flat.”

“We should be; they go on serving it till two. This is the spot where Etienne bumped into me, by the way.”

It was five minutes short of two as we drew up outside the George and hurried inside. Jane raised a hand as we passed the desk. We went straight through to the dining room but neither of us did full justice to the traditional Sunday lunch of roast beef. Now that we were back at the centre of the unresolved business which awaited completion, I was becoming more and more apprehensive of what lay ahead.

After the meal Carl went with me to Mrs. Baillie's room to hand in my notice. She expressed conventional regrets, but I was amused to see that she was far more interested in Carl, waiting patiently in the background.

“By the way, darling,” I said over my shoulder, “Mrs. Baillie would be undyingly grateful if you'd address a meeting of her Townswomen's Guild.” I smiled into her startled, slightly embarrassed eyes. “And I might as well confess, Mrs. Baillie, that Carl is my husband.”

“Really?” Her face broke into a delighted smile and her eyes dropped to the ring on my finger which Carl had firmly replaced the night before. “I did realize, of course, that you were married, but I must admit I never for one moment –” She broke off in confusion and we all laughed.

“I should be delighted to address your meeting, Mrs. Baillie,” Carl said easily, with the smooth charm which had enslaved so many, and we promised to fix a date before we left Westhampton.

By the time we had stopped the car outside the Beeches, Marcus was standing waiting for us. I went over to him, followed more slowly by Carl.

“Looking at your face,” Marcus said crisply, “I don't have to ask how things are. I phoned you at the hotel this morning but of course you weren't there. I can't say I was very surprised.”

“I have a feeling this is really goodbye,” he had said.

Carl had reached us now, and held out his hand. After a second's hesitation, Marcus took it. “I want to thank you very sincerely for your kindness to Ginnie,” Carl said quietly. “Your support has been a great comfort to her.”

I saw a muscle twitch in Marcus's temple and held my breath. “I'm glad of that,” he replied after a moment.

Carl smiled slightly. “And to answer your unspoken comment, I intend to take much better care of her myself in future.”

Marcus smiled and relaxed a little. “I'm delighted to hear it. Here's your key, Ginnie. I hope you explained the extreme propriety of our little arrangement, since I need to collect my pyjamas!”

“Oh, I did. Come in for a moment, anyway.” The emerald green carpet was back in place, as good as new.

“I collected it yesterday,” Marcus said, catching my delighted exclamation.

“Bless you, and you've laid it beautifully. We must settle up with you. I bet it was expensive.” I added to Carl, “I left the washing machine on one day and nearly flooded the place!”

He was looking about him with evident approval. “I haven't been allowed in here before. It's most attractive.”

“Look at this,” I said proudly, opening the drawing-room door. The browns and golds of furniture and brocade lay bathed in the rich light of the afternoon sun.

“Perfect! We must have a room like this in Yorkshire!” He told Marcus of the proposed move and we all talked together for a few minutes. Then Marcus said a little diffidently,

“There's one thing I have to ask. Is all the – danger over now?”

Carl glanced across at me. “Not quite.”

“Is there anything at all I can do?”

“I think we at least owe him a full explanation, don't you, Ginnie?” I nodded and as briefly as possible Carl sketched in the details. Marcus of course already knew of the Picardy Hotel, the watchers in the park and the theatre connection. I saw him nod slowly as the last points fell neatly into place.

“I'd better go along with you this evening,” he said quietly.

Carl hesitated. “We've no right to expect that.”

“You didn't expect it. Of course, the best thing would be for Ginnie to remain safely here, but I know she'd never agree to that.”

“I certainly wouldn't. In any case, Bert wouldn't give you the key, nor would you know how to find the right room once you got inside.”

“If you mean it, Marcus, I'd be very grateful for you to come along. We might well need all the help we can get.”

“Fine. What time will you be leaving here?”

“About five-thirty – in an hour and a half.”

“Right, I'll come back then.”

By the time he returned I had changed into a dark sweater and trews, which I felt would merge with the shadows under the stage. With dry mouth and painfully beating heart I followed the other two out of the flat and pulled the door shut behind me. There was no turning back now. The sunset was fading from the sky as we drove through the quiet streets and the first lamps were coming on. “Only another fortnight till summertime ends,” Marcus remarked. For what was probably the last time, we drew up in my usual parking place and locked the car. If luck was with us, we should be back here in about half an hour with Etienne safely beside us. Through the alleyway, ghostly in the twilight, we went and out into Phoenix Street. Beyond the lamp at the corner, the cobbled mews lay in shadows, its windows giving back the last lurid glow in the sky. With Marcus and Carl at my side, I knocked on the door of Bert's flat and he came to answer it in slippered feet.

“Ah, 'tis you, Miss Durrell. Would you be wanting the key again?”

“Please, Bert. I'll drop it through your letterbox when we've finished with it.” He nodded and touched his forehead to the two men in a quaintly old-world gesture. Silently we walked across to the door. Carl unlocked it and we followed him in and pulled it gently shut again. My heart was beating high in my throat now, ears straining for any sound which might indicate Rachel was there before us. There was none.

Carl switched on the torch and with his hand gripping mine we went up the steep stairs and along the tunnel of its light down the dark passage, Marcus right behind us. Never before had I been so painfully aware of the creaking boards beneath our feet. Three people undeniably made three times as much noise, however softly they moved. Round the corner, past the flight of steps leading upwards into the darkness and along the last few yards. I felt the skin tighten in anticipation all over my body and in the same moment gave a low, involuntary cry. We had rounded the last corner into the short passage ending in the dirty-paned window. On our right was the door through which I had spoken to Etienne – and it stood open.

I heard Carl's muttered exclamation, then he reached past me and, caution forgotten, flicked on the light. We all stood blinking in the sudden brightness at the empty room before us. There was no window in this inside room. The old trolley was in its place just inside the door, a rickety chair beside it, and a rusty bedstead was propped against the far wall. There was no sign whatever of recent habitation, nothing at all that could give us any clue about the prisoner who had been held here so lately. I felt their doubt, caught their exchanged glances.

“You're sure this was the room, Ginnie?”

“Of course I'm sure. Rachel must have known I knew what those dishes were. They've moved him somewhere else and we're back to square one, with not a shred of evidence to prove he was ever here.” My voice cracked with disappointment.

“Well, there's not much to be gained here,” Marcus said briskly, “and I don't mind admitting this place gives me the creeps. If they've moved him he won't be in this building at all, that's clear, so let's get out and decide what to do next.”

I felt incapable of further thought, bowed down by a sense of anticlimax. Silently we retraced our steps along the passages, down the stairs and out into the mews. Spiritlessly I dropped the key through Bert's lopsided letterbox and, still in dejected silence, we walked back to the car.

“Any ideas, Ginnie?” Carl asked at last. “You know them all better than we do. What are they most likely to have done with him?”

“I can't imagine,” I said hopelessly. Having counted on the whole thing being settled tonight, I was still numb with disappointment.

“Come on now, think. Where might they have taken him?”

“I don't know, I tell you.”

We were standing grouped round the car, shivering a little with the aftermath of excitement and the chilly evening air.

“You reckon only the Derbyshires and Laurence were in on it?”