by Rosie Clarke
‘Gambling, women,’ Sebastian said and his gaze narrowed. ‘That isn’t the worst of it – is it?’
‘I’m not certain of any of it… but Frank was told Saint-Jacquez has been seen associating with a man of Turkish descent, or Middle-Eastern. No one knows much about him, but the rumours say he’s been associated with the disappearance of a lot of beautiful girls… apparently he particularly admires blondes…’
‘Betty’s hair is reddish…’
‘But she’s been trying to make it lighter for ages…’ Matt sighed. ‘Betty is headstrong and sulky at times, but I think a lot of her – and if there’s anything I can do, I’m happy to help.’
‘Thanks. You’ve already helped a lot. I’ll put the word out with some friends of mine and see what I can come up with.’ Sebastian smiled at him. ‘Why couldn’t my daughter have fallen for a chap like you?’
Matt’s colour heightened and he grinned. ‘Betty still thinks of me as her brother…’
‘Yes – but you don’t see her that way, do you?’
‘Not sure what I think,’ Matt replied honestly. ‘I’m only a few months older than Betty, and not ready to settle down. I didn’t think she was – and I hope to God she gets a chance to get married to a decent bloke and be happy…’
‘Thanks,’ Sebastian said and stood up. ‘I’ll be in touch if you can help me again. Take care of yourself, lad – and good luck…’
*
Sebastian sat in the hotel lounge and drank his coffee. He massaged his temples with his fingertips, because his head was pounding and he felt physically sick. It was mid-September and Betty’s birthday. Lizzie’s red eyes at breakfast that morning had told him that she’d been crying. He felt like hell himself, because although it was only a few weeks since she’d run off he was beginning to think it was an impossible task to find her, and he hardly knew how to face his wife on their daughter’s eighteenth birthday. It should have been a wonderful day for all of them. He would have been taking her and Lizzie out to a special lunch and there would have been presents and cards and a beautiful cake for tea. Francie had sent both a card and a present and they were lying on the bed in Betty’s room, together with other cards that had come from friends and Lizzie’s gift to her. Sebastian hadn’t bought her a present, because he was too angry with her for running away, and too upset to carry on as if she were just away on holiday and would soon be back. Yet he felt his guilt resting like a hard lump in his chest and sometimes he felt so tired. There was so much weighing him down…
He hadn’t told Lizzie what Matt had confided in secret. There was no point in distressing her more than she already was and he was praying that Matt and his friend had it all wrong, because if they were right his daughter was heading for heartbreak at the very least and the thought of what might happen to her made him sick with fear. He blamed himself for not paying more attention to what was going on – but he’d had more than he could cope with just recently…
It had all crept up on him so fast that he hadn’t seen it coming and it made him feel such a fool. How could he have neglected his business to such an extent that it had come to this? The factory that had made boots so successfully and profitably during the war had been losing money for the last couple of years. After the war he’d switched to making beautiful hand-crafted leather shoes that had once been the hallmark of British quality. Their shoes were still admired and bought by those who understood that their quality made them keep their shape and last for years, but lately the market had been flooded with cheap imports that made it impossible to make a decent profit at home.
Sebastian had been searching for markets abroad for the past three years, and he’d been successful up to a point. They were exporting to America, where the quality of the hand stitching was still appreciated, and in smaller quantities to other countries – but not, so his accountant told him, in sufficient amounts to pull them out of the red.
‘It’s a case of letting the factory go while the fashion shop is still making money or draining yourself and ending up with nothing… my advice is to sell the factory. You could cover your debts and reinvest the residue in your shop or property.’
Sebastian knew it was good advice but he hated to let down the men and women who worked in the factory. It wouldn’t be easy to find a buyer who would keep it going in its present form – which meant highly skilled men and women would be out of a job. Of course he’d see they got redundancy money, but he knew the pride that went into making a good product and he was reluctant to take that away from people he’d known and appreciated for years.
Sighing, he paid for his coffee and left, pulling up his coat collar as he went out into the chill of a wet September afternoon. Why did troubles never come singly? He’d tried everywhere he knew in London and he thought that Matt was probably right to suspect that Betty had gone to France with that man – but it was a big country and he wasn’t sure where to start. There was only one man he could ask for help… and Jack would expect favours in return. It was the way it worked. Jack had the huge resources of the secret service at his disposal, but they’d asked a lot of Sebastian over the years; even after the war was over, they’d expected him to carry on with work they considered vital to the nation’s security. Now he felt he’d given enough and had been hoping to extricate himself sooner rather than later. Asking for Jack’s help in a personal matter would draw him right in again.
Sebastian’s secret work was such that Lizzie could unexpectedly find herself a widow at any time. How Marianne knew what he did while ostensibly travelling for his business he had no idea; she certainly hadn’t learned it from him: he’d been roped in a few years back when it had been realised what was going on and he’d been asked to help get important people back from East Germany to the West – or sometimes the families of those already here who were afraid to speak about what they knew, because their loved ones would suffer.
Sebastian had at first refused. Lizzie wanted a quiet life, working and bringing up their children, and so did he, but he’d been shown photographs by his former colleagues, documents that turned his stomach and he’d been drawn in against his better judgement… and then Marianne had asked him for help. He hadn’t hesitated, because he knew Karl would’ve done the same for him. In fact, he’d saved Sebastian’s life when they were both still in college. It wasn’t a conscious choice, he’d just given his word – but perhaps it had cost Sebastian more than he’d bargained for. Too much time spent away from home – and that had led to a financial loss with the factory and perhaps to the rift between Betty and himself. If he’d been home more, he would have noticed what was going on, but he’d only recently become aware of the resentment on his daughter’s part – because Betty was his daughter in every way, and he ought to have made sure she knew it.
She’d gone with that man, Sebastian was certain of it, and it made him fearful for his daughter, because she was far too innocent. She had no idea how much evil was in the world and it broke his heart to think of her alone and vulnerable… Betty had been protected and loved and she wasn’t ready for a world that could be dangerous and cruel…
Chapter 5
‘Look, I’ve got three days off this weekend,’ Frank said into the mouthpiece of the telephone. ‘Can you get away – come to Paris with me?’
‘I’m not sure…’ Matt sounded wary. ‘Tony wanted me to work this weekend…’
‘We owe it to Betty to look for her,’ Frank was urgent. ‘If you can’t get away I’ll go on my own, but I’d rather you were there. If we find that bastard we’ll make him tell us where she is - we’ll beat it out of him…’
‘We don’t know she’s in Paris…’
‘I’ve been thinking it over and that’s where I think he would take her…’
‘Perhaps I should tell Sebastian? See what he wants to do…’ Matt was cautious but Frank was impatient, because he felt Betty had been gone too long.
‘I don’t know what her parents are doing about it, but I’ve made up my
mind I’m going to give it a try…are you coming?’
‘All right,’ Matt agreed. ‘I’ll tell them I’m meeting you but I shan’t say what we’re going to do – there’s no point in raising their hopes until we’re sure we can do something. I’m not even certain she’ll come home if we do find her…’
‘She’ll come for you, Matt, that’s why I asked. I can’t rest until I at least try to find her. I feel so guilty. I should’ve warned her, made her realise what a devil that rotter is…’
‘We did try,’ Matt reminded him, ‘but she wouldn’t listen. Maybe she will now – if she’s realised what sort of a pig he really is…’
‘I’ll book the flights and pay the expenses…don’t argue, Matt. I earn more than you, and you’ll be doing me a favour…’
‘Betty was a bloody fool,’ Matt said. ‘She didn’t know what a good bloke she had in you, Frank. A lot of men wouldn’t bother with her after what she’s done…’
‘You would if you loved her,’ Frank said gruffly. ‘Right, Gatwick at twelve-thirty – OK?’
Frank replaced the receiver and left the office. He wasn’t supposed to use the office phone too often, but at the moment he couldn’t think straight. It was driving him mad worrying about what might have happened to Betty. Matt had told him that her father was keeping things quiet, because he didn’t want it to get into the papers, but Frank wasn’t prepared to just sit around and do nothing. If Saint-Jacquez had got her hidden away somewhere he would tear the place apart – and him…
*
Wake up,’ Pierre’s voice cut through her sleep bringing her sharply from her dream. Betty stared at him, blinking as she saw that he was wearing a business suit and looked different, as if he were someone she didn’t know. ‘I must work and you must leave now…’
‘W-what do you mean?’ Betty was wide awake now with shock. Pierre normally worked a few hours every day at his architectural plans in the apartment, but she had learned to leave him to get on with it and he’d never ordered her out before. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, dragging the sheet with her to cover her nakedness. ‘When can I come back?’
‘You leave now,’ Pierre said in that harsh voice he’d used more and more towards her of late, his English broken as it was sometimes when he was angry or emotional. ‘We ’ave fun while it last, but I must bring clients ’ere and you must not be ’ere. I ’ave a large commission pending, a job that will make my fortune and my reputation as an architect, and he comes ’ere this afternoon…’
‘But I can come back this evening…’ Betty was bewildered. ‘You’re not throwing me out? Pierre… I thought you loved me? I left everything to be with you…’
‘Better for you we finish now… If you stay it will be too late…’
What was he talking about? She stared at him, shocked and numbed for a moment as she struggled to realise what had happened. Betty had thrown her life away for this man and after a few short weeks together in Paris, he was telling her it was over.
‘But where will I go… what will I do?
‘I give you good time,’ Pierre said and pulled her to her feet, kissing her briefly on the lips. His hand slid down her back, briefly caressing the soft roundness of her limbs and then his hands gripped the soft part of her arm hard. ‘I am not a good man, ma petite… and there are others even worse. You would not like them… go now before is too late… go home to your family…’
‘How can I go home now?’ Betty demanded, her temper rising, chasing away the numbness. ‘You’re a cheat and a selfish pig. You set out to seduce me and now you’re throwing me out…’
‘You, ma cherie, are spoiled baby,’ Pierre replied scornfully. ‘You behave like little virgin and expect me to be satisfied – well, let me tell you there are women who know how to please in ways you haven’t the faintest clue about, and they do it willingly, eagerly for a fraction of what I’ve spent on you.’ He took a few francs from his pocket and threw them at her. ‘That’s more than you’re worth – and it’s the price of the fare home. Take it and run back to Mummy like the good little English girl you are…’
‘Pierre… you can’t mean it’s over just like that?’ Betty flung herself at him desperately as he started to walk away. ‘I love you… I’ll do anything you want…’
‘Too late,’ he said and thrust her away. ‘I don’t want you ’ere when I get back… take warning and go. Stay and you will regret…’
Betty felt as if he’d poured a bucket of cold water over her. She was still in shock as she went to the tiny toilet and had a wash in the hand basin, a storm of tears overcoming her as she realised her world had just ended..
Why, oh, why had she run off with him? She’d been so angry with her parents and in Sebastian’s case she’d been hurt, because he thought she wasn’t fit to work in her mother’s workshops… Betty had just wanted someone to love her and she’d been taken in by Pierre’s sweet talk and the money he’d spent on her. Now she felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach and left gasping for breath.
Pierre didn’t want her anymore. She’d been a novelty for him, an innocent he could seduce and mould as he thought fit – only she’d resisted and refused some of the things he’d asked her to do… things she just didn’t feel comfortable with. He’d been angry sometimes, sometimes laughing at her and teasing her into agreement – and sometimes walking out… Taking her suitcase from under the bed, she started packing the few items that she’d left lying about. It was only as she was about to close it that she realised her money wasn’t there. She pulled everything out and hunted in the little pockets inside, but there was no sign of her money. Repacking every item after shaking each one, Betty realised that it had gone. She’d changed ten pounds into francs but that had left forty English notes that she’d deliberated kept as her emergency money – and it had gone.
There was only one person who could’ve taken it. Pierre must have helped himself when he was short. She saw the money he’d thrown at her lying on the bed and counted it – ten francs. Hardly enough to buy the cheapest passage back to England, and far less than he’d taken from her.
It wasn’t enough that he’d taken her innocence, he’d stolen her savings as well. Angry tears filled her eyes but she knuckled them away, because she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her crying over him. She’d been going to leave his money on the bed, but now she scooped it up, knowing it was all she had to keep her off the streets and it wouldn’t last long.
*
‘Francie says she’ll come home for a week in October, so she’ll be here for her birthday,’ Lizzie said, looking up from her letter as Sebastian pushed his chair back from the table. ‘Do you want to read it?’ She offered their daughter’s letter.
‘I thought she was coming this weekend… haven’t they all got a few days off to concentrate on their course work?’
‘She’s going to stay with a friend instead, Jilly and her grandmother …. That’s where she was when… Betty ran off…’ Lizzie’s voice caught and she shook her head, blinking back the tears. Every day her daughter was missing seemed like an eternity. ‘If Francie had been home, perhaps she would have talked some sense into her and Betty might not have gone, because they’ve always been close…’
‘You haven’t told Francie about Betty?’ Sebastian frowned as if he disapproved.
‘No… we agreed it was best not to, you know we did. She’ll be home soon… and I’d rather not do it by letter…’
‘She ought to know,’ Sebastian said. ‘We don’t want her to resent us for not telling her… Betty hasn’t contacted us, but she might have written to her sister…’
‘Francie would tell us…’
‘Unless Betty swore her to secrecy…’
‘She wouldn’t!’ Lizzie looked at him anxiously. ‘Francie would know we were worried. I keep thinking Betty will come home any day and then Francie won’t need to know…’
‘It’s more than four weeks now since she ran off and she h
asn’t sent a card or phoned. I can’t see her coming back unless I find her. She has too much pride, rather like her mother…’ Sebastian said grimly. He looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, love. I have a meeting at the factory again. I have to go.’
‘Will you be back this evening?’
‘I doubt it,’ he said and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I’m really sorry I haven’t found Betty… I know you must blame me for all this…’
‘It isn’t your fault,’ Lizzie denied loyally. ‘Neither of us thought she would go off the way she did…’
‘Tell Francie,’ Sebastian said. ‘Write to her or phone her, Lizzie. I know we tend to think of her as a child, but she really isn’t – and I don’t want to lose her too…’
*
Francie looked round the large hall excitedly. They were in Manchester and she’d acquired the tickets to this prestige fashion show by sending a picture of herself in a bathing costume to the young women’s magazine. The competition was to win a contract as a photographic model and the second prize had been three tickets to this show by Styled, the new fashion magazine that catered for modern young women. Like most girls of her age, Francie loved new clothes and she particularly loved the magazine that seemed to be talking to girls like her rather than to older women. Her mother often had one of the big glossy magazines like Vogue or Woman & Home on her coffee tables as well as trade magazines showing stylish hats and clothes, but this magazine was aimed at younger women – perhaps teenagers, though it didn’t actually pitch it as a teenage interest.
Francie had been over the moon when she won the second prize. As well as the tickets to the show, she’d been given vouchers for twenty-five pounds so that she and two friends could pay the necessary travelling expenses from Cambridge to Manchester, and stay at a hotel overnight, all courtesy of the magazine. She’d chosen her closest friends, Jilly and Averil. Averil was already sixteen, a quiet studious girl who wore her long dark hair back in a thick plait. Her mother was a widow and couldn’t have afforded the fees for the small but well-respected art school they both attended in Cambridge. However, her uncle had paid for his niece, persuading Mrs Bassett that her daughter had a worthwhile talent. Like most mothers, Averil’s wanted her daughter well married and settled, but Averil had set her mind on a career in commercial art. She was a modern young lady and didn’t see why she had to get married at seventeen, just because it was what her mother had done.
