Dangerous Inheritance

by Dennis Wheatley

  As the afternoon wore on his thoughts grew bleaker. He convinced himself that no girl like Fleur would want to go off on her own with a man for a whole day just to hear about his upbringing and to talk sociology. Mental pictures began to form in his mind of the two of them, having beached the boat in some lonely bay, lying in it necking. The thought was unbearable. He tried to thrust it from his mind but could not and, for the first time in his young life, he was seized with the pangs of a hideous jealousy.

  It was nearly five o’clock before he sighted their boat and another twenty minutes before they landed. His stomach gave a nasty twinge as he saw that Fleur’s hair was in disorder, but he tried to rid himself of his suspicions with the thought that it might have been blown about by the wind.

  Stepping ashore, she greeted him gaily, ‘Hullo! What have you been doing with yourself all day?’

  ‘From one o’clock I’ve been waiting here,’ he replied surlily. ‘I’d expected you back for lunch.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ She hitched up her slacks, then ran a hand over her hair. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought I said we’d get lunch somewhere. We landed at the end of the peninsula and had ours at the Kanoni Tourist Pavilion. It was heavenly on the water; we had a lovely day.’

  Douglas had been busy tying up the boat. Joining them he, too, apologised with apparent sincerity, but Truss felt sure the real explanation for their lateness in getting back was because they had been enjoying themselves so much that they had decided to leave him in the lurch.

  That evening he decided that he could not bear the sight of them dancing together so after dinner he said he did not feel well, and they set off on their own. As it was again a Saturday, it was extension night at the Corfu Palace, which meant that they would not be back before about half past one.

  Having got to bed, Truss settled down to read but, after a while, he found that his mind was not taking in the story; so he put out the light and attempted to get to sleep. That proved equally useless. In vain he counted sheep or tried to make his mind a blank. Pictures of Fleur constantly floated into it; Fleur that first night in the moonlight suggesting that he should come to her room; Fleur naked, the nipples of her young breasts standing up hard from desire, the roundness of her hips a sight to make any man crazy; Fleur dancing with that damnable, good-looking, coffee-skinned Douglas. Then other imagined pictures of them that made Truss writhe.

  At long last he heard footsteps outside in the corridor. As Douglas’s room was opposite his, that meant they had returned. A glance at the luminous dial of his bedside travelling clock showed Truss that it was only twenty past one; so they would not have lingered on the way home for a necking session in the car. With a sigh of relief he turned over for the hundredth time and resettled himself with new hope of at last getting off to sleep.

  He was just on the point of doing so when he became suddenly wide awake. The sound of a door closed gently had roused him. Then there came footsteps again.

  With his heart hammering furiously, he sat up in bed. Those footsteps could mean only one thing. Douglas had changed into a dressing gown and was now on his way to Fleur’s room.

  For ten agonised minutes Truss wrestled with his chaotic thoughts. Fleur was free, white and twenty-one; those long-honoured qualifications in the United States for doing what one liked. If she wanted to give herself to Douglas she had the right to do so; and he, Truss, had no possible excuse for trying to prevent her. But hadn’t he? Douglas was free and twenty-one, but he was not white. This could not be allowed to happen. However strong her infatuation for him, she must be protected against herself. If it did happen, Truss felt convinced that she would bitterly regret it afterwards. Sooner or later it seemed certain that she would marry, and Truss had been brought up in the belief that before marrying all decent couples told one another the truth about themselves. To admit to having premarital affaires was all right. Everyone had them these days. But how could she confess to a fiancé that she had allowed a coloured man to have her? And if she didn’t she would always have it on her conscience, with the fear that, somehow or other, her husband would find out.

  Suddenly throwing back the bedclothes Truss jumped out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown. He had convinced himself that it was no less than his duty to intervene before it was too late.

  Shuffling into his soft shoes he pulled open the door and began to stride along the corridor. It then crossed his mind that Douglas might not be with Fleur, but had gone to the dining room to get himself a last drink. Changing his pace to an almost noiseless tiptoe he went ahead, but Douglas was not in the dining room. His worst forebodings renewed, the powerful young American, now seized with a fierce desire to get his big hands on the Sinhalese, proceeded quietly down the further corridor.

  When he reached the door of Fleur’s room he paused to listen. No sound of subdued laughter or muffled exclamations of endearment, such as he had expected to hear, came to him. Controlling his heavy breathing, he knelt down and put his ear to the keyhole. Still silence. In so short a time it seemed hardly possible that Fleur had undressed, made her toilette for the night and was already in bed dropping off to sleep; yet no streak of light came from beneath the door.

  Perhaps, then, she was not there. During his visits to her they had always felt a slight uneasiness that in the night her mother might be taken ill or, for some other unforeseen reason, come along to her and catch them in flagrante delicto. It would have been bad enough had she been caught with him, but to have been found with Rajapakse in her bed would have meant utter disgrace and perhaps even a refusal to supply her with funds to go overseas and take up the welfare work on which she had set her heart. It seemed possible that rather than take the slightest risk of that she had told Douglas that they must make do with one of the big swing hammocks out on the terrace.

  Grasping the knob of the door firmly, Truss turned it and pressed gently. The door opened a crack and made no sound. Opening it further, he peered in. Enough moonlight came through between the curtains for him to see that Fleur’s bed had not been disturbed and that the room was empty.

  Closing the door he padded softly back to the main hall of the villa and out on to the terrace. Bright moonlight made it as light as day, except where deep shadows were thrown by awnings and chairs. He listened intently but not a sound came to indicate that anyone was occupying one of the hammocks. Wondering where the devil they could have got to he advanced to the hammocks to make quite certain they were not lying silently embraced in one of them. Only then did he catch the subdued murmur of voices.

  They came from below the end of the terrace. Stepping softly across to the balustrade, Truss peered over. They were sitting on a stone seat about twelve feet below him, a foot or more of space between them and not even holding hands.

  Fleur’s voice came up to him. ‘As you already have Family Planning I could apply to go out there. It’s the part of Welfare that I’m keenest on, and I’d thought of India when I start in the autumn on the Field Service I must do before I can take my Ph.D. But Ceylon sounds much more attractive.’

  ‘It is,’ Douglas assured her. ‘Of course, it is utterly different from Corfu, but just as beautiful in its own way. In fact it’s one of the most beautiful places in the world. You’d meet with a lot of opposition from the Roman Catholics, but you’d find that wherever you go.’

  ‘Are many of the Christians out there Catholics?’

  ‘Yes, the great majority. While the age of discovery lasted the Fathers were most zealous missionaries and they had a free run during the hundred years that the Portuguese were established in the island. Later, under the Dutch and the British, the Reformed Religion and the English Church never secured anything near the same number of converts.’

  ‘The Buddhists are not anti-Family Planning, are they—or the Hindus?’

  ‘No. In Hinayana Buddhism, which is dominant in Burma, Thailand and Cambodia as well as Ceylon, there is no authoritarian body, so each bhikkhu interprets the sacred texts according to h
is lights. None of the texts has any bearing on the subject of contraception, and there are no injunctions in them such as “Be fruitful and multiply”. The question therefore boils down to, whether the prevention of conception amounts to the taking of life. If it does then the use of disinfectants to clean out dirty places must also be wrong, for that destroys the conditions which enable noxious insects to breed. That is the type of argument used by our more enlightened bhikkhus, who favour Planned Parenthood as the only means of keeping the population in reasonable proportion to the resources of the country, now that modern hygiene has so greatly reduced infant mortality. And the better educated Brahmins hold the same view. So it is only the Roman Catholics you would be up against; although even they have recently thrown a sop to modern opinion by advocating a system based on what’s called the “safe” period of the month. But from what I’ve heard it’s not very reliable; not to mention being a frightful bore.’

  Fleur laughed. ‘How right you are. Our clinics teach young women how to fit Dutch caps. That and the old French letter are the only things that are really any good.’

  Truss had overheard enough. Enormously relieved that his fears had been unjustified, he reproached himself now for ever having thought that Fleur would allow her interest in a man like Rajapakse to affect her physically. Suddenly conscious that he ought not to be eavesdropping anyway, he was about to step back when he saw Douglas lean over, take Fleur’s hand and say:

  ‘I do hope that you will come out to Ceylon. We could have a marvellous time; especially if you come to stay with my mother with a view to what we talked about this afternoon.’ Then he kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  ‘I’ll certainly think about that,’ Fleur replied. As she spoke, she stood up.

  Holding his breath, Truss backed away from the balustrade, turned and quickly moved into the deep shadow behind one of the big canopied hammocks. Two minutes later he saw the couple on whom he was spying come up the terrace steps and enter the house. After an interval he followed them, but not with any apprehension that they intended to go to bed together. The way Douglas had kissed Fleur had been too chaste for anything of that kind to be in the mind of either of them. But she had obviously not resented his kissing her. She had even leaned a little towards him and virtually presented her cheek. When Truss was back in bed, that gave him furiously to think.

  Douglas had said that including the journey both ways he could afford to be away from his office for three weeks. That meant he could spend another eight days in Corfu. It appeared that Fleur had not yet fallen for him, but her acceptance of his kiss indicated that she was on the edge of the slippery slope. Given a few more long days alone with Douglas it seemed that she easily might. Then, should she accept his invitation to go out to Ceylon and stay with his mother, that opened a still more horrifying prospect. He would have a free field with her and, passionate as she was by nature, she might not only become his mistress, but remain so long enough for it to become known and talked about. And that, to Truss’s mind, meant that her life would be irretrievably ruined.

  And he loved Fleur. She was the first girl he had properly kissed and, despite the years between, the first he had slept with. During this past week that she had denied herself to him the longing for her smooth, live body had given him an actual physical pain. But it was not only desire he felt for her. He had delighted in her companionship; admired her intelligence and forceful character. Even if she would have no more to do with him he wanted her to be happy, and was desperately anxious that she should not make a mess of her life.

  Somehow he must put a spoke in Rajapakse’s wheel; think of some way to make him show the cloven hoof of his coloured blood, or cause him to cut short abruptly his stay in Corfu. Yet how was either possible? Still wrestling with this seemingly insoluble problem Truss dropped into an uneasy sleep.

  On the Sunday de Richleau decided to go for one of his occasional drives, so they all accompanied him in his big car along the winding roads fringed with acacia, walnut and eucalyptus trees. The others, as always on these drives, continued to draw one another’s attention to the beauty of the countryside. During his first week there Truss, then feeling like a young god, had gloried in associating this earthly Paradise in his mind with the Paradise Fleur’s kisses had opened to him. Now, he looked on these lovely sights with lacklustre eyes, and found the scent of acacia, orange blossom and tuber-rose cloying, while continuing, on and off, to contemplate absurdly improbable happenings which might rid him of the hated Rajapakse.

  Now that they were in mid May the day was very hot and its warmth lingered on well after sundown. As it was Sunday there was no dancing at the hotel; so after dinner the younger people remained with their elders sitting out on the terrace. For a long time the old Duke reminisced, lightly and with humour, about his adventures in the distant past, and the pleasant world as it was before the 1914–18 war, that youngsters of today would never know. He was a magnificent raconteur; so that as his gentle voice went on to tell story after story even Fleur was spellbound, and it was after eleven when they stood up to go to bed.

  It was again a night with a splendid moon and as warm as a good August night in England. When Fleur had kissed her elders good night, she turned to Douglas and said, ‘What about getting into our bathing things and going down for a swim? I’m sure the water will be warm enough.’

  ‘Yes, let’s do that,’ he replied with quick enthusiasm.

  Truss was still with them, and he put in, ‘That’s a great idea. I’ll get out the car, then change and be ready to drive you down in, say, fifteen minutes’ time.’

  Fleur’s glance, as she turned away, showed him that he was not wanted, but he ignored it. He had made up his mind that morning that, whatever Fleur might say, he was not now going to leave her alone with Douglas for even a few minutes if he could possibly help it.

  A quarter of an hour later he had the car at the front door and the other two scrambled into it. They drove down through the woods which were gay with fireflies and noisy with the cheeping of cicadas. On reaching the rocks they threw off their bathing robes and went straight in, the water sparkling with cascades of phosphorescent drops as they struck out.

  As usual, Fleur and Douglas swam several hundred yards and splashed about there for a time while Truss remained plunging and blowing on the shallow shelf of rock. But the water was not quite so warm as they had expected, so the two swimmers soon returned; then they all got out and dried themselves.

  Disappointed that their bathe should have been so brief, Fleur suggested that they should go up the rock track to the ruined fort from which they could get a view of the whole coastline in the moonlight.

  ‘Wouldn’t that be a bit dangerous?’ Douglas demurred. ‘The path is very narrow and in places there is loose stone underfoot. It’s safe enough in the daytime, but now the cliff is in shadow it’s black as pitch up there and one of us might easily lose his footing.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Fleur retorted. ‘I’ve been up it half a dozen times and we’re all wearing rope-soled sandals.’ Turning, she led the way and the two men followed her, Douglas first and Truss bringing up the rear.

  Douglas had been right in that they had to feel for each foothold, and once he slipped. Truss swiftly put out a hand and steadied him. Then the sudden thought came, ‘Why the hell did I do that? If I hadn’t, the bastard might have gone over the edge.’

  For the next few minutes his mind was in a turmoil. He had only to stumble himself and give Rajapakse a push and that would be that. The water below the track was deep and, although the Sinhalese was a good swimmer, they were now some way from the landing shelf; so there was a good chance that after falling from a height so much breath would be knocked out of his body that before he could reach the shelf he would drown.

  ‘No,’ Truss decided. That would be murder. It was unthinkable. He must put the awful idea right out of his head. But he couldn’t. His thoughts ran on. With this damned coloured man out of the way he and Fleur wou
ld soon be back on the best of terms. She was not yet sufficiently in love with Douglas to be upset for long. After all, she had known him not much more than a week. He could not really mean very much to her; but he might if things were allowed to develop the way they were going. Now was the perfect opportunity to nip in the bud the dangerous attraction he seemed to have for her.

  The temptation to give Rajapakse the necessary shove became almost unbearable. They were approaching a place on the track where it was very narrow and curved inwards above a sheer drop of some thirty feet to the sea. If, without warning, he fell from there the hope of his surviving would be slender. Truss shuffled his way up no more than two feet behind him. He felt that he had it in his power to put a sudden end to his detested rival as surely as though he had been an executioner leaning on his axe while Douglas was kneeling with his head on a block. But Truss could not do it. His instinct revolted at the thought of becoming a killer.

  Then it happened. It was not Douglas but Fleur whose feet suddenly slithered on the loose shale. She lurched sideways. The Sinhalese made a grab at her arm. Before he could clutch it she had heeled over. His fingers closed on her bathing robe but she was wearing it only loosely over her shoulders. The pull on his arm very nearly took him over with her, but Truss seized him round the waist from behind. With a rending sound the fastening of the bathing robe tore and Douglas was left with the robe trailing from his hand. Fleur gave a single piercing scream and, head downward, her legs waving wildly, plummeted into the dark abyss.

  There was a minute of awful silence, then they heard the loud splash as her body hit the water.

  Next moment Douglas had dropped her robe, thrown off his own and dived in after her.

  Truss continued to stand on the narrow ledge. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He knew that he, too, ought to take that terrifying plunge on the chance that he might be able to help in attempting to rescue her. But he couldn’t. He positively could not face the terrifying fear that death lay waiting for him in the dark waters that washed the cliff face. The agony of cramp and the ghastly suffocation he had endured while drowning were still as clear in his memory as though they had been upon him yesterday. He would get cramp again. The cliff was sheer, with no projection he could cling to, even if near enough. If he went over, the dark waters would engulf him and he would die there. He felt certain of it.