Vengeance in the Sun

by Margaret Pemberton

  Peggy didn’t even ask if we had found her. She took one look at our faces and began to cry, covering her face with her apron. Mario began his search of the villa, and I could hear angry words between him and Leonie. Then he was calling Danielle’s name at the top of his voice, distant doors opening and slamming as he scoured every possible hiding place, every cupboard and chest. Breathlessly I ran back up the stairs to her room, passing a sulky Leonie as I did so. I didn’t even spare her a glance. Perhaps Danielle was still in her room, hidden in the wardrobe or beneath her bed.…

  “Danny!” there was no answering cry. Mr Sam stared desolately at me with his glass eyes. I looked again for her nightdress, checking her clothes, her shoes. All her day shoes were there, only her slippers were missing. There was something else though, something else that should have been in the room and wasn’t. My eyes rested on the chair and I knew immediately. Emmeline. Wherever she was, Danny had taken Emmeline with her. I stared once more round the room. Then I saw it. The letter lay on the dressing-table, and if I had been looking for a letter and not a little girl, I suppose I would have seen it much earlier. It was not in Danielle’s writing. With sickening intuition I tore it open. Neat, capital lettering said briefly:

  “Danielle will be returned when John Van de Naude publicly announces his decision not to head a black government in Ovambia or have anything further to do with APFO. If the police and press are not informed, no harm will come to her.”

  I raced down the stairs to Mario, but I had no need to break the news to him. The telephone receiver was in his hand, his eyes glazed with shock. He said blankly: “ It’s Mr Van de Naude … they’ve kidnapped her. Holy Mother of God, they’ve kidnapped her.…”

  I snatched the receiver from him and John Van de Naude’s voice said urgently: “Lucy? Is that you, Lucy?”

  “Yes. I’ve just read the kidnap note.…”

  “I received one a minute ago and I imagine Helena has as well. I haven’t been able to get through to her yet. Listen to me very carefully. I want you to do nothing. Do you understand me? Nothing at all!”

  “But she must be still here, in Majorca. The police will be able to find her, check the airport.…”

  “No! There’s to be no going to the police. The kidnappers are in direct touch with me and I’m handling it. Is that understood?”

  “Yes.…”

  “I want the three of you to sit tight there and to do nothing, and above all, to tell no-one, and that goes for your American friend. If the press get hold of it, we might never see Danny again!”

  “Can I tell Bradley?”

  “Bradley?”

  “Yes. He came unexpectedly yesterday morning.…”

  “Let me speak to him!” John Van de Naude barked.

  “He’s had a slight accident. Nothing serious. He’s in the local hospital for a few days.…” It didn’t seem to be the time and place to go into explanations.

  “Tell Bradley. No-one else. I want no-one screwing things up, do you understand? No-one!” and the phone crashed down.

  Mario’s face was ablaze with anger, he grabbed me by both shoulders, hissing: “ How did they take her? You were supposed to be looking after her! How did they take her?”

  “I don’t know! I put her to bed last night. I heard nothing from her room.…”

  His large hands tightened their grip. “Always it is you! The car! The medicine! Now kidnapping! Where is she? Where is Danielle?”

  “Stop it, Mario! I don’t know!”

  “She would have screamed. She would have called out! They could not have taken her from the villa without a disturbance! Danielle would not have gone with strangers in the middle of the night. But she would have gone with you! You! You know where she is!”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Mario! I had nothing to do with it. Nothing!”

  “For your sake, I hope you are right!” he said through clenched teeth, pushing roughly past the still crying Peggy.

  “Where are you going?” she called after him. “Mr Van de Naude said we must do nothing … tell no-one.…”

  “He didn’t say we couldn’t look for her!” and like a wild bull he charged out of the villa, the doors slamming behind him.

  Peggy rocked herself to and fro, the tears streaming down her face: “Oh, my baby! My poor baby! Oh dear God, what have they done with her?”

  Numbly I walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on for a cup of strong tea. It seemed the only action I was capable of.

  What Mario had said had been correct, in that Danielle would not have left her bed willingly in the middle of the night. Unless they carried her from the room while she was still asleep.… The kettle began to puff clouds of steam. Danielle wasn’t a deep sleeper.… But if she’d been drugged beforehand.… The kettle began to boil and like Newton discovering the power of steam, I knew. At long last a pattern had formed. Janet Grey’s death, Ian Lyall’s visit to the flats, the car accident and Ian’s use of the car, his following us to Valldemossa, the Mogadon in Danielle’s hot chocolate. Everything was clear. The difficulty was going to be convincing people I was right. Especially as I couldn’t take Steve into my confidence. With things crystal clear in my mind I took a cup of tea into Peggy.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as I picked up the telephone receiver and asked for a London number.

  “I’m ringing Mr Van de Naude.”

  She put her cup down suddenly, tea spilling on the pale cream carpet. “You can’t do that! He’ll be waiting to hear from the kidnappers! He’ll be.…”

  “It’s important, Peggy.” The certainty I was now feeling must have showed itself in my voice. She sat silently, watching me. Eternities later an English voice said crisply: “Mr Van de Naude discharged himself today. I’m sorry, no, there is no forwarding address.”

  I said slowly to Peggy: “He’s not at the hospital anymore. He’s discharged himself. Do you know what his London address will be?”

  She shook her head. “He’ll telephone here when he hears … if he hears.…” She began to cry again.

  “Do you know the telephone number of APFO in London?”

  “No, but it will be in Mrs Van de Naude’s address book in her desk … but you can’t go in there.…” She ran after me, seizing me by the arm with surprising strength. “ You’re one of them, aren’t you? That’s why you want to speak to him! You’re one of them!” her voice rose hysterically.

  “Don’t talk nonsense, Peggy.”

  “I’m not. It’s true! Mario said so. I heard him! Oh, you wicked, cruel.…”

  I slapped her face hard and she fell back on the sofa.

  “You’re hysterical, Peggy. I love Danielle and you know it.”

  She didn’t answer, just sat in a huddled heap, crying noisily.

  I searched Helena Van de Naude’s desk thoroughly but found no trace of anything resembling an address book. It seemed to take forever for Continental Enquiries to give me APFO’s London telephone number, and a further ten minutes agonising wait to be connected. It was all in vain. John Van de Naude had obviously given the same adamant instructions to APFO headquarters as he had to me.

  There was only one thing for it. I would have to see Bradley Van de Naude. Peggy didn’t even bother to lift her head up when I told her where I was going. She was still crying, her shoulders hunched, a fist pressed against her mouth. I watched her helplessly, not liking to leave her alone and yet not daring to risk a minute’s delay in talking to Bradley Van de Naude. It was Leonie who came to my rescue.

  She said from behind me: “You go off on your little errand, darling. I’ll look after Peggy. There’s nothing wrong with her a large brandy won’t cure.”

  “Thanks,” I said briefly. There was no emotion on her face. No concern or distress over Danielle’s disappearance. She was as carefully dressed, as beautifully made-up as ever. She smiled lazily as she poured a brandy for Peggy and an even larger one for herself.

  “I hope the son and heir will be suitably ple
ased to see you. I understand he has rather a bad headache at the moment.”

  I didn’t trust myself to answer her. There was too much I wanted to say to Leonie and it would all have to wait until Danielle was safely home again.

  I drove furiously into Palma, heedless of the speed limit and with scant regard for other traffic. Now I knew who Danielle was with, one fear had been eliminated. Wherever she was, Danielle would not be frightened. Not yet.

  Bradley Van de Naude regarded me with startled surprise as I burst into his room. I said briefly: “ Danielle has been kidnapped.”

  “What!” he jerked himself upright in bed.

  “Your father received a letter this morning in London and the kidnappers left one in her room last night. It was obviously planned some time ago.”

  “How much?” he snapped, swinging his legs off the bed and reaching for his dressing-gown.

  “It isn’t money. They want to prevent your father becoming Premier of Ovambia. He’s given us strict instructions to tell no-one. Not the police or the press or anyone.”

  He stood up. “ He’s giving in to the demands then?”

  “Yes. He didn’t actually say so, but what else can he do?”

  “And my stepmother?”

  “I haven’t spoken to her.”

  “I’ll be five minutes. You can drive me back to the villa.”

  “There’s something else. I know who kidnapped her but I can’t get through to your father.…”

  “You know what?” his whole body tightened.

  “It’s Ian Lyall. He tried once before. He drugged her with Mogadon but it didn’t work.”

  “Lyall?” the smoke-blue eyes were incredulous. “Have you proof of this?”

  “Steve Patterson has proof that her drinking chocolate was drugged. He’s also found out that Ian Lyall was a regular visitor to the flats in Ria Square where Janet Grey died.”

  “And?” he waited tensely.

  “And I think something like this has been in the offing a long time. Ever since your father first made his decision to go back into politics. I think Janet Grey knew about it.”

  A nurse came in, drowning us in a flood of Spanish.

  “We’ll talk in the car,” he said curtly. “I’ll be five minutes.”

  He wasn’t. He was three. He slammed the passenger door shut and said. “Where is Lyall now?”

  “He’s supposed to be with your father in London.”

  “And my father has no idea?”

  “No. He left the hospital and I couldn’t get hold of him at APFO headquarters.”

  “If Lyall is in London your theory must be wrong. He couldn’t possibly be responsible.”

  “Not if he is in London,” I agreed. “ But I don’t think he is. I think the telegram was a hoax. That’s why we must get in touch with your father, to find out.”

  We sped through the dusty suburbs of Palma and out past the airport.

  He said grimly: “The sooner my father makes an announcement the better!” he glanced at his watch. “We should just be able to catch the news if we hurry.”

  I put my foot down, tearing through a village and onto the mountain road. He sat quietly beside me, his face a chilly mask of suppressed emotion. He bore very little resemblance to his father. He was tall and leanly built. His fine hair almost girlish. The smoke-blue eyes gave no sign of his feelings. I felt that even in happier circumstances, Bradley Van de Naude would have none of his father’s charm and geniality.

  He said suddenly: “ Do Peggy and Mario know about Lyall?”

  “No. Mario wouldn’t believe me if I’d tried to tell him. He thinks I’m the one who’s behaviour is suspect. He actually accused me of being one of the kidnappers!”

  He gave a smile that held no warmth. “And now he’s gone crashing round Majorca on a one man rescue operation?”

  “He took the news very badly. He’s devoted to Danielle. It would have been impossible for a man of his temperament to have sat still and simply waited.”

  “But that’s all we can do,” Bradley said. “ Wait for my father to renounce the Premiership and wait for Danielle’s return.”

  I looked at my watch. Only half an hour to go until the main television news of the day. I pressed my foot down even harder on the accelerator, streaming headlong down the narrowing road.

  Chapter Seventeen

  We clustered round the television in the main salon. The endless musical comedy show had finished. The news flashed on. There had been a train crash in Madrid. There had been a fire in an hotel in San Sebastian injuring eleven tourists. Mario swore desperately and my nails dug deeper into the soft velvet of the sofa. In an impersonal voice I heard the news commentator mention the words African Summit meeting, and Van de Naude, but my Spanish was not good enough for me to understand the rest of his words. Then there were pictures from Lusaka. A crowded, roaring auditorium of enthusiasm and John Van de Naude, upright and broad, his shock of steel-grey hair making him look like a patriarch of old, took the stand to thunderous applause. Behind him I could make out the seated figures of Helena and David.… His face was stern and impassive. He raised one hand to silence the thunderous hand clapping and began to speak.

  It was not necessary to understand Spanish to know what his next words were. Within seconds the delegates rose to their feet in a bodily mass, cheering and clapping.

  For once even Leonie seemed disconcerted, her eyes fixed like everyone else’s on Bradley’s mask-like face.

  Savagely he ground his cigarette out and turned on his heel. Leonie hesitated a few seconds then hurried after him and we heard the study door slam shut.

  “He will telephone his father,” Peggy said tremulously.

  “He will telephone his father and his father will explain.” Her voice rose with pathetic hope. “Perhaps they already have Danielle safe. Communications are so difficult.…”

  “Perhaps,” Mario said brutally, “ she is dead!” and he spat on the velvet sheen of the opulent carpet and strode from the room.

  I sank back against the cushions on the sofa, and leaned my head back and closed my eyes. If only I could speak to Steve. But I had promised John Van de Naude I wouldn’t, and it was a promise I could not break.

  If only, I thought, my heart aching, if only I could speak to Max. To have Max take me in his arms and whisper words of comfort. Give me some of his strength. Tiredly I wondered if Claudette had spoken to him. Danielle’s kidnap had pushed everything else into the background. Even Max. But now he was in my heart and mind again and I wanted him so badly that my body ached in physical pain.

  The room was dark now and empty. I had not bothered to switch on the lamps and when at last my tears for Max were shed, I rose wearily to my feet and crossed to the windows. Somewhere a six year old girl would be crying too. Crying because she was bewildered and afraid. I felt ashamed at my momentary preoccupation with my own troubles.

  John Van de Naude had not given in to the blackmailers’ demands. He had called their bluff. It had to be bluff. If it wasn’t, Danielle could be dead already.

  In the dark, where the pines clustered round the entrance to the cliff path, something moved. A fox or a weasel. The moon sailed briefly out from behind a bank of cloud and I glimpsed it again, running behind the cover of the trees for the path. Crouching low and on two legs, not four, I froze, straining my eyes as the moon slid behind cloud and the terrace and cliff top were plunged once more into darkness. Then I turned and ran towards the study. Not across the terrace where the intruder would see me, but through the villa, the breath tight in my chest.

  A light came from beneath the study door. I knocked urgently, and Bradley opened the door, his fine-boned face taut with nervous tension.

  I said briefly: “I’ve just seen someone running under cover of the trees towards the cliff path!”

  “Are you sure? You’re not just overwrought?”

  “No,” I said shortly. “ I’m not.”

  His eyes held mine and I said defian
tly: “ I’m almost certain it was Ian Lyall.”

  He drew in his breath quickly. “ Then for Christ’s sake why didn’t you say so?”

  “Because …” My explanations were lost on him. He was whipping a torch out of one of Helena’s drawers, saying tersely: “Is there a spare dinghy anywhere?”

  “There’s an inflatable one with a foot pump where Mario keeps his tools.”

  “Good,” he said, sprinting out onto the terrace, and then, as I started to follow: “ Stay here!”

  “I will not! You might need help.”

  “You’ll do as you’re told!” he snapped.

  “What about Mario? Can’t Mario go with you?”

  “Mario is out. He took that old car of his and headed God knows where.”

  “Then I’m definitely coming with you!”

  We were in the shed where Mario kept his bits and pieces, with the dinghy tucked under one arm and the foot pump and torch in the other, he stared across at me, the expression in his eyes chilling. Bradley needed no help from me or anyone else.

  “I’m going to get that bastard and I’m going to get him alone!” he said between clenched teeth, then he turned on his heel and was gone.

  For five minutes I waited, then I could stand the suspense no longer. I was under no obligation to do as Bradley told me. If Danielle was somewhere out there in the dark, it was me she would want to comfort her.

  The terrace was empty as I padded softly across it, gazing out across the bay to where the Helena lay at anchor, white and sleek and magnificent. And unsearched. Knowing at last where Danielle was added to my determination.

  I slipped down the steep path between the silent woods, the only light that of the stars, the moon still blanketed by cloud. There came the sound of something moving in the undergrowth and my heart lurched painfully, but it was only a small animal scurrying for safety. The jasmine smelt heavy and sweet as I brushed past it. I remembered Ian Lyall’s kiss and involuntarily wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The path steepened, and as I rounded the last of the trees I could see Bradley paddling softly out to sea. I ran down the last of the steps and stared after him. The jetty was empty. Ian Lyall would have taken the dinghy, Bradley had the only spare one. The only other way of reaching the Helena was to swim for it. Not an inviting idea on a dark night. Then I remembered the old rowing boat I had sunbathed against on my first day at the villa. I ran lightly over the sand, straining my eyes in the dark. It was just discernible. A dark hump against the black of the rocks. I dragged it right side up, searching frantically for oars. They were there, under the seat. Painfully I dragged the boat down to the water’s edge, wading in waist deep as I floated her. Then, praying she wouldn’t sink within minutes of leaving shore, I sprang aboard and began pulling strongly out to sea.