To the Devil, a Daughter

by Dennis Wheatley

  The battle was not on the grand scale of those held at Nice, Cannes and Monte Carlo; but there were nearly thirty carriages, and a lovely sight they made. The wheels, body and shafts of them all were entirely hidden by massed flowers, each seeking to outdo the others in colour, variety or originality. In most cases stocks, violets and carnations of many hues provided the ground work; while towers, trumpets, sheaves and fountains, on which were wired hundreds of roses, hyacinths, arum lilies and gladioli, surmounted the backs of the carriages. In each rode two or more young women, specially selected for their good looks. Some were displaying their charms in décolleté evening frocks, or in ballet skirts below which they wore black, large-mesh, fish-net stockings, while others were wearing light summer dresses and big floppy hats; but in every case their toilettes had been chosen to carry out the main colour motive of their floral chariots.

  In every carriage the girls had big baskets of surplus flowers, with which to pelt the onlookers, and everyone in the crowd had a supply of similar ammunition bought from the gaily-dressed flower vendors. At a slow walk the colourful procession passed along between the barriers, while to and from both sides hundreds of little bunches of mimosa, stock, short-stemmed narcissi and carnation heads sailed up into the bright sunlight, thrown by the laughing girls and applauding people. To give the audience ample opportunity to enjoy the spectacle to the full, at intervals of about a quarter of an hour the procession passed and re-passed three times; so it was half-past four before the battle was finally concluded.

  After it was over, remembering his mother’s fondness for hot chocolate, John proposed that they should adjourn to a pâtissière. While they were there she again became distrait. Then, after a time, she suggested that they should go on to St Tropez in case Christina was still with the de Grasses at the Capricorn; as if she were they could pretend to have run into her by chance and by offering her a lift ensure her returning safely with them.

  John considered the idea for a moment, then pointed out that as she had been asked over only to lunch the probability was that she would have left a couple of hours ago, so be home by now; while if the de Grasses had persuaded her to remain with them for the afternoon it would pretty certainly have been on the excuse of taking her for a drive, or to see the town; so the odds were all against her still being at the hotel, and it seemed going a bit far to add twenty miles to their return journey for such a slender chance of finding her.

  Molly thought his reasoning sound, so she did not press her suggestion. In consequence, having collected the car, instead of heading west, they headed east for home, arriving there just before six. Leaving John to put the car away, Molly went straight up to Christina’s villa, hoping to find her there, and learn as soon as possible what had transpired at the lunch. But Christina was still absent.

  More perturbed than ever for the girl’s safety, Molly mounted the steep path to her own house, to be met in the hall by Angele, who told her that at about half-past three the English mademoiselle who lived next door had telephoned, but had left no message. When John came in they discussed the situation again, but there seemed nothing they could do, as to have appealed to the police on the bare facts that a girl had gone out to lunch with friends and failed to return home by six o’clock would have been laughable.

  They had fallen into an unhappy silence when, a quarter of an hour later, the telephone rang. John answered the call, and it was Christina. A little breathlessly she said, ‘I tried to get you earlier this afternoon. I lunched with the de Grasses and am still with them. We’ve just got back to the hotel, and I’m telephoning from the call-box in the ladies’ cloakroom; but we shall be going up to their private suite again in a minute. They have made me promise to stay and dine with them on their yacht. But I don’t want to. Can you … can you possibly think of some excuse to come over here and … and get me away from them? Please, oh please!’

  ‘OK,’ replied John promptly. ‘Was it Count Jules who collected you this morning?’

  ‘Yes; and it was he who took me round the town this afternoon.’

  ‘Right! We’ll be with you in three-quarters of an hour. All you have to do is to sit tight until we turn up, and in no circumstances fall for any pretext they may trot out with the idea of getting you to leave the hotel. Keep your chin up, and don’t worry that pretty head of yours. We’ll have you home in time for dinner.’

  He had spoken with calm assurance, in order to quiet her evident fears; but as he replaced the receiver he felt far from confident about the outcome of the next few hours; and, while he repeated to his mother what she had said, it became even more clear to him that to get her away from the de Grasses was going to prove an extremely tricky business.

  ‘If they once get her on their yacht it will be long odds against our ever seeing her again,’ said Molly, now giving free rein to her anxiety.

  He nodded glumly. ‘It looks as if the Marquis is at his old white slaving game again. Unless we can pull a fast one on him that poor kid may end up in Port Said or Buenos Aires.’

  ‘Perhaps. She might, if they simply want to get rid of her. But I’m sure the Canon is behind this, and it may be that he wants to force her into doing something for some purpose of his own.’

  ‘Anyhow, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him.’

  John had spoken with sudden fierceness, and his mother shot him an appraising look as she asked, ‘You do rather like her, then?’

  He shrugged, gave a quick grin, and reverted to his usual gaily inconsequent manner. ‘Don’t be silly, Mother. It is solely that my sense of chivalry has been aroused. I feel like the knight who was riding through a forest and came upon a beauteous damosel tied to a tree. She cried out to him, “Frugal me, frugal me!” So he frugalled her.’

  ‘Stop talking nonsense,’ Molly admonished him, turning away. ‘We’ve got to hurry. While you get the car out, I must just run upstairs. I won’t be a moment.’

  ‘You had better not,’ he called after her, as he ran towards the door, ‘otherwise I shall start without you.’

  Five minutes later she rejoined him in the road, carrying a crocodile-skin bag that she generally used only when travelling. As she got into the car he gave it a suspicious glance, and said, ‘You haven’t brought the armaments, have you?’

  She had never lied to him, and, after a second, she admitted, ‘I’ve brought my small automatic—but it’s only a very little one.’

  Instead of letting in the clutch, he sat back and folded his arms. ‘Now look, dearest. Things may be done that way in your thrillers, but they are not in real life. It’s too damn dangerous. For one thing the de Grasses would make mincemeat of us, and for another, if we survived the first five minutes they are clever enough to ensure that it is we who would find ourselves in prison afterwards. Before I drive you a yard, you have got to give me your solemn promise that you won’t start anything.’

  ‘All right, I promise,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But it is a bit hard. This might have been a real chance to find out what it feels like to hold somebody up with a pistol.’

  ‘Try it sometime when I am elsewhere on my lawful occasions,’ he advised. ‘Then I’ll at least remain free myself to come and bail you out.’

  As he spoke the car shot forward. He was feeling guilty now at having scotched his mother’s suggestion that they should drive on to St Tropez from St Maxime, as the sun was already going down beyond the hills ahead of them, and had he not opposed her they would by this time have been with Christina. In consequence, while exercising a fair degree of caution going round the sharp bends of the Corniche, he drove much faster than was his custom.

  It was a good twenty-five miles from the villa to St Tropez; but, after St Raphael, for about half that distance the road was nearly flat and moderately straight, as it followed the shallow curve of the great bay in the centre of which lay St Maxime; so until they reached Beauvallon he was able to make good going. There, the road made a hairpin bend round the deep narrow gulf, then wound its w
ay along the peninsula that had St Tropez as its seaward end. When they pulled up in front of the great modern building of concrete and glass, that looked more like a block of flats than an hotel, it was just after seven and twilight was falling.

  While on their way they had made their plan of campaign, and on entering the hotel, instead of enquiring for the Marquis at the desk, they walked straight to the lift and asked the liftman to take them up to de Grasse’s suite. The lift shot up to the top floor, and as they stepped from it the man pointed out to them a door at the end of the corridor. Their footfalls making no sound on the heavy pile carpet, they advanced towards it; then John rang the bell.

  After a moment the door was opened by Count Jules. He was a shortish but athletic-looking young man in his middle twenties, with slim hips, broad shoulders and a plump round face. His eyes were very dark and his lips a trifle thick, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, giving him an expression of humorous good nature.

  For a few seconds he stared blankly at his visitors, then recognition dawned in his eyes, and he exclaimed in English that had no more than a faint trace of accent: ‘Why! Surely it is John Fountain?’

  ‘Of course,’ John smiled. ‘I thought you were expecting us.’

  Count Jules looked his astonishment. ‘Forgive me, but I did not know, even, that you were in this part of the world.’

  John made a gesture of annoyance. ‘I’m so sorry. They must have made a muddle downstairs. I asked for you at the desk, and after telephoning the chap said we were to come up. But there was a woman beside us asking for somebody else, and in making the calls he must have got his lines crossed.’

  A slight narrowing of the Frenchman’s eyes suggested either suspicion or that he was not used to such inefficient service and meant to give the unfortunate receptionist a sharp reprimand; but before he had time to make any comment John hurried on: ‘I happened to meet your father last night in the Casino at Cannes. That’s how I learned you were here. My mother and I have been visiting friends in St Tropez this afternoon. On the spur of the moment I thought I would look you up, before we drive back to our little villa for dinner.’

  ‘But how nice! I am delighted, delighted.’ There was no trace now in the Count’s voice of anything but genuine pleasure.

  ‘I don’t think you’ve ever met my mother,’ John said.

  ‘Enchanté, madame.’ Count Jules took Molly’s hand as though it were a fragile piece of porcelain, and went through the motion of kissing the back of it, although he did not actually touch it with his lips. Then he murmured, ‘Forgive me for keeping you standing like this in the hall. Please to come in. We are so happy to see you.’

  The small hallway of the suite had four doors leading from it. That on the immediate right stood partly open. Issuing from it John had heard the murmur of voices, and he guessed that Christina was with someone there. He had spoken to Jules rather loudly in the hope that she might hear what he said, and so not sabotage his story by giving any indication that they had really come to collect her. As their host pushed the door back and bowed Molly through it, John saw over her shoulder that Christina was looking in their direction with anxious expectation. But Molly forestalled any gaffe she might have made by exclaiming: ‘Why, Christina! John told me you were lunching with these friends of his, but I never expected to find you still here.’

  Jules’s glance switched swiftly from the girl to the newcomers, and he said in a surprised voice, ‘You know one another, then?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Molly replied lightly. ‘We are next-door neighbours and quite old friends.’

  When they entered the room a woman, who at first sight looked quite young, had been curled up in one corner of a big settee. As she uncurled herself and sat up Jules turned and addressed her in rapid French: ‘Belle mère, may I present Mrs Fountain and her son John, who was up with me during my last year at Cambridge.’ Then he added in English, ‘My stepmother, the Marquise de Grasse.’

  The sitting-room of this luxury suite was unusually spacious for an hotel, and from floor to ceiling one of its sides was composed entirely of sliding glass windows. But as the light was already fading and the Marquise was sitting with her back to them, it was difficult to tell her age. She was slim, extremely soignée, and, in the latest fashion, she had had several curls of her elaborately-dressed dark hair dyed gold. Her eyes were round and blue, her mouth a little sulky-looking. She was wearing a silk blouse, grey slacks with knife-like creases, and over her shoulders a chinchilla fur. Extending a limp hand she said: ‘I am ver pleas to meet you. But my English, et ess not much good. You forgive? Perhaps you spik French?’

  Molly’s French being excellent, and that of both John and Christina adequate, most of the conversation which followed was carried on in that language. But the Marquise took little part in it; except to inform Molly a little later, while John and Jules were talking over old times, that although her husband owned houses in several parts of France, she much preferred to live for most of the year in hotels, as it was far less trouble.

  They were already drinking cocktails, and while Jules made a fresh mix for the new arrivals, Christina said, ‘Madame la Marquise and Count Jules have been most kind. They insisted on my spending the afternoon here. He took me up to the old fort, then all round the harbour; and now they want me to stay and dine with them on their yacht.’

  ‘I wish I were as young as you are and could still keep such hours,’ Molly replied with a smile. ‘If I had been up till near dawn this morning I should be dropping asleep by now.’

  Christina took the ball quickly. ‘That’s just the trouble. I’m not used to late nights, and I really don’t feel up to it.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Jules. ‘After a few glasses of champagne you will forget there is such a place as bed.’

  ‘Unfortunately champagne does not agree with me. And as I told you some time ago, I already have quite a headache. Please don’t think me rude, but I’d really rather go home.’

  ‘If you are feeling like that it’s lucky we turned up,’ John put in casually. ‘We can give you a lift back, and save Jules from being late for his dinner.’

  ‘No, no!’ Jules protested. ‘A couple of aspirins will soon put your headache right, and we are not dining till nine; so if you wish you can lie down for an hour before we start. How about lying down for a while now? Belle mère will make you comfortable in our spare room.’

  ‘No thank you. I’d rather not.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, our friends will not be going yet. See how you feel a little later on.’ Turning to John, he added, ‘There are fireworks at Le Lavendou tonight and we are taking the yacht round the cape to witness them. It would be a pity for her to miss that. I wish that I could ask you and your mother to accompany us, but unfortunately the dining space on the yacht is limited, and my father has already made up his party.’

  Dismissing the matter, he then went on to talk about mutual friends they had known at Cambridge.

  Outside darkness was falling rapidly, and during the quarter of an hour that followed Molly noticed a perceptible change in Christina. She had become much more lively as she described with enthusiasm the things she had seen with Count Jules that afternoon. When he switched on the lights and drew the curtains, she was laughing gaily about her big win at the tables the previous night, and saying that she could hardly wait to get back to them to try her luck again.

  Scenting danger in her change of mood, Molly said to her, ‘John was going to suggest taking you in to Cannes again tomorrow night. But you won’t feel much like it if you don’t get a good sleep tonight; so from that point of view your decision to come home with us is a wise one. It is a great pity that you are feeling so rotten this evening and have to disappoint Count Jules, but I’m sure he will forgive you and ask you to go out on the yacht again some other time. And, talking of time, I really think it’s time that we were going.’

  ‘Oh, not yet!’ cried Jules. ‘You have been here hardly twenty minutes, and Christ
ina is looking better already. I feel sure she will keep her promise and come with us after all.’

  ‘How late should we be?’ Christina asked.

  ‘We need not be late at all. We shall sit down to dinner as the yacht leaves harbour. The fireworks start at ten. They last only half an hour. The yacht will be back in her berth again by half-past eleven. Normally we should then dance for a while; but if you wish I could run you straight home, and you would be in bed not long after midnight.’

  ‘In that case …’ Christina hesitated, then said with, for her, unusual brazenness, ‘Give me another cocktail, and while I am drinking it I will make up my mind.’

  ‘But certainly!’ As Jules jumped to his feet, to John’s surprise his mother called out, ‘And me, too, if you please.’ Then, with sudden apprehension, he saw her pick up and open her crocodile-skin bag. But, to his considerable relief, she only took out her compact and powdered her nose.

  When Jules had replenished their glasses, Molly drew John’s attention to a rather novel arrangement of bookcases at the far end of the room, and suggested that they might be a good idea for incorporation in some of his designs. He had not previously mentioned the fact to the de Grasses that he had taken up interior decorating as a profession, but did so now, while they were all looking at the bookcases.

  The Marquise showed a sudden interest, and asked his opinion of the room, which she had had redecorated to her own specification. It displayed considerable taste, so he was able truthfully to compliment her upon it, before making a few tactful suggestions on quite minor points.

  For a few minutes they discussed them. Then John happened to glance at Christina. Her face had gone deadly white. With quick concern he asked: ‘I say; you’re looking awfully pale. Are you feeling all right?’