Devil and the Deep Sea (18 page)

retrieve it. She said slowly, 'You—have not told him already?'

'Of course not.' Samma stared at her. 'What do you take me for? But

that little scene you played this afternoon could have had very

serious consequences and…'

'But you did not tell him that I tricked you?' Solange persisted. 'Why

not?'

'Because it's between the two of us,' Samma said crisply. 'Isn't it

enough to make Papa angry with me? You don't want him cross

with you as well.'

'But you want that,' Solange burst out. 'You hate me. You want me

to be sent away from here—away from Papa. Do you think I am a

fool—that I do not know this? You will always be jealous of me,

because Papa loves me more than you, so you want to see me sent

far away from Belmanoir.'

Samma felt a pang twist inside her. Roche had clearly not discussed

his plans for her future schooling with his only child.

She said gently, 'Solange, I promise you that nothing could be

further from the truth. Where on earth did you get the idea I wanted

you sent away?'

'I have always known it. First those others—and now you. They

wanted to come here—oh, you all want to come—but to be with

Papa, not with me. And, now that Papa has married you, you will

arrange for me to go away, so that you can have Papa all to

yourself'

Samma took the small, shaking hands in hers. She said quietly,

'Solange, who's been telling you this nonsense? Neither Papa nor I

have any intention of sending you away. I came here to look after

you. I've told you that.'

'Until you can persuade Papa to get rid of me.' Solange snatched her

hands away.

Samma gave her an even look. 'Well, you've certainly given me

sufficient cause,' she commented. 'But doesn't the fact that I haven't

complained to Papa about you prove that you're wrong, and that I'm

not
simply looking for chances to send you away?'

The uncertainty deepened. 'I—do not know.'

'Then set that devious little mind of yours to think
ing
about it,'

Samma advised. She got to her feet. 'And no more tricks.' She

smiled briefly, and walked to the door, aware that the gaze which

followed her held more bewilderment than hostility.

But this time I'm taking nothing for granted, Samma thought, as she

went to her own room. Especially when I still have Roche to face.

She had no real idea what she could say to him, or what he would

even want to hear from her. After her outburst that afternoon, she'd

half expected him to follow her, but she'd been left severely alone,

and not long after she'd heard his car leave, presumably to take him

to the casino.

And her hope that he might be home for dinner had proved a forlorn

one, too.

But, if nothing else, she had to convince Roche that he couldn't

send Solange away to school—show him how dependent the child

was on him. And if he cynically saw her arguments as a ploy to be

allowed to remain at Belmanoir herself after the agreed term, well,

that was a risk she would have to take, she thought achingly.

Elvire had said she was a fighter. Well, she would battle for

whatever tiny percentage of his life he was prepared to share with

her.

But when dawn streaked the sky, and the room next to hers

remained silent and empty, Samma realised with a sinking heart that

Roche might no longer be prepared to grant her even that little. And

there were tears on her face when she finally fell asleep.

Her head ached as she eventually made her way downstairs the

following morning. As she reached the foot of the stairs, she heard

the sound of voices coming from the dining-room.

Solange was sitting at the table, eating grapefruit, and Liliane

Duvalle occupied the seat opposite, pouring coffee.

'Ah, Madame Delacroix.' She got to her feet, smiling broadly as

Samma entered. 'You will forgive this informality, I know.

Mademoiselle Casson gave me the impression you would not be

joining us.'

Her eyes, Samma saw with distaste, were sharp with curiosity.

Clearly, it didn't take long for servants' gossip to reach Les Arbres,

she thought with resignation.

She said coolly, 'I can't imagine what made her think that.
Bonjour,

Solange.'

She received in response a wary look, and a murmured greeting.

Liliane Duvalle lowered her voice confidentially. 'I came as soon as

I heard of yesterday's little
contretemps.
I blame myself. I should

have told you about Solange's phobia about swimming and its

cause. It would have saved
la petite
a terrible ordeal.' She shook

her head. 'I have been telling her that clearly you meant well, even

though the outcome was unfortunate.'

'Thank you,' Samma said drily. She glanced at her stepdaughter.

'What do you say to that, Solange?'

There was a pause, then Solange said sullenly, 'It was a

misunderstanding. It was not Madame's fault. She was not to

blame.'

Liliane Duvalle looked frankly taken aback. 'But I understood . . .'

She stopped, then shrugged briefly. 'However, one should never

listen to foolish rumour. I am pleased to find you both so much in

accord.'

Samma poured herself some coffee, and sat down. 'How is your

research going?' she asked politely.

Liliane Duvalle threw up her hands. 'Slowly, I regret. I think my

book will be a life's work—a true labour of love. Every detail I find

out about
Le Diable
is so fascinating, I tend to linger over it.' She

gave a musical laugh. 'A fine thing for a historian to be in love with

her subject,
hein?'
She paused. 'But I forget the purpose of my visit.

I wondered whether
la petite
would care to spend the day with me

at Les Arbres.' She smiled at Samma. 'After all,
madame,
you are

still on your honeymoon. No doubt you would welcome a chance to

be relieved of your responsibilities as a stepmother, and be able to

devote an entire day to your husband.'

Samma said calmly, 'It's a kind thought, Madame Duvalle, but

Solange and I have plans of our own for today, haven't we,
cherie?'

She expected to be contradicted, and was resigned to it.

There was a silence, then Solange said slowly, 'Yes, we have plans.

I am—sorry, Tante Liliane.'

Liliane Duvalle shrugged, her smile undiminished.
'Qa ne fait rien.

I have been occupying myself by making some new clothes for your

beautiful doll,
mon enfant.
I thought we might have had a fashion

parade. But there will be other times.' She got to her feet, putting a

hand lightly on Solange's hair as she passed the child's chair. 'Your

new
belle-mere
takes her duties towards you very seriously,
petite.

I hope you are grateful.'

Solange muttered something ungracious and returned her attention

to her grapefruit.

The dining-room door swung open to admit Elvire, carrying a large

flat box tied up with ribbons...

She said, 'A messenger has just delivered this for you,
madame.'

'For me?' Samma's brows rose. 'But I wasn't expecting anything,'

'It is a wedding present,' Solange put in. 'Open it quickly,
madame.'

Samma complied, stripping away the ribbon ties, and lifting the lid

to reveal a mass of tissue. 'What in the world . . She delved among

the folds, and gasped. 'Oh, my goodness . . .'

It was a dress, a ripple of silk chiffon in creamy white, its halter

bodice frankly minimal, the full skirt misted with a subtle drift of

silver flowers.

Her wardrobe upstairs was full of beautiful things, but this was

different. It was flagrantly, dreamily romantic, the shimmering slide

of the material overtly sensuous as she touched it.

'It is a bridal gown,
non?'
Solange piped, putting out a reverent

hand. 'Are you and Papa not really married after all,
madame?'

Samma swallowed. 'Yes,' she said quietly. 'We are—really married,

Solange.' There was a tiny envelope in the box, and her hand shook

slightly as she reached for it, and extracted the card it contained.

It said simply, '
Forgive me—Roche.'

'Where did it come from?' Solange asked. 'Is it a present from

Papa?'

'Yes.' Samma's mouth was dry suddenly, her heart thudding

violently.

Solange gave a rapturous sigh. 'It is so beautiful. When will you

wear it? Will it be tonight?'

Tonight. The word seemed to sing in Samma's head with all kinds

of evocative promise.

She said softly. 'Yes—oh, yes.' And thought with a pang—If he is

here to wear it for .. . As she folded the dress back into its

protective coverings, the card slipped from her hand, and fluttered

to the floor. Samma bent to retrieve it, but Liliane Duvalle got there

first.

'Oh, la la!'
She darted a smiling glance at the message and then at

Samma. 'It must have been quite a sin to require such redemption.'

Samma felt a wave of colour sweep into her face. She was suddenly

all too aware of Elvire standing there, a silent witness.

She said swiftly, 'Not really. A—a tiff.' She held out her hand for

the card. 'I'll take the dress upstairs.'

'Permit me,
madame.'
Elvire took the box from her, her expression

impassive.

'You see, Tante Liliane,' Solange put in, 'we had our fashion parade,

after all!'

'So we did, although I am afraid you will find my poor efforts bear

no comparison to a
haute-couture
label.' Madame Duvalle gave

Samma a knowing look. 'To be mistress of Belmanoir has many

advantages,
madame,
as I am sure you are discovering.' She patted

Solange's cheek.
'A bientot, petite.'

Solange returned,
'Au revoir,'
but it was clear her attention was still

focused on the new dress. There was a slight wistfulness in her

expression, which was not lost on Samma.

When they were alone, she said, 'Why don't we go and look at your

clothes, Solange? And you can show me the ones you particularly

like.'

Solange frowned. 'Many of them do not fit me any more,' she said.

Samma examined a fleck on her nail. 'Then perhaps we should get

you some new ones,' she said. 'Where do you usually go for your

things?'

'Madame Trevaux has a shop in St Laurent. Papa tells her my size,

and she sends what is suitable.'

Samma digested this with an inward grimace. For a busy man, she

supposed, such an arrangement might be a boon, but for a little girl

. . .?

She said cheerfully, 'Well, I think it would be more fun to go into St

Laurent and look round the shops for ourselves—try things on.'

Solange could not disguise the swift, excited breath she drew. 'Can

we go now?'

'Why not?' Samma glanced at her watch. 'If there's a car I can drive.'

'There is,' Solange assured her. 'It is the one Elvire uses.' She gave a

joyous wriggle, then sobered, sending her stepmother a speculative

look. 'This is another bribe,
hein?'

Samma met her gaze. 'No,' she said. 'No more bribes. This is just

the way things are going to be from now on. You,
mademoiselle,

are stuck with me, so you may as well make the best of it.'

A curious expression crossed Solange's face, half wary, half

frightened, as if something basically unwelcome had occurred to

her, but before Samma could ask what was wrong she was smiling

again, and the moment was lost.

The shopping trip, Samma thought cautiously, a couple of hours

later, had been a modest success. When encouraged to choose for

herself, Solange turned out to have an innate sense of colour, and

there had been few clashes as the number of carrier bags and boxes

in the car mounted. The little girl had looked wistfully at some

ornately frilled dresses, but Samma and the saleswoman between

them had managed to convince her that an uncluttered line was far

more becoming to her.

There was relative harmony between them as they drove back to

Belmanoir.

As she braked in front of the house, Samma noticed with
a
catch of

her breath that Roche's car was parked there, too. So, he'd returned

at last.

Solange flew into the house, calling to Hippolyte to come and

unpack the car, and Samma followed more sedately, trying to

control the sudden hammer of her pulses.

Roche emerged from the
salon,
and stood watching her. He was

unsmiling, his dark gaze cool and rather questioning.

'Where have you been?'