One Way to Venice
Page 14
“And I’m quite strong. But you’ll be careful, won’t you?”
“I’m always careful. You have to be, with only one good hand. If I know I can’t, I won’t try.”
“Dominic!”
“Yes?” He looked up at her with those huge brown eyes, so like Breckon’s.
“No.” She smiled down at him. “Not now. Later…perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed gravely, and let her pick him up. He was light, agonisingly so, and she had a sudden, sharp memory of the only other time she had held him, when they had brought him to her in the hospital to prove that she must let him go. Now, she dared not hold him for more than a moment, for fear of incapacitating tears. But if he could be brave, so, God help her, could she.
“Fine.” The tree trunk was small enough so that he could get his left arm around it. He began a curious, scrambling ascent into its thick upper growth, while Julia stood below, following his progress anxiously, praying that she would be able to catch him, or at least break his fall, if he should lose his grip.
Soon he was out of sight among thickly growing leaves, but his voice came down to her reassuringly.
“It gets easier up here.” And then, excited. “Yes! I can see.” The tree rustled violently.
“Do be careful!” She could not help it.
And, “I am careful,” he told her again. The rustling stopped, but she could see that the whole tree was swaying. He must be very high up indeed. Suppose it gave way. On the thought, she heard him begin to come back down, and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Wow!” He sounded, for once, like a little boy, as his flushed face appeared among the branches above her. “That was fun. Like being at the masthead in a gale maybe? I didn’t think I’d better stay more than a minute—pity to wreck the tree. I had to go quite high.”
“I thought you did.” She reached up to catch him as he turned and let himself down by his good arm from the lowest branch. Putting the featherweight down, she saw that his face was covered with scratches, some of them bleeding. “Oh, Dominic!” Miraculously, she still had her handkerchief, and dabbed very gently at the worst of them.
“It’s nothing.” He sounded impatient for the first time, and she realised that he had no proper spare hand to protect himself.
“No, they’re not bad,” she agreed, “but let’s go back and wash them just the same.”
“And see how Father is.”
“Yes.” They were moving already, back along the path they had trodden through the bushes. “But, now, what did you see?”
“First of all, we’re not a bit far from the main channel to Torcello. Remember, I thought so? And we must be on the land side. I saw a plane going down to the airport. And that’s not all. There’s another island, quite near—with a boat.”
“And a house?”
“I couldn’t see. If there is, it must be on the other side. There are cypresses. I think there must be a house.”
“Theirs?” She knew he shared her fear. “How far is it, Dominic? I mean, if it wasn’t theirs, could we signal, or shout, or something?”
“I don’t see how.”
Nor did she. Besides, it seemed so horribly likely that Tarn and his accomplices were using the other island as their headquarters. “If there’s a boat, there has to be someone on the island,” she said.
“No.” He smiled his brilliant upward smile. “They might have two boats.”
“Of course. Stupid of me.” They had reached the shed and, entering first, she forgot everything else at the sight of Breckon sitting shakily upright on the cot, his legs over the side.
“You!” He struggled to his feet at sight of her. “If you’ve hurt him, I’ll—I’ll—”
“Don’t, Father.” Dominic, who had come quietly in behind her, spoke protectively. “It’s Mother, don’t you see?”
“I certainly do. But how do you—”
“I told him, of course.” There was no time for this. Julia moved forward to put a hand on Breckon’s forehead. “You’re better?”
“Yes.” He looked at the two of them, standing there, side by side. “I don’t understand anything. You mean”—his face changed—”you mean it wasn’t you, Julia?
“Of course not,” said Julia, and, simultaneously, “She was dumped here in the night,” said Dominic. “I found her this morning.”
“They drugged me,” said Julia. “Breckon, I’ve been every kind of fool you like, from start to finish, but you’ve got to believe that I’ve had nothing to do with any of this. Except by being a fool and letting it happen.”
He sat down again, shakily, on the cot. “I wish I understood. Can’t even remember what happened to me.”
“Come out into the sun,” said Dominic. “Are you hungry? You ought to be. I’ll peel you an apple.” Dropping Julia’s hand, he took Breckon’s and pulled him gently out into the now hot sun. “That’s better, isn’t it? Here—” He picked up the rest of Julia’s skirt from where they had left it. “Sit on this. The grass is still damp.”
“Your skirt?” Breckon was looking at Julia now as if he really saw her for the first time. “I never thought I’d see you in rags.”
“I never thought I’d see you again.”
“And here we are.” Dominic had fetched an apple from the shed and was deftly peeling it, as he had Julia’s. Now he passed a piece to his father, who ate it obediently, while Julia thought how strangely the father-child relationship seemed to have reversed itself. “Where are we?” A little colour was creeping back into Breckon’s face.
“On an island in the lagoon,” Julia told him. “It’s walled all round. I can’t think why, but, it means we can’t get off.”
“It will be one of the ones they used for ammunition dumps.” Breckon ate another piece of apple, silently handed to him by Dominic. “In the war. But—why?”
“It’s a long story,” said Julia. How could she tell it in front of Dominic?
He read her mind once again. “I’ve got an idea.” He stood up. “Back in a minute.”
“You’ll be careful,” said Breckon, and, “I’m always careful,” Dominic told him, as he had Julia.
Let alone, they looked at each other, for a long moment, quite silent. Then, “He’s wonderful,” said Julia. “I…I…I do thank you, Breckon,” and then, quickly, before he could interrupt her. “Oh, I know you didn’t do it for me, but I thank you just the same. He’s—extraordinary.”
“I think so.” Absentmindedly he reached out, picked up a roll Dominic had left beside him on the grass, and began to eat it, hungrily. “How you could—”
“I had a breakdown.” They were talking in a kind of shorthand, well aware they had no time to waste. “Breckon, you’ve got to listen—and believe me. For Dominic’s sake. I’ve wanted to die often enough. I don’t mind so much. Not with you two. But—he’s too valuable. He wants to play the piano,” she said, as if it explained everything.
“He never told me that.” He reached out and took her hand, almost as if he was feeling some moral pulse. “He trusts you.”
“Yes.”
“Then, so do I.” The grip on her hand changed, became friendly. “So, tell me your story quickly, Julia, if it’s as bad as I think.”
“Yes. Mind you, he knows—Dominic—but, just the same…”
“We’re to be killed.” It was hardly a question.
“Tonight I think. I don’t know how, but it’s going to look my fault. That I kidnapped Dominic…you came after us…something happened. And that’s the lot of us gone—out of the way.”
“But, Julia, in the name of God, why?”
“That’s where you’ve got to believe me, though I can hardly believe it myself. You’ve got a cousin, Breckon. Uncle Paul’s son. His legitimate son. I think he’s mad.”
“Uncle Paul? Married?”
“Yes. To Miss Andrews. You remember? The matron at St. Helen’s. Years ago. Secretly. He didn’t tell me why.”
“Who didn’t tell you?”
“Tonight, you think?” To this extent, at least, he seemed, mercifully, to be believing her.
“It has to be. I cabled Sir Charles yesterday.” It seemed light-years ago. “He was away, but he’s never out of touch for long. When he gets it, he’ll come. They’ll know that. They won’t risk waiting. Why should they? I keep hoping for a helicopter. But we can’t count on it.”
“No,” said Breckon. And then, almost casually: “I was always jealous of Sir Charles.”
“I know. Now. Uncle Paul put it into your head, didn’t he? I realised when Tarn was talking to me.”
“Tarn?”
“Your cousin. Paul’s son. The enemy.”
His hand tightened on hers, hard. “So, what were you doing talking to him?”
“You may well ask. He’d fooled me, do you see, upside down, backwards, sideways. If I live to be a hundred, which seems unlikely, I’ll never forgive myself. Do you know”—she saw it now, unspeakably too late—”I never realised, but I was a pushover for him because he reminded me of you.”
“A pushover? You—Sir Charles’ girl?”
“Don’t call me that! He did. Tarn. Don’t you see? That’s what Uncle Paul did. It has to be. Put it into your head. Made you jealous. So you wouldn’t believe me, back at La Rivière . Think, Breckon. Try and remember.”
He hated it. She could see that, but she could also see that he was trying. “Yes,” he said at last. “It’s true. But it was so cleverly done. I loved Uncle Paul.” She noticed the past tense, and rejoiced. “Do you remember that time when Sir Charles came to the States and you flew up to New York to help him?”
“Of course I do. His new assistant was ill. It was the least I could do to go and give a hand.”
“That’s just what Uncle Paul said.” Breckon’s voice was savage. “It was almost all he said.”
“Almost?”
“He said”—Breckon found it hard to get it out—”he said it was a good thing we’d agreed to have no children. And all the time…” His quick mind had been working on it. “He had a son of his own. This Tarn. Who was going to come forward in his own good time, and inherit the whole estate?”
“That’s it. Is there so much, Breckon? Is it worth it?”
“Oh, God, yes. Mineral rights. That’s why I came away. I couldn’t stand what it was doing to them all. And—I wouldn’t agree to what they wanted to do. So then, accidents started to happen. To me, this time; and I began to think about you, and yours. To wonder. I came to England to see you, Julia. That’s when I learned about Dominic.”
“And didn’t see me?”
“Not when I heard you were giving him up. They didn’t tell me about the breakdown. I wonder why not.”
“Did you tell them you were my husband? Had been,” she corrected hurriedly.
“No.” He saw it. “Of course not. I didn’t give a name. I see what you mean. You can’t altogether blame them. No business of mine. And very likely Sir Charles had given instructions.”
“I’m sure he had.” Heartwarming to share his dry tone about Sir Charles and his instructions. “Too capable by a half.”
“Yes. So—you were giving away my child. I was damned angry. So angry I managed the adoption in the teeth of all the odds. Well—poor little Dominic—he was a difficult case. Not many would have taken him. And, thank God, I had the money.”
“From the mineral rights?”
“No. Don’t you understand? I wouldn’t let them tear up La Rivière . That’s when the ‘accidents’ started to happen. I’m earning my own now. I’m the most prosperous private accountant in Venice. Or should I say, I was?”
“I hope not. And you shouldn’t say, ‘poor little Dominic,’ either.”
“How right you are. He’s quite a guy, our son.”
ONE WAY TO VENICE179
“Yes.” The warmth of that word “our” glowed in her. “Breckon, you’ve changed so.”
“For the better?” He laughed. “I certainly hope so. Pain in the neck, wasn’t I? Everybody’s ideal bureaucrat. Stuffed shirt Rivers. I can’t think how you stood me.”
“I loved you,” she said. “I still do. I always will. But—what did it, Breckon? Changed you?”
“Dominic, of course. Did you ever see a stuffed shirt change a diaper and live?”
“You did it yourself?”
“Of course I did. My son, wasn’t he? My problem. My fight. Only, somehow, he won. For us both. By being what he is; what you’ve seen. Extraordinary. Mind you”—there was a smile in his voice—”I didn’t always feel like that. There were times… Well, he changed my life. I didn’t figure on that when I got him, but of course it happened. You just wait…”
“Wait?”
“Till we have the next one.” Now he was laughing. “Will you mind my showing you how to cope with him?”
“Her,” she said. And then, “Oh, Breckon…”
“I know. But we’re going to make it. Somehow. We have to. We’ve got so much. And Dominic. Don’t cry, darling, here he comes.” And then, as she absorbed the extraordinary word. “Dominic! You loon! What have you been doing?”
Dominic, but not his clothes, was wet. His long, golden curls were plastered against his skull, accentuating the likeness to Breckon. But his eyes were shining and his voice triumphant. “Swimming,” he said. “I suddenly thought the water gate mightn’t go right down, so I went to see, and it doesn’t. Someone quite small could dive underneath.”
“And then?” asked Breckon.
“I could swim to the next island. Did Mother tell you about it? And get the boat. You know I’ve driven ours often enough.”
“Only out in the lagoon,” said Breckon.
“This is out in the lagoon. And besides…” The knowledge of the alternative hung heavily in the air between the three of them.
“How far is it? The other island?” asked Julia.
“Not far. Honest, I could swim it. I’ve done further at the Lido lots of times. You know, Father.”
“He is a strong swimmer,” said Breckon, almost reluctantly.
“I’m so little,” explained Dominic. “It’s easy. And, if I start getting tired, I’ll come back. Cross my heart.”
“And”—Breckon had thought of something—”if you find you can, when you get under, you’ll open the gate?”
“I shan’t be able to…not from the water. It looks like just a bolt, but it’s high up, d’you see?”
Of course, it would be, where it could be reached from a boat. “I don’t like it.” Julia turned to Breckon. “We thought Dominic and I—it might be them…on the other island. Suppose they hear him?”
“Why should they?” asked Dominic. “I couldn’t see the house, if there is one. It has to be the other side of the island.”
“And the island is in sight of the main channel to Torcello?” Breckon was summing up the chances in his mind.
“That’s right.”
“So if they are there, they won’t do anything until after dark.”
“No,” Julia agreed.
“I wish I could see,” said Breckon. “Any chance of my climbing your tree, Dominic?”
“It only just held me.”
“It’s true,” said Julia. “I was scared silly.”
“Well,” Breckon stood up. “Let’s take one more look around the walls, just in case there’s somewhere. After all, if you do try it, Dominic, dusk’s the time.” Unspoken between him and Julia was the hope that before then, help might come from Sir Charles, or from the Venetian police, who must, presumably, be looking for all three of them by now. As they started round the walls, Julia told the others about the friendly young policeman who had been assigned to follow her. “The trouble is,” she summed up her own fears for them. “He may so easily have thought I’d fooled him given him the slip to contradict w
hat I’d told him.”
“Not encouraging,” said Breckon. “And neither is this wall.”
“No,” Julia agreed. “That’s what we thought. And someone’s taken a lot of trouble to clear away the bushes alongside of it.”
“Someone’s taken a lot of trouble,” said Breckon.
“There must be a terrible lot of money involved.”
“There is. Plenty to pay for a little hired help.”
Julia shivered. Bad enough to think of Tarn as the enemy, but behind him stretched a faceless threatening line. No, not entirely faceless. The Miss Browns, she knew, were part of the gang. “The Miss Browns are in it,” she said, mainly for something to occupy all their minds.
“Oh! Miss Andrews’ nieces. They brought me a message…And—I remember now. I met them. As I was coming away from that hotel of yours, Julia. I’d had a note—it’s all coming back.” His face changed, as if a shadow had crossed the sun. “While you were on the telephone. A boy brought it. It said: ‘She’s got him. Don’t let her fool you. Come, quick, to the steps of the Spiritu Sanctu. It may not be too late.’ Some-think like that.” He felt in his pockets. “It’s gone. But—it enclosed a note from you, Julia.”
“From me?”
“Yes. As proof. There was a postscript, saying so. That I ought to know your writing. I do.”
“Breckon, you can’t believe—” The blazing anger in his face was worse than any blow.
“Hang on,” said Dominic. “What did the note say, Father?”
Breckon passed a distracted hand over his forehead. “Let me think. Just a line. ‘Take good care of him.’ And that squiggle you always use for a signature to people you know well. What else could I—” He stopped, stared at her with those accusing eyes. “What else can I think?”
“My writing. You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. It’s no use, Julia. The game’s up; whatever it is. You hadn’t thought, had you, that it might be dangerous to risk yourself alone with me?”
“And me,” said Dominic. And then, as Julia looked at him with horror, thinking that he, too, had turned against her, he asked his question. “What was the paper like, that mother’s note was on?”