It was raining in northern France, slicing down sideways, turning the narrow country road into a slick roller-coaster ride. Montana handled the rented Peugeot 460 as smoothly as a racing car, speeding back to the local airport at Tours.
The small town near Le Mans he had just left was a desolate place, made even more desolate by the heavy gray skies and the cold rain. The shuttered dark brick houses offered none of the delights foreigners expect from France, and he had no doubt the inhabitants of the town felt the same way. They probably longed to escape the treeless roads and the flat fields where only turnips and root vegetables grew, and the soulless arcades of the cement mall dominated by the ugly hypermarket that would be called a blot on the landscape if the landscape were not already so terrible.
The name de Valentinois was the clue that had led Montana first to the château area of the Loire and then to a small town near Le Mans. And now he knew all there was to know about Diane.
Driving through the rain, he finally had time to think about Daisy. He’d received a phone call from his second in command at four that morning. There had been no time to lose if he was to take care of events in the Loire, fly on to New York to investigate that scene, and still get back to the ship before it reached Capri. Before it was even light, he’d flown by helicopter to Nice where Bob’s Gulfstream was waiting, then to Tours, and now he was to continue on to New York. He hadn’t forgotten about Daisy, but there had simply been no time to make contact with her, no time to change from investigator to the lover, no time to think about the right thing to say. All he could do now was call and hope she would understand.
Daisy delighted him, she charmed him, she made him laugh. She was a mischievous minx in a prude’s clothing, a seductress, and a hurt and troubled woman who hid her wounds successfully. That is, she had until she met Bob Hardwick. Bob had soon seen through her façade, and now so had Montana.
Arriving at the small airport he gave the rental car to a valet in the private sector and quickly headed toward the plane, stopping on the tarmac to make his call. The plane’s engines were revving and the rain was still slicing down. It was difficult to hear but Daisy was not answering her cell phone anyhow.
Checking his watch, Montana guessed the Blue Boat had sailed. Daisy was probably at dinner, entertaining the suspects and cursing him for leaving her alone with them.
Even though he’d left her on the yacht with a probable murderer, he knew Daisy was safe for the moment. But if Bob had left her all his money, she would become a target. Meanwhile, the two agents onboard kept constant watch over her; nobody could threaten Daisy without the agents being all over them in a second.
He left a message saying, “I’m here in rainy, lonely northern France without you. You can guess where I’d rather be. I apologize but there was no time to tell you anything, and besides you were sleeping so peacefully it wouldn’t have been right to wake you. I’m on my way to New York. I’ll call from there. Meanwhile, baby, keep up the good work.”
He did not mention the word love, or even say a casual “love you.” He wasn’t sure she would have wanted him to. And anyhow, he never said he loved anybody.