by Janet Tanner
With a drink in her hand Debbie felt a little more confident. She followed the men along a narrow corridor to what was obviously Raife’s office. Raife closed the door, went around to sit in his big leather swivel chair, offered Louis a cigar and lit another for himself. Louis perched on the edge of the desk, Debbie crossed to look at the bank of photographs on one wall, teetering on her high heels. The photographs were mostly publicity portraits of the various acts that played the Jersey Lily; some showed Raife with what must obviously be guests at the club. Debbie did not recognise any of them but studying them was preferable to listening to the conversation Louis was having with Raife. Debbie was still not happy about Louis’s plan – and from the tone of his voice it did not sound as if Raife was too enamoured of it either.
‘Why have we got to bring someone else into it?’ Debbie had asked Louis when he told her he was taking her to the Jersey Lily to meet Raife, and Louis had explained that Raife was his partner and friend. Well, it didn’t sound as if they were going to be partners or friends much longer, judging by the way voices were beginning to be raised.
Debbie winced, sipped her g and t and concentrated even harder on the photographs, but she could hardly avoid hearing the angry exchanges.
‘How the hell do you expect to ever make a success of anything if you’re not prepared to give it your best shot?’ Louis was demanding.
‘This is a small island, pal. You want to play with fire. If something goes wrong …’
‘What is going to go wrong?’
‘Anything could. De Val could decide to come clean rather than be blackmailed.’
‘Not he. He’s got too much to lose.’
‘And so have I. If he did shop you, or even talk to his friends about what you intend to do, you’d be finished in Jersey and so would I. What you do, Louis, is up to you. But leave me out of it. I’ve got a good club here.’
‘You call this a good club? You’ve hardly got half a dozen customers in the whole damned place!’
‘I make a living. In the season …’
‘Not what I call a living!’
‘You’ve got big ideas, Louis. You always have had. For God’s sake, man, forget this one before it ruins us both.’
‘Raife – I’ve got a keg of gunpowder I can stick under de Val.’
‘And blow us up with it, maybe. Haven’t you got enough stinking mess-ups in your life already without adding this one?’
‘What the hell do you mean by that?’
‘Shagging your sister-in-law for a start. One of these days your brother is going to find out what you’re up to – if he doesn’t know already.’
There was a short loaded pause. Debbie had begun to shake, the gin suddenly making her want to be sick. She hadn’t heard right. She couldn’t have heard right! But in those few moments she was remembering, all at once, the phone call and that woman’s voice, childlike, sweet, asking for Louis. ‘Who can I tell him called?’ ‘Say it’s Molly.’ ‘Who is Molly, Louis?’ ‘Molly – oh, she’s just my sister-in-law.’
And now this man, this Raife, was accusing Louis of ‘shagging his sister-in-law’.
Oh God, Debbie thought, that’s why he doesn’t come home to London very often any more. That’s why he doesn’t want me over here. He is having an affair with his sister-in-law. Molly. Whoever she is.
Over the ringing in her ears she heard Louis’s voice, low and dangerous.
‘Is that some sort of threat, Raife?’
‘It might be – yes.’
‘You bastard.’
‘Fair’s fair. You resort to blackmail against my wishes, so will I. I don’t want to be dragged into this, Louis, and by implication I will be. I value my business if you don’t. I’ve worked damned hard to build it up. I don’t want to come unstuck because you’ve got greedy. I won’t let you do it.’
Louis laughed. It was the most chilling sound Debbie had ever heard.
‘And how are you going to stop me? You think I’d fall for that one? If you think you can threaten me, Raife, you’ve got the wrong man. I don’t give a monkey’s cuss who knows about me and Molly. She might care. Robin might care. But I sure as hell don’t. And if you don’t want to be in on the biggest thing that’s ever going to hit Jersey that’s your loss. But I assure you – I intend going ahead. And you, pal, can go to hell!’
He slammed his glass down on the desk and grabbed Debbie’s wrist, jerking her across the room, out of the door and into the dark corridor. Shocked and shaking she could do nothing but go with him, past a couple of staff who had overheard the raised voices and come to see what was going on, and out into the night. The wind had really got up now, it whipped at Debbie’s stole, and dragged along in the darkness, her eyes not yet accustomed to the change, she stumbled.
‘Louis! For God’s sake!’ she sobbed.
He stopped, waiting for her to wrench her stiletto heel out of the crack that had trapped it, but she could feel his fury still running down his arm and coming out of the tips of his fingers like electric current.
‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ he barked.
She couldn’t answer, couldn’t ask him if it was true that he was having an affair with the unknown Molly. In truth she did not need to. She already knew the answer. It was tearing her apart, a pain so bad she wanted to die. She couldn’t confront him with it. She couldn’t even cry yet.
‘Come on, you silly bitch, get in the car!’ he snarled.
Debbie could do nothing but obey.
Wherever he took her it was only a short journey. She sat in the front seat hugging herself with her arms, still too stunned to really take in what had happened.
‘Come on – get out!’ he snapped at her.
‘Why? Where are we going?’
‘To see Frank de Val. Isn’t that why you’re here?’
Tears were pricking her eyes, burning in her throat. She couldn’t believe he was talking to her like this. In all the time they had been together she had never seen this side of him before.
‘You might think that’s why I’m here,’ she returned sharply. ‘It isn’t my reason. I came to please you, to be with you. I won’t be threatened like this, Louis.’
For a moment she thought he was going to strike her. A pulse throbbed in his temple, his lips curled into a snarl and she shrank back in her seat, closing her eyes and covering her face with her hands.
‘Kitten!’ She opened her eyes again, peeping between her fingers. He was running his fingers through his hair, looking more perplexed than angry now. ‘Kitten, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. The truth is I’m worried – very worried. I need money urgently and I don’t know how to get it. But I shouldn’t take it out on you.’
‘No, you shouldn’t!’
‘I said I’m sorry. Am I forgiven?’ He reached for her. For a moment she resisted but she could feel herself weakening.
‘I – I don’t know.’
‘I don’t deserve to be, I know, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Just do this for me.’
‘Louis …’
‘I need the money, Kitten. We need the money. Come on now, I’ve always been good to you, haven’t I?’
‘Yes.’
‘And this is your chance to do something for me. Come on, sweetheart, you don’t have to say a word, just let me do the talking.’
‘Oh Louis!’ One part of her knew she was being played for a sucker. One part of her knew but somehow could not care. She loved him too much; she had to believe there was at least hope for them or she simply could not bear it. He kissed her, leaned over and opened the door for her.
‘It won’t take long. And it won’t be half as bad as you think.’
But it was as bad – worse. Standing beside Louis, listening to him put his propositions to the senator, and back them up with threats of exposure of his private life Debbie cringed inwardly, wishing she could be anywhere but here on the front porch of what she might have described as a ‘stately cottage’ if she had be
en in the mood for quips.
The senator was smaller than she had remembered him; dressed now in jacket and cords it was difficult to imagine this was the same man she had last seen wearing nothing but a frilly apron. There was something familiar about his face but she could not have put it more strongly than that. But Louis had told her there was no need for her to speak and it seemed he was right. The senator was obviously so shocked to be confronted by Louis and Debbie on his own doorstep that he did not query for one moment Louis’s assertion that Debbie could – and would – identify him to the world if he did not go along with the suggestions Louis had made.
‘All right … all right! I’ll do what I can. I can’t promise anything – you know that. I’m only one among many.’ The voice that could fill the States was low and trembling and de Val kept glancing nervously over his shoulder.
‘Ah but we both know how persuasive you can be. You’d better be persuasive, Frank, if you value your reputation. I hope I’ll soon hear there is to be a debate on changing the law, otherwise Debbie might have to go to the newspapers.’
‘I told you … I’ll do what I can. Now for God’s sake go, before my wife comes to see why I’ve been so long at the door!’
‘Tell her it was one of the people you represent, with a problem, Frankie. That’s no more than the truth.’
‘All right. But go, go!’
By the light of the porch Debbie could see the sweat glistening on his scalp where his hair had receded and she felt a qualm of pity for him. Men like de Val weren’t wicked or even bad, just rather pathetic. They couldn’t help being what they were, but that didn’t mean they were proud of it. Who knew the depths of shame and self-loathing someone like Frank experienced when he came down from the high of indulging his fantasies? Bad enough to have to live with the knowledge of an inconquerable – and very undignified – vice, how much worse to be threatened with exposure! Debbie began to feel sick again and it was as if de Val’s humiliation was also somehow her own. What was more it was somehow inextricably bound up with the way she had felt in Raife Pearson’s office. She couldn’t forget the things Louis had said, especially about Molly. Even though she was not consciously thinking about them now yet the shadow remained, dull and heavy, adding to the terrible sense of degradation.
This whole trip, for which she had had such high hopes, had turned into a horrible sick nightmare. Nothing had turned out as she had expected or hoped, nothing at all. Even Louis’s promises now held a hollow ring.
Debbie felt suddenly as if she might be going to faint. There was a ringing in her ears and her vision blurred. It was awful – awful. Just as she thought her legs would collapse beneath her if she had to stand there a moment longer looking at that pathetic sweating little man, she felt Louis’s hand beneath her elbow.
‘Come on, Debs. We’ll leave Mr de Val to think about what we’ve said.’
‘Why did we have to go to his house?’ she asked when they were in the car again. ‘Why couldn’t you have written to him or talked to him somewhere else?’
‘In the States building, you mean?’ Louis slammed the car into reverse, turned in de Val’s drive and shot off along the lane. ‘He’d have been delighted to have been confronted with the evidence of his carryings-on there, I’m sure.’
‘But surely there was no need for me to be there at all. It made such a business of it.’
‘Frank wouldn’t have believed I had a scrap of evidence unless I produced you. That’s why it was so necessary for you to come over.’
A nerve jumped in her throat and the nausea worsened.
‘We wouldn’t really go to the papers would we? You wouldn’t expect me to …?’
‘Well of course,’ Louis said smoothly. ‘If he won’t play ball I shall have to make my money by some other means. I shall sell the story to the highest bidder.’
‘My story!’
He ignored her, laughing as he swung the Porsche at high speed round the winding country lanes.
‘It might almost be better! Perhaps the gambling laws wouldn’t be changed and the clubs and hotels would have to stay staid but we’d be assured of money on the nail. What could I screw them for, I wonder? Thirty thousand? I should think so. And would I enjoy it! Seeing some of those stuffed shirts turn the colour of ripe aubergines over the story you could tell would be a prize in itself! I can see the headlines now – “SEXY POLITICIAN IN ORGY SCANDAL” or “FRANK AS FRANK!”’
‘What about me?’ Debbie demanded. She was close to tears. ‘I’d be telling the world I was at that orgy too!’
‘That doesn’t matter does it?’
‘What do you mean – it doesn’t matter? It matters to me! I didn’t want to be there – it was horrible – embarrassing. Surely you wouldn’t want to put me through that? Surely …’
She broke off as the truth hit her. He didn’t care. Louis really did not care about her feelings at all. And that could mean only one thing. He did not have the slightest intention of marrying her or even bringing her to Jersey permanently. She had never been more than a diversion and now, when the de Val business was over, she would have outlived her usefulness.
He was swinging the car into a tree-lined drive.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘Home. La Grange. I want to make a phone call.’
‘Oh.’ In spite of herself she felt one last desperate shard of hope. She was going to La Grange, the family home. Perhaps she was wrong and he did not intend to discard her after all.
The house was in darkness.
‘You can come in if you want to,’ Louis said. ‘Mother is at a gala in St Helier and David is ill in bed with flu.’
Debbie’s heart sank. So she wasn’t going to be introduced. ‘I’ll wait in the car,’ she started to say, then changed her mind, curiosity getting the better of her.
She followed Louis into the hall. Once, not so long ago, the grandeur of it would have overwhelmed her but the life she had led since going to London had changed all that. The fascination of La Grange lay in the fact that this was Louis’s home, these walls had seen him as a child and a young man – days she could never share – and would see him, perhaps, through all the years ahead. Louis disappeared into what was obviously a study. She heard the ring of the phone as he lifted the receiver to dial and occupied herself looking at the paintings in the hall and running a finger over the carvings on the wooden chest that stood at the foot of the staircase. And what a staircase! Had Louis ever slid down these bannisters, she wondered. Most children surely would, given the chance and Louis had been a daredevil, she imagined.
An unexpected sound made her turn. The front door opened and a tall fair haired man came in.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded.
Though a little taken by surprise Debbie returned his hostile gaze.
‘I’m with Louis.’
The man snorted. He looked, Debbie thought, very angry.
‘Where is he?’
She indicated the study. ‘ In there – on the telephone.’
The fair haired man made straight for the study. His familiarity with the house as much as any passing likeness to Louis told Debbie who he was even before she heard Louis say in a surprised voice: ‘Robin!’
And then all hell broke loose.
In the years to come, when she tried to remember exactly what was said that night, Debbie always found she had an almost total mental block. So terrible was what followed that it was as if her brain was trying its best to shut off, to eliminate the whole scene from her memory. But although the actual words of the accusations and counter-accusations were lost in the whirlpool of emotion Debbie was never, for a single moment, in any doubt about what was behind the terrible sound of two men tearing one another apart.
Raife Pearson had carried out his threat to tell Robin of Louis’s affair with his wife, and Robin, like a mad bull, had come chasing over to La Grange to have it out with Louis. Like most gentle men who are slow to anger, his temper wh
en finally aroused could be terrible. Frightened, Debbie shrank away as the two men followed one another round through the downstairs rooms of the house, shouting at one another. Yet in a strange way she was very calm, very aware of an ice-cold place deep inside her, a despair she could no longer deny and a sense of total humiliation and worthlessness.
Whilst she had been waiting for Louis in London, longing for him, loving him with all her being, he had been being unfaithful to her here in Jersey with his own sister-in-law. Worse, he had not the slightest intention of making their relationship permanent. She was here now only because he wanted to use her for his own ends and he did not care how much he cheapened her in the process. She was nothing but a pawn now in the game he was playing to get what he wanted here in Jersey. That was all she meant to him now – perhaps all she had ever meant to him.
Debbie cowered in the hall, frightened and hurt beyond belief. She no longer knew where she would go or what she would do now. She only knew that it felt as though her heart was breaking.
Chapter thirty-five
Jersey, 1991
Dan Deffains’ office looked as if it had been struck by a bomb, more chaotic even than the usual organised clutter under which it disappeared when he was working on a story. The wastepaper basket had overturned, spilling half a dozen floppy discs on to the carpet and in the middle of the floor a huge pile of paper, newspaper cuttings and photographs resembled nothing so much as an unlit bonfire. Dan scooped the lot into a black plastic dustbin liner then reached for the last file remaining on his desk, a dog-eared manilla folder with pink legal tape hanging loosely from it and labelled both with a black marker pen and a typed stick-on label – ATTORNEY GENERAL v. SOPHIA LANGLOIS – November 1972. For a long moment he looked at it, remembering the day, over a year ago now, when he had found it whilst clearing out his father’s office, and the excitement it had aroused in him. Then, with a heavy sigh, he tossed the folder into the dustbin finer on top of all the rest of the paraphernalia associated with the Langlois case.
What a bloody fiasco it had turned out to be! He had had such high hopes that the case might provide the basis for a new scoop in investigative journalism, perhaps even a book. His instincts had been right. But it was a story he could not use without hurting Juliet. That was not something he was prepared to do.
