Devil and the Deep Sea (23 page)

woman's advance. My face, she thought, I must protect my face!

And she was aware, as if in a dream, of hands gripping her waist,

lifting her out of harm's way.

Roche said grimly. 'Put the scissors down, Liliane.'

She stopped, staring at him, her face relaxing into warmth and

charm.

She said with a little sigh, 'Roche—
mon amour.
You have come to

me at last, as I knew you would. I've wanted you for so

long—offered myself so many times.' Her voice dropped

confidentially. 'But I always knew that one day you would realise

that we were meant for each other—why I could not allow any

other woman to have you.'

She laughed suddenly, stridently. 'That drunken fool who called

herself your wife was easy. I used to visit her—bring her little

gifts—in bottles—tell her stories about the past. How alarmed she

used to get— and the more disturbed she was, the more she drank.'

She tutted.
'Quel dommage!'

Roche said quietly, 'And the day she died -'

'I had visited her—talked with her.' She giggled.
'Pauvre

Marie-Christine—she really believed the curse was about to fall on

her. I made sure she had the car keys, then later I came back. I even

drove with her for part of the way, until we reached a suitable

place, then I let her take the wheel, and I—watched.'

She looked past him to Samma. 'And this child you have brought to

Belmanoir.' She touched the mutilated doll with her foot. 'Will you

want her, I wonder, when I have finished with her?'

He said steadily. 'I want her, and I want my daughter, Liliane. I will

not allow you to hurt either of them.'

Her smile vanished. Her voice high-pitched, she said, 'Daughter?

You have no daughter. Marie-Christine told me so—told me all

kinds of things. How she'd made a fool of you—made you think

you were marrying an innocent virgin, when all the time she was

carrying another man's child.' She sent Solange a venomous look.

'Why do you keep her with you? You know you don't love

her—that you can hardly bear to look at her.'

Roche said quietly, 'Marie-Christine lied to you, Liliane. She was

my wife, and Solange is my child.' He put out his hand. 'Come to

me,
petite.'

'No—send her away. There can only be the two of us.' Madame

Duvalle's scissors fell from her hand, as she dropped to her knees in

front of him. She flung her arms round his legs, burying her face

against his thighs. 'Send them all away. Love me—only me!'

The harsh, grating sound of her sobbing filled the room. In a way, it

was worse than any of the threats and revelations which had gone

before, Samma thought, nausea rising in her throat. As Solange ran

to her, she seized the child and held her tight, aware that Elvire and

Hippolyte were in the doorway.

She whispered, 'Get a doctor,' and saw Hippolyte fade away.

Elvire walked forwards and picked up the scissors, sliding them

into her pocket. She said gently and calmly, 'Get up,
madame.
You

need to rest.'

Liliane Duvalle looked up at her, her face blotched with weeping.

'But I have a rendezvous,' she said with total reason. 'A rendezvous

with
Le Diable.
I have been waiting for him all my life, and now he

is here with me.'

'He is waiting in your room,' Elvire said. 'Come with me now, and

you will find him.'

Slowly, Liliane Duvalle got to her feet, and Elvire led her away.

Roche's face was grey as he watched them go.
'Dieu!'
he said

unsteadily. 'When I think what could have happened . . .' He turned

on Samma. 'I searched the casino for you,
madame,'
he told her

grimly. 'It was fortunate I was able to reach you in time to save you

from the consequences of your own folly, once I discovered where

you had gone.'

'Tante Liliane came into my room, Papa,' Solange said in a small

voice. 'She made me go with her. I did not want to, but she told me

Le Diable
would take me away if I stayed.'

'Le Diable
is a story,
petite,'
Roche said gently. 'And stories cannot

hurt you any more.'

'But he seemed real,' Solange said. 'He wanted me to do things to

send Samma away—like pretending to drown so that you would be

angry, and blame Samma. But I did not spoil the dress.'

Roche's brows snapped together. 'What is this?'

Samma bit her lip. 'The white dress you gave me. I found it cut to

pieces in my room.'

Roche drew a deep breath. 'And did not tell me?'

'Samma thought I had done it, Papa. She did not want you to be

cross with me. She did not tell you about the other things, either.'

Solange's face was piteous suddenly. 'Papa, why did Tante Liliane

say I was not your daughter?'

Roche's face softened. 'She made a mistake,
cherie.
You are my

own, all my own.' He held out his arms, and she ran to him, her face

transfigured as he swung her up, cradling her against his chest.

Samma felt swift tears prick at her eyes. 'Now you must go home to

bed.'

'I will go with Samma,' Solange said graciously. 'Will you come too,

Papa?'

He shook his head, as he set the child on her feet. 'I must wait here

for the doctor.'

'Is Tante Liliane sick?' Solange asked doubtfully.

Roche touched her cheek. 'Yes,
cherie.
More sick than any of us

realised, but she will be better soon. Go now.'

Solange trotted obediently out of the room, but Samma lingered, her

eyes searching her husband's averted face.

She said unhappily, 'Roche—I owe you an apology. I've jumped to

many conclusions—made so many mistakes . . .'

'So I learn from Elvire.' His voice was a stranger's. 'I too am sorry,

madame,
for the grave mistake I made in bringing you here.' He

shrugged. 'But fortunately, it can be corrected.'

She stared at him. 'I don't understand. I'm trying to put things right

between us . . .'

His eyes swept over her in icy appraisal. 'And I am telling you,

madame,
that you are free to go—to leave Grand Cay. And the

sooner the better,' he added, and walked out of the room.

SAMMA lay on the pool lounger, gazing sightlessly at the endless

blue of the sky. She felt half-dead, but was it any wonder? she

thought restlessly. Few of them had got much sleep the previous

night.

There had been a hasty conference in the
salon
at Belmanoir,

attended by the doctor, a startled Jean-Paul Giraud, and a quietly

spoken, middle-aged man, who turned out to be Grand Cay's top

policeman.

Liliane Duvalle had been removed by ambulance to a clinic in St

Laurent, and placed under sedation. Efforts would be made to find

her remaining relatives in France, and arrange repatriation as soon

as she was well enough to travel. No charges of any kind would be

preferred against her.

'At the moment she is inhabiting a fantasy world,' Dr Barras told

them gravely. 'Her admission of involvement in the death of the late

Marie-Christine Delacroix may be true, or simply part of that

fantasy. At the moment, it is impossible to say.' He hesitated. 'And

to supply an alcoholic woman with vodka is only a moral crime.'

'I blame myself,' Roche declared bitterly, dull colour staining his

face. 'I should have realised that she was becoming obsessed with

Le Diable—
with me —and taken some avoiding action. But to me,

she was nothing more than a neighbour who was sometimes a

nuisance.' His flush deepened. 'Whose—attentions could sometimes

be embarrassing.'

'Mon pauvre.'
Elvire patted him on the shoulder. 'She did throw

herself at you, then?'

His mouth tightened. 'Yes, even before Marie-Christine's return.'

Samma found her voice. 'How did she get into the house, and into

my room in particular, without being seen?'

Roche did not answer or even look at her, and it was left to Elvire

to explain, 'There is an old fire escape at the corner of the balcony.

It is half hidden by the vine, and one tends to forget it is there. It

seems she used that, especially when she used to visit Solange at

night to give her
Le Diable's
latest instructions.'

Samma shuddered. 'That would explain the nightmares. And the

fact that sometimes I felt I was being watched.'

The quiet man said, 'You are fortunate, Madame Delacroix, that she

did nothing but look until this evening, and that your husband

arrived in time to protect you.'

I almost wish he hadn't, Samma thought. If Liliane had plunged

those scissors into me, I couldn't hurt more than I do now.

Elvire got to her feet. 'Poor creature,' she said soberly. 'In spite of

what she has done, I pity her.' She paused. 'Now, shall we all have

some coffee?'

As she'd left the room to fetch it, Samma saw Jean-Paul slip out

after her. Perhaps some good will come out of all this after all, she

thought.

She had gone to her room shortly afterwards, and lain awake,

straining her ears for any sound of Roche coming to bed. But yet

again, the adjoining room had not been used.

Samma sighed. Well, at least she knew that the nights when he'd

been absent had not been spent with Elvire, she thought, her mouth

twisting. But she was no wiser about where he'd actually been, and

perhaps she never would be.

She bit her lip. She felt like someone under sentence of death, with

no idea when the axe might fall. Roche had already left for the day

when she'd arrived downstairs.

But, on the positive side, Solange seemed to have had no trouble in

recovering her spirits this morning, and was inclined to make a

heroine of herself—a leaning which Samma and Elvire, in concert,

had dealt with firmly and succinctly. Hippolyte had then driven her

to St Laurent to spend the day with a friend.

'Will you mind being alone?' Solange had asked Samma almost

anxiously before she left. 'I will come back this afternoon.' There

was a long pause. 'Perhaps, this time, I may learn to swim.'

Samma smiled, smoothing the child's hair back from her face.

'There's no rush,' she said gently.

How could there be, she thought bitterly, when she might not even

be there when Solange got back?

She heard a footfall on the path, and sat up hastily, hoping against

hope . . . Instead, she saw Jean-Paul Giraud walking towards her,

his usual smile markedly absent.

Her heart sank. 'Good—good afternoon,' she managed.

'Bonjour, madame.
I hope you have recovered from your ordeal.'

His tone was as formal as his face.

'I-I think so.'

'Excellent,' he said too heartily, and there was a silence. Eventually

he said awkwardly, 'Madame Delacroix—Samantha—you must

know why I am here. Roche has instructed me to arrange your

departure from Grand Cay. I have been able to obtain you a flight to

the United Kingdom tomorrow.' He delved in his briefcase, and

brought out a bulging envelope. 'I have your ticket here, also your

passport, and some money in cash to deal with—immediate needs,

although Roche has asked me to assure you that your original

agreement with him still stands.' He paused. 'He told me you would

understand what he meant.'

'Yes,' she said, dry-mouthed. 'Couldn't he have given me these

things himself?'

Jean-Paul's awkwardness increased. 'He—he feels it is better if you

do not meet again. He intends to occupy his suite at the casino in

the meantime.' There was another silence, then he burst out,

'
Madame—
Samantha—none of this makes any sense. Last night

you were two people passionately in love. Today—it is over.'

Samma bent her head. She said quietly, 'Roche thought he was

buying me, but I wasn't for sale. There was—no love in it. Roche

has always been involved with someone else.'

'Roche has?' Jean Paul stared at her, open-mouthed. 'But that is

impossible.' He gave a very Gallic shrug. 'Oh—there have

been—encounters over the years. He is a man, after all—but an

affaire
of the kind you mention—by no means.'

Samma bit her lip. 'He told me himself he had a mistress.'

Jean-Paul began to laugh. 'He said that—
oh, la la!
It is a joke of

ours—about the casino and his other businesses. I reproached him

once years ago because there was no woman in his life, and he said,

"My work is my mistress,
mon vieux,
and a jealous one. I have no