Vengeance in the Sun (10 page)

“Juanita's on the Parade Maritime.”

“I'll meet you there at three. By the way, could you ask Peggy if she has a photograph of Janet Grey?”

“A what?”

“You heard,” he said good naturedly. “ There's no need to tell anyone else I want it.”

“But I can't just ask for a photograph of a dead girl without a reason!” I protested.

“Say you want it for Danielle. Say anything.”

“But why do you want it?”

“Meet me at three and I'll tell you,” he said tantalisingly. “Bye.”

Puzzled I went back into the dining-room. Ian had already taken his coffee out onto the terrace and I was left in peace. When I had finished my lunch I strolled into the kitchen.

“I wonder if you would do me a favour, Peggy?”

“Of course, love. What is it?”

“I wondered if perhaps you had a photograph of Janet that I could borrow?”

“Well now, let me see. There was the time we both went to Can Pastilla. I took some photographs that day. I'll just go and have a look for them. Would you mind keeping an eye on my mayonnaise?”

I stirred the mayonnaise, thankful for Peggy's uncomplicated nature. She bustled back into the kitchen slightly out of breath.

“Here it is. Whole lot of them. That's one of me on the beach, and that's Janet outside the shop where we bought some pottery.”

The face that looked back at me from the photograph was half smiling, the eyes steady and firm. Her hair was fair, worn casually at jaw length, the ends flicking up wispily. It was a pleasant, dependable face. I knew as I looked at it, that I would have liked Janet Grey.

Peggy's eyes were moist. “ Pretty girl she was. Ever so good-natured.…”

I said hastily: “Thanks a lot, Peggy. I'm taking Danny to have her hair cut this afternoon, we should be back about six.”

With the photograph safely in my hand I went back to my room, putting it in my shoulder bag before looking for Danielle. She was in the garage with Mario, sitting on an upturned petrol can and chatting to him as he investigated the insides of his car.

“Is it because it's an old car that you love it?” she was asking interestedly. “ Mr Sam, my teddy-bear, is dreadfully old. Years and years, and I love him as well. Mummy says we should throw him away, that if she washed him he would fall to pieces, but I won't let her. Does she say that about your car?”

“She does say it's falling to pieces,” Mario admitted with a grin.

Danielle saw me and jumped to her feet. “ Goody, is it time to go to the hairdresser? I'm going to a
proper
ladies' hairdresser,” she said proudly to Mario.

He laughed. “ Don't come back blonde like Miss Blanchard, will you?”

“Silly,” Danielle giggled. “ Your hair only goes that colour when you're
old
!”

“Don't let Miss Blanchard hear you say that,” Mario called after her as she skipped along by my side.

“Steve is meeting us after you have had your hair cut,” I said, bundling her into the car.

“That's nice,” she said in a voice of intense satisfaction. “I like Steve. Will he have some candy?”

“You don't like people just because they give you sweets,” I said chidingly.

“I don't. I like him because he makes me laugh and he carries me on his shoulder and gives me swings.”

“That's all right then.”

“I sat at the top of the stairs last night and watched some of the party.”

“Then you shouldn't have. You should have been tucked up in bed.”

“But I wanted to see people and Mario sneaked me some trifle and cake and lemonade and sat with me and told me who people were. I had my dressing-gown on,” she added defensively.

I smiled. “ You win. Did you enjoy it?”

“I thought you looked
super.
Mario said you looked super too.”

“Thank you,” I said gravely.

“I saw the film star lady as well. She's ever so beautiful. More beautiful than Miss Blanchard. I think I'd like to be a film star when I grow up and wear pretty clothes and have a famous husband. That lady's husband is
very
famous. Mario said so. Mario said he was
brilliant
.”

I decided it was time to change the subject.

“How do you want your hair cutting? Your mummy said you could have it how you wanted as long as you had your fringe short.”

“I wish my hair was curly,” she said with a sigh. “ Curly hair is very pretty.”

“Straight hair can be pretty too.”

Danielle brightened. “Janet had straight hair and
hers
was pretty.…”

Janet. Janet. It was like being followed by a ghost. I wondered what Steve wanted with her photograph. From the suppressed excitement in his voice, it was more than just idle curiosity. I glanced at my watch. Half one. Another hour and a half and I would know. Whatever it was, I hoped it would be something that would take my mind off Max.…

There was no sign of him when we arrived, but when we came out half an hour later he was leaning against the bonnet of his car.

“Hello, little one,” he said, taking hold of Danielle's hand. “You look rather special.”

“I've had my hair cut. Do you like it?”

“It looks great. How about an ice-cream?”

“Oooh,
super
.…”

“Don't you ever think of anything else but eating?” I asked him.

“Sometimes,” he said with a meaningful grin. “Did you bring what I asked for?”

“Yes, but it's a little difficult at the moment,” I indicated Danielle.

“Don't worry. There's plenty of time.”

We began to stroll down the sunlit street, “Have you seen anything of Katjavivi this morning?”

“No. He and John Van de Naude flew to London at lunchtime.”

“
London?
” Steve stared at me. “I thought they were going to Lusaka, and not until the end of the week?”

“I know. Apparently they are meeting what Helena calls the rest of the support committee in London first and flying on to Lusaka from there. Why did you want to see Janet Grey's photograph?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I wanted to show it to a friend of mine.”

“But why?”

“There's a paper seller outside the Ria Square flats. He's there from early morning to late night. He says a powder-blue Cadillac used to park outside the flats regularly.”

“I don't understand. Why were you asking the paper seller about the car?”

He shrugged. “Call it instinct. Whatever it was, it paid dividends. He also remembered the guy who drove it. He remembered him because of his hair.”

I stopped dead, staring at him. “ What about his hair?”

“It was red, interesting don't you think?”

“Red?” I repeated disbelievingly. “Are you trying to tell me it was
Ian Lyall
driving that car?”

“No. You saw the driver and you said he was dark. It couldn't have been Lyall.”

“Well then.…”

“But it does make me think Ian Lyall knows more about things than he's letting on.”

“I'm sorry, Steve. None of this is making sense to me.”

“It's not making much to me,” he said grimly. “But it will. Given time.”

“Why do you want to show the paper seller Janet's photograph?”

“Instinct again.…”

Despite the sun I felt suddenly cold. “You think it was
Ian
Janet was meeting?”

“I don't know. What I
do
know, is that Janet Grey died in Ria Square and that Lyall has been very silent about the fact that he was and is a visitor there. I know something else as well.”

“What?” I asked, the nerves tightening unpleasantly in my stomach.

He shook his head. “ Later. After I've shown Pedro the photograph.”

Danielle was hopping on and off the kerb as cars and taxis hurtled by. I hurried forward and took her hand.

“We can't
all
go.”

Steve looked at Danielle. “No, perhaps not. What about you two going for an ice-cream somewhere. I shouldn't be more than half an hour, I'll meet you back at the car.”

He gave my hand a tight squeeze and then turned back, striding rapidly through throngs of strolling tourists. Danielle stared after him disappointed.

“He didn't stay very long, did he?” she asked, her mouth pouting a little.

“He's coming back in a little while. Would you like that ice-cream?”

“Ooh yes,” she said, her face brightening immediately. “Can I have one with chocolate on please?”

“Yes,” I said, wishing my own worries could be so easily forgotten.

What Steve was suggesting was unthinkable. The paper seller had made a mistake. He must see hundreds of people. It wasn't possible that he would remember one car and one driver. I persuaded Danielle to sit down at a street cafe and have a lemonade with her ice-cream, so that I could have a welcome cup of coffee. The heat was beating up from the pavement in stifling waves and I already had the beginning of a headache. I drank the coffee, convincing myself that Steve was on a wild goose chase. A dark shadow fell across the table, I looked up, expecting to see him, and Max said: “ Feeling in a more reasonable mood today?” His voice was tight, as if he were exercising great self control in keeping his temper. He took off his sunglasses and straddled an opposite chair. A nerve twitched at the side of his jaw, and even beneath his tan I could see he was unusually pale.

“No,” I said, struggling to control my voice. “Is there any reason why I should?”

“You'd try the patience of a saint, Brat.”

“You hardly fall into that category!”

His eyes held mine. “No. But I've done nothing to deserve this sort of behaviour.”

Danielle was listening with interest.

“Are you going to marry this boyfriend of yours?”

“What I do in the future is my own affair.…”

“
Are you going to marry him?
”

“Yes,” I lied, wanting to hurt him as he had hurt me.

He stood up abruptly. “Then there's nothing more to be said, but I'm damned if I'll wish you every happiness!”

I stared at him, at the anguish in his eyes, the bitter lines of his mouth.

“Max … I said uncertainly, then with growing conviction. “ Max!”

But he was already striding away down the crowded sidewalk. Grasping a protesting Danielle by the hand, I hastily left some coins on the table and raced after him. The jostling tourists surged between us like a flood.

“Max!” I shouted. “
Max
!” but the noise of the traffic and laughing, chattering holiday makers that thronged around me, drowned my voice.

He stepped free of the crowds, crossing the road with rapid strides and scant regard for traffic. Tightening my hold on Danielle's hand I prepared to follow. A lorry surged past, forcing me back on the pavement, and when it had gone, Max was already on the far side of the road. I took a deep breath, my mouth framing his name, the sound dying on my lips.

A familiar red Audi was parked at the opposite kerb. Leonie's blonde head laughed provocatively up at him as he slid in beside her. Her hands tightened on the wheel and with a surge of dust the car swung out into the main stream of traffic.

“I didn't know you knew Miss Blanchard's new boyfriend?” Danielle said solemnly.

“Neither did I,” I said bleakly. “ Until a few minutes ago.”

“I wonder where his friends are? I'd like to see the film star lady again
and
her husband. He was nice. He sneaked upstairs to talk to me when I was sitting on the landing. He comes from Russia. That's nearly as far away as Africa!”

“Yes,” I said, still staring down the crowded street, the Audi no longer in sight. “ He would do. Fedor likes children.”

“Mummy was awfully cross with Miss Blanchard for bringing her boyfriend to the party. I heard her saying that in the circumstances she should have told us who it was she was bringing. What do you think she meant by circumstances?”

“I really don't know, Danny. You listen to other people's conversations too much. It isn't polite.”

“But it's the only way I get to
know
anything,” Danielle said practically. “ Mario said it was because of you. That you were going to marry him and that you changed your mind. Is that true?”

“Yes … no.…”

“Gosh, I think you were awfully silly.
I'd
have married him. Do you think Miss Blanchard will marry him now that you won't?”

“Not,” I said with frightening intensity. “ If I can help it!”

She skipped along beside me, holding my hand and chattering, but I was no longer listening. I had to find out where Max was staying. I had to see him. Somehow I had to explain.

“Look, there's Steve!” Danielle called out happily. “
And
he's got a doll. Do you think it's for me?” and she darted towards him. He swung her up in his arms and gave her a hug before setting her on her feet and giving her an old-fashioned rag doll.

“Ooh, isn't she lovely?” Danielle was squealing. “ Thank you
ever
so much. I shall call her Emmeline. She looks like an Emmeline, doesn't she?”

“If you say so.” Steve took my hand. His eyes met mine, grimly triumphant and I was aware of a sickening sensation deep in the pit of my stomach. He said, lowering his voice: “ The paper seller says he saw her visit the flats twice. Once with the red-haired man. Once on the day of her death.”

“But that doesn't make any difference to the way she died. Ian wasn't there then!”

“To the best of my knowledge Ian Lyall has never admitted
ever
going to the Ria Square flats.”

I thought back over the scraps of conversation I had had with Peggy. It was true. Ian's name had never been mentioned, and Peggy wasn't one to leave a detail like that out.