But as the days passed, and Chris seemed content just to read and sunbathe, she realised now, she had become complacent and careless. She should never have let him sit on the terrace alone, she told herself as she slipped into a pair of beach slacks. As she pulled on a cotton sweater, she suddenly thought of the car key, and she ran across the room to where her bag was laying. With shaking hands, she opened the bag and searched for the key but couldn’t find it. She dumped the contents of the bag on to the dressing table and looked again. She realised with a feeling of panic that Chris must have come to her room when she was in the bath and taken the key.
She went out on to the balcony and looked towards the car park at the far end of the terrace. The white Mercedes was missing.
She returned to the bedroom and hastily rah a comb through her hair.
You’re panicking for nothing, she told herself. He’ll be back. Why shouldn’t he go for a drive if he feels like it? I said I would be down at half-past twelve. It’s not twelve yet. He probably got bored with his book and went for a little drive. But she knew she was thinking nonsense. Chris had refused to touch any car since the accident and she had always done the driving. Why had he waited until she was in the bath before sneaking in and taking the keys unless something... something...
Unable to contain her panic, she snatched up her bag and hurried down the long corridor to the elevator.
She pressed the call button and immediately the green light appeared. A moment later the cage came to rest before her.
The boy, immaculate in white, said, “Good morning, madam: lounge floor?”
“Yes, please,” Val said and leaned against the mirror that ran the length of the wall of the cage.
They sank between floors, then the doors swung open and Val walked quickly across the vast, luxurious lounge to the revolving doors.
As she came out on to the terrace, the doorman saluted her.
She looked up and down, but there was still no sign of Chris. She hesitated for a moment, then trying to control the shake in her voice, she said to the doorman, “I thought Mr. Burnett was on the terrace. Did he go somewhere?”
She prayed silently that the doorman would say Chris was in the Men’s room or in the bar or somewhere in the hotel, but the doorman said Mr. Burnett had taken the car and had driven towards Miami.
“About ten minutes ago, madam.”
“Thank you,” Val said and walked slowly along the terrace to where Chris had left his book. She sat down in the lounging chair and picked up the book. She opened her handbag and took out a pair of sunglasses which she put on.
A waiter came up silently and placed a dry martini on the table beside her. Part of the service of this hotel was to anticipate their client’s wishes. This could be a little irritating, but this time, Val needed a drink.
“Will Mr. Burnett require tomato juice, madam?” the waiter asked.
“I expect so,” Val said, not looking at him. “He’s out right now.”
The waiter went away and Val picked up her drink and sipped it. She sat for some moments staring across the sands and at the sea, aware of her pounding heart and the sick feeling of fear like a hard ball inside her. She looked at her watch. It was now a quarter-past twelve. She mustn’t do a thing, she told herself, until half-past twelve: that was the time she had told Chris she would be joining him. If she did start something and he arrived back to greet her and he found out she had panicked, she would do untold damage. The doctor had warned her she must show confidence in Chris. Well, all right, she would show confidence.
She sat there, waiting. At the sound of every approaching car, she stiffened and looked anxiously towards the long drive that led down to the main gates of the hotel. People were returning now for lunch and the doorman was busy saluting and opening car doors. None of the cars that swept up the drive was a white Mercedes convertible.
At half-past twelve, she had finished her Martini. She was now gripping the copy of Oliver Twist so tightly, her fingers were aching.
I’ll wait ten more minutes, she told herself, then I’ll have to do something... but what?
The waiter came over to her: another dry martini looking lonely, but very cold and tempting on his tray.
“Perhaps another, madam?” he asked cautiously. She had never had more than one dry martini before lunch, but the waiter seemed to sense she needed a second. This was proof again of the superb service the hotel offered.
“Why, yes... thank you. I think I will,” Val said.
The martini was placed by her side, the empty glass removed. The waiter silently walked away.
Val looked at her watch. She reached for the glass and sipped the drink and put the glass back on the table.
He isn’t coming, she thought. Oh, God! What am I going to do? Daddy said he wouldn’t be around until five o’clock. If only I knew where... no! I mustn’t tell him! He’s the very, very last person I will tell. But who can help me? Dr. Gustave? Yes, perhaps I’d better call him. But what can he do? I can’t expect him to go rushing all over the place looking for Chris. The police? They could find him, but once they know who Chris is, the newspapers will get on to his disappearance and then... oh, not I’m not going to start that awful publicity all over again.
Again she looked at her watch. It showed twelve forty-five. She heard an approaching car and she leaned forward to watch a Rolls-Royce glide up to the entrance of the hotel. A fat woman, carrying a fat Pekinese, descended and walked slowly and heavily up the steps to the terrace.
He could be here any moment, Val thought. I just mustn’t panic. I must have faith. I’ll wait until one o’clock, then I really, really must do something.
A few minutes to one o’clock, she saw Jean Dulac, the manager of the hotel, coming along the terrace: a tall, handsome man with impeccable manners and the polished charm that is unique to the French. He paused at each table to exchange a word with his guests.
Val watched him come. It was a little after one o’clock before he finally reached her table.
“Madame Burnett... alone?” He smiled down at her. “But this is quite wrong.” Then he paused, looking sharply at her white, strained face. “Perhaps there is something I can do? Can I help you?”
“I hope you can,” Val said shakily. “Please sit down. I...”
“No, I won’t do that. People here have nothing else to do but to observe and gossip. Please come, in a few moments, to my office.” He smiled at her. “Your worries are naturally my worries. Come and let me see what I can do.” He gave her a little bow and moved on.
She waited a long and painful interval. Then as people began to leave their tables and move towards the restaurant, she got up and walked with controlled slowness to Dulac’s office.
The office was behind the reception desk. A clerk, busy with an adding machine, paused to give her a bow as she came up to the counter.
“Please go right in, Mrs. Burnett,” he said. “Monsieur Dulac is waiting for you.”
She went into the big room with windows overlooking the bay. It was a gracious room with flowers, comfortable furniture and a small desk at which Dulac was sitting. He rose at once as she came in and led her to a chair.
“Sit down,” he said. “Now we can cope with the problem between us, Madame. It’s Mr. Burnett?”
Val sat down. She had a sudden urge to cry and she had to struggle hard not to break down.
Dulac walked to the window and paused there for a moment, then returned to his desk. He gave her enough time to control herself before going on. “I have had quite a lot of unhappiness in my own life, but looking back, I have always found there is a solution to most problems. Mr. Burnett has driven away and you are very worried about what has happened to him. That is the problem, is it not?”