Some Day I'll Find You

by Richard Madeley

  ‘I have no proper idea. Not yet. But I do know one thing. I won’t lose you again, I’m absolutely certain of that. Yesterday I was full of confusion and even fear. But that’s all gone.’

  She sat up in the bed, and took both his hands in hers. ‘It’s horribly complicated, James. But my father has an expression: “If it wasn’t complicated, it wouldn’t be life”.’

  He looked at her quizzically. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘He means that every kind of apparently intractable problem has a solution. One just has to be patient and discover what it is. And that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to solve this and everything is going to be all right. For everyone. You, me, Stella – even Douglas. You’ll see.’ She almost glared at him, defiant in her nakedness.

  To her astonishment, and slight annoyance, he began to laugh.

  ‘No, no,’ he managed to gasp. ‘Don’t be cross with me!’ He hiccuped, then brought himself under control.

  ‘Girton girl, you’re incredible ! The fact is, Miss Diana Arnold . . . you haven’t changed one bloody bit.’

  51

  Diana thought she would have just enough time to take a taxi to Villeneuve Loubet and rendezvous with her daughter at the funfair. James went out into the square outside the Colombe d’Or to arrange a cab for them both – ‘I’ve got some business in Nice, I’ll drop you off on the way’ – while she dressed and frantically reapplied her make-up. The sexual flush had faded from her cheeks but her eyes sparkled as she applied mascara.

  James had taken her virginity that first night, eleven years past, at the Dower House. It seemed like a lifetime ago. She had had three other men since – four, if you counted Douglas – but no one had ever made her feel the way James did.

  She examined herself critically in the bathroom mirror. Did the afternoon show? She smiled. She felt exactly the same as she had done when she came down to breakfast at the Dower House, the morning after James and she first slept together. Then, she was sure her parents would be able to tell. Now, she wondered if Douglas would somehow notice a change in her at dinner tonight. The contentment that flowed through her body from sexual fulfilment must be obvious to anyone with eyes to see.

  She wondered why she felt no guilt. It had never crossed her mind before to be unfaithful to Douglas; today she had betrayed him without a moment’s consideration. She’d do it again, too, and soon.

  It was strange, she thought, as she snapped shut her powder compact and poured everything back into her handbag. The thought of sitting down with Douglas at some point in the future and telling him everything; explaining how she couldn’t possibly stay with him now, not now that her James had come back to her, seemed the most reasonable, uncomplicated thing in the world.

  But what about Stella? How could she communicate any of this to her daughter?

  Diana supposed she’d find a way eventually. But at the close of this extraordinary afternoon, and despite her fierce optimism with James just now, the task seemed quite beyond her.

  Half an hour later, as their taxi was bumping down the steep hill that plunged in a series of dips and loops towards Villeneuve Loubet, James cleared his throat. He and Diana had been holding hands, her head on his shoulder, since leaving St Paul and the driver, after a sharp glance from James, had hastily adjusted his mirror so he could see nothing of the passengers behind him.

  ‘Darling, I have to ask you something. I need a favour from you. It’s not a small one, I’m afraid.’

  Diana looked up at him. ‘Well?’

  He cleared his throat again. ‘Remember I told you I’m about to do a deal here in Nice – a really important one?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good . . . Well . . . here’s the thing, Diana. I’m a few francs short of what I need to set the whole thing up. I thought I had enough, but another chap’s outbid me. It’s extremely annoying. I can get the extra, obviously, but it’ll take a week or so and the deadline’s Friday, the day after tomorrow.’

  Diana sat up straight. ‘Yes, I see. How much do you need?’

  He shrugged. ‘It would only be a very short loan. I could pay you back in, say, a month to six weeks.’

  ‘But how much is it?’

  He appeared to calculate a figure in his head.

  Diana blinked when he told her. ‘My goodness. That is rather a lot.’

  ‘I know, darling, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in Nice, it’s that one can’t accumulate if one doesn’t speculate. Not that this is speculation,’ he added quickly. ‘Not at all. It’s a sort of down payment; the price of entry to join this particular business club. Once you’re on the inside, you’ve practically got a licence to print money.’ He paused.

  ‘But it’s not all about me,’ he continued. ‘I employ a lot of people whose livelihoods depend on my pulling this off. They have families – children. I can’t let them down.’

  He looked at her. ‘Well? What do you say? I’ll quite understand if you can’t manage it, of course.’

  Diana shook her head. ‘I can manage it. I have my own bank account here. Douglas is very modern-minded about that sort of thing. He insisted on settling a large sum on me and Stella when he and I married. Then there’s the trust money I got when I turned 21. Altogether, I must have at least what you need. Well, I did the last time I checked my bankbook.’

  He managed to conceal his sudden excitement. ‘And you’d lend it to me?’

  Diana turned to face him. ‘James, I love you. You’re my first husband; you are my real husband. You were lost to me, but I’ve found you again. What’s mine is yours. I know we’re in an incredibly complicated situation, but I’ve already told you: I’m not going to lose you a second time. We’re going to work this out. It won’t be easy, but we will.’

  She kissed him. ‘Of course you can have the money.’

  He returned her kiss for a long time, before finally breaking away.

  ‘You’re wonderful, Diana,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’

  She opened her handbag. ‘Let’s see, my chequebook should be in here somewhere.’

  James told the driver to pull over while Diana wrote out the cheque. She filled in the date and the amount and then laughed. ‘Who do I make it out to, James? What’s your nom de guerre? Or is it a nom de plume these days? You haven’t actually told me.’

  James thought quickly. ‘Well, I have one or two different business names, actually. Tell you what, leave that part blank. I’ll decide which one to use later.’

  By the time the taxi was dropping Diana at the entrance to the funfair, James had the cheque folded into his wallet.

  At his suggestion, she had made it out for cash.

  ‘Mummy! Mummy! We’re over here!’ Stella hopped from one foot to the other, waving both arms above her head. She and Maxine were in the short queue for the funfair’s star attraction – a huge wooden Big Dipper topped with a garish neon sign: Le Crazee Chat!!

  Diana hurried over to her daughter. Maxine, she noticed as she joined them, was looking a little green.

  ‘Maxine doesn’t really want to come on the Crazy Cat, Mummy,’ Stella said breathlessly. ‘She’s being very brave, though, and she’s pretending that she does. I’ve told her you hate rollercoasters too, so she’s not to worry. I’m used to going on them by myself.’

  One of the cat-shaped cars rattled past them on its final swooping descent to the exit platform. The occupants screamed in delighted terror as it whipped by.

  ‘It’s all right, Maxine,’ Diana told her. ‘You don’t have to ride with her. I’ll do it.’

  Stella gaped. ‘Mummy?’

  Diana grinned. ‘Why not? It’s about time I gave it a go, don’t you think? Maxine, you go and buy us some lemonades from the stall over there.’

  The girl nodded with relief and slipped out of the queue. When she reached the lemonade stall, she looked back. Diana and Stella were climbing into one of the cars, laughing. Diana looked around and, noticing Maxine, gave her an exaggerated wave.


  Maxine realised that she had never seen madame looking quite so alive, or so beautiful. She nodded to herself. This was the second afternoon that Diana had not returned home for lunch.

  As she beadily eyed her employer now, she thought she could guess the reason why.

  Douglas was back at the villa ahead of his wife and stepdaughter. He was surprised no one was home, before remembering that Diana had promised to take Stella to the funfair after lunch. He sighed. He would have loved to have gone with them. He knew how serious and stuffy he must seem to his ‘girls’.

  His oppressive, stifling upbringing had given him few examples of how to have fun. His subsequent career had been successful enough, but sometimes he felt he had been buried alive in paperwork and ledgers and consultants’ reports. That was one of the reasons why he had been so keen to bring them all to the South of France. He’d hoped some of the glamour of the Côte d’Azur might somehow rub off on him; banish his quintessential dullness; make him a little more exciting as a husband.

  But if anything, Diana had withdrawn from him since they arrived. They didn’t make love nearly as often as he would have liked, and in recent weeks his wife had seemed locked into her own private world. She spoke little, and often went to bed before him.

  Then there was the business of this so-called ‘wine merchant’ she’d bumped into yesterday. Douglas didn’t like that one bit. He knew he’d been heavy-handed that morning, ordering Diana not to see the man again, and he’d heard the resentment in her voice as she agreed not to, but what was he to do? Nice was full of scoundrels.

  He wandered into the salon. An envelope glimmered on the mantelpiece and he walked across the room to inspect it. Diana was written neatly on the front in black ink, and the reverse had been gummed closed. For a moment he contemplated opening it and reading the contents, but Douglas was an honourable man. He put the envelope back and drifted over to the drinks table.

  He’d just poured himself a scotch when he heard the front door open and Stella’s piping voice. ‘Douglas? Douglas, are you home?’

  ‘I’m in here,’ he called.

  She rushed into the room and embraced him before hopping up and down before him.

  ‘You’ll never guess, Douglas! Mummy joined us at the funfair and actually came on the Crazy Cat with me, and she was sick as soon as we got off! She’s all right now but she keeps saying: “I’ll never go near that dratted thing again!”’ Stella doubled over laughing.

  Douglas smiled at her, waiting for her to calm down. Then he kissed her forehead and said, ‘I’m glad Mummy was able to join you at the fair. I wonder where she’d been before that?’

  ‘Oh, having lunch with someone, Maxine said,’ replied Stella, reaching for the soda siphon that rested on the drinks tray. ‘Can I, Douglas?’

  ‘Of course, dear.’ He watched her as she squirted a jet of soda water into a glass. ‘Did Mummy mention who she was with?’

  Stella shook her head. ‘She didn’t say. Maxine said she’d bumped into an old friend.’ Stella waggled her head and made a face. ‘Anooother one!’

  52

  Diana rose from the dining table and stamped her foot. ‘I won’t be questioned like this, Douglas! I simply won’t!’

  Her husband looked anguished as he put his knife and fork to one side of his half-finished evening meal.

  ‘All I was asking you is—’

  ‘I know what you’re asking and I understand the implication behind the question perfectly well.’ She glared at him fiercely. Diana knew she was deliberately allowing her temper full rein: it helped mask the guilt that had engulfed her the moment she’d walked into the room and caught sight of his miserable face.

  ‘Diana, please stop shouting. Stella will hear.’

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to sit back down. ‘Yes. Of course. But this is the second time today you’ve challenged my independence. Now, it seems, I am not to go to La Colombe d’Or for lunch with an old friend from Girton.’

  ‘I said nothing of the kind! I merely observed that it was odd that for the second day running, you happened upon an old friend here. I—’

  ‘Oh! Don’t you know how you sound, Douglas? This is the South of France! St Paul is a huge tourist destination! It’s odd that I haven’t bumped into someone from England before now.’

  He looked at her, defeated, before unwisely persisting: ‘And this really was a woman friend, Diana? Not the man from yesterday?’

  She was on her feet again, hurling her napkin to the floor. ‘Oh, this is insufferable. Why don’t you phone the restaurant? Go on, do it now. Ask them for yourself.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd. You know I’m not going to do anything like that. Of course I accept what you say. I’m sorry. It’s just that recently things between us have been, well . . . different. Difficult.’ He looked at his plate. ‘Sometimes I worry that perhaps you feel you have made a mistake. In agreeing to marry me, I mean.’

  The guilt that she had forced down with her extravagant anger threatened to rise again and overwhelm her.

  ‘Now you’re being absurd,’ she told him as she walked quickly to the door. ‘I can’t stand this; I’m going to bed. Don’t worry, I’ll sleep in one of the spare rooms tonight. Goodnight, Douglas.’

  He started to say something, but she closed the door behind her and almost ran to the stairs. This was dreadful, dreadful. She was turning into the kind of person she despised.

  But Diana had only one thought as she collected her things from her bedside and moved them into a smaller room at the end of the passage.

  She simply must talk to James.

  Well, that was an awkward conversation, James Blackwell thought to himself as he replaced the receiver and went to his drinks tray, where he poured himself an extremely generous scotch. Bloody awkward, actually.

  He scooped ice from the silver bowl next to the bottle and dropped it into the glass.

  Thank God he’d asked Diana for as much as he had. It had barely been enough. As soon as he returned to his apartment from the bank, he’d bagged up the cash and summoned his most trusted courier to deliver it to an address in one of Nice’s wealthiest districts.

  Then he sat back and waited for the phone call. It came just after midnight, and surprised him not at all.

  ‘Where’s the rest?’

  ‘I’m still collecting it. I sent you that ahead of the deadline to show good faith. I thought you’d be . . . encouraged.’

  ‘By a third of what you owe us? I’m not encouraged, I’m worried. And so should you be, monsieur. Some of us here are beginning to wonder if you really have the balls to operate at this level. Perhaps we should just take you over. If you’re lucky, maybe someone will find you a job.’

  ‘You gave me until the end of the month. I think giving you thirty-three per cent ahead of that is fucking impressive, actually.’

  ‘Watch your language. The boss is listening in.’

  ‘Good. Then he can hear me tell you that you’ll have the remaining amount, in full, on time. And that’s just the entry fee. You guys know I can deliver, week-on-week. You’ve seen my accounts. You know how I work. Even if you did take me over, you’d never run my business as profitably as I do. And I’ll bring fresh ideas with me. So just show a little faith, OK?’

  ‘Don’t hang up.’

  There had been a loud click as the line went dead and he knew they were discussing him. He chewed his bottom lip. Then the earpiece crackled again and the voice was back.

  ‘OK. The boss feels maybe I’m being a little hard on you. But nowhere near as hard as he says he’ll be if you don’t come through by the end of the month. Are we clear?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  Now he sat on his balcony, staring moodily out into the night. He couldn’t see the Mediterranean from his apartment, but he could hear it, especially when it was late and the traffic quietened. Then the sound of waves crashing onto the pebbled beach filtered into the streets behind the Promenade des Anglais. Usuall
y it soothed him, but not tonight.

  He was in a cleft stick. When the Mafia had come sniffing around his business a few weeks ago, he wasn’t surprised. He’d been expecting some kind of contact from them for a while; his operation was getting too big not to be noticed, and anyway, they were hand-in-glove with the police and had probably started picking up bits of information about him from them.

  The Italians had been sticking their fingers in Nice’s affairs for years, he knew that, of course, but it was the war that had given them their big break. With France out for the count and Italy Germany’s new best friend, the Mafia had launched their own invasion across the border and ruthlessly driven out Nice’s home-grown mob. Since then, their grip had tightened remorselessly on the city. They had a piece of everything, and now they wanted a piece of him.

  As soon as he realised he was in their sights, he’d taken the initiative. He’d gone to the old don himself and made his pitch – fifty-fifty on his profits if he was allowed to keep running the business, a seat at the big table which would give him incredible access to new markets, and the organisation to take over his financial arrangements with the police.

  He had reckoned it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, but two days after shaking hands on it, the other side had come back to him with their belated demand for a sweetener to seal the deal. Some sweetener. Where the hell was he going to find that kind of cash in the time left to him?

  In truth, he’d thought Diana’s money would buy him more time, not ratchet up the bloody pressure. Greedy bastards. He’d completely underestimated them. They were probably bent on taking him over anyway, and they’d deliberately set the bar almost impossibly high.

  If he somehow came up with the goods, they’d let him in, he was certain of that. All part of their warped code of honour. But if he didn’t, they’d walk all over him. He just might be allowed to get out of Nice on condition he never returned. If he was lucky.

  Jesus, what a mess. And after ten years of slog and graft, too. Maybe he should just cash in his chips and clear out. But the prospect of starting again was unthinkable. Where, anyway? Four hundred miles south, bordering the same stagnant sea, lay Naples. Naples was even more corrupt than Nice but the place was sewn up tight. He’d never find an opening there. He would probably be killed for even trying.