Hannie Richards

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Hannie Richards Page 6

by Hilary Bailey


  She eased open the kitchen door and walked down the passageway to the front of the house. The narrow beam of her torch revealed an old desk, a telephone, a typewriter on another desk, a filing cabinet. Business didn’t look good, she thought, which was just as well, because the filing cabinet was so old she could open it easily. Even as she did, she guessed that the will, if it still existed, was at Corneille’s house—Angelina had told her it was at the foot of the mountain. Well, one step at a time, she told herself, as she went through the filing cabinet, finding plenty of information about cows and goats which had died in suspicious circumstances, a wealth of paternity suits, and arguments about land. There were even wills, but none of them the one she wanted. The desk contained stationery, unanswered letters, a bag of what smelt like herbs on a leather string, plenty of green tags and three copies of Playboy.

  She crept up the uncarpeted wooden stairs. There were two rooms upstairs, one with only a table and a pack of cards on it, chairs all round. The other was completely empty. As she went down again, she decided she’d have to go to Corneille’s house. The manoeuvre went against her better judgement but she knew time was running out. Better a last bid than no bid at all.

  She climbed out of the back window, pushing it to, and at the same time the dogs started barking again. She groped in her big bag for her can of hairspray. As she did so, a large Alsatian outlined itself against the wooden fence at the bottom of the yard, scrabbled over it, claws scratching wildly, and bounded towards her. Hannie crouched, holding the hairspray. The dog stopped, baring its teeth and preparing to spring. Just as her finger hit the button a hand fell on her shoulder and a voice said, ‘Mrs Bennett—we better talk.’ Now the dog was blundering round the yard, whining.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘But let’s go fast.’ Voices were beginning to call out as they ran out of the yard and back into the main street. There they slowed to a walk. ‘That stuff blind the dog?’ asked her companion as they strolled.

  ‘Too far away,’ Hannie told him, still holding the can. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Recording studio,’ he told her.

  ‘That white building by the sea?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Who are you and what’s it about?’ Hannie asked. They were on the road out of the town now.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m on your side. I’m Regius Fevrier.’

  Hannie looked at him carefully. He was tall, thin and younger than the sisters, only about thirty, but he had the same big nose. She capped the can of hairspray and put it back in her bag.

  ‘We’re going in the wrong direction. I want to have a look round Corneille’s house. You could help me.’

  ‘That will’s not there,’ he told her. ‘No way that family would let Corneille keep it. He’s too careless and too lazy.’

  She was tired now. She said, ‘Look, I can’t stay here much longer. Too many people know about me—and I think you should go to your family.’

  He nodded. ‘I got a message from a man bringing over fruit and vegetables for the market. Angelina says to tell you they came back after you left. One of them showed her his gun. My brother Martin’s coming from the other side of the mountain, where he works, tomorrow. Soon as he arrives, we’re leaving for Beauregard. That way we’ll all be there.’

  They walked up the path to the white building. Regius Fevrier opened the doors and they went in. It was one large room with a sound booth at the back. Against the long wall were ten or twelve steel drums. Six men sat near the drums, drinking beer from cans. Two were playing cards.

  ‘You’re a musician?’ she said to Regius.

  ‘I got a job in one of the hotel kitchens,’ he said. ‘But I write some songs and play.’ He indicated a guitar propped up against the wall of the sound booth. ‘They let us have this place when the regular bands aren’t using it, the big ones, from England and the States. We’re just a local band—a few records on a local label’

  They sat down opposite the group of six men. Regius went to a fridge in the corner and got Hannie a can of beer. She drank it gratefully. ‘I’m glad you’re going to Beauregard,’ she said. ‘I tried to get them to come here—thought it’d be safer.’

  ‘Old Sarah wants to die there,’ he said. ‘Plus—who says it’s safer here? Could be worse. Funny people about.’

  ‘Yes?’ Hannie said.

  ‘Yes,’ he told her.

  ‘Thought it was getting hotter,’ Hannie murmured.

  ‘The Corringtons arrived from Barbados this afternoon,’ Regius informed her. ‘Mrs Julie and the son, Victor. By charter plane. They’re not that rich, to spend that money unless there was something happening. One of the men at their house says they’re going to Beauregard tomorrow.’

  ‘What for?’ asked Hannie.

  He shrugged. ‘Get the letter?’ he suggested.

  ‘Where do you think that will is?’ demanded Hannie.

  ‘My guess is old Mrs Corrington’s got it. If she asked Corneille for it, he wouldn’t dare say no. He’s got all the Corrington business and God knows what else he knows and owes them—plenty of skeletons in that cupboard.’

  A big man with a lot of grey hair strolled up. ‘So, Regius?’ he enquired. He had big, intelligent brown eyes.

  Regius nodded easily. ‘This is Jacks,’ he told Hannie. ‘Mrs Bennett,’ he explained to the big man.

  ‘Mrs Bennett,’ Jacks said agreeably.

  ‘Just talking about who got the Corrington will,’ Regius explained. The big man evidently knew the whole story. ‘Old Julie Corrington, that’s my guess,’ he said.

  ‘She won’t still have it, though,’ Hannie said. ‘She’ll have destroyed it—wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I would,’ Jacks said. ‘But we’re not rich. She is, and that’s why. People like that don’t get rid of anything useful. They might change their mind; they might want to use it for blackmail. She’s got that will. But she’ll have it well protected.’

  Hannie looked at Regius. Regius shook his head. ‘No, not me,’ he told her. ‘They got everything at that house—big wall, shotguns, big dogs roaming round the gardens, burglar alarms. I wouldn’t try it, not without a parachute regiment too.’

  Hannie drank her beer and said, ‘There’s got to be a way.

  He nodded. ‘All I want to see is that will in a lawyer’s hands before my mother dies.’

  He turned to another man who had drifted up. He wore steel-rimmed glasses and a black T-shirt with Che Guevara on it. Regius said, ‘All I don’t want to hear at this moment, Arthur, is that property is theft.’

  Hannie asked them, ‘Who’s behind the Corringtons? From what I hear it’s one elderly woman and her stepson, feeble Victor. But they’ve got expert threateners, enough funds to hire men to watch Sarah Fevrier in London. You can feel there’s extra power coming from somewhere—’ She broke off and stood up, saying, ‘I’m tired. I’d better go back to the hotel and get some sleep. Maybe I’ll think better in the morning.’

  The three men walked her down the hill. Arthur stopped. ‘There it is—I’m sure of that, I just felt it.’

  The three men looked up at the mountain, Veuve Colombe. Hannie stared up, too. Jacks said, ‘Know, Arthur, I didn’t believe you and your old daddy’s strange thoughts.’ He paused. ‘Now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Not an eruption!’ exclaimed Hannie in alarm.

  ‘Veuve Colomb’, elle brûle, elle brûle,’ sang Arthur, evidently remembering some old nursery rhyme.

  As Hannie watched, she was sure she saw a spark fly up into the air above the mountain.

  ‘My father’s been trying to tell them for months,’ Arthur confided, ‘they keep on saying he’s mad—don’t want to drive away tourists—say ‘Veuve Colomb’ just grumbling up there, as usual. This is a poor island. We can’t afford an active volcano.’

  By now the hotel was in sight. Hannie said, ‘Maybe you’d better go back. We don’t want to be spotted together, especially me and Regius. Thanks for the walk.’


  Arthur said, ‘Good luck.’

  As she walked in quietly, the receptionist appeared to be dozing and Hannie, who had taken her key with her when she climbed out of the hotel, tiptoed across the lobby and up the stairs. On the way up she began to feel uneasy. She crept along the corridor to her room, thrust the door open with her right hand and, still holding the handle, felt quickly for the light switch with her left, snapped on the light, jumped back and banged the door shut. Outside, she flattened herself against the wall. She had seen three men in the wreckage of her room, although there might have been a fourth in the bathroom. Now she was too afraid to run, in case they shot her in the back. So she would have to fight. She caught the first one across the neck as he hurled out of the room, looking for her. He fell in the doorway. Two others holding guns came out too fast. As the nearest man tried not to trip over the body Hannie grabbed his gun and hit him over the side of the head. But she knew that, unless he was very slow, the third man would now have located her and levelled his gun. He was, indeed, standing in the doorway of her room, the gun pointing at her. She flung up her arms, still looking for a chance to attack him but realized he was standing too far away and not planning to let her come any closer. ‘In here,’ he said. And Hannie walked into her room as he backed away from her. There had been a fourth man in the room. He now stood behind the man with the gun, who said, ‘Get them inside and shut the door.’ To Hannie he said, ‘Sit down in that chair.’ Which she did, as the other man hauled the two out of the corridor and back into her room.

  Glancing round, she saw that the contents of the drawers had been turned out on to the floor, her shoes lay scattered about and her suitcase had been ripped to pieces. It lay, lining out, on the bed. Quicker and less painful, she thought, to tell them immediately where the letter was. On the other hand, once they knew, they might kill her. She’d have to hold out as long as she could. Perhaps the noise of the struggle had disturbed the guests, perhaps someone would ring the desk to complain.

  So she sat there saying, ‘What’s going on?’ The man with the gun said, ‘Where’s the letter?’

  ‘What letter?’ said Hannie. The man she had chopped across the side of the neck groaned and began to come round. And the man with the gun smacked Hannie round the face and made her teeth rattle. She screamed. Then she screamed again. ‘Leave me alone,’ she cried. ‘What do you—?’ The other man clapped his hand over her mouth, which was open. Hannie bit him hard. She screamed, ‘Help! Help!’ as he snatched away his hand. The second man smacked her hard and another hand went over her mouth. Hannie, with her face aching and a cruel hand wrenching it to one side, shot a vindictive glance through streaming eyes at the man whose hand she had mauled. There is something outrageous about being bitten by another human being. He was staring at his dripping hand, in shock. Hannie was pleased. Underneath that, she was frightened.

  Then, what she hoped for happened. A key grated in the lock of the door. The hand suddenly left her face, the gun disappeared, and as the door cautiously opened, Hannie was left sagging in her chair, holding her face in a littered room where one man lay unconscious on the floor, two had just got up groggily and one was trying clumsily to staunch the blood from his hand with tissues from the dressing table. The receptionist, with Regius, Jacks and Arthur crowding behind him, stared into the room. Hannie stared back. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Things got a bit out of hand.’

  ‘Keep these men here,’ the receptionist told her. ‘I’m going to phone the police.’

  ‘Just get them out of here,’ groaned Hannie, still holding her face. ‘I don’t want any of this to come out. It was a mistake—it went too far.’

  The receptionist looked round the room, beginning to be relieved that there would be no scandal. He couldn’t really believe, Hannie thought, that there’d been an orgy involving an unconscious man, a bitten man, a turned-over room and a ripped-up suitcase. But he seemed ready to try as Hannie groaned again, ‘Just get them out of here. Get them out of my sight. I’ll pay for the damage.’

  So the three men, supporting the fourth, followed by the receptionist, left the room. Regius closed the door.

  ‘Phew!’ Hannie said, slumping.

  ‘You all right?’ asked Regius.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ Hannie said. ‘It wasn’t a moment too soon.’

  ‘Lucky you screamed,’ Jacks said. ‘Arthur suddenly told us he thought this might happen, so we came back. That receptionist tried hard to stop us from coming up.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have been so fast if you hadn’t been there,’ said Hannie.

  ‘They paid him,’ Arthur said with certainty.

  Hannie went into the bathroom and washed her face. As she brushed her hair, she heard Arthur asking Regius if he thought the bar was still open. They went downstairs and walked into the bar which was empty except for two drunken tourists who scarcely looked at them. Hannie, sipping her drink, said, ‘Well—we know something. That letter is dangerous to the Corringtons.’

  ‘And something else, those men were Americans,’ Regius said.

  ‘Right,’ said Hannie, nodding.

  ‘Means I’m right,’ said Arthur. ‘Organized crime—they got the Mafia in on this one. That’s where the money’s coming from for all these thugs and hoodlums.’

  ‘I’m afraid they’ve hurt my family,’ Regius said. ‘Else how did they know you had the letter?’

  ‘The boatman knew I took the boat out,’ Hannie said. ‘Three men under a tree saw me climb out of the hotel tonight when I went to Corneille’s—this place is like a whispering gallery—everybody knows everything.’ She hoped she was right.

  ‘I’ll come over to Beauregard tomorrow,’ Arthur said to Regius. ‘Apart from all that, I don’t like this volcano. You better get out of here too,’ he said to Hannie. ‘They won’t leave you alone till they get that letter.’ Suddenly alarmed, he said, ‘Hey—they didn’t, did they? You still got it?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said and told them where it was. Then they had another drink. But Hannie said, ‘I’d really like to get my hands on that will. There’s something about getting slapped round the face that makes you angry.’

  Jacks said to Regius, ‘Some nasty people going to get their hands on that island if you don’t prove it’s yours.’

  Regius said, ‘I don’t like the idea that anything’s happened to the family over there.’ After a pause he said to Hannie, ‘All right, let’s try to get that will from Julie Corrington—but I have to leave first light for Beauregard.’

  ‘Plenty of people tried to get in that house,’ Jacks said. ‘All they got is shot or dog bites and gaol sentences. The only way you can get in there is if they invite you, and that’s a fact.’

  Hannie thought a bit and decided, ‘They can invite me. Why not? They want the letter; they’ll be pleased to see me, day or night, any time, if I look as if I’ll co-operate.’

  ‘True,’ Jacks said. ‘But if you go and if you get the will, then you’ve got to get out. That’s the hardest part’

  ‘I’ll work it out as I go along,’ declared Hannie.

  ‘You’re mad,’ Arthur told her. ‘Look who you got against you. Could be the Mafia—could be there’s a heavy political angle. These islands are strategic. Whoever they are, they’re powerful. They could kill you.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Hannie, and got up to phone Julie Corrington.

  ‘I wish she wouldn’t do this,’ Arthur said. ‘It could be the CIA, the Cubans—’

  ‘Could be the Primitive Methodists,’ Jacks said. ‘I just hope the Corringtons won’t let her come. But,’ he said, brightening up, ‘remember who’s in that house, an honoured guest?’

  Regius and Arthur looked at him and began to smile.

  ‘Forgotten about that,’ murmured Regius. ‘Now that’s a nice idea. How’re we going to let him know about this?’

  Arthur shrugged. ‘If she goes at all, she can go in my taxi. I can get a message to old Rob, the servant up there.’

&nbs
p; ‘This is getting interesting,’ declared Jacks as Hannie, looking satisfied, came back and said, ‘All fixed up and taxi coming.’

  ‘Cancel it,’ Regius said promptly. ‘Arthur here, he drives a taxi. It’s parked up at the recording studio.’

  ‘All right,’ Hannie agreed. ‘Keep it in the family.’ She yawned. ‘Another little walk. I’ll go upstairs and get out of my burglar kit.’

  Out in the hall, while they waited for her, Regius told the receptionist, ‘You let those men in.’

  ‘They climbed in,’ the man said.

  They paid you so they could search the room,’ Regius said.

  ‘Get out of here, trash,’ the receptionist said contemptuously. ‘Musicians, criminals, dopedealers, just get out.’

  ‘We’ll be seeing you,’ Jacks said agreeably as the four of them left the hotel. The receptionist stared after them, looking worried.

  The taxi wound up the road in complete darkness. There were thick trees and bushes on either side. From this angle Hannie could not see the top of the mountain, la Veuve Colombe, and as they twisted up the wooded hillside over which a sickle moon rolled, casting fitful light, she found it hard to believe the stories about an imminent eruption.

  The Corringtons’ house was surrounded by a high wall. Arthur had to shout their names into a grille next to the gates before the doors swung open. They went up a long drive bordered by flowering bushes and plants, tangled and overgrown, until they reached a big white plantation house, two centuries old. Hannie, whose career had been helped by the invisible compass she carried in her head guessed the house overlooked St Colombe harbour.

 

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