by Elaine Young
Chapter 27
Michel
Michel was pacing up and down the sitting room in the apartment, waiting for news. Elvira and Guiseppa sat together on the sofa trying to be supportive, but they were afraid of what might have happened to Libby. They had heard nothing yet from the police. The tramezzini Guiseppa had made earlier were uneaten on the plates. Venier had told them to wait near the phone, rather than run around looking for Libby, but that was difficult. Suddenly the phone rang and Michel grabbed it.
‘Pronto’. His sombre expression changed to one of amazement. ‘Ari! Ce n’est pas possible! Comment ça va? Where are you?’ He listened for a bit then said briefly, ‘Right I’ll see you soon,’ and replaced the receiver.
‘Caro, what has happened? Was that really Aristide Mayer?’ asked Elvira. Michel nodded.
‘Aristide is in Venice and his friend Rose persuaded him to fly. I don’t know which is the greater miracle. That he is feeling better, or that he flew in an aeroplane! He told me he hates flying . . .’ then his face fell. ‘I can’t leave the phone. They have just arrived at the bus station. Zia . . . would you mind very much . . . ? I know you’ve never met him, but look for an elderly couple, he’ll have his arm in a sling . . .’
Elvira put her arms around him and hugged him. ‘Of course, you silly boy. We’ll find them, don’t worry! Guiseppa, do you feel like a ride? Come . . . there is not much we can do here anyway.’ They fetched their coats while Michel called a water taxi and he escorted them to the door. ‘No. No further,’ said Elvira firmly. ‘You stay here in case the phone rings. We’ll be fine.’
Michel hugged them both and waited until they had closed the outside door before going back to his study. Minutes later the doorbell rang. Thinking it was Elvira, he said into the intercom,
‘Did you forget your key?’ He was shocked when a rough voice spoke in French,
‘Gaillard, I have a message for you from M. Dubois.’
Michel flew down the stairs and whipped open the street door, but the caller had gone. In the letterbox was an envelope which he tore open and rapidly scanned.
‘Gaillard.
I have the pleasure of the company of Miss Wentworth. If you want to see her alive, you will bring the album and its contents to the end pier in the Guidecca Canal at five pm. The ‘Star of the South’ is moored at the Bachina di San Baségio. Do not contact the police.
Dubois.
Libby was the lure that Dubois was using to get the necklace. He felt fear for her clutch at his throat, but he fought it down, realising that giving way to panic would only cloud his judgement.
Shrilly, the phone rang again and he dashed up the last flight of stairs. It was Vice-Questore Venier. ‘They are moving,’ he said, ‘a motor boat arrived at the Bachina di Baségio and amongst the group of people on board were two figures dressed in carnival costume who were escorted up the gang-plank of the ‘Star of the South’. I thought I’d let you know.’
‘Wait, Pietro. I have just had a note from Dubois saying that he wants me to bring the evidence to the boat at five o’ clock. That’s in about in thirty minutes. Obviously they’ll put a tail on me as I leave here.’
‘OK. I’ll tell my men to stand down and just keep watch. The divers are already in position in a boat moored not far away. There are snipers on the roof of the Stazione Marittima as well, and they have the ‘Star of the South’ in full view. Don’t worry. We’ll get him. The French want him alive so there will be a minimum of shooting. We’ll put someone onto following your shadow too, so you won’t be alone. We don’t want to let them have the evidence before we‘ve got Miss Wentworth. Leave your place by a quarter to five.’ The line went dead.
.At exactly quarter-to-five he opened the street door and looked around carefully before locking up and walking down the narrow alley in which his house stood. He could feel adrenalin tingling through his body and he had to fight down the impulse to run. As he turned left into calle Lunga St Barnaba he stopped and turned up his collar against the strong chill breeze. As he did so, he noticed a man standing in front of the antique shop a little way down to the right. The man straightened up and lit a cigarette. This must be Dubois’ promised escort. Michel thought it best not to acknowledge the man and he strolled as nonchalantly as he could in the opposite direction. He just hoped that Venier’s man was close behind. The buildings rose up on either side of him and his footsteps echoed loudly. There were few pedestrians around in the miserable afternoon.
Every time he slowed his pace, the footfalls behind him stopped. This is crazy, he thought, that rascal must know that I know he’s there. At least he’s keeping his distance and won’t jump me without Venier’s man stopping him.
As he crossed the Rio di san Sebastiano he looked around from the vantage point in the middle of the arched bridge. The man was some way behind him. When he stopped and turned around, the other man stopped too, pretending to look in a shop window and in the fading light Michel could see another figure, not in the middle of the calle, but keeping closer to the wall. Michel turned around and resumed walking. He passed under the shadow of the chiesa di san Sebastiano and as he turned into the narrow calle dei Frati, he increased his pace to put some distance between himself and his shadow. In front of him he could see the Stazione Marittima and as he rounded that, he could see a small cargo boat moored on the dockside. Three men were standing on deck, guns at the ready. Michel stopped and hailed them.
He kept expecting that the man who had trailed him would appear and attack him from behind, but he wasn’t followed out into the open. Michel realised with relief that Venier’s man must have dealt with Dubois’ henchman. He tried not to look at the roof of the Stazione Marittima but he fervently hoped that Venier’s men were up there watching him.
‘Where’s Dubois?’ he called. ‘Tell him Michel Gaillard is here. I have something for him.’
Dubois appeared, holding Libby close by his side. She was still wearing the red silk domino cloak and she made a brilliant splash in the gloom of the late afternoon. Dubois had a gun pressed against her body. They moved forward and stood at the top of the gang plank. Michel’s heart turned over as he saw the strain on Libby’s face. He stared intently at her to see if she was hurt in any way. Smiling, she shook her head slightly, understanding his look. She was unharmed.
‘Gaillard. I am so glad to see that you are so predictable. I knew you would take the sentimental view and come and rescue Miss Wentworth. Come aboard.’ He might have been inviting Michel for a cruise. Michel walked up the gangplank.
‘Let her go!’ he said as he stepped onto the deck
‘All in good time. Just give me the box.’
Out of the corner of his eye Michel could see two police divers coming over the side of the boat. They were hidden from Dubois and the others by the cabin.
‘Let her go first, Dubois.’
‘Not until I see that the contents of this box are intact.’
Michel moved forward slowly and gave it to him. Dubois let go of Libby in order to open the box and as he did, one of the divers jumped on him from behind. The box fell to the deck and the album fell open. The envelope tumbled out and the photos began to blow around the deck. In that moment, Michel leapt forward, grasped Libby by the arm and pulled her to the safety of his arms.
Dubois’ three ruffians were taken by surprise and raised their guns, but in the same moment gunshots were heard from the roof of the Stazione Marittima and the men dropped to the deck. It was over in seconds.
Suddenly the deck was swarming with police. Dubois’ face was suffused with fury and dismay. Venier walked up to him as he was being handcuffed.
‘Surprised, Monsieur that we found you so easily? We had a bit of help, I confess. Someone in Paris told us exactly where you were and what you were planning. She mentioned that the cargo in the hold will prove to be property stolen from Jews during the war.’
Dubois’ consternation was palpable.
‘The lady who called us told us t
o give you a message. She said that you should be informed that her father died yesterday morning and she has told your daughters everything. She said you would realize what she meant. Your wife, I understand,’ said Venier dryly, raising a quizzical eyebrow. Dubois said nothing.
Michel held Libby tightly. His heart was still thumping with fear and relief as he fully realised the danger she had been in.
‘You’re not hurt, my darling?’ he spoke softly into her hair.
She leaned away from him and smiled a watery smile. ‘Just a few bruises, mostly to my ego, that’s all. And I’m tired of having guns pointed at me. Also, I probably smell of fish and diesel! And this red does nothing for my freckles!’ she said as he drew her back into his embrace.
‘Mmmm.’ he sniffed the air around her. ‘Not too bad, could be less diesel!’ his voice thickened, ‘Don’t ever go away again,’ he whispered before he kissed her thoroughly.
A minute later, she stirred and looked up at him. ‘Michel. I just remembered. Dougie is in the hold. He’s still tied up . . .’she said. He nodded and they turned to go into the cabin.
Without warning, a man who had come aboard in the wake of the police, grabbed Libby’s arm roughly as she walked slightly behind Michel. She turned her head in surprise to see who it was.
‘Yves Lefevre? What are you . . .’ she stopped when she saw the gun in his hand.
At the sound of Libby’s voice, Michel turned around and saw with a shock what had happened. Everything seemed to slow down as the man shouted, ‘Gaillard. Bring me that album. And tell your gunmen to put down their weapons or I’ll kill this woman!’ Michel stared as he realised who the man was, older but still recognisable.
‘Renard?’ he said slowly, ‘C’est toi?’ In the gathering dusk, he peered at the man who held Libby. ‘I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?’ Venier motioned to his men to put down their guns. The snipers were still invisible on the roof of the Stazione Marittima. He knew that they would have their guns trained on the unfolding drama on the deck of the ‘Star of the South’ and would be waiting for a clear shot at the man.
‘I am here to take what I came for,’ he turned towards Dubois. ‘You filth!’ He spat in the man’s face. ‘My father, Jacques Marteau!’ he said bitterly and spat again.
‘This must be the whelp, turned up at last.’ Dubois scoffed, ignoring the spittle sliding down his face. Lefevre turned his back on him.
‘Give that album to her!’ he ordered, gesturing with the gun. Michel picked up the book and slowly held it out to Libby, desperately thinking of a way to defuse the situation. Libby’s eyes were wide with terror as she clutched the album to her chest, as though for protection.
‘Let’s talk about this reasonably, Renard!’
‘Reasonable! Reasonable! You ask me to be reasonable!’ his voice was rising. ‘Grandmère hated me and always told me how much she hated this vaurien, this good-for-nothing,’ he said as he waved the gun in Dubois’ face. The man protested mockingly. ‘Don’t pretend at this point that you are not Jacques Marteau! They even called me after you. Renard Jacques Marteau. I changed that hated name as soon as I could. I know you stole the necklace. Grandmère told me about it when I was growing up. She always said I was a bastard thief, just like my father,’ he sneered as he mentioned the old lady. He turned to Michel and continued, ‘And don’t pretend now that you ever cared about me, Brother. You were glad when I disappeared, I am sure of that,’
‘You know that’s not true . . .’
Lefevre went on as if he hadn’t heard Michel, ‘When I left the farm I was fifteen years old and I struggled to make my way. I got an education by working at night and made a success of my life. It was hard, but not as hard as living with that old harpy, who took every opportunity to tell me that I was an unwanted nuisance.
‘And now, I am taking that necklace, thank you. It will just about compensate me for all the insults.’ He pulled Libby away and raised his voice. ‘Don’t anyone try to stop me. I am going to take that police launch,’ he gestured with his chin towards a launch that was berthed nearby. ‘You,’ he said to Venier, ‘tell your men to get out and leave the keys. Miss Wentworth is coming with me and I will shoot her if anyone tries anything, make no mistake.’
‘One thing, Renard, before you go . . .’ Michel called out watching Lefevre intently, Lefevre stopped and faced Michel. ‘Ettore Bragadin? And Ari? Did you kill them?’
‘Those fools got in my way, that’s all.’ He was at the top of the gangplank with Libby when suddenly there was a commotion as Dubois pulled away from his captors.
‘You have no right to that necklace. It is mine. Mine, do you hear!’ he shouted. Although he had his hands handcuffed behind his back, he lunged forward. Without hesitation Lefevre shot him and the old man fell to the deck, blood streaming from a wound in his stomach. A policeman moved forward but he fell too, as a bullet caught him in the leg. Lefevre waved the gun around.
‘Anyone else want to try something?’
Then Michel knew what he had to do. Slowly he moved backwards, away from the group, towards the railing on the far side of the deck. He took the necklace out of his pocket and held it up over the murky water of the canal. Even in the fading light it was incandescent.
‘Is this what you want, Renard? Come and get it!’ he called out.
. Silence fell on the shabby little boat as everyone was awestruck by the sight of the gems. Lefevre looked stupidly at the necklace swinging from Michel’s finger and back to the album that Libby was clutching to her body. Then, shoving her away, he dropped the gun as he charged at Michel. With a howl of rage and anguish, Lefevre scrambled onto the railing in his anxiety to take hold of the dazzling string. As he reached out and grasped it, a carefully aimed bullet fired by a sniper struck him and he tumbled head first into the canal.
Everyone hurried to the side but there was nothing to be seen, just a deeper shadow, as blood spread onto the surface of the water. The police launch that had been moored not far from the cargo boat put on its searchlight in answer to the radioed instruction from Venier, but Lefevre’s body had disappeared into the depths.
Weeping uncontrollably Libby rushed into Michel’s waiting arms.
‘Michel . . . I’m so sorry. About everything. I’m such an idiot to have walked away from you at the cemetery. I’ve caused everyone so much trouble . . .’ she whispered into his shoulder. He stroked her hair, murmuring reassurances to her.
‘Ça va, ma cherie. Besides, I shouldn’t have let go of your hand anyway and truly both Dubois and Lefevre were so intent on recovering the necklace that the hunt would have continued and you would still be at risk. It’s finished now at least, the worst has happened.’
‘And the necklace . . . why did you do that? He could have shot you!’
‘All I wanted to do was to draw him away from you. I thought I could punch him or something. I didn’t expect him to leap at it like that!’ he said dazedly. He was thoughtful for a minute as he tried to process what had happened. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her trembling lips, her brimming eyes. ‘Nothing is worth your life. Besides, in all of its history that beautiful necklace has never brought happiness to anyone who has owned it.’
Within a short time the divers had brought up the shattered body of Lefevre and laid it on the deck. Frozen in the clutched fist was the necklace. ‘I was hoping the divers wouldn’t find it. I never want something like that to take over my life the way it did those of Dubois and Renard.’ He stared regretfully down at the body of his half-brother the spreading red bloom on the chest the only evidence that he had died from a sniper’s bullet. He must have died instantly. Michel closed the eyelids and composed the limbs before he undid the catch of the necklace and eased it out of the curled fingers, and then he left the orderlies to remove the body to the police ambulance that would take it to the morgue.
The wounded policeman had already been rushed to the Ospidale Civile. The bodies of the three henchmen had
been removed to the morgue. Dougie had been freed from the cabin but he too was gone, taken to the Questura for questioning along with the crew of the boat as well as the brassy blonde woman who was found cowering below deck.
A woman’s disembodied voice drew them back to reality. ‘Michel. Michel, are you there?’ They looked wonderingly at each other and then moved to look over the side. In the semi-dark of the fondamente below, stood four people.
‘It’s Elvira and . . . Ari! It’s Ari!’ Libby’s voice cracked with excitement. With a quick word to the police chief, Michel rushed down to the quayside and brought Ari and Rose, Elvira and Guiseppa on deck. Then Libby and Michel were enfolded in warm bear hugs.
‘We’ve only just arrived. We found your note at the apartment, and Ari wouldn’t rest until we brought him down here. What happened? I was so worried about you,’ said Elvira. She hugged them both again and turned to introduce Rose to Libby, but all Rose did was take her in her arms and hug her too. Ari was still swathed in bandages but he said he felt fine, although he looked pale.
‘I had to come. Where is Dubois?’
Wordlessly, Michel pointed at the drama in the stern of the boat. In the beam of hastily rigged spotlights, a medical team was trying to stabilise the mortally wounded man in order to transport him to hospital. While Libby waited with the other women, Michel moved forward with Ari and reluctantly looked down at Dubois. With a great effort the dying man spoke through the blood that was welling up in his throat.
‘You have won, Gaillard. I congratulate you. And Mayer, come to gloat . . .’
‘Tell me Marteau, I have to know,’ said Michel softly, ‘did you kill my father?’ The man on the ground just lifted his chin. Yes.
‘Why?’
‘I wanted Adelina. . .’ his voice was fading, his eyes seemed to mist over and he struggled and with a great effort he lifted a hand towards Michel, choking out, ‘The necklace . . .’ the hand dropped. Michel bowed his head, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his eyes. He had needed to know what had happened to his father, but he was surprised at the pain the knowledge brought. He turned and moved blindly to the side of the boat and leaned over, taking great gulps of air. Libby wanted to go to him to comfort him, but she felt that he needed to be alone for a few minutes.
Ari looked down at the blood-spattered remains of the man who had overshadowed most of his life. He stood for a long minute staring at the dead face that was frozen in a rictus of pain, until Rose placed her arm through his and drew him away.
‘I imagined I’d feel triumph when I envisaged this moment, but I feel nothing but pity for him,’ he murmured as Michel joined them. ‘I cannot hate him. He is nothing and he has nothing, despite all his murderous grasping. It seems a hollow victory though; he should have stood trial and faced the survivors of his wickedness.’ Ari shook his head in a bemused way. He went on,
‘When I heard about Bragadin I was distressed to think that Dubois killed him too.’
‘But he didn’t. It was Lefevre who killed Ettore while looking for the necklace. It was hidden in the album, which is why everyone wanted to get their hands on it. The wartime photos were second prize!’
‘You mean your family necklace? But how did Lefevre know about . . .?’ Ari stared in amazement at Michel, who realised there was a great deal of explaining to do.
‘We’ll talk later . . .’ was all he said. Mutely they stood back as the medical team covered the corpse and carried it down to the ambulance that was still waiting. It pulled away slowly from the quay with no need to sound its klaxon as it moved into the centre of the canal on its way to the mortuary. How ironic, thought Michel, father and son finally united in death.
The little group seemed mesmerized, unable to move away from the scene of such terror. They watched numbly as the police busied themselves on the bloodied deck, clearing away the debris, taking photographs and sorting out the contents of the hold. Someone took the album and photographs to keep as evidence.
Libby was grateful for the strong arm around her waist, without which she knew she would collapse. Michel helped her remove the brilliant scarlet cloak. She felt as though she was sloughing a detestable skin and she shuddered as he gave it to the policeman who was collecting evidence. She never wanted to see the thing again. Michel found her beret in his pocket and placed it on her head.
‘Elvira,’ said Libby turning to the older woman, ‘I have to apologise for the condition of your lovely jacket. It smells awful! I’ll have it cleaned I promise.’
‘Cara! You will do no such thing! What is that old coat worth? You are alive and safe and that is all that matters.’ She pinched Libby’s chin gently. ‘We were very worried about you. I thought Michel would go out of his mind.’
Venier came across and shook hands with Michel and the others. ‘Everyone alright? Do you want our launch to take you back? Right. We’d also like a statement from you, Miss Wentworth and you too, Gaillard. But tomorrow will do. Come to the Questura after 11 am. If that suits you of course. I can imagine that all of you will want to sleep late. And I’m afraid the Press have already sniffed out the story. We’ve managed to keep them behind a cordon, but I’ll be making an official statement later at the Questura. It will be on the late news,’ he smiled wryly, before signalling to the pilot of the launch at the quayside to wait for passengers. Grateful for the warmth, they sat on the worn red leather seats as the engine began to throb. Within minutes they were deposited at the palazzo.
Libby stumbled as they disembarked and Michel swept her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs despite her protests that she was fine and perfectly able to walk by herself.
‘I’m not an invalid you know! And I’m quite heavy. Hey, please put me down, you’ll break your back,’ but she realised that it was bravado talking and thought that it was just as well she had some help. She didn’t think her knees would be able to take her up to the apartment.
‘My dear. You have had a horrible day and you are getting into bed right away.’ He took her through to her room and laid her on the bed. ‘Now listen to Elvira. She is in charge.’
‘I’ll feel better when I’ve had a hot bath and something to eat. I’m famished. I realised quite a while ago that the last time I ate was at breakfast this morning! No wonder I can’t climb the stairs,’ she smiled tremulously up at him but he could still see the strain on her face. He stopped and kissed her hard on the mouth.
‘Stop talking woman, you’ll do as you’re told!’ he whispered.
Elvira had rushed ahead and was bustling about getting a bath running for Libby and putting out her night things, while Rose helped Guiseppa in the kitchen with a light supper. They were all conscious that Libby had borne the brunt of the day’s terrors. Michel and Ari sat together in the lounge silently for a while,
‘I think we are all in shock, Ari. I can’t tell you how glad I was to see you this afternoon. However did you get onto that aeroplane?’
Ari smiled ruefully. ‘Rose has persuasive ways. In fact she threatened me! What could I do but meekly comply.’
’That must have been a dire threat. Can you say what it was?’
Ari murmured something, as he bent his head and fiddled with his bandages.
‘What did you say? I didn’t catch that.’
‘She vowed she would haul me before a magistrate and marry me . . .’ he muttered. Michel threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter.
‘I’m sorry, but your face, my friend, is quite a picture! You could do worse, you know.’ With his voice shaking with mirth, he felt the tension dropping off his shoulders.
Within a short time, the women came through with trays of steaming minestrone and crusty bread and they settled down to eat. Presently, Libby appeared in the doorway, scrubbed, with damp hair and in her pyjamas and dressing gown. Michel stood and escorted her to a seat next to him and there was not much talking as they tucked into the delicious meal. When they were all satisfied, they took their wine to the lounge,
‘Yves turned out to be my little brother Renard, and I never realised it. Remember I told you how my half-brother ran away after my Grandmère died. He knew about the necklace and felt it was rightfully his for all the grief he had suffered. His father was Jacques Marteau.’ Michel explained the complicated story of the family heirloom that Marteau had stolen, and how it had finally come back into his hands.
‘So that is why he warned me not to have anything to do with you after we met again at Bragadin’s place back in August. I almost asked you about it, but the moment passed. I wish now I had said something.’
‘It wouldn’t have helped, Ari, because I had not seen him since he left the farm and he had changed his name. I would still have told you what I did and encouraged you to trust him. More fool me.’ he shrugged ruefully. ‘He met Libby on the train and soon deduced that she was carrying the album to Venice on your behalf. He followed her to Bragadin’s place and later pushed his way into the apartment and attacked Ettore, demanding the parcel. Of course, I had taken it home with me that afternoon as I have had your papers and other things in my safe as you know . . .’ he proceeded then to describe the death of Bragadin and they could not help but remember that the funeral had only been that morning, although so much had happened since then, it seemed as though it was just a vanishing dream. Ari sat shaking his head, as the story unfolded. Then he said,
‘Libby. My poor child. I didn’t realise what I was giving you when I asked you to take that parcel to Venice for me. I am so sorry.’
She shook her head, unable to speak and reached out and squeezed his hand.
‘Do you feel like talking about what happened today?’ asked Michel softly. ’You don’t have to say anything now.’
She took a big gulp of wine and said shakily, ‘I guess I’d better get used to this. I have that interview at the police station tomorrow!’ She described how she had been abducted and taken to Dubois’ hideout and the shock and panic she had felt. Michel kissed her on the head as she spoke and held her hand tightly. He could sense the fear rising in her again, but he knew that it would help her if she confronted her terrors. As she finished she drew a deep and shuddering breath, One day, she thought, one day, I’ll be able to put the whole thing behind me. There was silence for a few moments then everyone began speaking at once. It broke the tension in the room.
‘Please may we see that necklace properly, Michel?’
He pulled it out of his pocket and there was a collective gasp as he placed it carefully on the coffee table.
After some minutes of awed silence, Elvira said softly, ‘I can understand why Dubois wanted to keep that for himself, but he could never have sold it on the open market.’
‘I imagine he would have just kept it to look at now and again, with his stolen paintings and other beautiful things. Like a dragon drooling over his hoard,’ said Michel wryly.
‘What will you do with it?’
‘I rather think I’ll donate it to a museum, such as the Carnavalet in Paris or Versailles. I have no use for it.’
Libby couldn’t bring herself to look at it again. All she could see was Lefevre’s dead hand clutching it. Elvira noticed Libby’s distress and said brusquely,
‘I would suggest, Michel that you put it in the safe right now, it is far too valuable to leave lying around.’
‘Of course Zia,’ Michel gathered it up and put it back in his pocket, ‘I’ll do that before I go to bed.’
‘Time for bed, I think,’ said Elvira breaking the spell. Everyone agreed and left Libby and Michel alone for a bit longer with an admonition that Michel should not keep her up late.
‘I can’t tell you how desperate and helpless I felt when you disappeared at the funeral,’ he said when they were alone. ‘To find you again, only to lose you. I thought I’d go crazy! I realised then that I love you and have loved you from the first moment I saw you!’
She held Michel’s face in her hands and said quietly, ‘When I was tied up in that horrid cellar I thought that this would end badly for me, and poor Dougie, because the plan was to take us out into deep water and drop us overboard. I almost gave into panic. But as I was led back to the cellar after Dubois told me his plan to lure you into bringing the necklace,’ she continued, shyly, looking into Michel’s eyes, ‘I realised that if this had not happened, if I hadn’t brought that crucial parcel for Ari, I would never have met you again, Michel, and I am so glad I did. I nearly posted it on Saturday morning instead of taking it to Bragadin, you know! If I had, I would have missed meeting you again and being able to make things right with you and I can’t bear to think of that . . .’
She had hardly finished her sentence before Michel drew Libby against him. She was unable to do more than hold tightly to him, her face in the curve of his neck. She consciously put the horror of the day behind her as she felt the warmth and comfort of his body against her breast and breathed in his scent and she knew that here, in Michel’s arms, she was safe.
– THE END –
Thank you very much!
About the Author
I was born in Johannesburg more than 70 years ago. I have always lived here although I have travelled a bit and would love to travel more in the future, especially I would like to go back to France and Italy.
I have always been surrounded by books. My parents had books, books and more books. I haunted the library as a child and when I grew up I worked in book shops. When I had children and they went to school I ran the school library. And my husband keeps on telling me there are too many books in the house. They somehow seem to pile up on every available surface almost of their own volition. I fight back and donate mounds of them to the local library but somehow it is a losing battle. I just find more taking their place!
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