Kingfisher Tide

by Jane Arbor

  "That night they had to pick up the pieces after Sylvie and I had crashed on my mo-ped."

  "And of course she had to spend the night at the Château too . . . Or had she? Anyway, I mean to be rid of her before he makes more of a fool of himself —and a jilt of me. Which is where you come in."

  "I ?"

  "You, You must take her over—and you can name your own price. I suggest you calculate what you think you would need to set up your chalet thing, and I'll pay it. I'll get you an option on some land too, if Saint-Guy won't play."

  For some seconds the tape recorded silence. Then Blaise--

  "You must be mad ! What about young Sylvie? I—"

  "Drop her. You can't need any hints from me on ditching a girl when it suits you !"

  "Not Sylvie. She is different. I want to marry her."

  "On what, may one ask? This way you'll have more than enough to offer her, once you've filled your side of the bargain with me."

  "Oh yes? I jilt Sylvie, I make a pass at Rose, and Sylvie, I suppose, is sitting with folded hands, waiting for me to go back to her?"

  "How you get her to take you back is your affair. I'll back you to find a way. Especially with the bank balance you will have. Well?"

  Another silence, followed by—

  "Supposing Rose sees through it? Or tells me just where I get off ?"

  "She mustn't see through it. That's what I'd be paying you for. And it can't matter how often she slaps your face after your affair with her has registered with Saint-Guy. You must talk about her, be seen about with her, get her compromised somehow when you know he may catch you out. I'll do what I can, but I must leave the spadework to you. Once he has got the message he'll be too proud to ask her

  or you what is going on. He will just drop all idea of her—flat."

  "And if—though only if, I warn you—when do I collect ?"

  "The day he asks me to marry him. Then you can drop Rose as soon as you like, because it will be too late for him to do anything about it."

  "I shouldn't be too sure of that if I were you." The tape was very near its end now.

  "But I am. He prides himself on being a man of honour; he wouldn't break his engagement to me, once he has given his word. Besides—"

  There the expended tape flicked free, leaving only the empty purr of the reels until Rose switched off.

  She closed the case and detached the wall-plug with the blind deliberation of a sleepwalker, not needing to play the tape through again. For she felt every significant, revealing word was seared on her brain for ever. Now . . . now she had only to think, to work out all that it meant, all that she longed for part of it to mean—and dared not.

  For just how wary, how needlessly jealous must Flore be, to read some danger to herself into Saint-Guy's ordinary chivalry and kindness and hospitality? If only she knew ! If only— ! For as Rose knew with an ache of the heart, Flore had nothing to fear from any rivalry of hers. And if Flore could have been present at that last bitter exchange of accusation and denial, how she could have laughed off her awareness of Rose, even as a passing fancy of Saint-Guy's ! (Petite amie . how that stung !)

  Yet Flore claimed she was afraid, and out of fear or impatience had woven this dark web of intrigue

  into which she had bribed Blaise. For Blaise must have agreed. He had carried out the pattern to the letter. Now Rose saw the significance of his halting her in the path of Claude Odet's car, so that Flore could report back with truth to Saint-Guy that Blaise was taking her about without Sylvie. Later both Flore and he had probably embroidered on that and other incidents. And Blaise had not been caught in the act of that passionate kiss. He had timed it accurately for Saint-Guy's benefit ! She remembered too that he had admitted going late to her room that night. Had he even engineered that as well, ensuring that Saint-Guy should hear of it and draw the obvious conclusion ?

  And Blaise—Blaise, who had had the small decency to refuse to embroil Marie-Claire Odet in Flore's schemes, had been willing to sink to this—for money he hadn't had to earn honestly ! Rose supposed he would claim he had fallen in with it for otherwise hopeless love of Sylvie. But how could he—how could he?—stoop to winning her or any future for her with tainted money?

  Even if she took him back and never learned the truth, how could he face a lifetime of marriage to her, knowing secretly, guiltily, how it had been made possible ?

  For this, without doubt, was Blaise's 'shabby thing'—the evil means he had claimed were justified by the good end they were meant to ensure. But he hadn't been too sure of it; he had needed Rose to agree that it was so. True, when she had refused, he had still gone ahead. But the fact of his doubt was the one tiny ray in the whole dark business. It did

  nothing at all for Flore, but it did make Blaise that shade less corrupt, that little more forgivable.

  But what now? From the riot of Rose's thoughts one thing emerged with certainty—Sylvie must never hear the details of the bargain; equally, Blaise must learn of her own discovery of the tape. For somehow she must convince him he couldn't parley for Sylvie on such terms. Somehow—

  Rose locked away the tape recorder in a private drawer of her own. If Sylvie enquired for it, which was unlikely, the key of the drawer must be 'mislaid.' But how was Blaise to be reached ? He had said he expected Flore's engagement to be announced when Saint-Guy returned from England, so he must have judged he had fulfilled his side of the pact. But where and why had he disappeared so abruptly? When did he mean to come back ?

  During the empty days which followed—no contact now with the Château, no news of Blaise—the saddest aspect of the affair was that Rose could not tell Sylvie she knew Blaise loved her. For Sylvie would naturally question, How could she know?—and there was no way on from there.

  And then, out of the blue of a day which Rose was to remember all her life, Blaise telephoned.

  It was the afternoon of Clotilde Durand's wedding, to which Sylvie had gone, leaving Rose to follow after she had closed the shop for the day. All Maurinaire had been bidden either to the ceremony or the junketings after it, and Rose, expecting few customers, was busy with accounts when the telephone rang.

  "Blaise here. Is that you, Rose?"

  "Yes." Surprise and the realisation that this was the moment of truth with Blaise made her monosyllable curt.

  She heard his sigh of relief. "Oh, praise be ! I thought you might be at this Durand wedding thing which seems to have emptied the place. Is Sylvie there with you?"

  "No. She has gone to the wedding. Where are you ringing from?"

  "Only from the tabac. I just got in by road, and I haven't been up to the Chateau yet. May I come over, because I've got to talk to you, Rose, before I see Sylvie—"

  "And I've got to talk to you before you may see Sylvie !"

  "You have?" His tone was blank. "What about?"

  Without replying, Rose cradled the receiver.

  When he arrived a minute or two later she was waiting for him in the living room of the flat. The tape-recorder was open on the table, but his glance at it held only a slightly wistful question.

  "That thing— D'you still use it sometimes, then? Does Sylvie?" he asked.

  Rose shook her head. "Not for a long time now. But do you remember when you used it last?"

  His brows drew together. "I? No— Wait, though, I think I do. It was—"

  Rose switched on. "Then you had better hear what it recorded," she said, and left him to return to the shop.

  He did not join her there for a long time, and when he did he was reluctant to meet her eyes. Sorry for him, she said nothing. Nor did he until, on a

  long expelled breath, "So! How long have you known ?" he asked.

  "Only a few days. Sylvie asked me to put the recorder out of her sight after you— So I did, without noticing the take-up reel was full. I don't even know who found it running that day and switched it off."

  Blaise said dully, "I did myself, after we came back here that evening. I'd hidden it and th
e mike earlier, but by that time I was so beside myself, I never gave a thought to what it must have taken up." He spread his hands. "You don't have to tell me what you think of me, Rose. I can guess. But if it helps, say all you must. I deserve the lot."

  Rose sighed. "What can I say except why?"

  "Because I was desperate for Sylvie. Bless her, I knew she was probably mine for the asking. But give me credit, I did see I couldn't ask her to marry me on what I had to offer her."

  "It didn't occur to you that you could show willing by taking a job on the estate or somewhere else?"

  "I was coming round to it. I was almost on the point of saying to Saint-Guy 'All right. You win,' for Sylvie's sake. But though as you heard on the tape, I told Flare she must be mad, I fell for her shabby little scheme in the end."

  "Shabby ! The understatement of all time ! What about the cruelty to Sylvie, not to mention the trickery of Saint-Guy and myself ? And all of it so unnecessary, so futile ! Flare Michelet has never had to fear anything from Saint-Guy's interest in me, as you should know very well," protested Rose.

  If she had hoped for a rag of reassurance from

  Blaise she was to be disappointed. He said, "I wouldn't know. One doesn't, about anything personal, with Saint-Guy. Anyway, I told myself that was Flore's headache. If she chose to pay out good, easy money to be rid of the threat of you, imaginary or not, it was her lookout. As for Sylvie, if she would look at me again, I thought I could make it up to her. You ? Yes, I admit my worst nightmares have been guilt over you. But Saint-Guy—well, I argued I was only helping Flore to force the pace a bit. So I played it for all I was worthwhile I played it—and you know the rest."

  "I think I do. You knew Flore would report having seen us together in Cannes; you waited to kiss me on the terrace until you heard Saint-Guy coming, and I dare say you mentioned you had been or were going to my room that night ?"

  "I didn't have to. I hung about on the landing until he came back from Flore's, and I had my hand on the handle of your door when he came upstairs."

  "What—" Rose had to moisten her lips, "what did he say ?"

  "Nothing. Just looked through me as if I weren't there. And after that, of course, I had to put the idea up to you."

  "And if I had been more—receptive—you would have 'played' it—until when ?"

  "Not much longer. I reckoned I had given Flore pretty fair measure, and as she seemed satisfied the thing would be settled when Saint-Guy came back from England, I left her to it and got out."

  "To wait until the 'good easy money' was forthcoming, I suppose?"

  Blaise flinched. "Alors, I deserved that, I know. But in fact, no. By then I had decided I had to go out after a job and not come back until I had landed one which would keep two people. And so—I came back."

  Rose doubted her own hearing. "You mean you aren't going to take Flore's money?"

  "I thought I could, until after that last talk with you I knew I dared not use that kind of blood-money to buy Sylvie back. I sweated at the thought of her ever finding me out and, apart from that, I have a conscience—of sorts."

  Rose laughed shakily. "Oh, Blaise, if you knew how I've planned to hold you at pistol-point to force one on you—a conscience, I mean. So that's why you went up the Rhône-to look for a job ?"

  "And landed the promise of one. Blaise Varon, cap in hand for anything in his line, has the offer of a job as a works' canteen organiser ! Not exactly calculated to put him in the tycoon class, eh? But it would have been something to offer Sylvie, if it weren't too late now."

  "Now ?"

  "Well, that—" The upward jerk of his thumb pointed his meaning. "You won't have been able to keep it from her? She knows it all too?"

  "No. No one does, except myself."

  "Then I could—" Blaise paused, working it out. "Why, I could let her think I had decided the kindest way out of a hopeless deadlock was to jilt her, set her free until I had got a job— !"

  "Could? You must convince her of it !" Rose cut in vigorously. "I don't envy you the task. No girl

  appreciates that kind of cruelty, however well-intentioned. But as it's the only thing you dare tell her, that's your problem."

  His nod held confidence. "I'll handle it. Please God, she'll listen, if you say all she knows is that I seemed to cool off for some reason ?"

  "At one time she thought she knew more than that. Flore went out of her way to hint to Sylvie about you and me," warned Rose.

  Blaise tautened with anger. "She did ? But she promised me ! She promised! Just let her wait— ! So Sylvie believes I really dropped her for you ?"

  Rose reminded him drily, "At the time you had left me to believe it myself. But I judged I would be forgiven for lying my way out of it, and I'm pretty sure I convinced her it wasn't true. So that's one battle you shouldn't have to fight."

  He grimaced. "I've still got enough, wouldn't you say? But I may go to her now? You think I should?" "I know you should."

  "Bless you !"

  Though the counter was between them he stooped across it to touch her cheek lightly with his lips. "Meanwhile, Saint-Guy hasn't taken his disapproval of me out on you ? You still go up to the Chateau ?"

  "Not any more. I shan't again."

  Blaise drew back, frowning. "Not? Why not ?"

  "Because it seems the town's morale is being undermined by rumours that Madame's over-generosity to her charities has put the estate in difficulties, and Saint-Guy believes the leak must have been through me."

  "Through you? Through Flore, more likely ! Why, you heard her admit as much !"

  "I have?"

  "Yes. That day— Or no, I don't think the tape ran as far. Anyway, later she boasted to me that, owing to his affairs being in the red, once they were engaged she would have Saint-Guy tied by another string. He would be needing her money ! That staggered me. I'd thought he was made of the stuff. But of course she has the run of the Château, and she claimed she had figures enough to prove it by having snooped among my aunt's papers and listened at doors whenever the chance offered. What's more, if he were still slow in coining to heel, she threatened to tell the world what she knew. Mon dieu—!" Blaise thumped a fist on the counter—"to think that if that tape hadn't cut out so soon, you'd be in a position to tell Saint-Guy just what you thought of his accusations. But as it is, it's only my word against hers, isn't it ?"

  "It doesn't matter," said Rose dully. "I couldn't use the tape, how could I ? Now you've heard it, I shall destroy it in case Sylvie ever found it. Besides—" Rose made a snap decision—"my own aunt is already on her way home, and as soon as she arrives I shall go back to England."

  "But you came for a year ! Is—is Sylvie going back too?"

  Rose smiled. "I don't really know."

  "You mean it could depend on me? But supposing she does take me back, would you mind very much if she stayed on?"

  "If she wants to, why not ?"

  "She'll want to, if I do my stuff properly," grinned

  Blaise with a touch of his old assurance. He made for the door, then paused to tap a pocket. "Left my. cigarettes up above—"

  He was up the stairs and down again in a matter of strides, and looked in again on his way out.

  "If I can lure Sylvie from the wedding baked meats and promise to treat her like a bit of Dresden, does it matter what time I bring her home ?" he asked, the question a mere matter of form before he leapt the door of his car and shot away across the square.

  It was not until Rose closed the shop and went upstairs herself that she opened the case of the tape recorder, to find the tape gone.

  There was no mystery to its disappearance. Blaise must have purloined it on his second trip upstairs. But why, when she had told him she meant to destroy it? A minute or two to reduce the thing to ashes, and she would have known its secret was safe for ever. She could only suppose Blaise had wanted the satisfaction of getting rid of it himself. But he might have told her he had taken it, instead of leaving her to speculate on the hide
ous dangers of its falling into other hands instead

  A couple of hours had passed since he left, and even if he had meant to go up to the Château before going in search of Sylvie, he was not likely to be there still. Nor did she care to telephone to find out, in case Saint-Guy was there and answered her call.

  From what Blaise had said, it was also improbable that either Sylvie or he were still at the wedding party. But Rose had to keep her promise to Marie to

  join it, which meant hours more before she could question Blaise about the fate of the tape.

  As she expected, neither he nor Sylvie were to be seen among the crowds which overspilled from Marie's house into her neighbour's. But Marie, resplendent in royal blue taffeta instead of her daily black, was eager to assure Rose that Blaise had duly arrived and carried Sylvie off after paying his respects to the bride and slipping a cheque into the bridegroom's hand.

  "The happy surprise of it !" crooned Marie. "Although M'sieur sent my little Clotilde a most handsome present, it has made her day to have someone from the Chateau at her party. For Monsieur Blaise appears from nowhere, says that while he waits to kiss the bride he may as well kiss her mother—me, you understand, Mademoiselle Rose ?—which he does, making my poor Guilbert jealous, and then suddenly he is looking at Mademoiselle Sylvie and she at him, and for him it is as if none of the rest of us are here, and for her—as if the sun had come from behind a cloud for her alone !"

  Marie paused, then queried, "For this is how it was for them before he went away? A cloud had come between them—no? But now he has come back to her, and this she knows as soon as their eyes meet across the room?"

  "I hope so," said Rose.

  "And the cloud which divided them?" Marie, it was clear, had to justify her role as chief newscaster to Maurinaire. "The cause of their lovers' quarrel ?"

  But Rose was not to be drawn. "Whatever it was, it's over now, if—"