Quest for Alexis

by Nancy Buckingham

But, I argued, he must have some doubt in his mind to have agreed to go and see the man who claimed to be Alexis. And Dougal was shrewd—I was certain of that. Forewarned with what I’d told him, surely he would find some chink in the impostor’s armor. It would need only a few careful probing questions, and Dougal would be convinced that I was right.

  I settled to wait, trying to hold off the thousand agonizing thoughts that bombarded my mind. At this moment, my own personal danger seemed to be the least of my worries. Most of all, I was concerned about Madeleine. I knew now, I was quite certain, that Alexis was dead—and it would be my dreadful task to break it to my aunt. The news would shatter her.

  Dougal was back in less than ten minutes, startling me as he opened the car door. He slid into the seat beside me, without speaking.

  “What ... what happened?” I asked faintly, fearfully.

  Dougal hesitated. When he spoke his voice was harsh.

  “He wasn’t there, and he won’t be back. It’s getting to be a habit with that man—he’s skipped again. Checked out of the hotel with Belle Forsyth, and nobody’s got a clue where they’re heading.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was flying back home, defeated.

  But what else could I do? I had lost my luggage way back in Nice and had only the grubby, torn clothes I had on. And very little money left.

  In any case, what was the point of staying on in Geneva? The man who pretended to be Alexis had vanished again, and this time—I knew it instinctively —he had vanished for good. His job was done now. A painstakingly thorough job of character assassination. The Communists would not risk another appearance, when his genuineness might be challenged.

  And what of the actual physical assassination, my poor uncle’s murder? Who had done that job?

  Was it Belle Forsyth, whom I had liked and trusted, whose coming to Deer’s Leap had seemed to us all such a blessing? She had been right there on the spot.

  Or could it have been Brett? I shuddered violently, trying to close my mind to the horrifying possibility.

  When the plane landed at London Airport, it was nearly midnight. A rainswept February night, cold and desolate. I had difficulty in getting a taxi to take me all the way to Deer’s Leap and had to offer the driver a handsome bonus as an inducement.

  He was a fat, cheerful Cockney who expected to pass the journey in chitchatty conversation. But he soon realized that I was a dead loss and lapsed into offended silence.

  I sat hunched in the rear seat, my brain battered to a daze.

  I owed a lot to Dougal Fraser. He had been very kind, yet I knew he was relieved to put me on a plane, to put me out of his mind. I’d not had enough money left to pay my fare to London, and the return ticket from Palma was useless. Dougal had seen to everything, using his credit card and saying we could sort it all out later. And he’d promised to have the Renault returned to the car-rental firm.

  “Don’t worry about any of it, Gail. Just go home and forget all this.”

  Forget? I would never forget.

  It was a living nightmare. Somehow—however long it took me—I would force the truth out into the open. Nothing could bring my uncle back to life, but the name Alexis Karel must be restored in people’s minds as a symbol of integrity and hope.

  And yet I had no idea how I was going to do this. The Communists had planned it all meticulously, leaving no weaknesses, no cracks for me to probe.

  It seemed to me I would have to start at Deer’s Leap. That was where it had all begun. Belle had been installed there long in advance, cunningly working herself into the household, ready for the ghastly plan to be put into operation. So it was at Deer’s Leap I must start searching for evidence.

  At least I would be with Madeleine. My poor aunt. There was no getting out of it now, she would have to be told something. But what I didn’t know.

  At Deer’s Leap, too, I could share my dreadful knowledge with Rudi. He would help me.

  I couldn’t make up my mind how much I was going to tell Sir Ralph. In some ways—terrible as the new situation was—it must come as a relief to him. It would give him back his lost faith in Alexis, and he would become my ally in trying to expose the truth.

  But, inevitably, telling Sir Ralph would mean revealing the part Brett had played, and I dreaded having to do that. Brett was his only son, the son he was so proud of. To learn of Brett’s Involvement would break Sir Ralph’s heart.

  The time ahead was dark with uncertainty, as black and impenetrable as the night that surrounded me. The car sped on through lashing rain, the windshield wipers and the driver’s wheezy breathing a monotonous background to my tortured thoughts.

  * * * *

  Deer’s Leap was in darkness, not a light showing anywhere. I hadn’t enough cash to pay off the driver and had to ask him to wait while I woke Rudi.

  I pulled the old-fashioned bell handle. Nothing happened, and I pulled it again, forcefully, the jangle echoing loudly in the night silence.

  At last a light went on upstairs, sending a feeble glow down into the hall. Then the hall lights themselves came on. I heard the heavy bolts drawn back. The front door opened a few inches, on the chain, and a pale face appeared at the slit.

  “Who’s there?”

  Freda Aiken. I could have done without her at the moment.

  “It’s Gail Fleming. I’m sorry to have got you up, Miss Aiken, but I haven’t a key with me.”

  “Oh.”

  The door was shut again and the chain freed. Then Freda opened up for me. She was wearing a blue woolen dressing gown, and her hair was in curlers.

  “Nobody told me you were coming back tonight, Miss Fleming,” she said in an aggrieved tone.

  “I didn’t know myself until a few hours ago. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I was hoping it would be Mr. Bruckner, but I know he’s rather a heavy sleeper. I’ll have to go up and wake him, because I haven’t enough cash with me for the taxi. But there’s no need for you to wait up, thank you, Miss Aiken. You should get straight back to bed.”

  I invited the driver to come inside and wait. As I hurried upstairs, Freda Aiken remained there with him in the hall, as if she thought he couldn’t be trusted.

  Rudi was right about being a heavy sleeper. I had to go into his room and actually shake him before at last he muttered drowsily and opened his eyes. He gave a short, startled gasp and sat bolt upright.

  “Gail. What are you doing here? What’s happened?”

  “It’s a long story, Rudi. I’ll tell you in a minute, but first will you please give me ten pounds so I can settle up with the taxi driver. I’ve come straight from the airport.”

  “Yes, of course. My wallet is over there on the chest of drawers. Help yourself.” He threw back the blankets and slid out of bed, dragging a short paisley robe over his white pajamas. “I’ve been worried out of my mind, Gail—not hearing from you for two days. Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, Rudi, far from it. Come downstairs, and I’ll tell you.”

  A ten pound note in my hand, I went on ahead of him to pay off the driver. Freda Aiken was still there, having a murmured conversation with the man, no doubt pumping him. But there wasn’t anything he could tell her beyond the fact, possibly, that I had come off the Geneva plane.

  Rudi had come downstairs by the time I’d seen the driver out. He took hold of my arm, urging me toward the Oak Room.

  Once again, I apologized to Freda Aiken. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, but I’m afraid I couldn’t help it.’

  She nodded, her face quite blank. But she astonished me by saying suddenly, “I’ll make some tea.”

  “Thanks, but there’s no need,” said Rudi hastily.

  “But why not, Mr. Bruckner? I expect we could all do with a cup. I know I could.”

  I was in an agony to get rid of the woman. If she’d felt an iota of genuine concern, I wouldn’t have minded, but I was sure it was pure nosiness on her part. I said rather shortly, “You go ahead and make tea for yourself if you
want to. But not for us, thanks. Good night!”

  With that I walked into the Oak Room. Rudi followed me in and firmly shut the door.

  “Gail, for heaven’s sake, what’s happened?”

  I shook my head warningly. “Keep your voice down. I expect she’s trying to listen, and I don’t want her to know about it—not for the present, anyhow.”

  I sank into one of the leather armchairs while Rudi stood over me, looking down at me anxiously.

  “Oh, Rudi—it’s terrible. The man with Belle isn’t Alexis at all. He’s an impostor.”

  Rudi gave a startled, unbelieving gasp.

  “I finally caught up with them at a hotel in Geneva. Belle tried to keep me away from him, but I managed to get to their suite. And when he looked at me, I knew at once. Before I could speak to him, though, he ran into another room, and then Belle appeared and I was thrown out. The man’s a fake, Rudi. He’s been made to look exactly like Alexis, but I know he’s a fake.”

  All the color had drained from Rudi’s face, leaving an ashen mask. “What does this mean? What’s happened to Alexis?”

  I stared up at him, willing him to tell me I was utterly wrong in what I believed. Yet I was certain that he couldn’t.

  “You know the Communists even better than I do, Rudi. You know the ruthless way they plan and scheme. If they wanted to destroy Alexis Karel, to destroy everything he stood for, to make his very name hated and despised, isn’t this just the sort of thing they’re capable of?”

  Rudi was standing with his eyes closed, swaying slightly as if he felt faint. When he opened his eyes again, I saw the shock and grief in them.

  “Can they have killed him?” he whispered in a long anguished breath. “Can they really have murdered him?”

  For endless silent seconds we stared at each other while our minds took in the full horror. Not just that Alexis was dead, but the terrible implications of his murder, the ruthlessness we were up against. I had already faced it before, this moment of appalled realization. But now, with Rudi, I experienced it again, no less intensely than the first time.

  I said at last, “The Communists tried everything to stop me catching up with that pair. They knew I wouldn’t be deceived, any more than you would be, Rudi. They even tried to kill me—twice they tried.” I hesitated, taking a deep breath. “And there’s something else. Brett is involved in it, too. That’s why he insisted on coming with me. It was his job to keep tabs on me and make sure I didn’t ever get near Belle and that man.” My voice cracked. “It... it was Brett who tried to kill me.”

  “Brett? You don’t know what you’re saying, Gail!”

  He held out his arms to me, as if pleading with me to stop telling him these terrible things. I rose to my feet, clutching at him in a desperate need for reassurance. His hand touched my hair gently.

  “Not Brett, Gail. These other things, they may be true—I don’t know what to think. But Brett Warrender, no. I haven’t liked him, but only because of the way he hurt you. I can’t believe he was involved in anything like that.”

  “He is, I tell you. I ought to have been suspicious of him from the start. I ought to have guessed he was up to something when he was so determined to stick with me.”

  “Perhaps,” said Rudi hesitantly, “it was as I suggested before—that Brett still loves you.”

  That was exactly what Brett had wanted me to believe, I thought with a stabbing remembrance. He had wanted to lull any possible doubts I might have had about him. That night we spent together in the little mas, deep in the mountains of Provence. In my fierce joy, I imagined that our love was being reborn. Afterward, in the gray light of morning, I’d concluded sadly that to Brett it had been just an interlude.

  But it had taken an attempt to murder me before I saw Brett’s lovemaking as the coldly calculating piece of seduction it really was.

  “Rudi, what am I to do?” I cried desperately. “How can I expose this plot? How can I prove it?”

  Rudi didn’t answer. In the silence I heard a sudden flurry of raindrops lash the leaded window panes.

  “Somehow,” I went on with agonized determination, “somehow or other we’ve got to find evidence. We’ve got to show that Belle Forsyth is a Communist and was deliberately planted here at Deer’s Leap. And we’ve got to find some way of proving that the Communists murdered Alexis.”

  Rudi interrupted me. “Gail ... can you really be so sure that Alexis is dead?”

  “Of course he’s dead,” I insisted. “Otherwise, there would always be a risk of the whole story coming out.”

  “No, I meant... can you really be quite positive it wasn’t Alexis you saw in Geneva? You could have made a mistake.”

  I shook my head emphatically. “I wasn’t mistaken, Rudi. I know I wasn’t. I came face to face with the man, hardly six feet away, and it was definitely not Alexis.”

  “What exactly makes you so certain?”

  “Everything. It’s difficult to pin it down, but when you know a person as I knew Alexis, you can’t be deceived.”

  “But you say you only saw him for a few seconds, and you didn’t get a chance to speak to him. Just consider ... if in fact Alexis has run off with Belle Forsyth, abandoning poor Madeleine, then he’ll be feeling terribly guilty. When he was suddenly confronted by you, Gail, he’d have been deeply ashamed. That would be enough to make him act differently—oddly.”

  I took a step back, out of Rudi’s arms, gripped by a sense of cold betrayal.

  “You too,” I murmured bitterly. “You think I’m imagining it all, don’t you, because I can’t accept the truth? Oh, Rudi, do you honestly believe I would wish Alexis dead in any circumstances?”

  He shook his head in a bewildered, unhappy way. His voice was thick with emotion. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because I can’t bear to believe that he’s dead, Gail. Not in the way you suggest. Not murdered. If that were really true, then I think ... I think I should want to die myself. I keep remembering that night he disappeared—going over and over it in my mind.”

  I felt a sudden flood of pity for him. “But, Rudi, you can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

  He turned away and started to fiddle nervously with the spiraled cord of the telephone on the library desk. The movement jogged the phone in its cradle, making the bell give a sharp ting.

  “Gail, there is something I haven’t told you. Something you ought to know. It rather alters things.”

  “What is it, Rudi? Tell me.”

  I watched him struggling to overcome his reluctance. Then he squared his shoulders, and his eyes met mine.

  “Alexis was having an affair with Belle Forsyth. Here at Deer’s Leap. I know that for a fact, Gail. It had been going on for about three months.”

  Hands pressed to my throat, I stared at Rudi. I was too choked to speak.

  “I didn’t tell you before,” he said. “I knew how it would upset you. But that was why, when the news came through about them turning up together in Majorca, I was forced to accept it. I knew that Alexis had deserted Madeleine for Belle.” Rudi sighed deeply. “You can imagine how wretched I’ve felt these last few months, knowing what was going on between them —right here under the same roof as poor Madeleine. But what could I do? I swear I never dreamed it would come to this, otherwise I’d have written and told you. If only I had. You might have been able to appeal to your uncle before things went too far.”

  I felt sick with misery. Now, just as my faith in Alexis seemed to have been given back to me, it was being snatched away again with this horrible revelation. How could my uncle have carried on in such a heartless way? Any other man, perhaps, but not Alexis Karel. I thought of the pact between us in my childhood, a pact which had never needed putting into words. That at all costs Madeleine must be sheltered and protected, never again allowed to suffer as she had suffered in the past. I had lived by that principle ever since. How could it possibly have meant so little to Alexis?

  “It’s not true, Rudi,” I said stubbornly.
“I don’t believe it.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no doubt, Gail. They were careful, but they couldn’t conceal it from me completely. I saw her slipping out of his bedroom on more than one occasion in the early hours.”

  I crossed to the fireplace and stood there leaning my forehead against the smooth stone mantel. However much I wanted to disbelieve this, I couldn’t. I knew Rudi was speaking the truth.

  He said earnestly, “Gail, the man you saw in that hotel in Geneva ... I believe it was Alexis. I think it must have been.”

  I had been so completely sure, so certain. Yet...

  Numbly, I tried to recall the scene, down to the last fragment of detail. Clouded at first, unfocused, the picture in my mind slowly cleared.

  The large penthouse suite, luxuriously furnished, softly lit. The man stretched comfortably on a gold brocade sofa, reading a newspaper, his back turned to me. At that moment I hadn’t doubted he was Alexis.

  Then, irritated by my silent presence, the man had turned to look at me. He had said sharply, “Qu’est-ce que vous voulez?”

  While this was happening, and now in my recollection, it was still Alexis. At which precise moment had I known, with a rush of certainty, that the man was not my uncle?

  I had whispered his name. Startled, he had sprung to his feet and spun around to face me. Yes, that was the moment.

  I concentrated upon it, holding the image there. What was it that had told me this was not Alexis? The abundant white hair, the strong straight nose, the whole shape of his head, the upright posture, the square set of his shoulders—everything was right.

  Except the eyes.

  Eyes that didn’t know me. Eyes that showed a sudden swift fear. They were not my uncle’s eyes.

  Or were they his? With an expression I had never seen in them before—shame! Was Rudi right?

  I was in a panic now because my certainty was shaken. Which was the truth? Which did I want to be the truth?

  That Alexis was dead—murdered? That there was a ruthless Communist plot to destroy his name?

  Or that Alexis was alive and well, having deserted Madeleine, rejected me, and thrown away all the ideals he had ever stood for?