Vengeance in the Sun

by Margaret Pemberton

  “Yes, of course.”

  She squeezed my hand and was gone.

  Wearily I climbed the stairs, wondering what other ghastly surprises the day could hold. As I neared Danielle’s room there came the muffled sound of crying and my heart sank. She was sat on the floor, her shoulders hunched, her arms around her knees.

  “Don’t cry, Danielle,” I said gently, pulling her to her feet, putting my arm around her shoulders. “Your daddy is going to be all right and Mummy will be back soon.”

  I sat down with her on my knee and she cuddled close.

  “Really and truly?”

  “Really and truly. Remember how brave you were when we had our accident? Well, now you have to be brave in another way.”

  “It’s hard sometimes,” she said forlornly. “ I don’t like it when people go away.”

  “But think how nice it is when they come back. Perhaps we could plan a special party for when Mummy and Daddy come back, make some decorations?”

  She wiped her tear-streaked face. “I’d like that. I’m good at making decorations. I made some at Christmas with Janet. Can we do some tomorrow?”

  “Yes. There’s plenty of crepe paper. We could make some paper flowers as well.”

  “Can I go and get the paper now? I know where it is.”

  I nodded and she slipped off my knee, her tears already drying, her thoughts now firmly on decorations and paper.

  My thoughts were back on Max again. I went in search of telephone directories and stood in the sun-filled hallway, flicking through them and writing down the numbers of all the five star hotels. Peggy came across to me, a cup of coffee in her hand. I took it gratefully.

  “I thought you’d be needing one. Is Danielle all right?”

  “Yes. She’s planning a welcome home party and busy searching out crepe paper to make decorations with.”

  Peggy gave a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness she’s not brooding. Though when they’ll be back goodness only knows.”

  “How bad is Mr Van de Naude?”

  “The telegram didn’t say. Just said he’d had a heart attack and gave the address of the hospital. Nothing else.”

  “Mrs Van de Naude will be there in another few hours,” I said comfortingly. “She said she would telephone Ian the minute she gets there. We’ll know this evening how he is.”

  “Oh no,” Peggy looked at me in surprise. “ She hasn’t gone to London!”

  I let the pages of the directory fall shut and stared at her.

  “Not gone to London? What do you mean? Of course she’s gone to London.…”

  “No,” Peggy said. “ She’s gone to stand in for him at the summit meeting. She’s gone to Lusaka!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was nine o’clock before Ian Lyall returned to the villa, and I wasn’t in the best of moods. I had found the hotel Max was staying at easy enough, but had been unable to speak to him. Senor Wyndham was not in. No, they did not know when Senor Wyndham would return. Yes, they would leave a message. I had stayed downstairs near the telephone, fortified by vodka and tonic and still the phone hadn’t rung. As the Audi had not returned I could only assume he was still with Leonie. The thought seared like a knife.

  I jumped when there came the sound of a distant closing door, waiting for the sound of high heels in a mixture of dread and hope. But the footsteps were the heavy steps of a man. Seconds later the salon door opened and Ian Lyall said briefly: “Where’s Helena?”

  “Lusaka.”

  “Lusaka!” he stared at me rigid with shock.

  “Mr Van de Naude has had a heart attack. A cable came this afternoon. As he won’t be able to attend the conference she has gone in his place.”

  “She’s what!” he said disbelievingly.

  “She’s gone to Lusaka,” I repeated again.

  He strode towards the telephone. I said: “ She told me to tell you she would ring the minute she could.”

  “She’ll never get a line through!” he was talking to himself more than to me: “Of all times to have a bloody heart attack! Now! Only days away from the conference!”

  I rose to my feet and as I left the room I heard him asking tautly for a person to person call with David Katjavivi in London.

  Sick with suspense I paced the floor of my room, waiting to hear the ringing of the telephone that could mean Max. Once or twice I went in to look at Danielle. She was sleeping soundly, her arms tightly around Mr Sam, her teddy-bear. Emmeline, resplendent in starched gingham and frills, had been relegated to a chair. Danielle, it seemed, had a loyal heart.

  I tucked the covers over her shoulders and went back to my fruitless wait. At eleven o’clock, unable to bear it any longer, I went back downstairs. The salon was empty, but the light from Helena’s study flooded out onto the terrace and there was the dim murmur of a voice. Ian was either talking to Mario or telephoning. Nervously I picked up the receiver and dialled the number of the Illa d’Orr.

  “I’m sorry, madam. Senor Wyndham is not in his room. Yes, I will leave a message.…”

  I walked over to the French windows, staring out over the tops of the pines to the silk-black of the sea. Around a distant headland a line of pale foam gleamed luminously in the moonlight.

  Mario said suddenly from behind me: “ Would you like a coffee?”

  “Thank you, Mario. That would be lovely.”

  He left the room, returning minutes later with a steaming jug of sweet smelling coffee and two cups.

  “You are very restless tonight?”

  “I’m waiting for a telephone call.”

  “From Mrs Van de Naude?”

  “No. A friend.”

  The telephone rang shrilly, and I jumped, sending scalding coffee splashing over my knees. As Mario leapt forward with a handkerchief I grabbed at it. An impersonal voice said in Spanish: “I have a telegram for you.”

  Fighting crushing disappointment I handed the receiver to Mario. He scribbled the message down, frowning.

  “Is it bad news?” I asked fearfully.

  He shook his head. “It’s from Mr Van de Naude. He wants Ian to fly out to him immediately,” and he hurried out of the room and along to the study.

  It was three o’clock when I woke stiff and cramped on the sofa. Through the still open windows the sea whispered faintly, the house around me uncomfortably silent. With a last, bitter look at the dark shape of the telephone I padded softly up the stairs to my room.

  The next morning there was no Ian, and no Leonie. Striving to keep my voice uninterested I asked Peggy if she was in. Peggy, never one to hide her feelings where Leonie was concerned, said spiritedly:

  “Her bed hasn’t been slept in and the car isn’t back. Where she’s spent the night I don’t know, nor want to!”

  With a colossal effort I turned my thoughts from Leonie and the speculation as to where and with whom she had spent the night, and said:

  “Has Ian already left for London?”

  “He went off on the seven o’clock flight. Are you going to tell Danielle that Mr Lyall has left for London, or shall I? There’ll be no lessons for her this morning.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “It might be a good idea to take her out for the day. The villa feels empty at the moment and she’s bound to feel it, poor lamb.”

  “Steve said he would come over at lunchtime so it’s a bit difficult.” Not, I thought, buttering a slice of toast, that there was any purpose in his coming now. Neither Helena or Ian were here to talk to. The mystery would just have to be put on ice till the crisis was over.

  “Mario is taking me into Soller to do some shopping this morning. I could take Danielle with me if you like.”

  “She’d enjoy that. Thanks Peggy.”

  “Anything to help. You look a bit peaky to me. Is it anything to do with the telephone call you were waiting for last night?”

  “No. I’m fine, Peggy. Really.”

  “Well, if there’s anything troubling you, you can always chat to me.
That’s what I’m here for you know.” She was eyeing me with a faintly worried look and I smiled.

  “I know, Peggy, and it’s a nice feeling.”

  She smiled back. “That’s all right then. I’ll take Danielle her breakfast up to bed for a treat and we’ll be off in about an hour. We should be back by one o’clock.” She bustled off to the kitchen and I leant my elbow on the table and sipped my coffee, wondering whether to telephone the Illa d’Orr once again. If I rang and Leonie was there … I poured myself a second cup. It would be better to wait. When I spoke to him I wanted him to be alone, after all, Leonie would have to return to the villa eventually. For the first time I realised she did not know of John Van de Naude’s heart attack, or Helena’s and Ian’s absence.

  Restlessly I walked across the terrace and down the cliff path to the bay. The water was cool and silky and vaguely soothing. I let myself drift, the crescent of fine white sand gradually growing farther and farther away. I wondered what Steve would say when he arrived and found his birds had flown. I closed my eyes against the brilliance of the sun’s glare, wondering what it was that he was going to tell me today, hoping his suspicions had been unfounded and that he would have no need to say what they had been. A gull fluttered noisily down some yards away, bobbing on the waves and eyeing me with a beady eye. I turned lazily onto my stomach and began to swim for shore.

  By the time I had dried myself in the sun and strolled leisurely back up the cliff path, Mario, Peggy and Danielle had gone. I had the villa to myself. I padded into the kitchen, poured myself a fruit juice and scooped in some ice. There came the soft click of a door closing. I stopped, hand in mid-air. Leonie was back. My heart began to slam painfully and I went into the hall and picked up the telephone receiver. Leonie could wait. Right now I had to speak to Max. Had to put myself out of my torment one way or another. I reached out to dial and from the direction of Helena’s study there came a dry cough.

  A man’s cough.

  Slowly I put the receiver down and listened. There came the faint sound of drawers opening and closing and the metal ring as the filing cabinet was opened. I tied the belt of my short beach wrap tightly round my waist and walked quietly out onto the terrace. The french windows leading to the study were flung open and as I drew nearer I could see the figure of a strange man bending over Helena’s desk, flicking through her papers. My shadow fell across him and he whirled round.

  “What the.…” he began, stepping menacingly towards me.

  Instinctively I reached out for the standard lamp and sent it crashing between us. The heavy brass ornamentation caught him full on the temple, and he slumped to his knees, buckling over full length at my feet, blood oozing stickily from his hairline and down his forehead.

  Fighting down panic I tried to think clearly. Even if he recovered consciousness it was doubtful if he would have the strength to harm me. It was already one o’clock, Mario and Peggy would be back at any minute. The blood on his forehead was unpleasantly dark, his face ashen. Tentatively I leant down and parted his hair, trying to see where it was coming from. The gash the lamp had made was deep and ugly. I hurried back into the kitchen for towels and water, then began to sponge the blood away and try to staunch the bleeding. His eyes flickered open once and I stopped, my heart pounding apprehensively. The glazed eyes stared at me uncomprehendingly then closed again.

  He didn’t look like a burglar. He had a high cheek-boned, intelligent face and auburn hair bleached blond by the sun. The eyes that had focused hazily on mine were a smoky blue, the lashes full and thick.

  I looked anxiously at my watch. It was nearly half past one and still there was no sign of Mario. I bit my lip, wondering if I should ring the Van de Naude’s doctor. If the bleeding didn’t stop and Mario didn’t come back.…

  With a sigh of heartfelt relief I heard the distant sound of feet and a door opening. Placing a fresh towel across his forehead I ran out along the terrace towards the kitchen.

  “Mario! Mario!”

  When he saw me his genial smile vanished. “ Lucy! What is it? What is the matter?”

  “There’s a man! I caught him looking through Mrs Van de Naude’s desk.…”

  Mario was already running.

  “I hit him with the lamp … he’s bleeding dreadfully.…”

  Peggy ran breathlessly after us, calling: “Who is hurt? What has happened?”

  “A burglar,” I called over my shoulder. “ I caught him in the study.…”

  Mario thundered down the terrace and I raced after him, leaning weakly against the French windows as Mario burst into the room. For a long moment no-one spoke. Peggy, clutching her heaving bosom, stared horrified at the bleeding figure of the man on the floor. Then Mario said in a cracked voice: “Holy Mary, Mother of God.…”

  Peggy sank down onto the blood stained carpet, saying dazedly: “He’s dead. She’s killed him, Mario. She’s killed him!”

  “Nonsense,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “ He opened his eyes a few minutes ago. If Mario rings for a doctor as well as the police.…”

  Mario was already dialling, Peggy was holding the towel tight against the bleeding head.

  “Dear God,” she kept saying. “What will we say? What will we say?”

  “That it was an accident!” I said, wishing someone would show concern for the shock I had been through.

  “Please let him be all right. Dear God, please let him be all right,” Peggy continued, rocking herself to and fro.

  “Of course he’ll be all right,” I said crossly. “I didn’t mean to hurt him so hard, but if I hadn’t, he would most certainly have hurt me! He’s a burglar, for goodness sake!”

  Mario turned to me, his face ashen. “He isn’t. He’s Bradley Van de Naude and I think you’ve killed him!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Peggy continued to staunch the bleeding. Mario had laid a blanket over him, and I sat numbly on a chair in the corner and watched. By the time the doctor arrived, Bradley Van de Naude was already regaining consciousness, no doubt comforted by seeing Peggy bending over him and not myself. Briefly I told the doctor what had happened and then, as there was nothing I could do to help, and the atmosphere was distinctly hostile, I excused myself and left.

  I was shivering violently. A combination of delayed shock and a still damp swimming costume. I hurried upstairs to my bedroom and ran a hot bath. Bradley Van de Naude’s blood was spattered over my legs and, quite literally, on my hands.

  What would happen to me would depend to a large extent on what sort of man Bradley Van de Naude was. That I would be asked to leave went without question. There was a timid tap on the door and a little voice said: “Miss Matthews, are you there?”

  I stepped out of the bath and wrapped a towel round me, opening the door to a frightened looking Danielle.

  “Bradley’s here and he’s hurt and Peggy and Mario won’t talk to me and keep telling me to go away.…” Her voice trembled and her eyes were suspiciously bright.

  “They’re not cross with you, darling. They’re just worried about Bradley. Is the doctor still here?”

  “Yes. He’s taking Bradley to hospital for stitches.…”

  As Danielle was talking I was dressing hurriedly.

  “And Steve has just arrived and.…”

  “Steve has?”

  “Yes … and Mario said it was your fault. It wasn’t your fault, was it? You won’t get into trouble, will you?” and she began to cry, clinging tightly to me. “ I couldn’t bear it if you got into trouble because you might go away and leave me and then there wouldn’t be anybody.…”

  “I won’t go away,” I said quietly. “ Not until Mummy comes back.”

  It was a promise that under the circumstances might be difficult to keep, but one which I intended keeping. Whatever happened, Danielle was not going to suffer for my actions.

  “Where is Steve now?”

  “He’s in the study talking to Bradley while the doctor bandages his head.”


  I breathed a sigh of relief. If Bradley Van de Naude was fit to talk to a stranger he couldn’t be at death’s door.

  “Steve is explaining who you are. Bradley didn’t know.”

  “Then we’d better go back downstairs. If Bradley is feeling better I need to apologise to him.”

  Danielle stared at me round-eyed. “ Did you really do it? Did you really hit him?”

  “It was an accident, Danielle. I’ve never met Bradley and I didn’t know he was coming here. I just walked into the room and when I saw him I thought he was a burglar and.…”

  “And you hit him with the lamp. I know. Peggy said so, but I didn’t believe her. Gosh, do you think he’ll be angry?”

  “Very,” I said dryly.

  “Gosh,” Danielle said again reflectively. “Still, I think it was very brave of you. It could have been a burglar, couldn’t it? If it had been, everyone would have been very pleased with you I expect. It was only a mistake after all.”

  “Thank you, Danny,” I said, squeezing her hand. “ It’s nice to have a friend.”

  “Steve is your friend too. I’m sure he’ll explain to Bradley.…”

  “I think even Steve may be finding it hard going. We’d better go and help him out.”

  Peggy was on her hands and knees sponging the carpet. There was no-one else in the study.

  She said: “ Mario and the doctor have taken him to hospital in Palma.” Then she closed her lips again tightly, squeezing more cold water onto the carpet. Danielle’s hand still comfortably in mine, I left her and went in search of Steve. He was in the main salon, smoking a cigarette and staring out to sea.

  I said apprehensively: “Is he going to be all right?”

  He spun round, a reassuring smile on his face, concern in his eyes.

  “Of course he is. Nasty gash on the head, that’s all. Nothing a few stitches and rest won’t cure. He’ll probably have a pretty stiff headache for a while.”

  “Oh Steve.…” I sat down weakly. “There was a moment in there when I thought I’d killed him.”