“Jay... I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t help myself. I love you so,” she said. “Please be kind to me.”
“Kind?” His breathing was quick and his heart hammering. “Why, of course.” He put his arms round her and drew her close to him. “You need never be frightened of me, Ginette.” He pressed his face against hers. “You are the special thing in my life.”
II
The hot sunlight coming through the shutters and lying across the bed woke Jay.
He moved drowsily and then lifted his head, staring around the unfamiliar little room.
For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, then looking around and seeing Ginette asleep at his side, he relaxed back on the pillow.
He lay still, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds in the street below.
Then, languidly, he reached for his watch, lying on the bedside table and saw it was twenty-five minutes past six.
He raised himself up on his elbow to look more closely at Ginette, who moved in her sleep, her hand sliding across his naked chest.
His mind came alert.
By this time the police would know he had killed the Balu girl and they would be searching for him. His description would probably be in the morning papers.
He lay back, sliding his arm under Ginette’s shoulders, drawing her close to him and he thought of what he must do.
It would be better, he told himself, for him to remain out of sight in this room until the first intensive search for him had died down.
He would be safe here. When he was sure the search had slackened, then he would slip away one night and make for Paris.
There would be difficulties. His description would be in all the newspapers. Ginette might see the description and recognize him. How would she react? Without her cooperation, he might easily fail to get away.
He turned his head to look at her and, as he did so, she opened her eyes, smiling sleepily at him.
“What is the time, Jay?” she asked.
“Half-past six.”
She gave a little sigh of content and pressed herself against him.
“We don’t have to get up until nine. Go to sleep,” she said, her lips now against his neck. “I’ve never been so happy... ”
He lay motionless, his arm tightening around her and in a moment or so, her quick, light breathing told him she was sleeping.
I’ve never been so happy...
Remorse bit into him as he thought of that ghastly moment when he had tightened the scarlet cord around the girl’s throat.
Why had he done this thing? he asked himself. It wasn’t because he had been bored. That was a lie he had told Sophia to try to justify his act. Neither was it because he wanted to test his courage and his wits. He realized that now. That had also been a lie to try to justify what he had done to himself.
He felt a cold chill creep over him as he was forced to recognize the fact that he had killed the girl because of an inner compulsion. Something inside him had urged him to kill her: a force he had been powerless to control.
Was this then the thing people called insanity? Was he really out of his mind? Yet, lying here, with this girl at his side, feeling her breath against his neck, he felt as sane as he imagined any sane person would feel.
He drew Ginette closer. His thoughts were of the activity that must be going on at the Cannes police headquarters. The police were already hunting for him. If he made one slip, he would be caught.
Guilty but insane.
If the jury brought in that verdict, what would they do with him?
He would be put away in a cell, away from Ginette, shut up like a dangerous animal, not just for a few months, but for the rest of his days.
Sweat broke out on his face at the thought.
What a fool he had been! To have deliberately put himself in such a situation!
Unable to remain any longer in bed, he drew his arm gently from under Ginette’s shoulders, moved the sheet aside and silently left the bed. Moving over to the window he lifted the blind a few inches.
Already the early sun felt hot against his face as he looked down the narrow street.
A few people were walking to work. The shutters of the shop windows were still drawn. A man pushing a handcart on which were piled vast bunches of white, red and purple carnations passed just below the bedroom window.
Jay looked over at the Beau Rivage hotel. A gendarme stood in the shade, just inside the entrance, his face tight with boredom. A little further up the road stood a police van, its long radio aerial pointing like an accusing finger towards the blue sky.
The sight of the gendarme and the police van made Jay feel sick. He remained motionless, watching the gendarme, unable to drag his eyes away from this symbol of his possible destruction.
“Jay... what have you done to your arm?”
He started and looked quickly around.
Ginette had thrown aside the sheet and lay outstretched on the bed. She made a picture of beauty that quickened his heartbeat.
“My arm? Why, nothing.”
He moved away from the window.
“But you have... look.”
Then he saw the three long ragged scratches, the marks from Lucille Balu’s fingernails. They looked inflamed against the brownness of his skin.
“Oh, that... ” He shrugged. “It is nothing. I scratched myself on a nail.”
“But doesn’t it hurt?” She was solicitous and he was pleased. No one had ever bothered before when he had hurt himself.
“It’s nothing.”
He came and sat beside her and bending over her, he put his mouth gently on hers. She gave a little sigh and her arms slid around his neck, pulling him to her.
“Dear, dear Jay... ”
And no one had ever spoken to him like that before and he felt hot tears sting his eyes as he gripped her fiercely and lovingly.
The hands of the clock moved on from six-thirty to eight o’clock.
When Jay woke again he found Ginette no longer at his side and immediately he started up, his mind crawling with alarm.
Where was she?
Had the police come for him?
In sudden panic, he scrambled off the bed and darted across the room to where he had left his clothes. He was groping frantically for the gun he had left in his trousers pocket when the door swung open.
He felt a kick of fear against his heart as he looked over his shoulder.
Ginette came in carrying a breakfast tray. She was wearing the blue jeans and a yellow cotton shirt. She was smiling, but her smile faded as she paused in the doorway and stared at him.
The stiff motionless way in which he was crouching, the expression on his face, gave her the idea that he was frightened.
“What is it, Jay?”
He made an effort and pulled himself together.
“Nothing. I woke suddenly and I wondered where you had got to,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. He pulled on his pale blue cotton trousers. “Breakfast? Good. I’m hungry.”
She gave him a puzzled look, then set the tray down on the table. There was crisp bread, a large pat of butter, jam and coffee.
They sat side by side on the bed while they breakfasted.
Ginette said suddenly, “Jay... I don’t even know what work you do, except you do something in the film world.”
“I’m in publicity,” Jay said. “It’s not much of a job.”
“Will you be working this morning?”
“Oh, no. My work’s finished here now. I’m taking a vacation. Then I’ll have to go to Venice.”
“Won’t you be coming back, Jay?” she asked as she refilled his coffee cup.
“I don’t know. Would you like to come to Venice with me?”
She stared at him, her eyes opening wide.
“Venice?” She shook her head. “I’d love it, but it’s not possible. I couldn’t leave my father.”
He said what he knew was now impossible because he would never again be able to use his real name in safety.