Simon opened the leather case he had brought, and showed them the result of his efforts during the day. He had first gone to a costumier’s which stocked every kind of item for hire during the annual carnival, and had bought there a black satin mask with a heavy fringe, and ornamented with diamanté. Next, he had gone to an optician’s and bought two glass eyes with blue irises. Taking his purchases to a jeweller, he had asked for the eyes to be cut in half, so that their backs would be flat; that they should then be fitted behind the slits in the mask, and the backs covered with soft material. The result was a blindfold, with eyes in it that No one would suspect were false, except on close inspection, and with a fringe that would hide the worst of Miranda’s scars.
She could see Simon’s ingenious present only through the perpetual mist in which she lived; but, when it was explained to her, she was delighted. Not only would her eyes be fully protected and her disfigurement not be apparent, but she would have the fun of knowing that everyone in the restaurant would be wondering who the mysterious masked lady was.
They dined at the Avenida. Simon was careful to suggest dishes for her that did not need cutting up, and long practice had made her adept at feeding and drinking without using her eyes. When they finished dinner, he insisted that she should dance with him and, as he was a good dancer, she found no difficulty in following him.
It was close on two in the morning before he saw Miranda home. As he said good night to her in the hall of the apartment, she exclaimed, ‘It’s been a wonderful evening, absolutely wonderful! I can never thank you enough.’
Smiling, he said, ‘For me, too.’ Then he put a hand behind her back, drew her quickly to him and kissed her on the lips. She made no effort to resist him, so he pressed his mouth to hers more firmly, and gave her a real lovers’ kiss.
Suddenly she broke away, gave a little gulp and burst into a passion of tears.
For a moment he stared at her blind blue eyes from which the tears were running down her scarred cheeks, then he stammered:
‘I… I’m terribly sorry. It was rotten of me to take advantage of you.’
‘You haven’t,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh, Simon, dear Simon! It’s such … such a very long time since I’ve been kissed like that.’
5
The Lady in the Case
Soon after eight o’clock next morning, Richard and Simon drove out to the airport and, at nine o’clock, took off for Punta Arenas. It was an eight-seater, and all but two of the seats were occupied. For most of the journey they flew at about two thousand feet. The first lap down to Bahia Blanca was across the great cattle country: flattish land of an almost uniform colour, on which they occasionally saw a great herd grazing far below. After refuelling, they flew down the coast, at times over it, at others over the sea, with land to be seen only in the distance. When they passed within a few miles of the port of Trelew, they saw that inland from it mountains rose steeply with, in the distance, lofty, snow-covered peaks. Further south they crossed the great Golfo San Jorge, then came down for the second time at Deseado. From there on they flew overland again and, even at the height at which they were flying, they could see that it was wild, hostile country. But, as they approached Punta Arenas, instead of the grandeur of great, rugged mountains falling precipitately to deep green fiords—as they had expected would be the case—the landscape flattened out into barren, undulating plains which stretched as far as the eye could see. Beyond them lay the grey Straits of Magellan, a few miles in width, and the equally unimpressive coast of the great island of Tierra del Fuego.
The airport, like those at which they had come down to refuel, consisted of a few low hangars, grouped round a watch tower and waiting room, manned only when an aircraft was expected. Two aged hire cars carried the passengers and crew along a coast road to the town, which proved to be as disappointing as the landscape. The majority of the buildings had been erected at the turn of the century and were only two storeys high. The long main street, leading to a central square, boasted only the sort of shops to be found in a suburb in which the population was far from wealthy; and the place had the unnatural appearance of a Scandinavian town inhabited by Spaniards. Simon had telegraphed for rooms at the best hotel. It was called the Cabo de Hornos, and lay on the seaward side of the square.
To their surprise, they found it, in contrast to the town, not only modern and cheerful, but with a restaurant that was really excellent. Their flight had taken a little over nine hours; so, after freshening themselves up, they had a cocktail, then went in to dinner. As their main course, they selected freshly-caught bonito and found it delicious. Now, too, that they were across the border into Chile, they were able to wash it down with a wine greatly superior to those grown in any other South American country.
After they had dined, Richard had the telephone operator put him through to Silvia Sinegiest’s house. Having got on to her, he said that he had a letter of introduction from Baron von Thumm, and asked when he might present it.
‘If you have made no plans, why not drive out here tomorrow morning?’ she replied. ‘Say about midday. You will find me in my garden, a much more pleasant place to be in than that dreary town.’
Next morning they learned that her house was some way along the coast, so they hired a car to take them there. As they went out to the car, a blustering wind made them grab their hats. The previous evening it had been blowing hard, but they had thought that to be the after-effects of a storm.
The road ran eastward within sight of the cliff, through bare, inhospitable country unfit for growing crops. Dotted about there were a few small factories and, here and there, barns which were the winter quarters for the flocks of sheep that are almost the only means of support available to the inhabitants of Patagonia.
Although it was high summer, the sky was only a pale blue and the green waters of the Straits were made choppy by the strong, gusty wind. When Simon remarked on it, their driver laughed and said:
‘You should come here in winter, Señor. A tempest rages almost constantly, for here the currents of both water and air from the Atlantic and the Pacific meet and clash. Even in our best months, the sea is rarely calm, and the wind is always with us.’
After a few miles the car turned up a side road towards a belt of trees on the edge of the cliff. They were not tall, and no roof of a house stood out above them; but, having passed through a gate in an iron fence that enclosed this patch of woodland, a drive descended steeply, revealing an utterly different scene. On the landward side, the trees protected a cove between two headlands that sheltered it from east and west. In the centre stood the house. It was entirely surrounded by a succession of terraces that ran down to the beach, and the whole area was a kaleidoscopic mass of flowers.
As the car pulled up in front of a wooden porch, a woman emerged from a path on its far side, carrying a gardening basket. She was tall, broad-shouldered and carried herself very upright, walking towards them with unstudied grace. Her hair, above a broad forehead, came down in a ‘widow’s peak’, from which it rose in a strawberry-blonde halo several inches deep. She had a regal air and was beautiful in an unusual way. Her mouth was perfectly modelled; her cheeks full, below high cheek bones; her eyebrows well-marked and her eyes bright with the joy of life. She gave them a ravishing smile, that displayed two rows of even teeth, and said in a lilting voice with only a slight American accent:
‘Hello! I’m Silvia.’
As she spoke, a small shaggy dog that was pattering along beside her suddenly began a furious barking. ‘Be quiet, Boo-boo!’ she chid him. ‘Stop it now! D’you hear me?’ But evidently inured to such mild reproofs he ignored her and continued his excited yapping.
When, at last, his barks subsided Richard took the hand his mistress extended, bent over it with an old-world courtesy that would have done credit to the Duke, and murmured, ‘Madame, my congratulations on having created in this bleak land a small paradise that forms a perfect setting for yourself.’
She gave a ready laug
h. ‘How nice of you to say that. But I cannot really take the credit for the garden. I only lease this house. It belongs to one of the Grau-Miraflores, whose family practically own Punta Arenas. But I enjoy keeping it in good order.’
As she shook hands with Simon, he said, ‘Never seen such lupins. What a riot of colour. Pleasant change, too, to find all the old English flowers here, instead of the exotics one sees everywhere in Buenos Aires.’
Again she gave her dazzling smile as she replied, ‘It’s that which attracts me to the place. One of my husbands was an Englishman, and I became very fond of England. We had a house in the Cotswolds and, before the war, I had a lovely garden there.’
Her words came as a sharp reminder of the fact that she must be nearly fifty; yet neither of her visitors could believe that. With her bright hair, not even the suggestion of a wrinkle, and tall, sylph-like figure, No one would have taken her for a day over thirty.
She went on, ‘I love people and adore parties, but one can have too much of anything. After burning the candle at both ends during the winter season, I enjoy coming here to vegetate for a few weeks: sleeping a great deal, reading quite a lot and, during the daytime, pottering in the garden.’
Richard smiled. ‘Few women are so sensible. They want to be the centre of attraction all the time. But I think you have discovered the secret of perpetual youth.’
Throwing back her head, with its crown of strawberry-blonde hair, she gave a happy laugh. ‘Nonsense. I’m an old woman, or at least getting on that way. Anyhow, I’m old enough to have grown-up children. But you must need a drink, so come into the house.’
It was not a large place and far from pretentious. The furniture was mostly good, solid oak, of the type favoured by people of moderate fortune in late Victorian times. As a background for Silvia, it struck Simon as incongruous. Even in the simple clothes she was wearing, she had an air of great elegance, and her height gave her a commanding presence. He felt sure whenever she entered a strange restaurant, the head-waiter would at once single her out for special attention.
They followed her through a dining room to another, larger room which had a big bay window overlooking the cove. Over her shoulder she said, ‘I am going to make myself a dry Martini. Would you care to join me?’
Richard shook his head. ‘You must forgive me if I refuse. Martinis always give me indigestion.’
‘Champagne then?’ she suggested, as she opened a corner cupboard that contained a fine array of glasses and assorted drinks. ‘I always keep a bottle on the ice.’
‘You are very kind. I should enjoy that.’
Simon nodded. ‘Me, too, if I may.’
She pressed a bell and a Spanish manservant appeared, to whom she gave the order. While the wine was being brought, she mixed herself an outsize cocktail with professional efficiency. Watching her long, slender hands move with swift precision, Simon grinned and said, ‘In the unlikely circumstance of your ever needing a job, you’d make good money as a bartender.’
Her spontaneous laugh came again. ‘I was one once for a few weeks, and in a luxury joint that was a very shady spot. But I made it clear that the couch was not in the contract. I’ve never got into the sack with anyone I didn’t care about.’
Richard found her frankness refreshing, and said with a smile, ‘Were I not happily married, I should endeavour to make myself one of the men you did care about.’
She gave him a steady, appraising look. ‘So, Mr Eaton, you are the faithful kind. That is rather a waste of good material in a man who is so good-looking. We must go into that some time. But not for now. How long do you intend to stay in Punta Arenas, and what do you plan to do?’
‘We don’t expect to be here for long, as our only purpose in coming to Punta Arenas was to talk to you.’ As he spoke, Richard handed her the Baron’s letter.
Raising her well-marked eyebrows, she took it. While her man poured the champagne, she glanced at the few lines of writing, then said: ‘This is only a formal introduction. Why has Kurt von Thumm sent you to me?’
‘Because you are the only person he could think of who might be able to help us.’ Richard gestured towards Simon. ‘Mr Aron and I are very anxious to get in touch with an old friend of ours. It seems that he has gone off on a holiday, and he’s left no address. Von Thumm told us that, before our friend left Buenos Aires, he was seeing a lot of you, so we thought you might be able to tell us where he has gone. His name is Rex Van Ryn.’
‘I see.’ Silvia’s voice had taken on a sharp note. ‘And I suppose that ugly little gossip led you to believe that I am Rex’s mistress?’
‘Were that so,’ replied Richard smoothly. ‘I should count Rex an extremely lucky fellow, and you a lucky woman.’
She smiled then. ‘You are right on both counts. And I am—or, rather, was. I’ve never seen any reason why a woman should conceal the fact that she has taken a lover—unless it is going to harm the man. To be open about it makes things far easier, and the only people who show disapproval are women who, through circumstances or lack of attraction, are prevented from taking a lover themselves. If they don’t want to know me, I couldn’t care less. In fact, I’m rather sorry for the poor things. About Rex, though, I don’t know what to say. He had a very good reason for going off on his own, and I’m certain that he does not want his whereabouts known.’
‘Thought as much,’ Simon put in quickly. ‘But he told you where he was going?’
‘I did not say so.’
‘But you implied it. And we’ve got to find him.’
‘I’m sure he would rather that you didn’t.’
‘Don’t want to seem rude, but you’re wrong about that. Richard Eaton and I are Rex’s best friends. Rex is in a muddle. We’re certain of it, and we’ve come all the way from England to help him out. Now, please tell us where he’s got to.’
She shook her head. ‘What proof have I that you are his friends? Even if I were sure of that, and did know where Rex is, I wouldn’t tell you, because you might lead others to him. And, as you are right about his being in trouble, I could not risk making his situation worse than it is.’
‘Do you know what sort of trouble Rex is in?’ asked Richard.
She looked away from him, and lit a cigarette. ‘Yes, I know. But I’m not prepared to discuss it.’
‘It’s clear that Rex has gone into hiding, and one of the things that worries us is that he may have had to leave in a hurry. If so, it is possible that he is leading a grim life somewhere up-country and is desperately short of money.’
This subtle approach by Richard proved abortive. Either she was unaware that Rex had absconded with a million; or, if she knew it, did not mean to give away the fact. With a shrug of her shoulders, she replied: ‘I don’t think you need worry about that. Rex is a rich man, and he would not have been such a fool as to take off without having cashed a fat cheque.’
‘Perhaps,’ Richard hazarded, ‘you will at least tell us when you last saw him?’
‘On the night before he left Buenos Aires. As a matter of fact, we had quarrelled. He was very upset by what had happened, and so anxious to make it up before leaving that he came to see me at three in the morning. Of course, my servants were used to his coming and going at all hours, so they thought nothing of it. He stayed for only twenty minutes. I forgave him for … well, that is no concern of yours … and that’s the last I saw of him.’
She had been sitting in a low chair, with one knee crossed over the other, and the thought drifted through Simon’s mind that he had never seen a more perfect pair of legs. His glance was inoffensive, but she evidently became aware of it, for she pulled down her skirt and came to her feet. Picking up the bottle of champagne, she refilled their glasses and said:
‘I do understand how worried you must be about your friend. But I really don’t feel that I would be justified in telling you any more than I have. At least, not until I’ve thought it over very carefully.’
‘It’s good of you to go that far,’ Richa
rd said quickly. ‘When may we hope to learn your decision?’
For a moment she remained thoughtful, then she replied, There’s not a thing for you to do in Punta Arenas, so come and dine with me tonight. When I’m down here I rarely entertain. It’s an opportunity for me to slim and catch up on my sleep; but it would be a pleasant change to have a little dinner party. Presently I’ll ring up a few people I know. But don’t order your car to pick you up until half past eleven. By then the others will have gone and, if I decide to talk, we’ll be on our own.’
Her two visitors gladly accepted. When they had finished their wine, she took them for a walk round the upper part of the garden. Only Alpine flowers were growing there, but there was an amazing variety of sub-Arctic shrubs and trees. Then she gaily waved them away in their car.
As it carried them towards the town, Richard said, ‘I wouldn’t mind betting that she knows about Rex’s having robbed his bank, what led him to do so and where he is at the moment.’
‘Don’t wonder he fell for her,’ Simon remarked.
‘Yes; she’s a quite exceptional woman and, on the face of it, a very nice one. I had expected her to be completely different: vain, spoilt from having too much money, and hard as nails.’
After a late lunch, they put on their overcoats and went for a walk round the town. Having driven through the eastern side, they turned west and, at the end of the roughly-paved streets that led seaward, they caught glimpses of the dock. It was no more than a wharf, with piers projecting from it and lying off there were a few rusty steamers. The wind had never ceased blowing hard enough to make the skirts of their overcoats flap and force their trousers hard against their legs; so they gave up and hurried back to the warm comfort of the hotel.
Gateway to Hell Page 5