‘Thank you.’
‘Can you . . . will you forgive me?’
‘I don’t know. You frightened me.’ There didn’t seem to be much point in lying.
He looked down at the table, then back at her. ‘I know I did. I’ve never frightened a woman in my life. I feel terrible about it.’
To Holly’s horror, tears welled in his eyes.
‘I really am most desperately sorry.’
‘So I see. Please don’t upset yourself. I’ll get over it.’
He blinked rapidly and the tears disappeared. Reaching across the table, Justin covered her hands with his own. ‘I wish I could make it up to you.’
Holly pulled back and twisted the stem of her glass in her fingers. She had no intention of encouraging Justin into thinking there could be anything between them, but that wasn’t the reason. She’d just seen something in his expression that sent out a warning signal. A calculation of some kind. It was gone in an instant, but for one brief moment she had the feeling that Justin Parker was playing a part. If that were so, then everything he’d said since returning from Rodrigues could be a lie. Holly decided that whether it was or wasn’t, it would be prudent to treat Justin Parker with due caution. To fill the silence that had fallen between them, she asked, ‘How much longer will you be staying in Mauritius?’
‘Another two weeks.’ If he was surprised by the subject change he didn’t show it. ‘How about you?’
‘I’m going to Réunion for a few days. Back here on Thursday and then off to Australia on Saturday.’
‘Why Réunion?’
‘Part of the travel article. Since I’m so close I might as well include all three of the Mascarenes.’
‘How about the story you were doing on Connor Maguire?’
She searched for guile but saw none. ‘It’s written. If he finds the treasure I can slot it in. If not,’ she shrugged, ‘it’s interesting enough as it is.’
‘Are you going to write about . . . about Raoul and me?’
‘No. It’s Maguire the magazine wants to cover.’
Justin nodded. ‘Fair enough. And thanks. I wouldn’t particularly like to be portrayed as a villain.’
Was he? Holly didn’t know.
She said goodnight at ten fifteen, still unable to make up her mind about him. On the surface, he appeared genuinely sorry for his stupidity in Rodrigues but that one brief moment, where she saw something else in his eyes, kept her wary. Not that it mattered. If she made the trip to Réunion it was possible she wouldn’t ever see him again. He’d said something about going to Port Louis the following day. He had heard about a small museum attached to the Mauritius National Institute which had a skeleton and stuffed replica of the dodo.
Holly had not handed in her room key and the lights were on as she left them. Guy Dulac still had her worried. An envelope had been slipped under the door. She picked it up. One corner carried the hotel’s logo. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a message: Mr Connor Maguire telephoned at nine twenty. He asks that you meet him at the church in Cap Malheureux. It doesn’t matter what time. He’ll be waiting for you.
Holly read the message twice. She thought it strange that the telephone hadn’t been brought to her table, the hotel had always been pretty good on that score. However, clandestine probably being Maguire’s middle name, the message itself didn’t surprise her. Nor did the fact that he’d left Rodrigues. But there was something about the note that did. She just couldn’t figure out what it was.
The church she remembered – it was across the road from the restaurant she and Connor had gone to the night they saw Raoul Dulac at the fishermen’s co-op. As a matter of fact, it was right next to the co-op. What was Connor doing up there?
Could this be a Guy Dulac trick? Holly read the message again. No. Guy did not know that she’d been to Cap Malheureux and the way the note read indicated that it had been left by someone who knew she would remember the place.
Satisfied that it could only have come from Connor, Holly went back to reception and asked for a taxi. When it finally arrived she was delighted to see that it was driven by Mr Herro. She explained where she wanted to go and he looked doubtful. ‘It is late. There is nothing to see at this hour.’
‘I’m meeting someone.’
That seemed to satisfy him.
Mauritius by night, once away from the tourist areas, was as dead as the poor dodo. The roads became deserted, houses showed no lights and very few people were out and about. Holly found herself wondering why Connor couldn’t have come to the hotel.
The trip to Cap Malheureux took only ten minutes. Mr Herro pulled into a parking area between the church and the co-op. There was one other vehicle there, but as the taxi’s headlights played over it, Holly could see no sign of any occupant.
‘I will wait until the person you are meeting arrives,’ Mr Herro offered.
‘There’s no need,’ Holly said. She wasn’t sure if Connor would show himself until he was certain she was alone.
‘Well . . .’ Once again, Mr Herro appeared doubtful.
‘I’ll be quite safe.’ She pointed to the empty car in front. ‘That’s his car. He’s probably waiting on the beach.’
‘Ah!’ Mr Herro beamed at her. ‘I did not understand.’
Holly let that go. If Mr Herro wanted to think she was on some kind of romantic tryst of an illicit nature, that was fine with her. She paid the fare, hopped out of the car and stood waiting for him to leave. With the taxi gone, she went momentarily night blind. She was keyed up and excited at the prospect of seeing Connor again. As her vision began adjusting to the dark night, Holly realised what had bothered her about the message. It hadn’t been on the hotel’s usual stationery. She heard a soft footfall behind her. A prickle of alarm turned to terror as arms folded around her waist, pinning hers to her side. Struggling wildly in the iron grip, a dark shape loomed in front of her. Holly took a deep breath ready to scream and inhaled the not unpleasant odour of ether as a cloth soaked in the anaesthetic was rammed over her nose and mouth.
Hard as she tried to fight against it, Holly felt herself losing consciousness.
Harsh light from an overhead fluorescent tube registered reality when her eyes fluttered open. She turned sideways to get away from the intense glare. Disorientated, her mind raced. Where was she? Which country, which town, which hotel? Then she remembered.
Everything hurt – ribs, head, arms – and she could taste the clinical residue of ether in her mouth. As memory returned, so did fear.
Holly realised that she was free to move. Sitting up gingerly, she swung both legs over the side of the double bed. The movement increased her pain and added a wave of nausea. Despite this, she looked carefully around, searching for some clue about where she might be. The room offered few answers. It was plainly furnished and decorated, and as impersonal as many an hotel.
She sat massaging her temples, unable to recall anything that might help her work out where she was and why. Unseen hands, a silhouette, silence save for sounds of the scuffle, no voices. No clues there. The car had been nothing more than a shape. She’d been half expecting Connor’s hired vehicle, but for the life of her she could not remember a single detail about it. Vivid was the smell of ether. Then the horrible feeling of her knees buckling, of falling into blackness. Who had grabbed her? Holly tried not to panic. Guy Dulac’s name kept crashing through her mind.
She rose and made her way unsteadily towards the door. Bending and listening intently, she tried to identify noises coming from the other side. Someone was either watching television or listening to a radio. Holly cautiously turned the handle and was pleasantly surprised to find the door unlocked. It opened silently. She stepped unsteadily out of the room, fighting off waves of nausea. Whoever anaesthetised her had been somewhat heavy-handed.
Holding one hand flat against the wall for balance, Holly looked around and realised she was in a private house. The hallway where she stood had four doors, a wall at one end and opened o
ff into what was probably a lounge at the other. A soft illumination glowed, made mobile by the flickering light of a television set. Moving carefully, Holly tried the other three doors. All were locked. She turned back to the first room and eased open the curtains. It was pitch black outside. The windows had burglar bars but were open. There was a slight smell of seaweed in the night air. Holly sucked in the refreshing aroma, trying to work out what to do next.
‘You’re awake. Good. Come through.’
Holly spun around. Madame Liang Song was standing in the doorway. She gave a curt nod and left. Holly didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared. Certainly, given the choice, she’d rather be faced with the Chinese woman than Guy Dulac. But, she told herself, that was only because if she were going to be killed she’d prefer not to be raped first. Holly followed, moving slowly towards the far end of the hall.
Madame Liang stood dead centre of the room, her arms folded. The television had been turned off. ‘Please be seated.’
Holly chose a padded sofa with serpent and dragon motifs. ‘Where am I?’ she demanded.
‘That doesn’t matter.’
‘It does to me.’ Anger lent her strength. ‘How dare you treat me this way!’
Liang Song crossed to a chair opposite Holly and sat down. ‘I dare,’ she said quietly, ‘because I can.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I think you know.’ There was no expression at all in those almond eyes. ‘Where is Connor Maguire?’
So that’s what this is all about. ‘Rodrigues. I told you that over the phone.’
‘I’ve been unable to reach him.’
‘That’s your problem.’
‘I have many contacts,’ Liang Song continued as if Holly hadn’t spoken. ‘He’s been missing for two days.’
Fear was replacing anger. ‘Then I can’t answer you. My work with him is finished.’
‘You’re lying.’ Cold eyes pierced Holly. ‘You slept with him. Of course you know where he is.’
How does she know that? Raoul might have told her, she could be guessing, or she might have been spying on them. Holly managed to keep her voice steady. ‘Sleeping with a man does not mean you own or control him. I’m sure you know what I mean.’
Liang Song’s eyes hardened.
‘For example,’ Holly was pleased with herself, her voice was under control, almost conversational, ‘do you know where Raoul Dulac is right at this moment?’
Madame Liang glanced swiftly over her shoulder. ‘Be quiet,’ she hissed. ‘You have no idea what you are saying.’ She looked back at Holly. ‘You were prepared to meet Maguire tonight. Does that mean he’s back? Tell me the truth.’
Holly gave an elaborately casual shrug. ‘I have left two unanswered messages for Maguire in Rodrigues. When I received your note I assumed that he was back here. I’m not the man’s keeper. I repeat, I have absolutely no idea where he is.’
Two distinctly oriental individuals appeared from what Holly assumed to be a kitchen and spoke to Madame Liang in their own language. She responded in English. ‘Our guest says she doesn’t know. We’ll have to flush him out.’
Holly wasn’t certain but she was fairly sure they were the same pair she’d seen in the restaurant with Madame Liang and again when they followed her in Port Louis. Connor thought they were uncles. He’d also said they had no idea that their niece was doing business with him. Were they Triad? How were they involved in the Chinese woman’s drug dealing? Had the game shifted? Liang Song must have taken some trouble to get hold of Holly, and despite an arrogant indifference to the law, ran a considerable risk by doing so. This was more than a bit of melodrama. These three were deadly serious.
The conversation, now conducted totally in Chinese, was becoming heated. Holly interrupted. ‘Just what do you mean, flush him out? He’s not a bloody fox, for God’s sake!’
Both men fell silent and looked at her with disapproving frowns. Holly presumed she must have breached some form of Chinese etiquette but was too scared and angry to care. ‘How does forcibly bringing me here help?’
The Chinese woman glanced at her. ‘Bait,’ she said dismissively, as though Holly were some disposable object of no value. ‘We’ll make sure he knows where you are.’
‘If you can’t find him how on earth do you expect to do that?’
‘We’ll put the word out. It will reach him.’
One of the men stepped up to Liang Song and spoke quietly to her. She listened carefully, nodding agreement, then turned back to Holly. ‘You will stay here. Your degree of comfort is up to you. For now, you are free to move about the house and garden. Any trouble and you will be locked in a room.’ Madame Liang dismissed the two men who bowed and left. ‘Would you care for something to drink?’
It crossed Holly’s mind that, in this predicament, she was at least safe from Guy Dulac. ‘Why are you so desperate to reach Maguire that you have to hold me prisoner?’
Holly had not responded to the offer of a drink but Liang Song moved to an obviously well stocked liquor cabinet, poured a glass of white wine from an opened bottle and handed it to her. ‘I am in the process of some rather delicate business dealings with your Mr Maguire. I don’t like the fact that he’s disappeared. It makes me think I can’t trust him.’
‘They must be pretty important if you’re prepared to hold me against my will. Let me give you a piece of advice. Australians don’t do business this way. Your actions are going to backfire. After this, I can guarantee it is Maguire who will not trust you.’
The Chinese woman didn’t answer but she was listening.
‘You’re running the risk of having whatever you and Maguire are working on collapse completely. Is it worth it?’
‘Shut up! You have no idea what is at stake.’
‘No, I don’t. But nothing is worth so much that –’
‘Just be quiet, you silly little girl.’
Liang Song was rattled. Holly thought it might be a good idea to get off the subject. ‘Is this your house?’
‘Do you take me for a fool?’
Holly shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what I take you for. In fact, I’m not certain of anything any more. This is the second time in a week I’ve been kidnapped. All I’m trying to do is get through an assignment. A small enough ask in my opinion.’
‘Your magazine should be more careful who they send you to cover.’ Madame Liang sank gracefully into the chair opposite Holly and crossed her legs. ‘Who else tried to kidnap you?’
‘An acquaintance of yours. Justin Parker.’
Amusement gleamed in Liang Song’s eyes. ‘Raoul’s little friend. Yes, he mentioned it. Not a serious attempt from what I gather.’
‘Is this?’
‘Oh you can be sure of it,’ Madame Liang said softly. ‘And, you’d better hope that Maguire shows himself.’ She sipped her own glass of wine. ‘There is just one more thing. Do not mention Raoul Dulac’s name in the presence of my uncles. If you do it could be quite dangerous. Understood?’
‘Why?’
‘I think you know. We spoke of it during the interview. How did you find out?’
‘Believe it or not, that question was a wild card. I threw it in to see what kind of an answer I’d get.’
Madame Liang’s composure slipped slightly. ‘I asked how you knew.’
‘Everybody knows. When you appeared at the Dulacs’ party last Sunday the whole room was talking about it. You can’t keep that sort of thing secret in a place this size. I wouldn’t be surprised if your uncles already know.’
‘They don’t mix with many Europeans. They would not understand.’ She tossed her head, a look of displeasure on her face. ‘That is beside the point. It is none of your business. You will not mention it again, is that clear?’
Holly smiled. It was not a friendly one. ‘Perfectly. Just tell me one thing. How do you plan to fool your husband into thinking that you’re a virgin?’
The speed with which the Chinese woman flew from her ch
air and slapped Holly’s face was astonishing. Then she returned to her own chair and sat down, sipped her wine again and said calmly, ‘I think we understand each other now, don’t we?’
FOURTEEN
Holly would not have believed it possible, given the seriousness of her situation, but during the course of the next day she became desperately bored. Madame Liang Song was nowhere to be seen, although she left a note telling Holly to help herself to whatever she wanted. The refrigerator, pantry and bar proved to be well stocked, piles of magazines lay on various tables and two bookshelves displayed a wide cross-section of literature, in both French and English. Fresh clothes had been provided, all the toiletries she could ask for were at her disposal in an en suite bathroom. Unless there was one in the locked bedrooms, there was no sign of a telephone. Holly had noticed last night that Liang Song had a mobile phone clipped to her belt. The outside world was inaccessible. Holly had the freedom of the house and garden, though whenever she went outside the two uncles, who never attempted any communication, kept a close eye on her movements. She nicknamed them Chop and Sticks. It made them less menacing.
Television on a Sunday in Mauritius concentrated on the spiritual and the radio covered sport, thus both religions were catered for. Culinary art not being one of Holly’s specialties, she nonetheless amused herself for a while preparing an elaborate omelette with smoked salmon, cottage cheese and beansprouts as filling. The whole thing fell apart when she tried to fold it over so, taking a fork, Holly scrumfled – a family word, origin unknown, meaning salvaged, and usually bad-tempered scrambling – the whole lot together, before slopping it on a piece of toast. The end result was, predictably, abominable. She ate it anyway, having nothing better to do.
Picking up a couple of magazines, Holly strolled outside. She found a garden bench and, studiously ignoring Chop and Sticks who lurked in the background, tried to read. It was hopeless. She couldn’t concentrate on anything and abandoned the idea in favour of a wander in the garden.
It was impossible to tell where the house was. It stood surrounded by a high stone wall, broken glass bottles set along the top. The heavy double gates were of solid wood and kept locked. She was guessing, but Holly assumed the place to be a Liang-owned holiday cottage. The house and garden had that look about them, adequately cared for but not cherished. There was traffic noise but it was some distance away. No landmarks were visible but she could smell seaweed and gulls reeled and screeched nearby. Waves breaking out on the reef were barely audible. Holly thought it strange that a holiday cottage, built presumably so that the occupants could enjoy the proximity of the lagoon, would have that very view screened from sight. She did a circuit of the garden, finding no way out. Defeated and feeling irritated by the silent scrutiny of the uncles, she went back inside, only to have one of them – Sticks, she thought it was – appear and carefully, with a faint air of disapproval, replace the magazines.
The Forgotten Sea Page 33