Night Without Stars (35 page)

She flushed. “He's right, I suppose.”

“He's
wrong
.”

She looked out of the window, shook her head as if to get the tears out of her eyes.

I said: “ The instability's been in the people you've loved. Isn't that the truth?
Nothing else
at all.”

She searched my face for a minute. “I don't know. I never have known.”

“Well, now's the time to put it to the test.”

She said with a sort of wretched determination: “Yesterday you hated me.”

“… Yesterday I was nearly as jealous of Charles as he is of me.”

She tried to smile, but it was a failure.

I said: “Listen, dear Alix. Listen to me.” But then I couldn't get any more out. I swallowed to clear my throat but it didn't help.

We stared at each other for a minute.
She said: “I love you, Giles. And I want to cry.”
“Not here. Come on.” I put out a rather shaky hand to her.
“Where to?”
“Back to my hotel first. Have you your passport?”
“Yes.”
“Thank Heaven for that.”
She didn't move. “ But … are
you
quite sure again?”
I said: “ Dear God, and I might have caught that train.”

I took her back and rang up Maurice in Cagnes, asked if he could come over and pick us up. He said he could at nine. I told him it would be a long drive, but didn't say where. I didn't know myself yet. I wanted to be out of here as quickly as possible. It was a premonition. Alix had dark shadows under her eyes. It would be silly to underestimate what the break with Charles had cost her.

The people at the hotel accepted the change of plans phlegmatically enough. My room was not let, and I was welcome to use it, they said, until I left. A few minutes after we went up the phone rang. It gave me rather a shock, and if Alix had not been there I don't think I should have answered it. I went across with misgivings.

“Hullo?”

“Giles? This is John. I tried to get you earlier.”

“Confound you,” I said, “for an interfering fool.”

He sounded a bit taken aback. “You mean—about Deffand?”

“Of course.”

“My dear old boy, it wasn't of my seeking. He approached
me
. He was full of inquiries about you, wanted to know what sort of a reputation you had—all the rest. Apparently you'd been seen hanging round the Café des Fourmis. I told him no more than I could help.”

“Oh,” I said. “I'm sorry. You see, I naturally thought.… What's the trouble now?”

“Not trouble exactly. But I thought you might like to know. A fellow came in about five and told me that Bénat had given himself up to the police.”

Queer twist in my stomach. Alix was looking out over the balcony.

I said: “ On what—er—charge?”

“I don't know. You hadn't heard anything?”

“No. Nothing. Look, John, I'm leaving for England soon. If I don't have a chance to come round … Thank you for all your help.”

“Rather sudden, isn't it? Is everything all right?”

“Quite, thanks. You know I'd been intending to leave.”

“Ye-es. What's happened about Bénat's sister?”

“I'll write you from England, John,” I said.

As I put down the receiver she turned. “That was John Chapel, the man from the British Consulate. You've heard me speak of him.”

Something in my tone made her look at me quickly, but she didn't speak. Over supper we tried to be normal, matter-of-fact, to discuss the details of a journey that wasn't properly decided yet. I felt no triumph, no satisfaction over the news from John—rather a discomfort, as if I was partly in the wrong, as if some good had gone to waste, some rich talent squandered in a world of poverty.

Abruptly I said: “How did you leave Charles? Or would you rather not talk about it?”

She fumbled with a piece of bread. “Sometime I'll tell you—not now. It was—awful I said … All the same it's like losing—some last link. With the past, you understand.”

“… Did you tell him you were coming to me?”

“I think he thought it.… Giles, why would you not give him away?”

I shook my head. “I don't quite know. It all seems out of focus now.”

But was it? I thought. Some grains of truth in all the nonsense, some sting in his pride that spread its poison, and would not be pulled out.… The last glance he'd given me had seemed to come out of the darkness of his spirit.

I looked up and found her watching me. She smiled with her eyes. No, I thought she's the cause, what she said to him, her action in leaving him for good. The break would tear both ways.

Anyway, whatever brought him to do what he had done, it was something to feel that he could make no further move to separate us now.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I like that frock.”

“You like all my frocks. I don't believe you are very discriminating, Giles.”

“Well, I always give you a reason. I like that because it reminds me somehow of our meetings last year.”

“I had it last year. Now it's too short. But I felt—when I left …”

While she was speaking a monstrous suspicion came into my mind. Charles couldn't separate us, but Deffand might. In a second the suspicion got out of hand. Was this Charles's way of taking up my challenge? Suppose he agreed he could not accept his liberty from me—and so gave himself up,
because
by so doing he could take Alix away from me again. Confession to Deffand—bringing in Alix—anything was on the cards—even a confession to last year's murder. Nothing was impossible in a certain mood.…

“Sorry,” I said, in a cold sweat. “I've just remembered I—have to phone.”

I ran up the stairs, got to the bedroom, and tried to think. Marseilles. I rang up the airport at Marseilles. It took a few minutes and then a few more before getting through to the right official.

“No, m'sieu, I regret there is no plane leaving for England before fourteen hours to-morrow.”

“None in the morning?”

“No, m'sieu.”

“Is there any leaving for Gibraltar or Malta—or Cyprus?”

“… There is one leaving for Cyprus at thirteen hours.”

I chewed my bottom lip. “Can you offer me
nothing
better than that at all?”

There was a slight hesitation. “We have an Iraqi Airways private charter in from Baghdad, Nicosia, Athens. It will be leaving at six in the morning for London, but I don't think there are seats.…”

Something in the voice made me say: “For a consideration …” “Well.… I will see what I can do. Two seats, m'sieu. Be at the

airport by five-fifteen.…”
When Alix came in I was on the balcony.
“… Is there something the matter?”
“Yes, everything's the matter. I've got what I came for. Now I

want to take it home.”
She came and stood beside me. “ Have patience, darling. I'm

coming.”
We held hands almost without knowing it. The evening was

cooling. There had been great banks of cloud over the city during

the afternoon.
She said: “Have you decided how we must go?”
“Yes. Marseilles, I think.”
She looked at her watch. “The car should be here in half an

hour.”
We didn't talk much then, but I think I prayed.
She said: “I have no clothes, no money.…”
“Do be sensible.”
She said: “Is this our car? It looks.…”
A car had stopped outside the hotel and a man got out. It was

Maurice.…
On the way out of the hotel I said good-bye to the proprietor,

told him we were leaving for Monte Carlo. Maurice came towards

us with a smile and a bow, apologising for being early.
A big car came quickly round the corner from the lower end,

accelerated towards us, seemed about to stop, then passed on. I

let out a slow breath of relief. But there would be no proper relief

for many hours yet. Not till after six to-morrow morning.
At the door of the car Alix paused, looked at me with a little

turn of the lips, then round at the street, the houses, the shops,

and the sky. She took a deep breath, as if filling her lungs with it.

Then she got in. I followed her.
Maurice lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. “ I don't

think it will rain after all,” he said. “ The stars are coming out.”

First published in 1950 by Hodder & Stoughton

This edition published 2013 by Bello
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world

www.panmacmillan.co.uk/bello

ISBN 978-1-4472-5452-2 EPUB
ISBN 978-1-4472-5451-5 POD

Copyright © Winston Graham, 1950

The right of Winston Graham to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted in accordance
with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders of the material
reproduced in this book. If any have been inadvertently overlooked, the publisher
will be pleased to make restitution at the earliest opportunity.

You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise
make available this publication ( or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
(electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise),
without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does
any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to
criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The Macmillan Group has no responsibility for the information provided by
any author websites whose address you obtain from this book (‘author websites').
The inclusion of author website addresses in this book does not constitute
an endorsement by or association with us of such sites or the content,
products, advertising or other materials presented on such sites.

This book remains true to the original in every way. Some aspects may appear
out-of-date to modern-day readers. Bello makes no apology for this, as to retrospectively
change any content would be anachronistic and undermine the authenticity of the original.
Bello has no responsibility for the content of the material in this book. The opinions
expressed are those of the author and do not constitute an endorsement by,
or association with, us of the characterization and content.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Visit
www.panmacmillan.com
to read more about all our books
and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and
news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters
so that you're always first to hear about our new releases.