William said in my ear, sounding bewildered and suspicious: "Blake here. Who is that, please?"
“I’m sorry if I've embarrassed you," I said, "but I had to get you somehow, and that seemed the best way. Linda Martin."
"Oh, it's you. The barman said it was a petite amie. I couldn't think-what's been going on? Where are you? Are you all right? And the boy-"
"For heaven's sake! Can anyone hear you, William?"
"What? Oh yes, I suppose they can. But I don't think they know English."
"Never mind, don't risk it. I daren't call you for long because it mayn't be safe, but I… I need help, and I thought-"
He said quietly: "Of course. I heard the local version of what's happened, and I've been hop-expecting you'd get into touch with me. I-I've been terribly worried-I mean, you being on your own, and all that. What is it? What can I do?"
I said gratefully: "Oh, William… Listen, I can't explain now, it would take too long. Don't worry any more; we're safe, both of us, and I think the whole thing will be over in a few minutes, but… I'd be awfully grateful if you'd come along. There's no danger now, but there'll be… scenes, and I don't somehow feel like facing them alone. I know it's a lot to ask of someone you hardly know, and it's a shocking time of night, but I wondered-"
"Tell me where you are," said William simply, "and I'll come. I've got the jeep. Is it the Cent Fleurs?"
"No, no. So they told you I'd rung up before?"
"Yes. I've just got back from Évian."
"Oh, William, no!"
"Well," he said reasonably, "I thought you were there. I didn't know anything about this business till we got in tonight, you know. I was up at the hut till late last night, working, but I was due today to go with a couple of men over to the south plantations and we had to make an early start, so I slept at the pub. We were out all day and got back lateish, and then I was told you'd rung up from the Cent Fleurs, and of course I heard all the stories that were going round. I rang up the Cent Fleurs and they didn't remember you, so I skated down to Évian in the jeep-"
"Did you see Raoul de Valmy there?"
"Don't know him from Adam," said William simply. "Is he looking for you, too?"
"Yes."
"Oh. I thought you might have-I mean, someone said-" he stopped, floundering a little.
I said: "Which ever of the stories you heard, it isn't true. We're on our own."
"Oh. Ah. Yes. Well," said William cheerfully, "tell me where you are now and I’ll be straight over."
"We're in Thonon, at the Villa Mireille. That's Hippolyte de Valmy's place; he's the brother-"
"I know. Have you seen him?"
"He's not back yet. Expected any minute. We're waiting for him. I-I'll explain when I see you why we didn't go straight to the police. Just for the time being, will you not say anything? Just-come?"
"Sure. I'm half-way there already. Repeat the name of the place, please."
"The Villa Mireille. Anyone'll tell you. It's on the lakeside. Take the lower road. M.I.R.E.I.L.L.E. Got it?"
"Yes, thank you… sherry."
"What? Oh, I see. Is the barman listening?"
"Yes."
"Then you'll have to say goodbye nicely, I'm afraid."
"I don't know how."
"Say ’à bientȏt, chérie’"
"Ah biang toe sherry," said William grimly, and then laughed. "I'm glad you're in such good spirits, anyway," he added.
"Yes," I said drearily. "See you soon. And thank you, William. Thank you a lot. It's nice not to be… quite on one's own."
"Think nothing of it," said William, and rang off.
The handset was hardly back in its cradle when the car came down the road. We stood together, just back from the dark window, and watched the lights. It slowed and changed gear for the gate. Its lights swung round in the mist and slid across the study ceiling.
Philippe's hand slid into mine, and gripped. My own shaking.
He said inadequately: "Here he is."
"Yes. Oh, Philippe."
He said wonderingly: "You have been afraid too, all the time?"
"Yes. Terribly."
"I didn't know."
"I'm glad of that."
The car had stopped. Lights were cut, then the engine. Feet crunched on the gravel and the car door slammed. Steps, quick and assured, mounted to the front door. We heard the rattle of the handle. Then the sounds weren't outside the house any longer, but inside; the slight sound of the big door opening, a step on the tiled floor…
He had come. It was over.
I said shakily: "Dieu soit béni" and made for the study door. I hadn't even considered what I was going to say to Hippolyte, It was possible that in some fashion he had already been greeted with the news. It was also possible that he had never even heard of me. I didn't care. He was here. I could hand over.
I flew along the carpeted gallery and down the lovely curve of the stairs.
The hall lights were not on. The front door was ajar, and the lamp that hung outside it over the steps cast a long panel of gold across the tiles. Outside I saw the car gleaming in the mist. The newcomer stood just inside the door, one hand raised as if in the act of switching on the lights. He was silhouetted against the lamplit haze beyond, a tall, powerfully-built man, standing stockstill, as a man does when he is listening.
On the thick carpet my feet made little more noise than a ghost's. I reached the centre stair and hesitated, one hand on the balustrade. I started slowly down the last flight towards him.
Then he saw me, and raised his head.
"So you are here," he said.
That was all, but it stopped me as if he had shot me. I stood clutching the banister till I thought the wood would crack. For one crazy moment I wanted to turn and run, but I couldn't move.
I said, in an unrecognisable voice that broke on the word: “Raoul?"
“Lui-mȇme." There was a click as the lights came on-a great chandelier that poured and flashed light from a thousand glittering crystals. They struck at my eyes and I flinched and put up a hand, then dropped it and looked at him across the empty hall. I had forgotten all about Philippe, about Hippolyte, about William Blake even now tearing down from Soubirous; I could see nothing but the man who stood there with his hand on the light-switch, looking up at me. There was nothing except the thing that lay between us.
He dropped his hand, and shut the door behind him. He was quite white, and his eyes were hard as stones. There were lines in his face I hadn't seen before. He looked very like Léon de Valmy.
He said: "He's here? Philippe?" His voice was very even and quiet, but I thought I could hear the blaze of anger licking through it that he didn't trouble to suppress.
The question was answered by Philippe himself. He had followed me as far as the gallery, and there had stopped, prompted by a better instinct than my own. At his cousin's question he must have moved, for the stir in the shadows above him made Raoul lift his head sharply. I followed his look just in time to see Philippe, a small silent wraith, melt back into the darkness of the gallery.
Then Raoul moved, and fast. He took the hall in four strides and was coming upstairs two at a time. His leap out of immobility had been so sudden that I reacted without reason, a blind thing in a panic. I don't remember moving, but as I let go the banister I fled-was swept-up the stairway in front of him, only to check desperately on the landing and whirl to face him.
I shrieked: "Run, Philippe!" and put up frantic, futile hands to break the tempest.
They never touched him. He stopped dead. His arms dropped to his sides. I moved slowly back till I came up against the curve of the banister-rail and leaned there. I don't think I could have stood unsupported. He wasn't looking after Philippe. He was looking at me. I turned my head away.