by Marion Leigh
Carlo paused. ‘I must confess that the whole scene was having an unwanted effect …’
‘Wanted, you mean,’ Petra muttered.
‘No, cara. I love sex but not that kind of stuff. I beat a hasty retreat and left them both laughing their heads off at me. So I did succeed in making her laugh, though not in the way I’d anticipated.’
‘How will you face them both tonight?’
‘Forwards, cara, facing forwards, as always.’
Chapter
20
On the day of the wedding, Petra woke with a slight headache when a member of Wellington’s staff knocked on the door at 7 a.m. She accepted her breakfast tray and set it aside. Carlo twitched and groaned, rolled onto his back and began to snore. Too much booze at the rehearsal dinner and afterwards. She tapped his shoulder to shut him up.
Her hair appointment was at 8.30 so she had time for a swim to clear her head. She pulled on her bikini and left Carlo to sleep it off.
The sky was clear with no clouds on the horizon. This early in the morning, the air was cool; so was the pool. Both would warm up quickly once the sun strengthened.
Petra took a deep breath and executed a shallow racing dive which kept the shock to her system to a minimum as she entered the water. She decided on a medley: ten lengths of breaststroke to warm up, twenty lengths of front crawl, thirty of back crawl, twenty of butterfly, and finally ten of sidestroke to cool down. Three-quarters of an hour later, she swam to the shallow end of the pool and climbed the steps to get out. She peeled off her goggles and pushed back her hair.
‘Dear, dear! Chlorine in the chief bridesmaid’s hair! Mother’s hairdressers will have a fit.’ Florian was lying on the sunbed next to where she had placed her towel, wearing a pair of blue and black Speedo briefs.
Petra hadn’t realized quite how slim and well-proportioned he was. A Greek god with a wicked tongue.
‘I thought you might like a ride,’ he continued in a way that brought out the innuendo and made Petra cross.
Carlo’s banter she could cope with, Florian was too unsettling. She wondered how long he had been watching her.
‘That would be too much,’ she said primly, grabbing her towel and wrapping it round her body.
‘Too much as in awesome, I agree,’ he replied, deliberately batting his eyelashes. ‘I’m looking forward to partnering you this afternoon.’ In one supple movement he jumped up and nuzzled Petra’s ear before she could pull away. ‘See you later.’
His touch was enough to set her heart beating rapidly, which made her all the more annoyed. With Florian, with herself – and then with Carlo who, she discovered, had eaten most of her breakfast.
‘What is wrong with you guys?’
‘Ach, an angry woman is a lovely sight. Watch you don’t lose your towel!’
Petra found refuge and fresh coffee at the manor house. Outside, the driveway was full of delivery vans. Sandrine and Tony were both there, directing traffic. Sandrine was like a well-programmed robot: calm, efficient, emotionless. Petra wondered whether sex could ever be more than a mechanical release for her. Or was someone like Diego able to unleash deeply buried desires?
For the bride’s father it was a big day. Tony was businesslike but tense, “keyed up” Petra’s father would have said. For a moment, she felt sad that he hadn’t lived long enough to give her away. Not that that was likely to happen any time soon, if at all.
Sipping her coffee, Petra walked away from the house. Halfway down the drive was a white unmarked van parked the wrong way to everyone else. Whoever was driving it had disappeared and left the back doors open. Inside were stacks of cardboard boxes. Stencilled on the side of the ones Petra could see was a heart-shaped symbol containing the words “Dragées d’Aix”. Her eyes lit up. After their fruitless visit to the biscuit factory, she hadn’t considered that some might be delivered for the wedding.
If all the boxes contained sugared almonds, there would be more than enough for the number of guests, whatever type of container they were in. If she took one or two, Carlo could look at them while she was being groomed by Sandrine’s minions.
Petra glanced up and down the drive. Damn! Too late. A lanky young man was walking back towards the van, zipping up his fly. As he drew closer, she recognized him as the warehouseman from the biscuit factory.
She gave him a beaming smile. ‘More goodies for the wedding? How was the traffic this morning from Durbanville?’
‘Not too bad. It’s early.’ At first he didn’t recognize her. Then his eyes clouded over with suspicion. ‘I didn’t come from Durbanville.’
‘Where did you come from?’
‘Miz’ Broselli asked me to do a pick-up.’
‘From one of her factories?’
‘A special order.’
The young man hadn’t answered her questions. He slammed the rear doors of the van, climbed into the driving seat and switched on the engine. Petra tapped on the window and leaned on the windowsill when he opened it. A bit of cleavage never hurt.
‘Could you take a special order for me? I’ll pay you well.’
‘No chance. Get out of my way. I’ve got to turn round.’
‘OK, then at least tell me where I can place the order for my friend’s wedding in Cape Town.’
He stared back at her. Time for a new approach.
‘You’d better tell me where these come from, or I’ll tell Miz’ Broselli what you were doing just now along the side of her driveway. I’m sure she’ll approve of that.’
Fear flared in his eyes.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yes, you do. And look, here she comes! You have about twenty seconds before she gets close.’
‘Alaix Imports. In Montagu.’ He gunned the engine and Petra stepped quickly away from the van.
Petra burst into the bedroom where Carlo was playing with his phone.
‘Guess what!’
‘What? You beat the Olympic record for the number of lengths’ swim without drowning after a night of revelry. Am I right?’
Petra rolled her eyes. ‘No, Carlo, I left the hen-do early – much earlier than you left the stag by the look of you.’
‘You missed a really good party!’
‘But I found out where Sandrine makes the dragées!’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes, unless her warehouseman is leading me up the garden path. But I don’t think so. He’s afraid of her, and he knows I saw him peeing in her best flowers, so he’s eager to help.’
Carlo jumped up and gave Petra a hug. ‘Fantastic! Where then?’
‘Alaix Imports in Montagu, wherever that is.’
‘It’s about a hundred kilometres from here. We won’t be able to do anything until after tomorrow.’
‘What’s tomorrow?’
‘The post-wedding luncheon, and preparation for our hunting and fishing trip.’
‘Yours, maybe, Carlo, not mine. I’m going back to Cape Town.’
‘It’s all arranged. We’re going with Tony to his hunting and fishing lodge on the Orange River. Then we’re going to Etosha on safari.’
‘Well, unarrange it, at least the first part. As I said, I’m going to Cape Town for a couple of days, to see Vicky. If you pretend you’re coming with me, you can go and snoop round Montagu. Then we can meet up later. How’s that for a plan?’
Carlo wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s a plan.’
Chapter
21
The spa next to the pool was where Sandrine’s personal hairdresser and beautician came to pamper her on a regular basis. For the wedding they had brought reinforcements. By two o’clock, the bridesmaids, the bride, the mother of the groom and Sandrine had to be ready, and everything tidied up and cleared away.
Petra looked resentfully in the mirror at the hairdresser who was teasing her hair i
nto ringlets. When she was on duty or on her beloved boat Petrushka, she tied her hair back in a ponytail. At other times, she preferred to wear it loose and down. Occasionally for a function, or if it was really messy, she would wind it up into a chignon. Was it really necessary to be made into something one wasn’t for an occasion lasting only a few hours?
Roz and Betta looked equally disgruntled. Roz’s short dark hair had been augmented by a hair piece, Betta’s blonde locks had been crimped and curled, and her mother was sitting with rollers in her hair under a hood dryer.
Gina came waltzing in with the flower girls. Her eyes widenend when she saw Petra. ‘Ringlets?’
‘Sandrine’s decision.’
‘I’m glad I’m not in the wedding party.’
Ouch! Petra wondered if she knew about Diego’s involvement with Sandrine while Father John had been staging his irreligious extravaganza. Probably not. And if she did, she might not care.
‘Can you tell Julia we’re ready for her?’ Sandrine’s hairdresser asked.
‘Sorry, I’m on my way to meet Father John,’ Gina replied as if she had read Petra’s mind. ‘Isn’t he a great guy?’
Clearly whatever spell he had cast over Gina the previous afternoon hadn’t worn off yet. Usually Petra had a weakness for older men, but Father John made her cringe. He was slick, devious and twisted. Florian at least didn’t dissemble.
Petra flinched as the beautician who was doing her pedicure bent her big toe too far forward. A dribble of Scarlet Blaze, the official colour, fell on the towel. The smell of nail varnish permeated the room.
Sandrine poked her head through the door. ‘Where’s Julia?’
‘Not here,’ Petra said.
‘That girl is never where she’s wanted.’
‘You mean never where you want her to be,’ Petra murmured.
Half an hour later, Petra pleaded to be let outside. The smell was making her head ache again and she’d had enough of female chit-chat: Betta had had an argument with her brother, Roz was sure Florian liked her better than he liked Betta, the flower girls talked incessantly in their high-pitched voices.
‘Make sure you stay on the stoep. You’ll ruin your nails if you don’t.’
Petra was sitting quietly in a chair on the verandah with her eyes closed when a gruff voice interrupted her reverie.
‘You’re a cop. Go and find her, and find out what the hell’s the matter.’
She opened her eyes and looked into Max De Witt’s tortured face. He was upset, clearly, but that didn’t excuse his peremptory tone.
‘You’re ordering me to do what exactly?’
‘To find Julia, and ask her why she wants to call the wedding off.’
Petra sat up straight. ‘How do you know that’s what she wants to do?’
‘She said so this morning and now nobody can find her.’ The groom’s face crumpled. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but …’
Max De Witt had not made much of an impression on Petra over the preceding few days. He had been present without being a player. If anything, she had judged him to be somewhat simple and little more than a convenient match for Julia. In the face of his emotion now, she wondered if he loved the girl.
‘All right,’ she said, jumping up and ignoring her still tacky toenails. ‘I’ll do my best. I presume you’ve checked her bedroom and the rest of the manor house.’
‘Several times, and the tasting centre. Nobody’s seen her.’
‘Where were you this morning when she told you she wanted to call the wedding off?’
Max stared at the ground. ‘On the couch in her bedroom.’ He reddened and added: ‘After the rehearsal dinner last night, we had our stag and hen parties. You were with Julia then, weren’t you?’
‘For a while. Gina and Roz got us drinking tequila. I figured if I had too much, I’d never be able to get up early this morning. You guys were drinking beer and shots by the pool.’
‘Ja, but then Florian and Father John said they’d fetch the girls and we went to the folly. It was all decked out in mini-lights with music and … you know …’
‘I can imagine: frolicking, skinny-dipping, more drinking … no wonder Carlo didn’t come in till 3 a.m. and couldn’t wake up this morning!’
The red on Max’s neck deepened and spread. Petra took his arm and led him off the stoep.
‘Look, I know how these things go, and how out of hand they can get. But I think there’s something you’re not telling me. Something that might have a bearing on Julia’s state of mind. What is it?’
Max looked as if he was going to die of embarrassment.
‘I’m a cop. You said so yourself. There’s not much I haven’t seen.’
‘It was all that stuff, like you said … Thank God the parents weren’t there …’
‘But Father John was there?’
‘Ja, with Gina, then Diego started on Ana, and …’
‘Carlo?’
‘Paired off with Raquel …’
‘What about Florian? Come on, Max, you’ve got to come clean.’
‘The English girls were all over him. He was going from one to the other, fondling, kissing, rubbing against them … Betta too!’
Petra felt a surge of anger as Max described Florian’s behaviour.
‘He’s a wolf in lamb’s clothing. I dragged Betta away and told her to be careful, he was using them all, but she started to argue with me. Then …’ Max’s voice broke. ‘ … he went after Julia. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed his mouth on hers and kept kissing her … he made sure I saw. It was horrible … the best man … oh, God!’
Max was shaking like a jelly. ‘I was furious, I couldn’t stop myself. I ran across to them and tore them apart and punched him in the stomach.’ Light dawned in his eyes. ‘Is that why Julia wants to call the wedding off?’
‘Maybe. It could be she thinks you have an aggressive streak that she doesn’t like.’
‘Doesn’t she know I love her?’
‘You said you were in her room. So you took her to bed?’
‘Not like that. We haven’t slept together – she wouldn’t until after we were married.’ A mournful note crept into his voice. ‘Now we might not.’
Petra felt a twinge of exasperation. The big ones were often the spineless ones: no stamina except in the wrong circumstances. ‘What happened this morning then? What did she say?’
‘She woke up and saw me on the couch and yelled at me to get out. She kept repeating, ‘It’s over, get out, it’s over!’ She was like a madwoman, so I left.’
‘Have you seen Florian this morning? Have you asked him where Julia is?’
Max shook his head.
When Petra had encountered Florian at the pool, he had been his usual cavalier and irritating self. No signs of any malaise as a result of too much alcohol or being punched by Max.
‘Go and find Carlo. Tell him what’s happening and start searching the outbuildings and the rest of the estate. Do Sandrine and Tony know?’
‘No.’ Max’s hangdog expression said it all.
‘OK. Well, don’t say anything yet. I’ll do what I can.’
Chapter
22
Petra kicked off the thin flip-flops the beautician had slipped onto her feet and ran through the gardens to the stables. Julia could be anywhere on or off the estate, but Petra had a hunch that she would have gone back to the scene of last night’s fracas. It depended how she felt about Florian. If Julia, the victim, had feelings for her “captor”, she would definitely have gone back there.
One of the estate’s golf carts was parked outside the stables. Florian’s black stallion was in his stall, Sandrine’s mare had gone. The stallion whinnied when he saw Petra. After tossing his head a few times, he let her rub his nose. Like his master, he was a beautiful beast with power and grace an
d a big mean streak. In Florian’s case, that mean streak might prevent his stepsister’s marriage.
Petra released the brake on the golf cart. She wished she had been at the after-party; then she might have understood better what had happened. It seemed that Max – the protective brother – had removed Betta from Florian’s clutches and Florian had retaliated, deliberately and nastily. The effect on Max had been predictable. Yet however scandalous Florian’s behaviour had been, it wasn’t incestuous. Julia wasn’t Florian’s sister or even half-sister. Something else had crept into the equation. Did Max think Julia was responding to Florian’s advances?
Stag and hen parties seemed to bring out the worst in everyone. Sandrine would be furious if she knew how her carefully planned event was being sabotaged. The best outcome would be if Petra could find Julia and talk sense into her before Sandrine and Tony found out.
Sandrine’s mare was tied up outside the folly. She laid her ears back when Petra drew up in the golf cart but calmed down when Petra whispered endearments. In spite of her efforts to block them, memories of the mad gallop with Florian and his assault on her mouth came flooding back. She could well imagine Julia being unable to resist yet she had given no hint that she liked Florian the way most girls did.
Petra walked down the covered passageway to the folly, thinking quickly. A party such as Max had described would leave plenty of evidence: empty bottles and glasses, pieces of lost or discarded clothing, other detritus. She ducked as she went through the archway, as if she were entering an evil place with dark secrets.
She emerged into bright sunlight. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that the folly was exactly the same as it had been on her first visit. There was no indication that it had been used for a party. Even the mini-lights had been taken down. According to Max, Sandrine had not been present, but her staff must have known about it and come early to clean up.