It was March 1st and John Fountain had arrived that morning. He and his mother had just finished lunch, and with a sigh of satisfaction he smiled across at her.
‘What a meal! How good it is to eat in France again. I bet there were six eggs in the omelette. And that fillet of beef—as tender as foie gras and as big as a month’s ration! Real butter instead of National grease, and the pineapple au Kirsch topped with lashings of cream. Most of our wretched people at home have forgotten that such food still exists.’
Molly nodded. ‘It is years now since there has been a shortage of anything down here. Food is expensive, of course, but the markets are always overflowing with it. The rich alone could not consume one-twentieth of the perishable stuff that is offered for sale every day, and even the poorest classes show no signs of being hungry. It’s simply that the French people always have spent most of their earnings on food and they still insist on the right to do so. I can’t think why our people continue to allow themselves to be half starved by their Government. I’m sure it isn’t necessary.’
‘I can answer that one.’ John’s voice was bitter. ‘It’s due to the Socialists and their insistence on continued bulk buying by the nation. That may have been necessary during the war, but by forcing it on us for six years afterwards they destroyed the whole organisation that had been built up over centuries of private firms importing our food from the best markets at the best prices. It will be years before the incredible muddle they made can be unsorted. But tell me more about this girl next door.’
‘I don’t think there’s much more to tell, Johnny. During the past three days I’ve seen quite a bit of her. She is still nervous of going out in the daytime but, quite illogically, she doesn’t seem to mind at night. On Sunday I always dine out for a change, so yesterday afternoon I suggested that she should come with me to the Reserve at St Raphael. She said she would rather not, but about half-past six she turned up here and asked if she might change her mind. Of course I said “Yes”, and I’m sure she thoroughly enjoyed herself.’
‘Do you really believe her story?’
‘Yes. She has the naturally frank expression and well-spaced eyes that can nearly always be taken as a sign of honesty; and I don’t see what she could possibly hope to gain by deceiving me. After all, it wasn’t a case of her approaching me and attempting to win my sympathy, perhaps in the hope of a loan; but I who invited her confidence. Then the way she inadvertently let out the name of her home and its previous occupant shows that she is not an accomplished enough liar to have made the whole thing up.’
‘With a pre-1949 telephone directory of Essex those two items of information should be sufficient for us to trace the village she comes from, and the initials on the manicure-set make it pretty certain that her real name begins with B; so it shouldn’t be very difficult to find out who she is.’
‘I don’t think it would be quite playing the game for us to do that.’
‘It may be necessary if these people who are after her suddenly appear on the scene.’
‘Let’s not meet trouble halfway, Johnny. I’m hoping, though, that while you are here you’ll give some of your time to her. With a man she would probably be less scared of going out during the day, and it would do her a world of good to be taken about a bit.’
His rather thin face broke into a slightly cynical grin. ‘No doubt. But what about me? I’m on holiday remember. Do you think she is my cup of tea?’
Mrs Fountain did not reply immediately, but smiled a little dubiously at her attractive son. He was of medium height, well-made, although not powerful. His principal charm lay in his lively, intelligent eyes and humorous mouth. He had dark hair and his nose was slightly aquiline. Although only twenty-three the responsible position he had secured in a good firm had matured him early; so he was very much a man now, and she was wise enough to seek no longer to control him.
She was thinking of his previous holidays. Last year he had run around with that little Italian countess, who was certainly no better than she should be. The previous year he had given her even more serious cause for secret alarm by attaching himself to an American widow of glamorous appearance, but uncertain age and most dubious antecedents. Johnny’s taste certainly did not run in the direction of jeunes filles. That was natural enough for a young man in his early twenties, and it would do him no harm as long as he did not get himself seriously entangled. Knowing that the Riviera swarmed with harpies, she dreaded the sort of designing female that he might so easily pick up, and during the past few days she had been rather hoping that this year Christina might prove a sufficient attraction to keep him out of mischief. She thought the chances of that very slender, but she was clever enough not to spoil the market by boosting the goods, and after a moment she said: ‘To be honest, Johnny, this girl is not up to your weight. She is practically a new-born lamb, and after a couple of days you may find yourself hopelessly bored with her. But she seems to have had so little fun in her life and she is so desperately lonely, it really would be a generous act to spare her an hour or two now and then.’
He smiled at her. ‘You horrible woman! I can scent the maternal match-making instinct a mile away in this.’
‘Good gracious, no!’ she protested. ‘We don’t really know anything about her, and her father sounds a most undesirable type.’
‘One doesn’t marry their fathers, dearest—except in the tale of the chap who killed the dragon, who when offered his choice said he’d rather marry the king than any of the three princesses.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Putting his head on one side, he wriggled his shoulders, smirked, and replied in an effeminate voice, ‘It’s a fairy story.’
‘Johnny, you are awful,’ she laughed.
‘On the contrary, I am nobly defending myself against a conspiracy to make me break my plighted word, given freely long ago, that when I grew up I would marry you.’
‘Idiot! I tell you, the idea of your entering on a serious affair with this young woman never entered my mind. It is simply that she has been starved of youthful companionship and—’
‘I know. That she could be a sweet little sister to me. Really, Mother! How you can sit there looking so innocent while you tell such tarradiddles, I cannot think.’
‘But you will do as I ask?’
‘Knowing that you will starve and probably beat me if I refuse, it seems I have no option.’
‘Splendid. I expect you would like to sleep off your lunch now; then I thought that about tea-time I would take you over and introduce you.’
‘OK, honoured parent.’ John stood up, but before turning away he screwed his face into a leery expression and gave a slow, sardonic wink. ‘Before retiring to my slumbers I’d like to know just where I stand. I take it that there will be no kick coming from you if I seduce her?’
Molly knew perfectly well that he was only pulling her leg, but all the same she replied with a hint of seriousness, ‘I’ve already told you, she’s as inexperienced as if she had just come out of a convent; so you’ll jolly well behave yourself.’
‘Oh, I’ll be as good as gold,’ he assured her blandly. ‘But I know these innocent types. The odds are that she’ll seduce me. Then what? I’ll get the blame, of course, and have to pay the seven-and-six maintenance for the baby. Or has it gone up to a quid now? I think that the least you can do is to guarantee me against that.’
‘You’re a horrid boy, with a horrid, low mind, and I dislike you intensely,’ said his mother, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. ‘Now, run along and get your nap. It’s past three al …’
Her last words trailed away into silence as she caught a quick step on the gravel outside the french window of the dining-room. Next moment a tall shadow was thrown by the sunlight on the parquet, and turning she saw Christina standing on the threshold.
‘Oh, Mrs Fountain,’ the girl began rather breathlessly, ‘I hope I’m not interrupting you: I knew your son was arriving today, and I waited until I thought you would have finished lunch; but I wanted to talk to you rather … rather urgently.’
‘Of course not, my dear. Come in.’ Molly waved a vague hand. ‘This is John—Johnny, our new neighbour, Christina Mordant.’
The two young people nodded and smiled politely at one another. Neither made any move to shake hands. John was thinking, ‘God, what a nose! But her eyes really are remarkable’; while Christina thought, ‘He’s really quite nice-looking: what a pity he has such a prominent Adam’s apple.’
‘Do sit down.’ Molly offered the cigarettes and Christina took one. As she lit it, John hurried forward. ‘What about a liqueur? A Béné, or a spot of Sticky Green?’
‘No thanks,’ Christina replied quickly. ‘I only go in for soft drinks, and I don’t want anything now.’
‘I expect you would rather John left us,’ Molly said after a moment. ‘He has so gorged himself with food that he can hardly keep awake, anyhow.’
John sighed. ‘See how my own mother derides and dismisses me. But take no notice. I am hardened now to the feminist streak in her, which has ever thwarted my ambition to emulate St George.’
‘What! And marry the king like your friend in the fairy story?’ Molly said with a twinkle.
‘That’s one up to you, Mother,’ he replied with a grin.
After a puzzled look from one to the other of them, Christina’s glance came to rest on Molly. ‘Over dinner last night you suggested telling John about me, because, if the sort of thing I have to fear happened, a man’s help might prove invaluable; and I agreed. If you have told him, and he cares to stay, it would be just as well for him to hear about this new development.’
‘Yes. Mother has given me an account of the extraordinary situation in which you find yourself,’ John said, his voice now low and serious. ‘You must forgive our fooling; and please believe that I am just as anxious as she is to help you in any way I can.’
She gave him a faint smile. ‘Thanks; you’re both most awfully kind. Well, just before lunch I had a visitor.’
Molly’s face showed her dismay. ‘Then the enemy has run you to earth already?’
‘No; this was a friend—or, at least, an old acquaintance. But I was so surprised to see him coming through the gate that for a moment I thought I must have got a touch of the sun, and be imagining things. It was Canon Copely-Syle.’
‘As he is an intimate friend of your father’s, your father might quite well have confided to him the place where he had hidden you.’
‘No. That’s the strange part about it. His finding me here was pure chance. He hasn’t seen my father for some weeks and had no idea I was in the South of France. He has been staying at Cannes for a few days, and this morning he was motoring in to St Raphael for lunch. He just happened to catch sight of me sitting on the terrace; so he made his friend who was driving the car stop, and came in to see me.’
‘There doesn’t seem to be anything particularly perturbing about that,’ John remarked.
‘Oh, but there is!’ Christina protested. ‘His first words to me were, “My dear child, whatever are you doing here? Why aren’t you in England with your father?” I replied, “Why should I be?” At that he looked quite staggered, and said, “But surely you’ve heard the bad news about him? Has no one informed you that he was seriously injured in a car smash? I had it yesterday in a letter from a mutual friend. I would never dream of upsetting you without good reason, but I gather there are grave fears for his life.”’
‘Perhaps this is just the sort of thing your father feared might happen to him,’ Molly said, her thriller-writer’s mind having gone swiftly into action. ‘I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time that unscrupulous people had deliberately engineered a car smash, in order to get out of the way somebody against whom they had a grudge.’
‘Yes; I suppose such things do happen. Anyhow, the Canon said that he is returning to England tomorrow, and he offered to take me with him.’
‘You will be leaving us then?’
Christina shook her head. ‘No. Father told me that no matter what messages I might receive, even if they were said to come from him, in no circumstances was I to leave the villa until he returned to fetch me; or, failing that, before the twentieth of next month.’
‘It is quite natural that he should have said something of the kind as a reasonable precaution against your falling into a trap set by your enemies; but when he said it he cannot possibly have had the Canon in mind. Didn’t you tell me at our first talk that the Canon is your godfather?’
‘Yes; but the fact that he is my godfather doesn’t mean very much. He has always sent me a small present on my birthday, and I’ve written to thank him; but we have never got any closer than that. I have seen him perhaps thirty or forty times in my life, but never for any length of time, and father has always been present, except at two accidental meetings; so I’ve never got beyond exchanging polite platitudes with him.’
‘Still, he is a life-long friend of your father’s; so I’m afraid, my dear, there cannot be very much doubt about this shocking news he has brought you. It is hardly credible that he would cause you such anxiety had he not been certain of his facts.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Christina sighed. ‘I think, though, I may have unconsciously misled you a little about his relationship to Father. I have always had the impression that their association is based more on some common interest than on genuine friendship. One of the occasions when I ran into him by chance was soon after we had moved into our present home, and when I told Father about it he said that should the Canon ever ask me to the Priory I was to make some excuse for not accepting. At the time I put that down to a revival of his anti-Christian bias, and a fear that I might get religion, like Mother. But quite apart from that I’m pretty certain that Father does not really like him, and for some reason that I can’t explain I don’t either.’
‘Apart from this personal prejudice, do you know anything against him?’
‘No, nothing at all. In the village he is highly respected.’
‘Then it doesn’t seem as if he is the sort of person who would be mixed up in anything shady, or lend himself to practising such a brutal deception on you.’
‘It doesn’t, does it? Yet, all the same, I feel I ought to stick to Father’s orders and remain where I am.’
‘What did the Canon say when you refused his offer to take you back to England tomorrow?’ John enquired.
‘He spent quite a time trying to persuade me to change my mind, and, when I wouldn’t, seemed to think me very callous.’
‘What excuse did you make for digging your toes in?’
‘I said I thought the friend who had written to him must have exaggerated Father’s danger, and that his office would have been certain to let me know if my presence was really required in England; so I meant to remain here until I heard something more definite. I took the precaution, too, of telling him that I was living under the assumed name of Christina Mordant, and asking him not to divulge my real identity to anyone down here. Naturally he looked very surprised, but he did not ask me for a reason, and gave me his promise.’
‘Clever girl,’ John smiled. ‘There is one way you could find out about your father for certain though. Why not telephone your home or his works?’
‘No, I can’t do that. He said that whatever happened I was not to attempt to get him on the telephone; because, if the call was traced back, it would give away my hiding-place.’
For a while longer they discussed matters without getting any further, then Molly said, ‘Johnny and I are going to dine in Cannes tonight, and we’d like you to come with us. We thought of going to the Carlton, but if you haven’t got an evening dress with you we could go to some quieter place.’
‘It’s terribly kind of you,’ Christina hesitated a second, ‘but I don’t think I ought to. It doesn’t seem right somehow, as there is a possibility that Father may be dying.’
‘Just as you like, my dear; but I think it is a great mistake ever to anticipate the worst, and that you would be much wiser to let us take you out and try to cheer you up, rather than stay at home brooding about unhappy possibilities. I won’t press you, but should you change your mind, as you did last night, we shall be leaving about half-past seven.’
Christina did change her mind, and returned at twenty-past seven dressed to accompany them to the Carlton. As she stepped from the half-darkness of the garden into the lighted room, both Molly and John had difficulty in hiding their astonishment. She was wearing a long frock of oyster satin. It was backless, strapless and low cut, to display her good neck and shoulders to the best advantage, but at the moment she had draped over them a short cape of dark skunk. Neither of them had seen her before in anything but very ordinary and rather girlish day clothes; so the difference in her appearance was quite striking. It made her look several years older and entirely sophisticated—a change that was further stressed by a new expression in her face and a much brisker manner.
Molly was thinking, ‘I wonder where she learned to dress like this? It can only have been at her finishing school in Paris. That must be quite a place! I’ll swear the scent she has got on is by Dior. Too old for her—pity she didn’t choose something a little less exotic. Her father may have neglected her, but he certainly isn’t mean with her about money. The little number she’s got on must have cost a packet.’
John’s mind was running on the lines, ‘Gee whizz! Call that nothing! And after lunch I thought she looked like Skinny Lizzy, the sixth form’s tallest girl. All the same she must be darn near as tall as I am. If the mind under that brown hair fits this evening’s turnout she won’t prove as dumb as I feared. Anyhow, if we see anyone I know I shan’t be accused of cradle-snatching.’
At the moment he was shaking a cocktail, and producing a third glass he said, ‘Can’t I tempt you?’
‘Why not?’ she replied lightly. ‘When the drinks were offered round at our social evenings in Paris, we girls were only allowed to take sherry; but I suppose one must make a start on the hard liquor some time. You must warn me, though, if you think I am getting tight.’
He laughed. ‘As a confirmed drunk myself I should certainly lead you astray if I got the chance, but you can rely on my Mama to provide a restraining influence.’
Soon after eight they were in Cannes. As it was the height of the winter season the big restaurant at the Carlton was quite crowded. Everyone was in evening dress and at the many tables one could hear spoken every language outside the Iron Curtain. French and Americans predominated, but there were Indians and Egyptians, as well as Swiss, Belgians and Scandinavians. The only major nation ill-represented for its size was Britain, but as an acid commentary on mismanagement after victory the richer citizens of the defeated nations, Germany and Italy, were back again in force, enjoying themselves once more. The fact that champagne cost £4 a bottle did not prevent its flowing freely. The scene was glittering, the service excellent and the menu a triumph in gastronomic art. Nothing more could have been desired to ensure a happy evening.
Yet, before they were halfway through dinner, Molly was conscious that her little party was a flop. Johnny and Christina seemed to have nothing in common except an unhappy inability to do full justice to the good things set before them. Neither had anything but a vague recollection of the time when food had not been rationed in England, and so many years of meagre feeding had reduced the capacity of their stomachs to a point where they were incapable of containing more than would sustain life. Johnny was the worst affected, as he had eaten an exceptionally large lunch and, although he was not particularly greedy by nature, it irritated him not to be able to enjoy all the rich dishes which would normally have been such a treat; while Christina, who had also found herself defeated after the second course, was obviously worried that she might give offence to her hostess, as she kept on apologising for only toying with the rest of her dinner.
In addition to this unsatisfactory state of things, Molly found herself quite unable to get a spark going between them. They had no mutual friends, had been brought up in totally different surroundings, and seemed to have no tastes in common. Johnny, she could see, was suffering from indigestion, and although the girl had drunk two glasses of champagne, her tongue showed no signs of being loosened by the wine.
When the time came for them to have coffee, she was commiserating with herself on the failure of this expensive evening, and thinking how much simpler it would have been to draw them out had she had either of them alone. It was only then the thought struck her that the barrier between them was almost certainly herself. All men, she knew, loved to talk about themselves, but Johnny would not do so in front of her for obvious reasons; and if they were alone the girl, no doubt, would trot out her little stock of airs and graces, but not with his mama looking on.
At a table not far off there were an American couple whom Molly had known for some years. They were elderly people, and did not dance or gamble; so it was certain they would be going home fairly early, and their villa was situated not much more than a mile from hers. Before coming out she had given Johnny ample francs to pay for their evening; so with commendable guile she concealed her disappointment and said to the young couple: ‘I’m sure you two will want to dance, and I’m not feeling like sitting up very late tonight. I’ve been overworking a bit lately and I am paying for it now with a headache; so you must forgive me if I desert you. My friends, the Pilkingtons, are over there and they are sure to be going home soon. I can easily get a lift from them, so as to leave the car for you.’
Her reward was to see Johnny’s quick concern, and hear his protest that she would be ruining the first evening of his holiday, which they always spent together; but Molly Fountain was not given to changing her mind once she had made it up, and, blowing a kiss from her finger-tips to Christina, she left them to join the Americans.
When John was staying with his mother on the Riviera he often got home at unconscionable hours, and like most young people he required a lot of sleep; so it was an accepted thing that he should never be called, but should ring when he woke for Angele to bring him coffee and croissants.
On the following morning he did not wake till nearly eleven. Then, having breakfasted in bed, he dawdled for another hour over his bath and dressing; so it was half-past twelve before he came downstairs and joined his mother.
‘Well,’ she asked, as soon as he had kissed her good morning, ‘how did things go last night after I left you? I do hope you weren’t too terribly bored by my little protégé?’
‘Bored!’ His eyebrows shot up in a comical grimace. ‘Believe me, Mother, you’re jolly lucky to get me back all in one piece.’
Molly smiled and patted her grey hair. ‘Making due allowances for your usual exaggeration, I’m rather pleased to learn that she has something that ticks inside her.’
‘Something that ticks! Why, the girl’s a human bomb. Honestly, this new-born lamb of yours—this little sister of Saint So-and-so straight out of a convent—is a positive danger to the public’
‘Oh come, Johnny! Mix yourself a Vermouth-Cassis, and one for me too. Then put reins upon your imagination, tie it up to the fence, and tell me what happened.’
He walked over to the side table and while mixing the drinks spoke over his shoulder, ‘Well, to start with, we danced. The fact that she seems to have had very little practical experience of dancing with a man is the one piece of evidence we have in support of your theory that she has only just come out of the egg. Otherwise, hold me up, Uncle! Her sense of timing is not at all bad, so I think she’d be pretty good if she had some practice. But that’s not the point. She clung to me as if I was her favourite woolly bear. I got really scared she meant to rape me on the dance-floor. And that scent of hers! It played old Harry with my libido.’
‘Johnny, don’t be disgusting.’
‘Don’t you pretend to be a little innocent, Mother. You know as well as most people what goes on in the world, and how that sort of thing can affect a chap. Anyhow, after we had danced for a bit she said she’d like to try a liqueur brandy. In the next hour she knocked back three doubles and she didn’t blink an eyelid.’
‘She must have a remarkably good head.’
‘I’ll say she has.’ John brought the drink over to his mother, and went on, ‘About half an hour after midnight she suggested that I should take her to the Casino to do a spot of gambling. I hedged a bit at first; as on the one hand I would have liked an excuse not to dance with her any more for the time being, while on the other I didn’t particularly want to go to the rooms, because you know how it has always been with me. I can make money if I work for it, but I never seem to have any luck at the tables.’
‘You had a perfectly good excuse for refusing, as they wouldn’t have let you in without your passports; and as she is still under twenty-one they wouldn’t have let her in anyway.’
He shook his head sadly at her. ‘Darling, how you do under-rate the resourcefulness of your offspring. I’m ten times as good as your pet “Crack”, if you only knew it. I’ve known that chap Fleury, the under-manager, for years. All I had to do was to ask for him and say we’d forgotten to bring our passports. It was a safe bet that he would pass me in, and anyone else who was with me. So, on the basis that if “Paris was worth a Mass” my chastity must be worth a couple of thousand francs, I agreed. By a quarter to one we were in the Casino. And what do you think happened then?’
‘How in the world should I know, silly?’
‘Well, for the next hour and a half, while I piddled around dropping six milles, little orphan Annie played baccarat with a poker face that could hardly have been equalled had she been born inside the Sporting Club; and at the end of it she walked off with half a million francs.’
‘Johnny, she didn’t?’
‘She did, Mother. If I hadn’t been so well brought up, I’d have had it off her in the car on the way home. Just think of it! Five hundred quid, and free of Income Tax.’
Molly nodded. ‘How lovely for her. One hears a lot about beginner’s luck, but I must say I’ve never heard a better example of it.’
‘It must have been mainly that; although the old Canon stood behind her chair all the time, and was tipping her off what to do now and then.’
‘What! Her godfather, Canon Copely-Syle?’ Molly sat up in surprise. ‘This is the first you’ve said of him.’
‘Sorry. I’m afraid I telescoped the story a bit to give you the exciting dénouement about her big win. The Canon was there when we entered the rooms, and came over to us.’
‘What did you make of him?’
‘I thought he was rather a nice old boy. He’s certainly a picturesque one. All black satin front, pink face, and long silvery locks curling down behind his ears—like a parson in a Restoration play. He couldn’t have made himself pleasanter.’
‘I’m glad he didn’t spoil her evening. His attitude towards her might have been pretty frigid on meeting her in such a place, after having told her only that morning that he believed her father to be dying.’
‘I think he was a bit shocked at first. I happened to catch sight of his face before she saw him, and he was staring at us with a rather worried, annoyed sort of look. But as soon as we got chatting butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and he never even mentioned her father until just before we were leaving.’
‘Was there anything fresh in what he said then?’
‘No; he only introduced us to a friend of his who had been playing at another table, for the purpose of telling her that should she change her mind about going home, and want an air passage at short notice, this chap would be able to fix it for her. He was another distinguished-looking old boy with grey hair, only the tall and thin type. With a nice red ribbon across his shirt front he could have walked on to any stage in the role of the French Ambassador, and he wouldn’t even have had to change his name for the part. It was the Marquis de Grasse.’
Molly nearly dropped her glass, and her mouth fell open. Then she gave a cry of consternation. ‘Oh, Johnny! What can be at the bottom of all this? De Grasse is one of the most evil men in France.’