“You mean,” I said, “you*re challenging me to turn you over to the
police?”
The bravado oozed out of him. He hunched forward trying to read my
face. “Cat and mouse, that*s your game, isn*t it? But why? For God*s sake, just
tell me why?”
“For Sarah’s sake. What with one thing and another, Simon, I’ve
decided that she’s best off with her mother.”
“You’ve decided?”
“Yes.” I glanced at my watch. “Any moment now,” I said, “you’ll be
getting a call from Sarah. That’s to notify you of her change of address.”
“I don’t believe you!”
I disregarded this. “Now listen carefully, Simon, because if you make
one little slip during that call, Sarah will be told the whole dirty story of her
loving daddy. It’s as simple as that. That means you’re to let her know you
understand her decision to change homes, it’s probably better this way, good
wishes and farewell.”
He looked like a fish just out of the water, his mouth opening and closing
in an effort to bring out the words. Finally he did. “My ex-wife put you up to
this, didn’t she? And you went for it because you’re soft on that bitch. Well,
I’m not going to —!”
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“Yes, you will,” I cut in pleasantly. “And nobody put me up to it. But if
you can tell me why Jan van Zee dropped out of sight so completely and where
he is now —”
”I swear I don’t know!”
“Well then,” I said, and as if on cue the phone rang. I snatched it up
before Leewarden could. “Mr. Shaw?” said Harry.
“It is.”
“Everything’s A-O.K., sir. We’re back at the hotel now. Miss
Leewarden’s right here.”
“Good. Put her on.”
I held out the phone to Leewarden, and he grasped it as if trying to
squeeze it out of shape. “Sarah?” He sagged so far forward that the
mouthpiece almost rested on the desk. “Yes?” There was a long silence from
him, while from the phone came the sibilance of the voice at the other end.
“Yes,” said Leewarden at last. “Yes, I understand… Yes… No, it isn’t as if it
were a stranger… Yes, that’s it, I suppose. Take care of yourself.”
He sat back staring at the wall, the phone still in his hand emitting a loud
hum. All devoured by the flames now. The only thing left of him was that
croaking voice. “Five years.” He looked at me, not really seeing me. “Five
years of being bloody father and mother and everything else to her. Tomorrow
she won’t remember who I am.”
“Possibly,” I said. “And don’t try to remind her of it, Simon. No
communication from your end, because I won’t take that kindly. Do you
understand?”
“Yes.” His voice was barely louder than that incessant humming from
the phone. “Why don’t you clear out?” he said lifelessly. “Just clear out.”
In the hallway Costello said to me, “Feel better?”
“Yes.”
“The way he took it,” said Costello. “Any chance of his going out of that
window?”
“No. I think that as soon as he pulls himself together he’ll be on the
phone with Yves, spilling this whole thing. Or possibly Baar.”
Costello shook his head. “He’s stupid if he does anything like that. He
has to know they’d only start wondering how much he told you.”
“Yes,” I said, “they would, wouldn’t they?”
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Harry reported back to the Berkeley
Regal in the early evening. “Went smooth as silk, sir,” he said in answer to my
question. “That Miss Bell is sure a likable lady, sir.”
“She is. By the way, Mr. Costello’s taken your room. You won’t have
trouble lining up another, will you?”
“No trouble at all, sir.”
There never was, with Harry.
When I walked next door I found Costello at the phone. He said into it,
“Hold on,” then said to me, “Williams in Paris. He just now got an invitation
for you from the royalty.”
I took the phone. “Miller, is that invitation to the Château de Liasse?”
“That’s right, Mr. Shaw. For the coming weekend.”
“Then call there and accept it on my behalf. And let them know I’ll be
bringing a young lady. Now I want some information. What’s the value of
those Rouart-Rochelle notes we hold?”
“Well, the face value is two hundred and forty thousand. Dollars, that is.
But there’s accumulated unpaid interest that brings it to about three hundred
thousand.”
“All right, call in those notes first thing tomorrow. Immediate payment in
full demanded, no holds barred.”
“No holds barred, Mr. Shaw? I don’t —”
”That means, Miller, that if Mr. Rouart-Rochelle doesn’t make payment
at once, I’m starting court proceedings against him next week. Let him know it,
and, if the question comes up, you can also let him know who I am.”
I put down the phone, and Costello said with relish, “Poor Frenchy. The
smuggling racket busted, Leewarden in his hair, and now the sheriff’s coming
down the road to foreclose on the old homestead.”
“What was that about Leewarden?”
“I just got word from the agency that he hopped a plane and walked in
on Frenchy an hour ago. Which makes him as stupid as he looks.”
“And Vahna? Any signs she’ll be showing up here tomorrow?”
“That we won’t know until the morning. If she sticks to her weekly
routine, she will. But moving in on her might be tricky. Remember, this is no
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sixteen-year-old kid itching to get into the movies. And then there’s the
watchdog. The sister-in-law.”
I said, “What do you have on the watchdog?”
Costello flipped through his index cards and extracted a few from the
deck. “The Frenchy file.” He scanned the cards. “Madame Max Denoyer. Was
Yvonne Thérèse Rouart-Rochelle. No known connection with any of
Frenchy’s rackets.”
“How about her husband? What’s his line of work?”
“Insurance. Commercial and personal. He looks to be a straight arrow
though. Clean all the way. You want a set of the letters to show him?”
“No, you just gave me a better angle to work on. That is if Vahna and
Yvonne show up here tomorrow.”
They did.
At ten the next morning, the pair took a plane for London. At noon, they
registered in the Berkeley Regal. Midafternoon, I went down to the Unicorn
Club in the bowels of the hotel to obtain my membership card.
The manager of the casino had evidently checked out my credit rating
after my application was in. “A bit early,” he beamed, “but if you’d like to be
shown around —”
”I would like that.”
At this time of day, the club offered a vast, thickly carpeted, heavily
draped desolation. Inside its entrance, a dining area, a few waiters arranging
settings. Beyond that, a display of gaming tables, one of which was attended
by a couple being dealt blackjack. Roulette, I had gathered, was Vahna’s
game. I drifted over to the trio of roulette tables and took note that each bore a
smal
l card indicating the minimum stakes at it — 5Op — £1 — £5. From
Vahna’s reputation, it seemed likely that when I came down in the evening I’d
find her on that stool close by the croupier of the five-pound table.
At nine in the evening, the Detec man trailing her phoned up that she had
entered the casino. At nine-thirty, I found the lady on the stool nearest the
croupier of the five-pound table. At her elbow, obviously not taking part in the
proceedings, was seated a thin, hard-featured, gray-haired little woman who
had to be the duenna. When I fitted myself into the narrow remaining space
beside her where she provided a barrier between her charge and me I saw
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with a sudden queasiness that Madame Denoyer bore a distinct resemblance to
her ferret-faced brother Yves.
Vahna herself was still the exquisite Siamese doll of ten years before.
Nothing showed in that flawless face as she made calculations on the chart
before her and — so tiny that she had to stand on a rung of her stool to do it —
reached out to scatter chips over the table with calculated abandon.
I watched the action for awhile, then held out a hundred-pound note to
the croupier’s cashier. “Color?” he said.
I leaned toward Madame Denoyer. “What does he mean?”
“He wishes to know the color you prefer to play. The checks. So there
will be no confusion.”
“Oh. Thank you.” And when the cashier, now calling me sharply to
attention, said, “Color, please?” I said anything lucky would do and, stacking
the chips before me, again leaned toward Madame Denoyer. “This is my first
time at it,” I told her, “and I see you’re not betting. Would you mind very much
giving me an idea of what it’s all about?”
Up to now she had looked bored to death. Now she came to life and,
sotto voce, gave me a quick course in combinations and odds. At its
conclusion, I said, “But it seems you can’t do much betting on all those
combinations with only a handful of chips, can you?”
“True. But at that table where the stakes are lower —”
”Might I have the pleasure of your company at that table?”
“I am sorry, but I am with this lady.” She indicated the preoccupied and
hardworking Vahna. “My — what is the word? — belle soeur. The wife of my
brother.”
“Sister-in-law. Oh well, in that case —”
Madame Denoyer’s eyes opened wide as I detached two thousand
pounds worth of very new and crisp bank notes from my money clip and
exchanged them for chips. I remarked to her, “As they say in my business, it
takes money to make money. The business, by the way, is motion pictures.” I
offered her a card from the gold-trimmed Mark Cross wallet. “The name is
David Shaw.”
She acknowledged the introduction with a dip of the head. “Madame
Max Denoyer. Yvonne Denoyer.”
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“So pleased. But Max Denoyer?” I frowned. “Somehow I know that
name.”
“It is not an unusual name, Mr. Shaw.”
“I suppose not.” I considered the far wall of the roam briefly then
clapped a hand to my forehead. “I have it. Max Denoyer. On the rue de Rome
in Paris.”
Madame looked startled. “The rue de Rome you say?”
“Yes. My company is producing a picture in France, and of course a
great deal of insurance is required. I have someone investigating some French
agencies right now. I’m positive that one of the names on his list is of a Max
Denoyer at that address.”
Madame rested a hand on my arm. “I have a surprise for you. This Max
Denoyer is my husband.”
“You’re joking.”
“I assure you I am not.” The grip on my arm tightened. “Forgive me for
asking, but you have not yet made arrangements for the insurance?”
“No, not yet.”
“And will you be in Paris soon?”
“Within a day or two.” Madame’s face brightened, but it clouded over
when I shrugged regretfully and said, “But I’ll only be on my way through to
answer an invitation to a weekend house party out of town.”
“Ah,” said Madame, “but this urgent matter of the insurance where my
husband could be of such help —”
”It’ll have to wait. You see, the invitation is from a dear friend I
wouldn’t dare let down. Possibly you know her. Henriette de Liasse?”
“No,” Madame said shortly, then did an almost comic double take.
“Henriette de Liasse? La Comtesse de Liasse?”
“The Countess. Yes. She seems to regard me as a member of the family,
so the weekend must be hers. And I don’t really know if I can get back to Paris
afterward.”
I allowed Madame to unhappily digest this while I did some heavy
betting on a series of losing combinations. I also allowed her to observe that I
was paying very little attention to the wheel and a great deal to the profile of
her lovely charge who, hard at work on her chart, was off in a world of her
own. According to Kees Baar, the little lady with the chart was a fanatic
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worshiper of such authentic aristos as the de Liasse clan. If he had been wrong
about that —
I placed my lips close to Madame Denoyer’s ear. “You know, your
sister-in-law is a remarkably beautiful woman. In my business one sees almost
too many beautiful faces, but hers is absolutely unique. The star quality, we
call it.”
Madame’s nostrils dilated. Glum the moment before, she was now
plainly delighted to find this fish still on her line. “I must tell her that, Mr.
Shaw. She will be pleased by the compliment.”
“I hope so. And I’ve been wondering — if you won’t think it rude on
such short acquaintance — whether you two ladies would mind joining me at
dinner now?”
“I should be pleased. As for Madame Rouart-Rochelle” — she cast a
hard look at the oblivious Vahna, then said to her in French, “Pay attention a
moment.”
“Well?” said Vahna without raising her eyes from her chart.
“This expensive-looking type next to me is in a position to throw Max
some highly profitable business. An American making a film in France.” Her
French shifted from genteel Faubourg Saint-Honoré to machine-gun Faubourg
Saint-Denis. “He and I are already as thick as thieves, and now we’re invited
to dine with him. He’s got eyes for you, so I want you at the table. I put myself
out enough for my precious brother with these wretched expeditions. I feel his
wife owes me at least this small favor.”
“Does she?” said Vahna. “And can you imagine how Yves would feel
about this small favor?”
“Never mind that. This man is an intimate friend of the de Liasse family.
He actually spends weekends with them at the château. Doesn’t that interest
you?”
It did. I sat there, the uncomprehending innocent, as the lady turned to get
a full view of me. After due consideration, she smiled at me, a little curl of the
lips which barely showed the edges of small, very white teeth. “How do you
do?” she said graciously in the carefully modulated English
of Henry
Higgins’s Eliza.
At the supper table — very little supper and a great deal of champagne
— we all became thick as thieves together, and in the end a glassy-eyed Vahna
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opened her soul to me. Therein I saw the Almanach de Gotha, the society
columns in glossy monthlies, and a bitterness that the lady’s forebears —
princes of the blood in Thailand — received small tribute for this in the
barbaric Western world. She was not so drunk that she came right out with it
and demanded to know how I, a lowborn American, should happen to be the
pet of those whose lineage extended back to Charlemagne, but there were
moments when she came very close.
I commiserated with her, I offered sympathy and wine in equal measure,
and then I came out with it. “About this weekend at Chaumont,” I said, “well,
I’ve been wondering. I’m supposed to bring a young lady with me — no doubt
to make a proper number at the table — but I’ve been so busy at my job I
haven’t thought to invite anyone yet.”
“Yes?” said Vahna encouragingly.
“Forgive me, David,” Madame Denoyer cut in. She turned to Vahna and
said in French, “This is now going too far. You know Yves would foam at the
mouth at the mere idea.”
“Would he?” said Vahna, and there was that little smile again, but
somehow chilling in its effect. “But you’re the one who forced this handsome
stranger on me. Could you deny that to Yves?”
“Let’s not threaten each other, Vahna. Let’s talk sense. I’ll make a deal
with you. Just arrange that our friend here delivers you to my apartment
Monday after your weekend in Chaumont, so that Max can talk business with
him then and there. Do that, and I’ll do what I can with Yves.”
“I can try. But what if I fail?”
“Look how our friend here is mooning at you. You can’t possibly fail.”
They both looked at me.
“Well,” I said brightly, “can we get back to my question now? That little
matter of my inviting someone to accompany me to Chaumont?”
Madame Denoyer reached out and patted my hand. “How rude of me to
interrupt,” she said. “Do tell us more about it.”
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The dreams, never bad in themselves,
always made for a bad awakening. Again and again Anneke would become
part of them, we would be together, and, strangely, never in a nightmarish
situation. There would sometimes be surrealist episodes, but nothing that ever
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