Louise bit her lip. ‘There is one little mystery, but it does not concern Guadeloupe.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, my épicier – my grocer, I think he has a tendre for me – he let slip he’s been doing very well lately. I ask him why his profits are so good. He says to me that if I promise not to tell anyone, he will let me know. I agree so he confides. It’s only that the Villa Tartu on Marie-Galante has been re-established by the old general and they’re asking him to supply so many foodstuffs he stands amazed.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps now he regrets talking to me. He may become suspicious and go to the authorities.’
Renzi snapped alert. ‘The island opposite?’
‘Yes, you can see it from here, but it’s only small,’ she said doubtfully.
Renzi’s mind raced. Such would be ideal for quarantining the existence of an operational base. But how was he to check it out? There was one thing that would impel it to a first-rank priority in his investigation – if he saw any of those who’d so comprehensively fooled him in Curaçao heading out to Marie-Galante.
‘Er, where do you catch a boat to the island at all?’
The morning sun woke him. Out of sight, high in the crook of branches in a tree overlooking the Porte de la Marina, he nearly tumbled out. He pulled himself back gingerly and took stock. In the night he had chosen well: the tall tree was quite close to the jetty and well within range of Louise’s opera glasses, safely folded in his waistcoat pocket.
He would have to remain in his hideaway until dark but L’Aurore would not be returning from her circumnavigation for some days yet. He had time.
At nine the first boat left, with the grocer’s produce heaped in the bottom. There were five passengers and Renzi could see them clearly as they waited by the jetty and boarded – but he recognised none.
The next boat did not depart until a little before noon, and again there were none boarding he knew. This was not good: it implied that there would be only one or two more crossings that day.
Dusk was drawing in when the last boat came into view. None of the three waiting was of interest, and Renzi looked about in vain for a figure hurrying up at the last minute. Then he saw that the approaching boat had passengers in it – obviously it was coming back from the island.
And there in the bow was Duperré.
He was unmistakable, with his dark features and heavy build, and behind him were two more he recognised. Renzi watched them step on to the jetty and stride away in the direction of Pointe-à-Pitre.
Impatience surged. But if he were seen by any of them or others somewhere in the town there could be only one fate for him.
He waited for dark before noiselessly dropping to the ground and making his way to the Vernous’. Louise was waiting with a candle in nightcap and gown, her eyes wide. ‘Well?’
‘It is here. On Marie-Galante.’
She hugged him impulsively. ‘I knew you’d find it! So, now you can go back and—’
‘No.’
Uncertain, she waited for him to finish.
‘I know it’s here but no one will believe me unless I find proof – something they can hold in their hands, trust in.’
After Curaçao it could be nothing less … and that meant only one thing.
‘You will have to go to Marie-Galante?’ she whispered in awe.
Renzi gave a wry nod, the evidence, whatever that could possibly be, was there. All up to this point was wasted unless he could lay hands on something that in itself would convince. If he left now he had nothing. There was no other course left to him. He had to go.
‘Um, yes,’ he agreed heavily. ‘But how?’
There was only one available method to get there: the passenger boat. And what were his chances of slipping through in daylight?
But could he ask Louise to go? She would, he knew, but he had already put her in much danger …
‘It is impossible, it would seem,’ he said, ‘with no—’
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘There may be a way,’ she said shyly, ‘if it be we two together.’
‘We two?’
Lightly withdrawing the hand, she explained, ‘The grocer provides them with their daily victuals. I will supply them with the gourmandises every Frenchman desires. You will be my porter.’
It might work. Certainly it was in keeping with a widow trying to supplement her means with a little business, and even if turned back, they had a way to get to the island.
‘Well done! We shall do it. Er, how?’
‘Don’t stand there, mon brave – we’ve much to accomplish before morning.’
It was the early boat. Louise stood primly in her best rig, her porter in ragged work clothes and a broad, drooping straw hat squatting behind her, zealously guarding four trays of sweetmeats draped with muslin and a bag for returning empty dishes. Renzi kept his eyes cast down, his skin uncomfortably prickling where it had been rubbed and stained to a convincing dark hue.
‘Quickly, Madame,’ the boatman urged, and was awarded an icy glare as Louise stepped delicately aboard. Renzi scuttled on behind her, clearly overawed by the well-dressed passengers.
‘Larguer!’ The bowman poled off and the landlubber porter was fetched a smack on the head from the swinging boom, which brought a laugh and sent him into a defensive crouch in the bottom boards.
The boat caught the wind expertly and hissed through the blue sea, in any other circumstance a sensual pleasure with the breeze caressing the cheeks under the enveloping warmth of the morning sun. The islands were at their best, the green of their vegetation the deepest Renzi could remember and the fringing white beaches a languid temptation.
Grand-Bourg was the capital of Marie-Galante. It was a modest town with a single pier and scattered buildings nearly hidden by lush vegetation. On a slight rise there was the dull red stone of the top of a fort, its embrasures set to command the small harbour, but what Renzi noticed most was a reef nearly a mile long offshore that the boat had to manoeuvre around – the fort and this barrier would make any direct British assault on Grand-Bourg a costly affair.
Bumping up to the low landing stage, the boat emptied while Renzi bent to fiddle with the trays.
‘Come along, Toto!’ Louise ordered imperiously, nodding to a passer-by, who had removed his hat in respect.
It was not far: the Villa Tartu was pointed out a little way inland, at the end of a neat avenue of palm trees.
They walked on without speaking, Renzi taking an obsequious position close behind as they approached the old general’s grand residence. As they got nearer his pulse quickened. Not only was there a pair of sentries at the doorway and a tricolour on a mast but definite activity inside.
He was beginning to have second thoughts about involving Louise but forced himself to focus. Evidence: he had to get unassailable proof. But this was a reconnaissance only, a spying out for what must come later. An observation – then a burglary?
‘Halt!’ The sentries moved forward suspiciously. ‘Who are you, Madame, that you come here?’
‘Madame Vernou, imbecile!’ Louise snapped. ‘Weren’t you told to expect me?’
‘We’ve no word of a Vernou. Have you papers?’
‘Papers? You fool! I’ve been asked by your commandant, M’sieur.’
‘To what purpose, Madame?’
‘He requests me to come with some of my legendary Vernou sucreries for your officers with a view to regular supply,’ she replied scornfully.
‘Ah. Are those …?’
‘These are my rosewater jellies and those are my bonbons.’ A hand went out, which Louise slapped firmly. ‘They are not for your sort. Where is your officer?’
‘Well, I can’t really—’
‘Mon Dieu!’ Louise blazed. ‘I came because I was told there were Frenchmen here who’d relish a delicacy or two to relieve their exile! Do you think I enjoyed several hours in the hot sun in a boat to be turned away when I get here?’
‘Pardon, Madame. Er, if you’ll follow me.’
&n
bsp; He led her towards the house but not before she said impatiently, ‘Come, Toto, hurry with those sweetmeats.’
They were ushered into a room and a frowning officer soon arrived.
‘Ah, M’sieur! At last! Your nice commandant suggested I bring you some of my famous delicacies to try. If you like them, I will see if I can arrange a special delivery each week.’
Deftly she flicked the muslin from the top tray. ‘Do taste a jelly, M’sieur, and tell me what you think.’
The officer reached out and helped himself to one. ‘Grâce de Dieu, but these are very fine, Madame!’ he said, in open admiration. ‘And those are …?’
‘Coconut and pistachio, M’sieur. You have good taste. The other gentlemen of your establishment, do they enjoy fine food also?’ she asked suggestively.
‘We shall find out, Madame. Do come this way.’
Dutifully Renzi scuttled behind, bobbing his head low as they came into a drawing room where a number of other officers were relaxing with brandy.
‘Tout le monde – attention, if you please! Do try these friandises of Madame Vernou’s. They are splendid indeed, and if we approve of them, she will arrange a regular supply.’
‘For a trifle only,’ Louise added firmly, ‘and paid in advance. Put the trays down, Toto. No, not there, you simpleton. On the big table.’
Her porter hastened to obey, overwhelmed by the presence of so many fine gentlemen. ‘Now go to the kitchen and wait for me. This is no place for such as you,’ she said, in haughty tones. ‘And don’t leave that old bag here either.’
He hurried out and found the kitchen. He looked around furtively, nodding to a little scullerymaid, who introduced herself shyly, then darted away.
Nearly opposite there was a room, its door open. He saw tables with untidy piles of papers and journals, walls lined with file-shelves and maps: it could have only one purpose.
In an agony of frustration Renzi knew that all he wanted was just a few paces from him.
But there were three men in there still at work. What he would not give for one minute – no, twenty seconds – alone in that room!
Instead he had to stay where he was, waiting in a stew of frustration.
A burst of good-natured laughter broke out from the drawing room, with exclamations of surprise and gratification.
‘Merde!’ one of the men in the operations room swore. ‘What’s going on in there?’
Renzi suspected that another tray of sweetmeats had been revealed for there were sudden gasps of wonderment and delight.
‘Well, damn it, I’m finding out!’ the man said, and left.
‘And I’m not leaving it for those greedy bastards,’ retorted another, and stormed out, closely followed by the last.
Renzi teetered with indecision. He had been granted exactly what he wanted – if he took his life in his hands and stepped inside.
In a haze of unreality he found himself standing in the centre of the operations room.
Scrawled times and places on a blackboard, maps with red and blue crosses, documents with an official cast – it was all here. And he had seconds to decide what to do.
Copy them? No time, and that was not evidence. Discover some fact to prove he had been witness to the operation? Again, no time …
A burst of voices set his heart thumping but he couldn’t leave. The journals – without thinking he picked up the thickest. Times, dates, places, ships – and deployments! Steal it! The bag – where the hell was it? He snatched at it and the journal thumped to the bottom. He added another for good measure.
‘Toto! Toto! Come here, you lazy villain, and collect up these dishes!’
He bolted from the room and stood panting with reaction, willing his heart to slow and his body to droop. The three men pushed past him back to the operations room, brushing crumbs from their lips. How long before they discovered what was missing?
‘Quickly, now!’ Louise scolded, catching something of his tension.
He worked hurriedly, putting the empty dishes and trays into the bag, and flashed a look of urgency at her.
‘That’s very fine, good sirs! More of the candied papaya and honey-cakes, too. À bientôt, Messieurs!’
Trying not to let their haste show, they headed for the landing stage. Louise had paid a boatman well to be there for them so they could leave quickly. While they pressed on, Renzi told her what he had done and of the incalculable prize under the dishes in his bag.
‘No sacrifice is too great to get these into English hands,’ he said, trying not to sound theatrical, even if it was the truth.
When they arrived at the waterfront there was no boat. Stunned, Renzi tried to think. A quick survey of the small harbour showed no vessel waiting off, or another on its way.
‘There’s only one thing we can do,’ he muttered: they had to lie low until they could find a way off the island. He saw a road that led to an orchard up the slope, ironically not far from the fort. Trying not to look conspicuous they moved away quickly. At the end of the fruit trees a meandering path led further. They passed a returning field worker, who gaped, then shouted after them.
Without looking back they hurried on, finding that the track led to a makeshift pig-pen. Then the thud of a gun sounded from the fort, and a flag of some kind was hoisted rapidly.
There was no alternative but to go on. Renzi led the way past the startled animals and they came to a wall of thick tropical undergrowth. Louise froze, holding back. Renzi urged her to continue. ‘I – I c-cannot!’ she blurted, her face a mask of fear. ‘La Scolopendra!’
Renzi knew the gun at the fort was probably a summons to the soldiery and then the hunt would be on in earnest – they had to make the interior by dark, where they could hide.
Louise burst into tears. ‘I’m h-holding you up, M’sieur Renzi. Go on, I beg!’ With a sob it came out: a species of giant millipede a foot or more long with savage venom infested these forests, and a childhood terror had developed into a phobia.
‘Louise, you must come with me! Be brave!’ He held her hand and tried to pull her on but she resisted.
He took the bag, threw out the dishes, fashioned the drawstring into a bowline, and slipped it over his shoulder.
‘Forgive me, Madame,’ he said, lifted her up and plunged into the wilderness of deep green whipping fronds and soaring palms. She cried out in terror, then shut her eyes and gripped tightly as Renzi pushed on.
After they had reached deep into the tropical forest she tapped his shoulder gently. Renzi stopped and let her slide to the ground.
‘Mon cher, I am better now,’ she said, and tried to smile.
Renzi could see she was not, but accepted it for the act of courage it was. She seemed to sense his feeling and impulsively kissed him. ‘Shall we go on?’
When they’d first arrived, he’d taken a mental bearing of the centre of the small, round island and tried to stay with it as they pushed through. If this was the same kind of dense lowland rainforest as he had seen in other parts of the Caribbean the going would become difficult, but fortunately here the ground cover was more open, less intertwined, and they made progress.
An hour passed and the growth thinned. A bare upland area showed ahead. Cautiously Renzi ventured there and looked back where they’d come. Spread across his vision, and no more than a mile off, he saw a line of soldiers beating as they advanced.
‘We have to get away,’ he said urgently. ‘Where should we go? What’s to the north?’
‘Well, only another three miles. It’s where the old fort used to be,’ she panted. Her dress was soiled and she tried to smooth her dishevelled hair, somehow finding pins to put it up again.
‘Then this is where we go,’ Renzi said, and they started off once more. Gullies and outcrops slowed them but this had deterred cultivation and settlement. Their passage remained unseen.
Renzi did not mention it to Louise but he knew that their trail through the vegetation was almost certainly being picked up – and if the French w
ere smart they would land another line of soldiers on the coast ahead, and then they would be trapped between the two. Keeping his fears to himself, he forced a gruelling pace.
The forest ended and neat rows of sugar-cane reared up. Renzi and Louise hurried down between them; at least they were making good speed. Renzi could see they were crossing to where the field ended in a cliff of sorts, the sparkling blue sea stretching placidly in every direction.
The cliff turned out to be located where a substantial ridge crossed the island. ‘This is La Grande Barre,’ Louise told him. Looking down from the vantage point, Renzi could see the flat northern end seemed to be all marshes and mangroves.
He glanced at the sun. Still too long until darkness. In the open, among the reeds and flat marshland, they would be rapidly spotted. It had to be accepted that the end was not far off.
Then, in the distance, drawn up on the grass away from the water’s edge, Renzi spotted a fisherman’s boat. ‘This way!’ he urged, and found a track down the ridge to the swampland below.
He splashed in, holding the precious bag aloft, scattering marsh birds, which cawed raucously. Heedless of the sucking mud he headed in the direction of the boat.
Louise followed gamely, her dress now in tatters.
Muscles burning, they carried on doggedly until they reached firm ground – and the boat.
Renzi’s heart sank. The craft was old; there was rainwater in the bilge and it had lain there for some time. No oars, no sail. It was of the native type, which meant that at least it was light and simple, with a single outrigger and a small mast.
‘Look!’ Louise’s sudden cry made him jerk around. ‘There!’
Along the ridge soldiers were beginning to appear. A musket popped – they had been seen.
‘Help me get this in the water!’ Renzi gasped, trying to swing the boat around.
She took one end and heaved with all her might. It hardly moved. Voices carried faintly from the ridge – they were looking for a way down.
It galvanised them and, with a superhuman effort, they had it off the grass and on the sand. ‘Hurry, two branches!’ Renzi gasped, gesturing at the palms.
He shoved the boat out into the waves where it bobbed gloriously.
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