Devil and the Deep Sea (12 page)

He rose and fetched a chair from the corner of the room, placing it

beside Solange's bed.

His eyes met Samma's. 'Go,
ma belle,'
he said with dangerous

softness. 'And say a thanksgiving to whatever god you believe in,

because I would not have spared you, believe me.' He added, flatly,

'There must be more of
Le Diable
in me than I thought.'

Samma stared at him wordlessly, then turned and fled back to the

fragile security of her room, where she flung herself across the bed,

shaking like a leaf.

Because of Solange's nightmare she had been reprieved, it seemed,

at least for the time being.

And the shaming truth she had to face was that she didn't know

whether to be glad—or sorry.

When Samma awoke slowly and reluctantly the next day, the

sunlight was flooding into her room and, sitting in a patch of it,

cross-legged on the floor, was Solange, staring at her unblinkingly.

Samma propped herself up on an elbow. 'Good morning,' she said

awkwardly. 'Are—are you feeling better today?'

Solange hunched a shoulder. 'I was not ill,' she retorted. She gave

Samma a speculative look. 'If you are married to Papa, why don't

you sleep in his bed, in there?' She pointed to the adjoining room.

'Lisette Varray says married people sleep in the same bed, so they

can cuddle and make babies.'

Samma was crossly aware of that betraying blush again.

'Well—perhaps. But last night, Papa had to look after you.'

'Not all night,' Solange denied with a shake of her head. 'When he

thought I was asleep, he went away.'

'Oh.' There was a sudden hollow feeling in the pit of Samma's

stomach as she registered this. So he had gone to Elvire after all,

she thought. And she had no one but herself to blame, because she'd

sent him there. He must have cynically decided she was not worth

the fight she had promised him, and settled for what was readily

available instead. She swallowed past the swift, painful lump in her

throat and said, 'Do you often have bad dreams?'

Solange paused, as if weighing up the question, then she said, 'I was

not dreaming.
Le Diable
was there. He came to warn you to leave

Belmanoir,
madame.'

'Oh, really?' Samma asked levelly. 'Then why didn't he come to me

in person?'

Solange's expression went suddenly blank, as if this was a point of

view which had not previously occurred to her.

Watching her, Samma felt an unworthy suspicion budding and

coming to bloom inside her.

'What did he look like?' she asked.

Solange shrugged. 'Like a pirate,' she returned sullenly. She paused.

'And he frowned and shook his fist a lot.'

Samma stifled an unwilling grin. 'I'm not surprised. It must be very

boring for him to have to tramp round this house for all these

centuries, warning people about the curse.'

'It is not a joke,' Solange flared.

'I quite agree,' Samma nodded. 'And I don't suppose any of your

previous companions found it very funny, either,' she added

casually, looking Solange straight in the eye.

'Naturally, they were very afraid.' Solange gave a dramatic shudder.

'Who would not be?'

'Who, indeed?' Samma agreed. 'Did you have similar dreams before

they left?'

Solange's gaze fell away. 'I think so.'

And I'm sure of it, Samma told herself silently. Aloud, she said,

'This is a lovely room. Did your mother like it, too?'

'She did not sleep here,' Solange said. 'She had a suite at the other

end of the house. But all the rooms are pretty. Grandmere Delacroix

chose all the new things in the house. She could not walk after her

accident, and Papa said it gave her a new interest in life.'

Samma's brows lifted. 'What happened to your grandmother?'

'She fell off her horse,' Solange said calmly. 'It was the curse. And

when Maman died, that was the curse, too.'

Samma frowned incredulously. 'Who in the world has been telling

you these things?' she demanded.

Solange looked evasive. '
Tout le monde.
Everyone knows it.' She

got up. 'I think I will go downstairs. Shall I tell Elvire to bring your

breakfast here?'

'No, thank you,' Samma said hastily. The last person in the world

she wanted to face, under the present circumstances, was Elvire, no

doubt discreetly revelling in the fact that her lover still wanted her,

in spite of his marriage. She tore her thoughts away from the

unwelcome images beginning to form in her mind. 'Are you going to

school today?'

Solange shrugged ungraciously. 'I wanted to, but Elvire said I had

to stay here with you, instead.'

Samma bit her lip. Gee, thanks, Elvire, she thought. Trying to sound

cheerful, she said, 'Well, you can show me over the rest of the

house—and the gardens. Is there a swimming pool?'

'A big one.'

'Can you swim?'

'No.' Solange glared at her. 'And you will not make me.'

'God forbid!' Samma threw up her hands ironically. 'You don't mind

if I use the pool, I hope.'

Solange shrugged again. 'It is your pool,' she returned reluctantly.

'Elvire says everything in Belmanoir belongs to you now.'

No, Samma thought with a sudden unbidden pang—not everything.

She bathed, and put on the simple dark blue
maillot
she had chosen

in preference to the minimal bikinis on offer in the boutiques,

topping it with a loose shift in a swirling jungle print. She collected

her sketching things, and sun oil, before making her way

downstairs.

She was frankly nervous about encountering Roche, or Elvire,

unable to decide how she should react. But the decision was

postponed, when she found no one about but one of the maids, who

told her cheerfully that 'Mist' Roche' had gone into St Laurent to the

casino, just like always.

Business as usual, Samma thought, and something she would have

to get used to. Roche had warned her he spent little time at home.

She stifled the troubling twinge of regret which assailed her. After

all, the last thing in the world she wanted was Roche's

company—wasn't it?

The pool lay at the rear of the house, masked by high, flowering

hedges. To Samma's surprise, Solange was there ahead of her,

sitting on one of the cushioned loungers, undressing her doll. Her

face intent, she made a delightful picture. Samma sat down quietly,

and opened her sketching block.

'What are you doing?' Solange demanded eventually and

suspiciously.

'Drawing your portrait.' As Solange came to her side, Samma

demonstrated. 'See, I put a line here—and a curve here, and some

shading—and,
voila,
we have Solange.'

'It is like me.' Solange gave an endearing hop of excitement. 'And

yet it is not. The hair is wrong,' she added, pointing to the feathery

bob and softly flicked fringe which Samma had created.

'Not wrong, just different.' Samma touched one of the braids. 'Have

you never thought of changing your style?'

'Maman wanted my hair like this. She said it was suitable.'

Samma trod carefully. 'Well, I'm sure it was—then. But you're so

much more grown-up now. You can't have pigtails for ever.'

Solange stared down at the sketch, her brows drawn together, then

jumped as a smiling voice called out,
'Bonjour.'

'It is Tante Liliane,' Solange announced, and ran to the new arrival.

Samma's own feelings were mixed. She had agreed to this, she told

herself, but she hadn't expected Madame Duvalle to put in an

appearance quite so soon. She fastened on a polite smile.

'But where is Roche?' Madame Duvalle enquired, as she sank into

the chair next to Samma's, under the multi-coloured sunshade. She

sent Samma an engaging smile. 'Surely he cannot be neglecting you

already?'

Samma bit her lip. 'Neglecting' had too many connotations of

Madame Augustin, she thought with distaste.

She said evenly, 'He has businesses to run.'

'And very successfully too,' Liliane said gushingly. 'Grand Cay is

becoming quite a mecca for wealthy tourists, and Roche has been

the moving force behind much of the island's development.'

'Were you born here?' Samma asked.

'Helas,
no. But my husband and I visited here many times. My

happy memories brought me back here.' Madame Duvalle gave a

faint sigh. 'It was Francois who inspired my interest in the island's

history to begin with.'

Samma wondered whether the older woman was widowed, or

simply divorced, but did not feel equal to enquiring.

'And Roche has always been so kind,' Liliane continued. 'He has

rented me the former overseer's house at the plantation at a nominal

sum.' She smiled. 'He may not agree with my researches, but he

allows me every facility to proceed with them.'

'Is the plantation still in operation?' Samma asked, and Liliane shot

her a surprised look.

'Mais oui,
although it is run as a co-operative these days, and not

controlled solely by the Delacroix family.' Her laugh tinkled. 'Has

Roche not discussed the extent of his business interests with you?

But how wicked, in these days of equality!'

'There hasn't really been time,' Samma said evasively.

'A whirlwind romance,
hein
? And just when one thought he would

never . . .' Liliane paused, then shrugged, turning her attention to

Solange, much to Samma's relief. 'You look a little pale this

morning,
mon tresor.'

'A disturbed night,' Samma put in neutrally.

Liliane compressed her lips. 'Not another nightmare—just when we

hoped she had begun to forget.'

'Solange,' Samma said quietly, 'would you go up to the house and

ask Elvire to bring us some coffee,
s'il te plait?'

Solange hesitated, then took herself off, dragging her feet.

'She is not an easy child to manage. You seem to have made a good

beginning,' Liliane commented, leaning back in her chair.

'Maybe,' Samma said non-committally. She hesitated. 'If there's

some cause for Solange's nightmares, it might be better if we didn't

refer to it in front of her. She seems to listen to far too much round

here as it is.'

'But of course you are right.' Liliane looked distressed.
'Mon Dieu,

but I am criminally thoughtless!'

'On the other hand,' Samma went on. 'If there's something I should

know . . .' She paused enquiringly.

'You mean Roche has not told you—warned you?
Mais, c'est

impossible, qa?
Liliane looked aghast. 'And yet, can one blame him

for wishing to bury the past?

The gossip and rumours were, after all,
formidable.'

'Gossip?' Samma frowned.

Liliane looked at her sympathetically. 'About Marie-Christine—her

death.'

'What about it?'

Liliane shrugged. 'There was an accident. Her car ran off the road,

and into a ravine. She was killed instantly.'

'That's awful,' Samma said slowly. 'But why should anyone gossip

about it?'

Liliane spread out her hands. 'Because it was said that the verdict

was a cover-up—that Marie-Christine had in fact killed

herself—crashed the car deliberately. It was known, you see, that

the marriage was not a success—that they lived separately. She

made emotional scenes—wild claims that the house hated her. That

she would die if she had to live here alone.' She paused. 'That was

when Elvire came. She was, you may know, a trained nurse,

experienced in such cases.'

'No,' Samma said numbly, 'I—I didn't know.' She bit her lip. 'I still

don't really understand. Was it just the house . . .?'

Liliane shook her head. 'I do not like to speak of it. I tried, you see,

to be Marie-Christine's friend. In many ways I pitied her—loving

Roche so much—receiving only coldness and rejection in return.'

She sighed. 'It was a tragic situation. No wonder,
la pauvre,
that

she turned to alcohol for consolation.'

'I—see.' Samma touched the tip of her tongue to suddenly dry lips.

'Had she been drinking when—when . . .'

'It seems so. This is when the talk began because she was not,

naturellement,
allowed the use of a car, or even to leave Belmanoir

alone. Yet somehow she obtained the keys and set off. Also, no one

could understand where she got her supplies of vodka. She was

strictly forbidden alcohol of any kind, and Mademoiselle Casson

watched her constantly. A servant, I believe, was dismissed,

although nothing was proved. Yet still she continued to drink—in

the end, fatally.' Liliane paused. 'The effect on the child can, of