Devil and the Deep Sea (16 page)

again—behind him.

Propped up on one elbow, Samma stared incredulously into the

darkness, and realised she was alone.

It was what she had dreaded. She had offered herself. And Roche

had rejected her.

* * *

meticulously into place before putting the bottle back on the table.

She was strongly tempted to throw it as far as the horizon, swearing

loudly as she did so, but she resisted the impulse. After all, the

suntan oil was blameless.

I've got to find something to do, she told herself. Something to stop

myself from thinking.

Three endless days had limped past since the night of her

humiliation in Roche's room. Days which she'd spent in more or less

solitary splendour beside the pool. And her nights had been spent

alone too. She had fled back to her own room after Roche had left

her, too stunned even to weep, and lain awake in the darkness,

asking herself over and over again what else she could have

expected.

The following day, a surprised Hippolyte had arrived at the suite to

fix to the communicating door the lock she had once demanded.

And that, Samma thought wretchedly, had been that.

Solange had returned to school, and came back in the early

afternoon. She'd been obviously nonplussed by Samma's cool

reception of the warning message, and there'd been no signs or

portents since, Samma thought drily. But there hadn't been much

contact between them either, and this she regretted. Solange had

retreated into a silent hostility which Samma found difficult to

breach.

About the only time she made a voluntary remark of any kind was

at dinner, when her father was present, Samma realised, sighing.

But, as Roche did not come home every evening, mealtimes were

generally quiet affairs.

And Roche himself? She swallowed painfully. He treated her with a

cool politeness which somehow hurt more than if he'd followed his

daughter's example, and totally ignored her.

The only time he'd looked at her as if she was a human being had

been the previous evening, she thought miserably, and then only

because they'd almost had a row.

Samma had sought him out as he was preparing to drive back into

St Laurent to the casino.

'Could I speak to you, please?' Her voice was awkward. She felt as

if she was being interviewed by some head teacher, or potential

boss. But then, of course, that was what Roche really was—her

employer, as she should have made herself remember, instead of

indulging herself with crazy fantasies about love and passion.

Impossible now to think this cold-eyed stranger had held her naked

in his arms and woken her senses to vibrant life.

'Can it wait?' Roche glanced at his watch. 'I am in a hurry . . .'

'I just wanted to ask if there was anything I could do—any kind of

job at the casino.' She saw his brows snap together, and hastened

on. 'I—I do seem to have rather a lot of time on my hands, and I

wondered . . .'

'Are you planning to recreate your role as hostess, perhaps?' he

asked derisively. He shook his head. 'I think not.'

Samma flushed hotly. 'I wasn't thinking of that. But if there's

nothing at the casino, perhaps I could use my drawing in some way

. . .'

'Your career as a pavement artist is also at an end,' Roche said

grimly. 'May I remind you that you were warned the house was

isolated, and that you are here to befriend Solange.'

'Oh, sure,' Samma said bitterly. 'And you can see what an enormous

success that is! I'm wasting my time here. She doesn't want me. In

fact, she doesn't want anyone but you. If I went away, she wouldn't

even notice.' She bit her lip. 'Really, that could be the best solution

all round. If I just left . . .'

'You will do nothing of the kind,' he said icily. 'I said a year, and I

meant it. Attempt to break our agreement, and you will be sorry,

Samantha. I promise you that.'

She said in a low voice, 'I'm already sorry,' but he'd left, and didn't

hear.

Now, the following day, Samma found herself wincing away from

the memory of it. There was no need for him to be so dismissive,

she thought sadly. She'd no intention of peddling her portrait

sketches in public again. From what she'd been able to gather, it

seemed art teaching was minimal at Solange's school, and she'd

considered volunteering her services, as a temporary tutor.

I can't spend the whole year swimming, sunbathing and being

ignored, she told herself. She could feel a kind of sympathy for

Marie-Christine, and wondered, not for the first time, what could

have happened to make the marriage go so disastrously wrong.

Roche had claimed, she remembered, to have spent his first

wedding night alone, so it seemed their relationship had been in

crisis from the first. And yet there was Solange ...

Perhaps he'd been in love with Elvire all along, and had only

married Marie-Christine on the rebound. In that case, why hadn't he

proposed to Elvire the second time around?

Perhaps because he knew such a marriage would stir up again all

the gossip and speculation about Marie-Christine's accident, and

give the Augustins an additional weapon in the battle over Solange.

She shivered. Well, that battle was over at least, but she was the

one left wounded.

Oh, come on, she adjured herself impatiently. Stop pitying yourself!

Roche brought you here to do a job, not become emotionally

involved with him. You have no one to blame but yourself.

She walked to the edge of the pool and dived into the water,

covering two lengths in a swift, racing crawl.

As she hauled herself on to the edge, she saw to her surprise that

Solange had arrived. It was the first time the child had been down

to the pool area since Samma had sketched her. And, although she

was looking thoughtful, she wasn't actually scowling for once.

Easy, Samma warned herself wryly, as she smiled at her.
'Bonjour,

Solange.
Comment ca va?'

The thin shoulders moved in a slight shrug. She looked past Samma

to the sunlit dance of the water. 'Is it hard—to swim?'

Samma swallowed her surprise. 'Why—no! I thought you weren't

interested in learning. Would— would you like me to teach you?'

There was a pause, and Samma felt that the child was nerving

herself to answer. But why? she wondered. Most children of her

age, with a private swimming pool of this size, would be able to

swim like fishes already.

'Yes,
madame.
I would like to learn.'

She's actually asked me for something, Samma thought in

amazement. Is this some kind of breakthrough?

She said with deliberate casualness. 'Well, fine. Shall we make a

date for the same time tomorrow—

when you come back from school?'

'Could it not be now?'

'Of course, if you want.' Samma hid her jubilation. 'What about a

costume?'

'I have one.' Solange's voice sounded oddly strained, as she tugged

a dark green swimsuit out of her school bag. Clearly, she'd come

prepared and meant business.

When she had changed, Samma took her to the edge of the pool,

and sat beside her, encouraging her to dangle her legs in the water.

Solange sat and listened obediently, but her skin had a distinct

pallor, and she looked more uneasy by the minute.

Samma went into the water, and demonstrated some leg

movements.

'That's all you have to do,' she said. 'I'll hold you up by your arms

and shoulders. You don't even have to get your face wet, if you

don't want to.' Some people she knew had what amounted to a

phobia about such things, and maybe Solange was one of them.

She held out her hand to the child. 'Come on,' she said. 'Trust me.'

For a moment she thought Solange was going to back away, then

slowly, gingerly, the child allowed herself to be tugged gently into

the water, her hands clinging to Samma's. She looked very small,

and very sallow, as if the action was taking every ounce of courage

she possessed.

Yet this is the shallow end, Samma thought, puzzled, and I've

promised I won't let go of her. What is it, I wonder? At the hotel,

after all, quite tiny tots had hurled themselves gleefully into the

pool.

Perhaps I should have waited, Samma thought. Bought her some of

those armbands, or a ring.

She gave Solange a warm smile. 'That's fine. That's great. Now, I'll

support you—like this, and you lie on top of the water, and kick

like I showed you.'

Solange closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and kicked out in entirely

the opposite direction. Her foot landed squarely and painfully in

Samma's midriff, and she doubled up instinctively, gasping. Solange

kicked out again, this time at her legs, catching Samma off balance,

and they both went down under the water in a welter of arms and

legs and spray.

Choking, Samma struggled up, in spite of Solange, who was

clinging like a limpet, still kicking her, and punching and scratching

at her arms and shoulders, all the time screaming in a thin, reedy

voice.

Shocked though she was, Samma thought, 'This isn't just panic.

This is something else . . .'

She hoisted the struggling child out of the water with an immense

effort, and crawled after her.

Trying to catch her breath, she began, 'Now what in the world . . .?'

Then she heard Solange scream, 'Papa—Papa! She made me go in

the water. She tried to drown me! Oh, Papa!'

'Qu'est-ce qui se passe?'

Eyes stinging, and still spluttering from her unexpected ducking,

Samma saw Roche striding towards the pool edge, his face dark

with fury.

Solange ran to him, still crying out pitifully. 'Papa, she dragged me

under the water. I nearly drowned! I told her I did not want to

swim—ever, but she made me. She hates me—she hates me.'

Roche turned on Samma. 'Is this true? Did you make her go in the

water?'

'She pulled me in,' Solange put in tearfully. 'I did not want to. I told

her that when she came here. I told her she could not make me.'

Samma scooped her hair back from her face, thinking furiously. She

said, trying to keep her voice level, 'Yes, that's right—but today I

had the impression that she'd changed her mind.'

'She seized hold of my hands. She would not let go of me. She

pulled me off the edge,' Solange chimed in again. She lifted her fists

and scrubbed at her wet eyes, but not before Samma had glimpsed

an unmistakable gleam of triumph.

'You treated a nervous child like that?' Roche asked incredulously.

He stroked his daughter's wet hair.
'Tais toi, cherie.
It is all over

now.'

Elvire came flying down the path. 'What is it?' she demanded. 'I

thought I heard screaming.'

'You did,' Roche confirmed grimly. 'My wife decided to give

Solange an unwanted swimming lesson.'

'Ah,
mon Dieu!'
Elvire put her hands to her mouth in unsimulated

horror.

Samma said huskily, 'Now, wait a minute. I don't know what's

going on here, but there is another side to all this. Solange asked me

to take her in the pool.'

Roche shook his head. 'You misunderstood,' he said curtly. 'She

would never do such a thing.' He turned to the still weeping

Solange, now muffled in a towel. 'Go to the house with Elvire,
ma

petite.
You are safe now.'

Samma was gasping as Solange was led away. 'Safe?' she echoed

angrily. 'What's that supposed to mean? You think I would have let

her come to any real harm?'

'You have already done her immense psychological damage,' Roche

returned furiously. 'You admit she told you she did not want to

swim, and yet you forced her.'

'I did nothing of the kind.' Samma paused, remembering. 'Well, she

did seem a bit reluctant when it came to it, but there was

nothing—nothing to prompt all this fuss. I got her into the water,

and suddenly she went mad.'

'I am not surprised,' Roche said, his mouth tightening. 'It must have

been another nightmare for her.'

'But swimming's a perfectly normal, healthy activity,' Samma

protested. 'I was delighted when she seemed to show an interest. I

thought I might be getting somewhere at last.'

'And so you allowed that to outweigh your judgement when you