Daughter of Riches (66 page)

‘He doesn't really treat me badly,' Debbie protested – however worried or upset she was she always stood up for Louis if someone else criticised him.

‘He does too! I wouldn't stand for it! I was beginning to think something very odd was going on, especially when that heavy came round threatening you. To be honest it wouldn't have surprised me to hear he'd just cleared off and left you.'

‘Oh Grace it's nothing like that! It's just that Louis is so busy and he doesn't think …'

‘I'd make sure he
did
think!' Grace said darkly. ‘ Now if Valentine treated
me
like that …'

Valentine, the titled gentleman, was still the love of Grace's life. Her short concentration period on a subject that did not directly concern her exhausted, Grace returned to a discussion about her own torrid lifestyle.

Debbie walked around her room at the Pomme d'Or, lifted the net curtain that covered the window and peered out at the street below.

She was beginning to be very anxious. She had been here for four hours now and not heard a word from Louis. She was hungry and longing for a drink – the alcoholic sort – but she was afraid to leave the room in case he telephoned while she was gone. Now, more than ever, she was longing for the sound of his voice to dispel the sense of puzzled apprehension that was making her more uneasy with every minute that ticked away.

Where the hell was he? Why hadn't he been in touch? And why was she here at the Pomme d'Or? The literature on the dressing table had confirmed what Debbie had already suspected; it was certainly not a Langlois Hotel – it belonged to another group entirely. So why had he told her to book in here? Surely it would have made more sense to use one of his own hotels, even if he hadn't felt able to invite her to his home? The sick feeling gnawing at Debbie's stomach told her all too clearly that it did not bode well. If Louis had intended to introduce her to his family and bring her to Jersey permanently then he was going about it in a pretty peculiar way. It was almost as if he had shoved her out of sight so that none of them should know she was here at all.

So why had he asked her to come over? Since he had first mentioned the visit over a week ago, it wasn't that he had been overtaken by a sudden irresistible longing to see her and anyway, if that was the case, why wasn't he here with her now? Where the hell
was
he?

Debbie boiled the kettle on the courtesy tray to make herself another cup of coffee. Damn – she'd used the last of the little sachets, either she would have to ask for some more or settle for tea – not her favourite drink. Debbie glanced at her watch, wondering if the bar was open yet and if it was if they would send her up a gin and tonic via room service. She picked up the telephone to enquire and almost jumped as it seemed to be answered by a knock on the door. She dumped the receiver and ran across the room, fumbling with the catch and opening the door.

‘Louis!'

She had known intuitively it was him the minute he knocked, as if he had somehow been clearly visible through the solid wood. He was wearing dark slacks and a leather bomber jacket over a striped shirt, casually open at the neck and her heart lurched as it always did when she saw him after a separation. She threw herself at him. Even in her stockinged feet (she had kicked off her high-heeled shoes) she was almost as tall as him yet because she was so slender she still managed to appear almost waif-like against his sturdy bulk.

‘Let me come in then!' There was a hint of impatience in his tone.

‘Oh Louis, I thought you were never coming! I was getting really worried.'

‘Why would I not come?'

‘I don't know.' Suddenly all her fears seemed too foolish to mention. ‘I've missed you so much … I was just longing to see you, I suppose.'

Her hand was in his, she was leading him, without even thinking about it, towards the bed, but there was no eagerness in Louis. He seemed almost preoccupied and Debbie sensed it suddenly.

‘What's wrong, Louis?'

‘What do you mean, Kitten?'

‘I don't know. You seem …' She broke off as he pulled her abruptly into his arms, kissing her, unbuttoning her shirt and sliding down the zip on her denim jeans. His hand moved over her breasts, behind and flat stomach, coming to rest in the soft tuft of hair between her legs and she began to forget her misgivings. It wasn't possible to think of anything else when Louis was loving her; he was so expert that he was able to bring her to peak after peak of delight, until she wanted him so much she was at screaming point. Then and only then did he undress himself, discarding his clothes in an untidy pile on the floor and making love to her so hard that the screams did come, and he stifled them with his hand pressed over her mouth while his body ground into hers. Afterwards he made love to her again, more slowly and sensuously, standing in the shower cabinet with the warm water cascading over them, their bodies slippery with shower gel. But when it was over he moved away from her in an almost businesslike manner and she realised her misgivings had not gone away, only lain dormant whilst her senses had taken over.

‘That was good, wasn't it?' she said, following him back into the bedroom and trying to recapture the mood of a few moments ago.

‘Yes.' But his back was towards her as he towelled himself dry and he picked up his slacks and pulled them on without so much as a glance in her direction. ‘Why don't you put some clothes on, Kitten?'

Still totally nude she ran to him, throwing her arms around him. Her hair dripped a wet patch on to his shirt.

‘For goodness' sake, Kitten, you're insatiable! Give a man a chance! You've had it twice – what more do you want?'

I want you to act as if you love me, she wanted to say, but she knew she could not.

‘Besides, you're making my shirt wet.' He put her away from him with a firmness that was cold and oddly disconcerting. ‘Look, Kitten, I want to talk to you. There's something I want you to do for me.'

That was more like it. Anything … anything …

‘What?'

‘Do you remember telling me a story about Frank de Val?'

Debbie frowned. ‘Frank de Val?'

‘Come on, you must remember. He's a senator in the States, the island parliament. You were telling me about his perversions and how you'd met him at one of Simon Chambers' orgies.'

‘Oh him. Well I never met him exactly.'

‘But you did see him there?'

‘Well yes, but don't say ‘‘One of Simon Chambers' orgies” like that. It makes me sound a real little raver. I only ever went to one and that was by mistake. I got out as soon as I could without making an exhibition of myself – I told you that.'

‘But not before you'd seen Frank de Val.'

‘I suppose not. But why are we talking about him?'

‘I think that orgy could turn out to be the most profitable party you ever went to.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Look.' Louis towelled his hair dry and ran a comb through it. ‘I have plans for expanding the company to give Jersey a bit of real night life. The trouble is the laws are archaic – strictly for the birds. Imagine not allowing legalised gambling in an island awash with money! But they don't. And getting the law changed is an uphill struggle. To do it I need a friend inside the de Val.'

‘I'm sorry, I still don't understand.'

‘Come on, Debbie, use your brains! I'm quite sure now I can talk Frank de Val into coming down on my side and using his powers of persuasion on his friends in the States.'

‘How?'

‘Frank is a highly respected man. He has a reputation to protect. I don't suppose he'd like it to get out that he spends his free time cavorting about stark naked except for – what was it? – a frilly white apron and black stockings? It really wouldn't do much for his image, would it?'

‘You mean … blackmail?' Debbie was shocked.

‘Not a very nice word, that. But I suppose there's no point dressing it up in euphemisms, not just between ourselves. Blackmail – persuasion – whatever you call it, it comes to the same in the end. I get some help getting the law changed and Frank gets to keep his image as a fine upstanding senator.'

While he was talking Debbie had wrapped herself in a towel, sarong style. She stood holding it around her, hair dripping in wet stringy strands down her back, a shocked expression on her face. Her own life might not have been exemplary but Debbie had very definite ideas of what was right and wrong, and this was most certainly wrong. She didn't know Frank de Val as a person, and owed him no allegiance, but the thought of Louis using what she had told him to try to get his own way in direct opposition to the due processes of democracy struck her as being not only immoral but also repellent.

‘I think that is the most disgusting suggestion I ever heard in my life!' she said.

‘Really?' Louis's eyes were chips of blue ice, cold and hard. ‘And you don't think it's disgusting that a man entrusted with the duties of a senator should be behaving the way he does?'

‘Not really, no. I've seen people behave a good deal worse. It's not my scene but he wasn't doing anyone any harm and if it makes him happy … what's wrong with that?'

‘I wonder if the electorate of Jersey would see it like that. I'll bet they wouldn't! What electorate would? And they are the biggest load of hypocrites going over here.' He laughed suddenly. ‘ I wonder what they would say, for instance, if they knew that I had a German father? They hate the Germans, you know, because of the occupation during the war.'

Debbie blinked. ‘ Your father? But your father was Bernard Langlois!'

‘No, he wasn't. My father was a German, one of the occupying forces. My mother doesn't even know which one. She admitted as much to me. Rich, isn't it? That would be a wonderful scandal if it ever broke. But frankly it doesn't bother me too much. I'm not liked here anyway. I'm far too radical. So I have nothing to lose. Unlike some …'

‘Louis.'

He stood up, gripping her by the arms. ‘Look here, Kitten, I need Frank de Val's help and by God I mean to get it. I could have told him myself what I knew – the very fact I could describe his antics in such detail might have been enough. But then again it might not. I want impact. And you are going to give it to me. I'm going home to change now and then I want you to come with me to see him.'

‘Oh Louis, he wouldn't remember me! I was only there for a few minutes.'

‘It doesn't matter whether he remembers you or not,' Louis said. ‘He'll see a girl who looks just the type to have been there.'

‘What do you mean ‘‘just the type''?' Debbie demanded angrily.

‘Obviously a showgirl.'

‘I am not a showgirl!'

‘Model, then. I'm not going to split hairs. He'll see you and he'll know I'm not bluffing. I think we'll find Mr Frank de Val will co-operate.'

‘Louis, I don't know that I am going to do this!' Debbie said. ‘I don't like it one little bit.'

‘You mean you don't want to help me?'

‘It's not that. But it's …' She stopped, searching in vain for the word to describe the degradation she felt with Louis even suggesting she should behave in this fashion. ‘It's not a very nice thing to do,' she said lamely.

‘Business isn't always very nice.' His tone changed to one of cajoling. ‘You don't have to actually do anything. Just be there. I'll do all the talking. Now listen …'

‘No, Louis, I can't. I don't like it.'

His eyes blazed cold blue fire. For a moment she thought he was going to hit her. Then he turned away.

‘Well, if you won't you won't. I thought you, at least, would want to help me. After all, it's to your advantage too.'

‘I couldn't!'

‘I thought you liked the London house. I thought you would want to continue living there.'

She froze. What was he saying? He walked to the window, leaning on the sill, shoulders hunched. He looked oddly vulnerable suddenly.

‘I thought you might have realised, Kitten, that I have financial problems. I am owed quite a lot of money which I am not likely to get in a hurry and in turn I have considerable debts of my own. The man I owe it to is getting restless – and he is not a nice person to tangle with. I'd have thought you would have realised that.'

Debbie shivered. ‘The man who came to the house … was he …?'

‘One of his henchmen, yes. Quite honestly you are not safe there if George sends in the heavies. They are not fussy who they hurt. But in any case unless I can get things moving over here and make some money fast the London house is going to have to go. I can't afford to keep it on. So really, Kitten, the ball is in your court.'

Debbie swallowed. ‘Why not sell the house, Louis? You're hardly ever there any more. And I could move over here with you.'

‘No. I don't want that at the moment.' He saw the hurt look in her eyes and went quickly: ‘I'm living with my mother at La Grange. You wouldn't like it there at all. She can be a tartar. It's not what I want for my kitten. Now when I have some money it will be a different matter. I'll be able to buy a place of my own, move you over here, perhaps get married even. If I could make the hotels a viable proposition …'

But Debbie was no longer listening. In her excitement she did not stop to query the financial status of Langlois Leisure, or how Louis expected to benefit from changed legislation (even if his plan worked) in time to avert some imminent crisis. Least of all did she query Louis's sincerity. The magic words had been spoken – nothing else mattered.

In that moment Debbie would have gone to the ends of the earth for Louis – and he knew it.

Compared with Benny's the Jersey Lily Nightclub was a staid sort of place, ever-so-slightly faded and lacking in entertainment now the summer was over and the holidaymakers gone. At the height of the season the tables were much in demand at least until the cabaret was over and there were always some who would stay drinking as long as Jersey law allowed, but tonight, with a keen November wind buffeting the flags and the string of fairy lights along the front of the building, the place was almost empty.