To the Devil, a Daughter

by Dennis Wheatley

‘Me!’ exclaimed Christina with a surprised look.

  ‘Yes. He is not a psychoanalyst or anything of that kind; so you have no cause to be frightened that he will try to delve into your subconscious and drag out the sort of little personal secrets we all prefer to keep to ourselves. But he has had considerable experience of the way in which occultists get young people into their clutches; so I am hoping very much that he may know of a method of countering the evil influence that is being exerted on you. The plane doesn’t get in till one; so I shan’t be back much before tea-time. But John will look after you while I am away, and I thought you might like to take a picnic lunch out together.’

  John and Christina agreed that a picnic was a good idea; so as soon as they had seen Molly off they set about their preparations. An inspection of the larder revealed a fine choice of good things. Angèle prepared a salad for them, while Christina stuffed some crisp rolls with ham and gruyère cheese, and John collected fruit, a bottle of wine and glasses. When they had finished packing the things into a basket, Christina said: ‘As we are going to walk, I think I will put on a pair of thicker shoes. You don’t mind waiting while I slip over to my villa, do you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ John replied. ‘It has not yet gone half-past eleven; so we have tons of time. In fact it might not be a bad idea if we didn’t start till twelve. That would give you a chance to pack a suitcase with some other things you may want, as Mother was saying this morning that she thought it would be best if you stayed on with us here—for the time being anyhow. I’ll come across and collect it later.’

  ‘Will there …?’ she hesitated. ‘Are you quite sure there will be room for me, now that this friend of your mother’s is coming?’

  ‘Oh yes. You needn’t worry about that. This villa is slightly larger than yours, I think. Anyhow, I’m giving up my room to Conky Bill—Colonel Verney, that is—and Angele will move my things into the little slip-room at the back, next to the one you occupied last night.’

  ‘All right, then. It really means that you’ll be giving up your room for me, though. I’ll never be able to repay you and your mother for all your kindness.’

  As she turned away, he called after her, ‘You had better put in a frock for this evening. Not a “knock’em in the Old Kent Road” effect like you wore the other night; but something simple. Conky Bill is an old-fashioned type and likes changing for dinner; so black tie and sea-boots will be the order of the day.’

  When she had disappeared he went upstairs and carried most of his smaller belongings through to the slip-room, then came down and asked Angele to move the rest while he was out. Picking up the basket with the lunch in it, he walked through the sitting-room to the french windows, but halted there with a slight frown on his face. Count Jules de Grasse was coming up the garden path.

  The Count saw him at the same moment and called out gaily, ‘Good morning! You see how prompt I am to repay your call.’

  Putting down the basket, John advanced to meet him, a smile now disguising the faint uneasiness he felt. ‘How nice of you. I am so sorry we had to drag Christina away from you last night; but she really was not fit to stay.’

  ‘Oh, we quite understood. How is she this morning?’

  ‘I’m glad to say she is fully recovered,’ John replied, as they turned back towards the house. Then, to forestall any further invitation Count Jules might have brought for her, he added, ‘As a matter of fact you only just caught me. I am about to take her out for the day.’

  ‘Dear me! Then I fear I have timed my visit badly.’

  Feeling that it would be wisest to continue this pretence of friendship, and at least hear what the Count had come to say, John waved a hand towards the french windows. ‘No. Do come in. We shan’t be starting for a little while yet. Can I offer you a drink?’

  ‘Thanks. If you happen to have any pastis I should like one.’

  ‘I expect there is some here. There is usually.’ Having found the bottle among the drinks on the side-table, John poured from it two good portions of the clear spirit into tumblers, added the water that turned it a cloudy opal, and handed one to his stocky, round-faced visitor.

  The Frenchman raised his glass, and, having drunk, gestured with it towards the view. ‘You have a charming place here; and I envy you having a mimosa tree just outside your windows. Now that it is in blossom the smell is heavenly.’

  ‘My father bought this villa some years before the war, and my mother has lived here almost continuously since.’

  ‘Indeed! Then you must have been here many times yourself. I wish I had known before this that we were neighbours. There is little I do not know about the towns of the Riviera, so I could have provided you with a lot of fun.’

  ‘It’s a kind thought,’ John smiled, ‘but I have managed pretty well on my own.’

  Jules took another swig of the absinthe and remarked, ‘This is really excellent. Where did you find it?’

  ‘It is a private brew made by the barman at the Negresco. I think my father was rather a favourite customer of his. Anyhow, when my mother goes in to Nice, he still lets her have a bottle now and then.’

  ‘My congratulations on it. Also, since madame, your mother, is not here, be kind enough to give her my compliments, please.’

  ‘Thanks. I will.’

  A short silence fell, then Jules passed a hand over his dark, slightly crinkly hair, and said: ‘I would like to have a word with you strictly in private, mon ami. Might we, perhaps, take our drinks down to your little terrace?’

  ‘By all means, if you wish,’ John replied, much intrigued by the implication of this request.

  Side by side, they walked in silence down the path between the clementine and lemon trees. When they had settled themselves on two of the white-painted, comfortably-sprung iron chairs that are peculiar to French gardens, Jules asked: ‘How do you find life in England these days? I mean this decorating business of yours, and making from it a decent income?’

  John shrugged. ‘I’ve no complaints about business, but money is quite another matter. The trouble is to keep a little when you’ve made it. We are almost taxed out of existence.’

  ‘So I gather; and it is getting to be the same way here. The illusion still persists that French people do not pay their taxes; but that is no longer true. The Government now assesses us arbitrarily and forces us to meet its demands in anticipation of our incomes.’

  Wondering what all this could be leading up to, John nodded, and replied, ‘I fear you are right; and the great danger is that before any change is likely to occur they will have killed off all the geese that lay the golden eggs.’

  ‘In France that has happened already—at least, as far as those families who were the mainstay of the country up to the early years of this century are concerned. In one half a normal lifetime, the franc has been reduced to one-fortieth of its former value. Think what that has meant to the great property owners and others who depend mainly on fixed incomes.’

  Again John nodded. ‘Its effect must have been devastating; in fact, as destructive as a series of capital levies.’

  Jules lit a Gitane cigarette and let it remain dangling from his full lips. ‘You have said it, mon ami; and it is just that point I wished to make with you. Less than half a century ago my family owned great estates. They administered them well and took from them what they wanted, but in reason. Now, my father and I have only our intelligence left; so even to live in reasonable comfort we must take what we can get anywhere we can get it.’

  ‘I thought your father was a wealthy ship-owner,’ John remarked.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Jules crossed one leg over the other, sat back and stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘It is true that we own a few ships, but these thieves of tax collectors always have their noses in our books and steal most of the profits. Therefore we have been compelled to develop as a sideline the acceptance of commissions for cash, which is not taxable.’

  ‘Really? I suppose you mean carrying certain ca
rgoes without declaring them?’

  ‘Exactly. And there is one commission we accepted recently, of which, as an old friend, I feel it is only fair to inform you.’ Jules paused for a moment, then went on, ‘It is to transport the young woman you know as Christina Mordant to England before March the 6th. On the completion of that transaction we are to receive the sum of one thousand pounds.’

  ‘I see,’ said John quietly.

  ‘Now!’ Jules’s smile broadened. ‘It appears that you are interested in Christina. Why, is a question that I am still asking myself; for she is as yet no more than a hoydenish young girl, and still lacking in all the attributes which go to make women intriguing to men of our intelligence. Should you care to stand aside entirely, and not seek to prevent my collecting Christina from her villa at any time I may choose, I will willingly give you introductions to a dozen ladies, all more charming and sophisticated than she is, who live within easy reach; and you can take your pick of them to console you for your loss. Do you agree?’

  ‘No,’ said John firmly. ‘I do not.’

  Jules shrugged. ‘I feared that might prove the case. Therefore I will put up to you an alternative proposition. As I took some pains to point out to you just now, the age of chivalry is past, and most regrettably its passing has compelled my father and me to become business men. We cannot afford to forgo a thousand pounds, but as no contract has been signed we are not strictly bound to carry out our undertaking. In view of your evident desire to continue enjoying Christina’s innocent prattle, how would it appeal to you to pay us twelve hundred pounds to leave her alone?’

  Such a bare-faced attempt at blackmail caused John’s eyes to open wide with astonishment. For a second he felt inclined to laugh, but he knew that it was no laughing matter, and, getting to his feet, he said angrily: ‘What the hell do you take me for?’

  ‘Should you refuse both my offers, I shall take you for a fool.’ Jules also had come to his feet, but his voice remained level. ‘If, as your attitude now leads me to suppose, you wish to marry the girl, why not approach your mother? She must make a great deal from her books, so could easily find the money.’

  ‘That is beside the point,’ John snapped. ‘I will neither let you take Christina away, nor pay you one brass farthing to refrain from attempting to. And now, get out!’

  Jules’s eyes had gone very dark, but his tone was still mild. ‘I am sorry that you should prove so unreasonable. I came here hoping that we might arrange matters on a friendly basis, and I am still sufficiently well-disposed towards you to give you a warning. Do not think that because you came out on top last night you will be lucky enough to do so a second time. I let you get away with it only because my father and I will never permit any situation to arise which might cause trouble in the hotel at which we live. If you attempt to interfere in my business again you must not blame me if you get seriously hurt.’

  Chapter 7

  Night Must Fall

  John watched Count Jules drive off in a big blue Citröen, then he turned about and looked up at Christina’s villa. It was now about a quarter-past twelve, but there was no sign of her in the garden or at those windows of the house that he could glimpse between the umbrella-pines; so it looked as if she had not yet finished her packing. Picking up the empty glasses, he stumped up the path with them, and collected the lunch basket. Then, as he left the house, he saw that she had come out just ahead of him and was now halfway down to her terrace; so they met in the road.

  Assuming that she had not seen Count Jules, John decided that to make any mention of his visit would be to give her needless cause for anxiety; so he greeted her with a smile and said, ‘I think we’ll go towards Agay, then turn inland. If you don’t mind an hour’s trudge uphill, there is a lovely view from the lowest spur of the ridge.’

  She nodded. ‘We will go wherever you like. But tell me about your visitor. I was ready to start at twelve o’clock, as we arranged, but I saw him with you on the terrace; so I thought it wiser to remain under cover till he had gone. What did he want?’

  ‘He said it was just a friendly call; and he enquired most tenderly about your health.’

  ‘I bet he didn’t come all the way from St Tropez only for that. Please be honest with me, John. Now that I have told you everything I can about myself, it wouldn’t be fair of you to keep me in the dark. I would much rather know about it if you have reason to believe that they are plotting anything fresh against me.’

  On reconsideration, he decided that she was right, and, if warned, would be additionally careful in watching her every step. So, as they walked at an easy pace along the broad, curving road, flanked with occasional stone balustrades surmounted by urns brimming with geraniums and small yellow-striped cactus, he gave her the full story of his recent interview. When he had done she said with a shrug: ‘He really must be crazy to have thought that you might pay him twelve hundred pounds to leave me alone.’

  ‘You must remember that although Jules was educated in England he is very much a Frenchman, and has the typical Frenchman’s outlook on women,’ John told her. ‘Custom and lack of inclination combine to prevent them from developing the sort of friendships that English people like ourselves enjoy in the normal course of events. They regard women solely from the point of view of sex, and divide them into two categories—those whose circumstances readily invite an amusing love-affair, and those who are in no position to offer such an attraction. To anyone of Jules’s nationality and class it is unthinkable that a chap like myself might have an affair with a young unmarried girl; because she falls into category number two. It is not entirely a matter of principle that restrains them from entering on such affairs, but also because they would be bored to tears. They regard it as essential that their mistresses should be sexually experienced and take the matter as lightly as they do themselves, so that they run no danger of becoming permanently entangled. Therefore, Jules would argue that, since I should get little fun out of seducing you, and landing myself with a packet of trouble afterwards, the only reason for my interest in you must be that I want to marry you.’

  ‘I have always thought that in France it was the other way about, and that in a marriage contract it was the girl’s parents who had to put up the money.’

  ‘Ah, but you’ve forgotten that you are an heiress. If your old man owns a controlling interest in Beddows Agricultural Tractors he must be worth a packet; and you are an only child. As Jules would see it, for my mother to put up twelve hundred to get you for me as a wife would be a jolly good bet.’

  Christina laughed. ‘It is one I wouldn’t care to make. As I’ve told you, I really know awfully little about my father’s private life. I don’t think he has married again, but he might have. Anyhow, by his mistresses he may have had children of whom he is much fonder than he is of me. It is quite on the cards that when he dies the bulk of his money will go to people I have never heard of, and that he will leave me only a few hundred a year to keep me from actual want.’

  While they were talking they had reached the little village of Dramont, and after walking over to look at the memorial, which commemorated the landing of the Americans there on August the 15th, 1944, they took the by-road that led up into the Esterel.

  Their way now lay through the pine forest, which here and there had clearings in it of a few acres devoted to intensive cultivation. In most of them stood a lemon-washed farmhouse, and the land was occupied by crops of fruit, vegetables and flowers, all growing on series of terraces which had been laboriously constructed out of the hillside and were kept in place by walls of rough-hewn stone. On some there were rows of orange, lemon and tangerine trees, or short bare-stalked vines, on others globe artichokes, young beans and primeurs of all sorts for the Paris markets; while many were small fields of carnations.

  The going was stiff; so they did not talk very much, and then only of trivial things, such as the thrifty care with which the peasants cultivated every available inch of their soil, and of how utterly different the
scene was from any that could be found in England at that time of year. In an hour they had covered barely three miles, but they then came out on the summit of the lowest foothill of the range, and paused there to admire the view.

  To one side of the road lay an orchard of ancient olive-trees, their gnarled trunks and grey-green leaves standing out in charming contrast to the yellower green of the short grass in which they had been planted a century or more ago. In the hush of midday, with sunlight dappling the grass through leaves unstirred by a breath of wind, it was a truly sylvan spot, having that spell-like quality which made them almost expect that a nymph or faun would peep out at them from behind one of the trees at any moment. Instinctively feeling that they could find no more delightful place in which to picnic, they turned into the orchard without exchanging a word, and, sitting down under one of the trees a little way from the road, unpacked their lunch.

  When they had satisfied their first hunger, John asked Christina what sort of a time she had had at her finishing school in Paris, and after describing the life there she summed it up as more interesting but not so much fun as that she had had in Somerset. In Paris the only lessons had been French grammar and the study of the Arts; the girls had been taken to the opera, the Salon, concerts, classical plays, the best films, special dress shows for jeunes filles, the museums and all the places of historical interest. She had enjoyed all that; but the mistresses had been much stricter and the girls less friendly than at the school of domestic science, and she had greatly missed the fine old mansion that housed it, with its park, swimming-pool and lovely garden; the paper-chases and cricket in the summer, and in winter the bicycle rides on Saturdays into the local town for tea and shopping.

  John had never been in Somerset, but he knew Paris well, particularly the intellectual side of life there; so they talked for a while of painting, ballet and books. The extent of her knowledge, and especially the wideness of her reading, rather surprised him; but she explained that never having been home for the holidays she had had much more time than most girls in which to devour her favourite authors and dip into all sorts of unusual subjects.