by John Bude
Kitty, never quite sure how to take these devastating digs, smiled bleakly at Nesta and granted Bill a distant nod; then turned with sudden animation to Tony Shenton, who’d drifted up behind her. Bill was swift to notice how she slipped her arm through his—a familiar, possessive gesture that left no doubt in his mind as to the relationship between them. So there had been another man in the set-up—just as he’d always suspected. He wondered who the devil the fellow was and where Kitty had first met him. An outsized rotter by the look of him. Bill’s jaw grew taut. He realized with a sudden stab of despair that this man’s presence was just another knot in an already tangled situation.
Barely conscious of what he was saying, he was introduced to Dilys, Miss Pilligrew and Latour. Then Nesta grabbed Tony by the necktie and jerked him forward like a recalcitrant horse. For the first time the two men found themselves face to face. And at that moment Bill suffered a shock. There was absolutely no question about it—somewhere, sometime, he’d met this smooth-faced bounder before!
IV
It was not until they’d moved out on to the moonlit terrace after dinner that Bill succeeded in detaching Kitty from the rest of the party. Tony had been called away to answer the telephone and the others were still seated at the coffee table. Seizing his chance Bill grabbed Kitty by the arm and more or less manhandled her behind a wisteria-covered pillar. He said urgently:
“I’ve got to see you alone sometime. We’ve got to have a proper talk about everything. We just can’t go on like this.”
Snatching away her arm she demanded furiously:
“Why did you have to come here? How did you find out that I was in Menton? Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“You know well enough why I can’t. Because I’m still in love with you, Kit. I’ve been nearly crazy with loneliness ever since you walked out on me. Don’t you see—”
“For heaven’s sake, keep your voice down!”
“When can we have a talk? It’s no good drifting like this. We’ve got to have things out, once and for all. You see that, Kit?”
She said desperately:
“Oh, all right. If we must. When you leave, park the car at the foot of the hill. I’ll try and sneak out to you for a few minutes.”
“Good enough, darling. I’ll be there.” He tried to slip an arm about her waist but, with a fierce little shake of her head, she dodged aside. Bill shrugged miserably. “Oh, all right—if that’s how you feel about it…”
“Now you two!” cried Nesta with coy innuendo. “What are you whispering about? Kitty, how dare you buttonhole poor Captain Dillon. You’re a brazen hussy!”
“Sorry, Mrs. Hedderwick. I was just showing him the view over the town. It looks heavenly in the moonlight.”
As the couple rejoined the circle at the table, Nesta went on cooingly:
“Bill darling, do you play bridge?”
“Well, I’m not a Culbertson, but—”
“Splendid! You must come along and make up a four. Next Friday, dear boy—that’s the day after tomorrow. Friday at eight-thirty. Make a note of it in your diary.”
“Well, I…” stammered Bill. “I’m not sure that…”
“Good! I knew you would. Colonel Malloy and his horrid little wife will be coming over from Beaulieu. We always make up a four on Fridays.” Nesta turned a bolt-eyed glare on her long-suffering companion. “Bill can take your place, Pilly. You’re dreadful. No finesse, dear, and far too talkative.”
“Yes, dear,” murmured Miss Pilligrew submissively.
“Now, Dilys, darling, come and sit next to Bill. I’m sure he’s dying to talk to you. Where’s Tony? And Paul? It’s damned rude the way they just eat and fade away. But that’s men all over. As long as they can satisfy their grosser appetites…no, not you, Bill. Your manners were always delightful. I’m so glad you took me at my word. We want to see an awful lot of you—don’t we, Dilys?”
“Yes, auntie,” mumbled Dilys uncomfortably.
“So from now on no standing on ceremony. Understand, dear boy? Just barge in whenever—” With a dramatic gesture Nesta clapped her hands to her head and uttered a wild little shriek. “Bill dear, what am I thinking about! I’m in my dotage. Why on earth didn’t it occur to me at once? You must come and stay here. Of course you must! The Bandol’s such a grubby little joint. And we’d simply—”
“But…but I can’t do that,” floundered Bill, glancing apprehensively at Kitty, thinking of the delicate and explosive situation that existed between them. “It’s extremely kind of you but—”
“Now don’t be so damned obstinate! You’ll pack up and move in tomorrow. Promise, Bill.”
Kitty muttered desperately:
“But perhaps Captain Dillon prefers staying at an hotel, Mrs. Hedderwick. Men often do.”
Nesta quelled her with a contemptuous snort.
“Don’t talk such poppycock, darling. Nobody in their senses would stay at the Bandol unless they had to. I hear the water’s always lukewarm and the food absolutely ghastly. Of course he’d rather stay here. You would, wouldn’t you, Bill?”
He glanced despairingly at Kitty and mumbled feebly:
“Well, I don’t…I don’t quite know what to…”
“Then that’s settled!” shrilled Nesta, beaming delightedly at the little group about the table. “You hear that, everybody—Bill’s coming! We’ll expect you by lunch tomorrow. So glad I had the sense to—”
But Bill was no longer listening. Tony Shenton had reappeared on the terrace and suddenly Bill recalled where he’d first met the fellow. It was in 1943 at some aerodrome in Lincolnshire. He’d knocked up against him in the bar after dinner in the mess and exchanged a few words with him. Not many, for Shenton had been half-seas-over and more or less incapable of sustained conversation. Later that evening he’d learnt something of Flying-Officer Shenton’s reputation, and what he’d learnt wasn’t exactly edifying. Some question of a missing wallet that Shenton had inadvertently dragged from his pocket when searching for a packet of cigarettes. There’d been nearly forty pounds in the wallet, but for the sake of the squadron the affair had been hushed up.
And this was the fellow Kitty was going around with—a common pickpocket, a wastrel, a scrounger, a playboy! Good God! It was tragic. No doubt about it—unless he could break up this rotten affair before he left Menton then Kitty, poor kid, was heading blindfold for disaster!
V
But when, some twenty minutes after he’d driven away from the villa, she joined him in the parked car, he soon realized that Kitty was in no mood to listen to reason. She was furious with him for turning up again in her life. Furious with the mutual friend in London who sneaked of her whereabouts. Furious because, by a strange coincidence, he’d met Nesta in the past and had thus been able to wangle an invitation to the Villa Paloma. Over Tony Shenton she was brazen.
“I met him long before I met you. We’ve kept in touch for years. That shakes you, doesn’t it? And if Tony asks me, I’m damn well going to marry him!”
“Marry him!” Bill was thunderstruck. “But, good lord, Kit, doesn’t he realize? Haven’t you had the decency to tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
“That you’re already married to me!”
Kitty laughed maliciously.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll have to tell him sometime. Even I can see that. But I’m going to tell him in my own time—not yours.”
“But, good heavens, Kit!”
“Well, what does it matter anyway? I’m not in love with you. I doubt if I ever was. Our marriage was about the grimmest mistake I ever made. Left high and dry in that pokey little Kensington flat all day while you were at the office…a thrilling sort of existence, wasn’t it?” Kitty’s laughter grew more shrill. “And I was supposed to be the good little wifey who sat twiddling her thumbs until her dear hubby came home tired and touchy
from his work. Don’t be so dim, Bill. If it hadn’t been for Tony I’d have gone crackers.”
“But, good lord, Kit—you don’t mean that you and Tony—?”
“Oh, be your age! Don’t tell me you didn’t guess. That night after our final row, when I walked out on you for good…well, Tony had already fixed for me to join him down here. You’re wasting your time, Bill. It’s no good. I’m not coming back!”
“But, confound it all, you’re my wife!” cried Bill vehemently. “Do you think I’m going to stand back and see you chuck yourself away on a rank outsider like Shenton?”
“I’d like to see you stop me. If Tony asks me to marry him you’re going to give me my divorce.”
“I’m damned if I am! I came across Shenton during the War and his reputation in the mess stank to high heaven.”
“Oh well, if you must throw mud at him when he’s not here to defend himself…”
Kitty opened the car-door and slid one silk-clad leg to the ground. With a muttered oath Bill dragged her back and, reaching across, slammed the door.
“Now look here, Kit—let’s get this straight. I knew just what you were thinking about when Mrs. Hedderwick pushed out that invitation. That, in the circumstances, I was bound to turn it down. Well, I thought the same thing at first, even if I couldn’t make up an excuse to put the old dear off. But since then I’ve changed my mind, and, whether you like it or not, I’m turning up at the villa tomorrow. And if Mrs. Hedderwick’s agreeable, I’m damn well going to stay there for the remaining three weeks of my holiday. And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. If you think I’m going to sneak out of your life with my tail between my legs just because you think you’ve fallen for Shenton in a big way then you’re crazy! I’m giving you three weeks to find out your mistake and come to your senses. So now you know just where you stand.”
“All right,” retorted Kitty hotly. “Turn up at the villa. It won’t worry me. It certainly won’t break my heart to keep out of your way. But get this into your head. I’m not open to persuasion. You can say and do what you like but you won’t make me change my mind. I’m going to marry Tony and you’re going to make it possible. That’s flat and final.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Well, if you must know I’m going to have a baby and it won’t be yours, Bill. Now laugh that one off.”
“Kit! It isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it? Well, wait another couple of months and even you’ll have to believe me.”
For a moment Bill sat there, immobile, unspeaking; then, suddenly, desperately, he turned on Kitty and grasped her by the wrists. Even at that moment of disillusionment he felt no real enmity towards Kitty. She’d made a mess of her life—that was all. She’d been bored and lonely and he hadn’t realized. And Shenton? How the devil was he to be blamed for this shabby set-up if he hadn’t realized that Kitty was a married woman?
He said pleadingly:
“Kit darling—even now, I don’t care…if only you’ll come back to me. We’ll forget all this rotten business. What do I care if this child isn’t—”
“Let me go—do you hear? Let me get out of here!” With a sudden vicious gesture she snatched free her wrists and caught him a stinging slap on the cheek. “If you don’t open that door and let me go I’ll scream for help!”
“O.K.” said Bill dully. “O.K.”
He reached over and opened the door. She scrambled out and stood for an instant setting straight her hair, smoothing out her frock. Then, ignoring his “Good-night”, she turned on her absurdly high-heels and clicked off up the hill. He watched her flicker through the dappled moonlight, and the fronded shadows of the palm trees, until she was out of sight. It was curious that even at that melancholy moment his heart was full of pity for her.
As he drove back slowly through the deserted streets to his hotel, he made up his mind just what his next move should be in this unhappy situation. He must tackle Shenton face to face and find out, once for all, what his intentions were towards Kitty. And if he were prepared to do the decent thing…Bill shrugged. Well, he knew when he was beaten. But, by God, Shenton must play fair, or else…
Chapter VI
Meredith in Monte Carlo
I
“Look here, sir,” protested Sergeant Freddy Strang, “duty’s duty and all the rest of it, but if you force me to down another bottle of this darn Vichy water I’ll be airborne!”
“Sorry, Sergeant,” chuckled Meredith. “You’ve all my sympathy, but it wouldn’t do to hang about in these places without ordering something. And if you think I’m going to let you spend your day knocking back double brandies and shoving ’em down on the expenses sheet, then you’re a bigger optimist than I am.”
“But three days of it, sir! I never want to swallow another mouthful of the poisonous stuff. And it isn’t as if we’ve got anywhere. Not a sniff of the chap we’re looking for. It’s absolutely depressing.”
“Well, that’s how it runs. No good getting impatient. But I promise you this much. If we haven’t pulled a rabbit out of the hat by ten pip-emma this evening, then we’ll call the hunt off.”
“Sounds fair enough to me, sir,” said Freddy, hastily raising a hand to his mouth to cover an indiscretion that had been plaguing him ever since this Monte Carlo roundabout had been set in motion. “Sorry, sir. Can’t help it. Afraid it’s getting a bit out of control.”
Although Meredith had taken good care to conceal it from his subordinate, he too was feeling pretty down in the mouth. For nearly three days now they’d been haunting the more exclusive cocktail bars and cafés frequented by the foreign tourists. Blampignon had drawn up an appropriate list for his English confrères. In particular Meredith had kept a watchful eye on the Manhattan and Mirimar, the bars where this smooth-tongued foreigner had made contact with the two Englishmen. And from all these boring, fruitless hours he’d culled only a capful of further information. Discreet enquiries among the staffs of these various establishments elicited the fact that at six of them, including the Manhattan and Mirimar, this Dutchman or German was known to them by sight. For the most part Meredith and Strang had worked separately, coming together only at mealtimes to compare notes.
But at that moment—about six o’clock on the third day of their vigil—they were seated opposite each other at a little glass-topped table in a far corner of the Bar Mirimar. A few minutes earlier, in conversation with one of the many garçons attached to the place, Meredith had stumbled on a curious bit of evidence. According to this fellow, who luckily spoke English, he’d last seen the moon-faced gentleman come into the bar the previous Thursday. And thinking back, he was prepared to swear that the gentleman never patronized the Mirimar except on a Thursday—adding in explanation of this astonishing claim:
“You see, M’sieur, we are quick to remember faces. It is part of our job to do so. And this particular gentleman…he always order vodka. We do not often serve vodka in the Mirimar, so when he come in I think ‘Ah, here is the gentleman who always drink vodka!’ So I go up quick to him and say ‘Vodka as usual, M’sieur?’ And, naturellement, he is so flattered because I remember that he give me a most handsome tip. Mais oui—always Thursdays, M’sieur. I think you will find I am not wrong about that. And since it is Thursday today…perhaps later…you follow, M’sieur?”
Meredith followed perfectly. Recalling that the statements he’d taken from the two Englishmen were in his wallet, he took them out and hastily scanned them. He smiled to himself. Exactly! They too had met the fellow on a Thursday. So what? Didn’t it suggest that he worked the Monte Carlo bars only on that particular day of the week?
II
It was about half an hour later when they saw him come in. There was no mistaking his identity. Every detail of his appearance tallied exactly with the description given by the Englishmen. Meredith threw a quick, meaning glance at Strang and muttered:
>
“O.K., m’lad. This is it. Stay here. I’ll try and nab a bar-stool next to him.”
In this Meredith was unlucky. After ordering his customary glass of vodka, the man glanced up and down the length of the bar and, after a moment’s hesitation, sidled on to an empty stool between a snowy-haired, dandified old roué who was doddering, half-asleep, over a half-empty bottle of Veuve Clicquot, and a brassy-haired, middle-aged woman, whom Meredith judged to be English. Edging his way cautiously through the crowd, the Inspector took up his position as close to the group as he dared.
For five minutes or so nothing happened. Then suddenly the moon-faced foreigner jogged his elbow against the Englishwoman’s arm just as she was about to take a sip from her cocktail glass. The liquid slopped on to the bar-top. Instantly the fellow was all apologies. Whipping out a large silk handkerchief he began to dab up the mess and, in a few seconds, the couple were engaged in animated conversation. Too far away to catch what they were saying, Meredith was perfectly content to bide his time. This, he realized, was merely the opening gambit in the little game that was about to be played.
Presently the man ordered another round of drinks and the conversation became not only more animated but far more intimate. Ten minutes later the Englishwoman, after visible protests from her companion, returned the compliment. Thereafter their voices dropped to a conspiratorial murmur and their heads came closer and closer until they were almost touching.
Then, abruptly, the ill-assorted couple seemed to come to a decision. With a polished, practised gesture the man draped the woman’s sequin wrap about her plump, naked shoulders, helped her from the bar-stool and ushered her obsequiously towards the revolving-doors.
In a flash Meredith swung round on Strang, still seated at the corner table, and jerked his head towards the exit. Strang rose, joined his superior and, without a word, they strolled across the bar and thus out into the broad moonlit square. The lamps were already gleaming among the exotic trees and flowering shrubs, where the beautifully-tended gardens sloped down to the fantastic towers and cupolas of the floodlit Casino. The warm, caressing air was redolent of the scent of heliotrope and, somewhere in the half-dusk under the palms, a fountain was plashing. But the romantic magic of the Mediterranean night left Meredith unmoved. His eyes were fixed on the couple, now a little way ahead, as they moved at a leisurely pace towards the Casino.
