“And he’s not the marrying kind,” Sally felt bound to remind her. “He told me so himself.”
“Oh, rats to that,” called Lucette. “If the Vaugard creature thinks she can get him, why shouldn’t someone else have a shot? I think she looks her age.”
“Perhaps that’s what Dane likes about her. You must admit she’s a beauty.”
“The hair color is synthetic!”
“But it’s attractive. Stop being feline.”
“I’ve stopped. Guess what? This evening I’ve a date with a French captain who has a cute moustache!”
“That’s a pity. Mike’s coming here for dinner; it’s the first time since his accident. I wanted you two to meet.” Lucette, stripped almost to the skin, came to the bedroom door. “I’m sorry, but it may be as well if I don’t get to know your Mike. I’ve always had a horror of ... of illness and cripples.”
Sally’s smile vanished. She said abruptly, “Don’t you dare let Mike know that. Don’t you dare!”
Lucette’s thin black brows arched, incredulously. “You look like a tigress protecting her cub. I won’t let him know, of course. Good lord, Sally, I’m not such a horror as that.”
Sally looked down at her fingers and blew upon the drying varnish. “I just don’t want anything to impede Mike’s recovery, that’s all. Hurry up in the bathroom. We may as well go down together.”
They couldn’t have looked more different from each other as they descended to the vestibule. Sally was slim, her tan silk skirt billowed, and her bronze head was shot with fire under the lights. Lucette sparkled in a sheath frock of emerald brocade; diamonds studded her ear-lobes and collared her neck, and an emerald butterfly had settled inextricably in her hair. She glowed at everyone she met, went happily out on to the terrace and sat down at a table with Sally.
Mike arrived in the hotel car, and Sally willed herself to remain seated while the driver allowed his shoulder to take Mike’s weight. As he came up the shallow steps on to the veranda she stood up, smiling. He was breathless and pale, but her calmness about seating him drew an answering smile from him.
“Well, you made it,” she said. “And now you must meet Lucette. Mike Ritchie ... Lucette Millar.”
Mike sat back, looked at Lucette rather hard. He echoed her surname. “Sally says you come from Tangier. Are you Tom Millar’s daughter?”
Lucette blinked twice, rapidly. “Yes. Yes, I am. You ... don’t know my father, by any chance?”
“No, only that he’s a director of the Midi Press. I used to do an article for them every week.”
Lucette seemed to have lost her usual volubility. “But you’re out of touch with them now?”
He nodded down at his leg. “Probably for good.”
Too obviously, Lucette gave a relieved sigh. She quickly looked away from the leg and said stiltedly, “Sally’s hoping for great things. I hope it won’t take too long.”
“So do I,” said Mike. “Shall we order drinks?”
But just then Lucette’s French captain, complete with his cute moustache, clicked his heels and bowed at her side. She made a hurried introduction, slipped a confiding arm into the crook of his elbow and tripped away with him.
Mike stared after her. “You’re right, Sally. She’s some girl.”
“I’m afraid she’d already made the date when I got back this afternoon.”
“That’s all right. She likes her men whole and handsome.”
“Now, Mike!” Sally looked round quickly for a waiter. “What will you have?”
They ordered, and Sally wished to heaven she hadn’t come down with Lucette. She tried several topics and got nowhere, she hoped for Tony, but there was no sign of him.
Mike seemed to guess at her thoughts, for he said, ‘Tony’s out tonight. There’s a bachelor party at Le Perroquet.”
“Oh. Does Cécile Vaugard sing at that kind of binge?”
“No, she’s upstage about them. They’ve probably put the party on purposely, while she’s away.”
“Is she away? I haven’t seen her about, but then I never do; she keeps to her rooms. I thought she was engaged to sing at Le Perroquet for some weeks yet.”
“So she is, but she took a week off. I don’t suppose she’s really important at the phosphate mine, but she always insists on being included in all the discussions.” Sally’s fingers curled tightly round her glass. “Do you mean she’s gone with Dane?”
“Would she miss a chance like that? The phosphate mine is miles from anywhere. They’ll both stay with the manager and his wife, and business will be generously mixed with pleasure.” As if he hadn’t said enough, Mike tacked on, “You see, they can’t really enjoy one another here at the Mirador, because she’s well known and Dane belongs here. Out at the mine they can be themselves.” Sally nodded, and said nothing. She kept a smile for Mike, but inside she felt forlorn and depleted, and there was a cold little block where her heart should be.
CHAPTER SIX
TWO days later, Lucette celebrated her twenty-second birthday. Somehow she contrived that the hotel arrange the day for her, while she basked in good wishes from the many guests with whom she had made friends, and gifts from people Sally had never heard of. Suite Seven filled with flowers and caskets of chocolates and perfume, and at lunch time the orchestra played a spectacular version of “Happy Birthday to You.” Lucette received homage as if she were a naughty princess, and issued a general invitation for dancing and a special buffet from ten o’clock onwards.
Miraculously, a gigantic birthday cake appeared that night in the entrance to the transformed dining room. When Lucette exclaimed her rapture, Pierre de Chalain explained that it was Dane’s gift in his absence.
Lucette sparkled at Sally. “There! I told Dane the date of my birthday only once, and he remembered it! He actually left instructions for the cake to be prepared for today. And you say he hasn’t a soul above business!” Pierre smiled. “Perhaps you two mademoiselles each see a different Dane. To you, Mademoiselle Lucette, he is a man and not an employer. Our good Miss Yorke would not wish to appeal to his senses.”
Sally lifted her shoulders in reply to the rather challenging statement; her gesture was part of the bright shell she was growing. She said conventionally, “You’ve had the room beautifully decorated, monsieur. I always wonder where the tables and carpets disappear to on these occasions.”
He answered charmingly, “That is a little of the art of hotel-keeping, mademoiselle. We have our secrets.” The orchestra began to play and he beamed upon the performers before turning back to Sally. “You will permit me the pleasure of the first dance?”
“I’d be delighted.”
He danced well, was as light and experienced on his feet as his son. He asked about Mike, and said that with luck the young man would be able to attend the next function which came along. Then Pierre glanced sideways at the jewelled bracelet Sally wore.
“It is an elegant trinket, mademoiselle. It was a twenty-first birthday gift, no doubt?”
“No, I’m afraid it wasn’t Lucette insisted that I should wear it tonight It’s hers.”
“So? Your friend is amazingly generous with her possessions. Her family are very rich?”
“No, they’re not. The bracelet was among some oddments left to Lucette by her grandmother. It’s all imitation stuff.”
Pierre looked at her searchingly, glanced again at the mixture of sapphires and diamonds about her wrist. “Those are not fake gems, mademoiselle,” he said quietly. “The bracelet you wear is worth at least three thousand pounds.” Sally stopped dancing abruptly, and brought up her arm to inspect the glittering ornament. Almost with horror she said, “Are you sure, monsieur? If you are, I can’t possibly wear it.”
Pierre examined it more closely. “It seems to have a good safety catch—one of the most modern. I would say there is no risk of losing it.”
“But I’m not taking the chance. Will you put it in your safe for me? I’m sure Lucette doesn’t realize how much the t
hing is worth!”
Pierre accepted the bracelet and smiled. “I would say Mademoiselle Lucette has a good idea of the value of the bracelet. She herself is wearing one as costly, and two fine rings.” He gave his deep shrug. “She has expensive tastes, that one, and it seems natural that she should own good jewellery.” He bowed. “If you will excuse me, I will lock this up at once.”
Sally nodded, and began drifting towards the long buffet tables to inspect the canapés and wines and flowers. But she was thinking of Lucette’s jewellery, several items of which still lay upstairs in the dressing table drawer. True, the drawer was locked, but it was appalling to think of the fantastic value of its contents. Staring, unseeing, at a dish heaped with oyster patties, Sally found herself wondering about Lucette. Several months ago she had written that she owned almost nothing, but she had appeared at the Mirador loaded with luxurious clothes, jewels and enough ready cash to buy a villa, if she’d wanted one. And Pierre was right; Lucette was clever enough to know genuine jewels when she saw them. She had pretended the stuff was synthetic to hoodwink Sally. But why?
Sally looked down at the soft blue frock she wore. It was simply cut and unspectacular, and she had been willing to remain as anonymous as it made her feel. But Lucette, buoyant and glossy in dark red and diamonds, had sighed and shaken her head.
“My little bracelet is the touch you need. There are earrings to match it. Please, Sally.”
Sally had refused, but in the end consented to wear only the bracelet. She had actually been stupid enough to say, “The stones look real, Lucette. I didn’t know artificial gems could be so good.”
To which Lucette had replied airily, “My grandmother had good taste. If her jewellery had to be phoney, it must be the very best phoney. It suits you, darling—takes away that clinical look you seem to carry about with you even out of uniform.”
And Sally had been disarmed.
Now she looked for Lucette, and saw her dancing with the French captain who had made a hit with his moustache. She was running three men—the Frenchman, an American tourist and a frighteningly handsome and wealthy Lebanese businessman. At the moment the other two looked on, glowering and waiting their opportunity. Sally watched, and felt a qualm. Lucette had changed from the flirtatious girl of the past into a slightly dangerous woman. And her habit of lying, apparently, had been converted into a defensive weapon of large dimensions. In schooldays she had been lovable in spite of her faults. Now she was gay and magnetic, but her most endearing quality, the kitten softness, was assumed only when she felt the need of it. Just a little, Sally was worried.
She danced with Tony, heard his plans for the repairs to the house at the date plantation, consented to help in modernizing the kitchen. A little later, when they were having drinks on the terrace, Tony was oddly quiet. He leaned close to the terrace wall and regarded Sally across the table, but seemed to have no inclination for conversation.
At last, though, he said casually, “I believe I have you to thank for the plantation, Sally. My father’s sure of it. If I asked you to become engaged to me and promise to marry me in two years, what would you say?”
Sally looked across the courtyard at the palms and the dark moving sea. “I’d say you’re in no position to propose.”
“Perhaps not, but that’s what I’m doing.”
She turned her head towards him sharply. “But, Tony, why? We like each other, but we know we’re not in love.”
He sounded a little dogged as he answered, “I could love you.”
“Could? Sounds a bit hollow. Don’t spoil, things, Tony.”
“I didn’t expect you to accept, but you needn’t be so unmoved about it” His voice lowered and he picked up a cocktail stick and traced patterns on the table. “Being responsible to Dane is going to be nerve-wearing. I’ll need someone strong and comforting. I’m a complete coward sometimes.”
“You’ll be all right once the business part of it is through and you’re living at the plantation. While I’m here I’ll back you up.” She smiled. “You don’t have to offer me marriage to be sure I’ll co-operate.”
“You’d make a sweet wife,” he said regretfully, “and the old chap knows what he’s about when he says that marriage stabilizes a man. Dane argued that if you can’t work without a wife to fall back upon, you’re a poor type. Actually, I don’t need a wife just now so much as someone I can talk to at weekends. I know that sounds horribly selfish...”
“It’s very sensible. I’ll be here at the weekends, Tony.”
“For how long?”
“Until Mike doesn’t need me any more.”
There was a brief silence. Then Tony asked, “Do you think Mike will recover without hospital treatment?”
“It’s difficult to say. Will power goes a long way, but he hasn’t much where his leg is concerned. There’s a splendid rehabilitation centre in England, but Mike has a horror of going among other cripples, even for a short time.”
“I thought he might come here tonight.”
Sally shook her head. “He can’t bear Lucette.”
“Good heavens,” said Tony, “she’s just the kind he used to fall for. That girl he was crazy about when he had the smash was of the Lucette type. He always said the black-haired beauty slipped under his skin without knowing it.”
“Possibly that’s one of the reasons he dislikes Lucette. He just doesn’t want to be reminded of the old days.” Sally smiled. “You don’t seem to make any headway with her, Tony.”
He put on his lady-killing look, leered engagingly. “I haven’t really tried—too much on my mind. In any case, I couldn’t live up to those baubles and silks she wears. And on the whole I’d say she’s a bit of an empty-brain, your Lucette.”
“It’s strange that you and Mike, the youngest element, should both find her resistible,” Sally mused. “Those types she goes out with are dreadfully sophisticated; I can’t think how she manages to handle them.”
“She could handle anything male. That’s why I keep out of her way.” As a blare of popular music played by the “hot” French-Moroccan band burst from the hotel, he winced theatrically. “Care to take a walk?”
Sally stood up and strolled with him down into the courtyard. Cars were packed in methodically on both sides, and it was necessary to walk in the centre of the drive along to the esplanade. It was one of those cool nights which invariably happen after a hot day in North Africa. The stars stood out from a smooth indigo sky, the palms were majestically still and the sea murmured over the pale sand as if loath to disturb Shiran’s serenity. An occasional white-robed figure passed along the road, and as Sally and Tony came to the pillars at the end of the driveway they became conscious of a distant fluting.
Sally was about to comment upon it when a car sped round from the esplanade. Perhaps it was instinct that flung Tony’s arm about her as they stood in the blinding beams for a moment; she felt herself pulled back so that the car could pass, was aware that it had braked as if to stop, before it purred slowly round to the foot of the hotel steps.
“Dane,” said Tony under his breath. “He was due to return tomorrow.”
Sally’s throat went tight. “Was that Cécile with him?”
“Yes. We’re back on the merry-go-round. Oh well, the peace was good while it lasted. Shall we go on?”
They wandered, almost without speaking, along the esplanade and up one of the narrow streets to the main thoroughfare. Unwittingly, they were tracing the flute, and eventually they found it, in the hands of a venerable-looking Arab who squatted in the dust with a metal bowl in front of him to catch the coins. Nearby, a male witch was brewing potions, and beyond him an acrobat turned somersaults so fast that his audience swayed as they watched.
Naphtha flares illumined the souks, where a little desultory trading still went on. The shops smelled of candles and incense, of local perfumes, of leather and cloths, clay and dye. The foods were sold by itinerant vendors, and the coffee seller, with his bright urn strapped in fron
t of him and tin cups jingling from the harness, stood on a street corner surrounded by customers. His coffee smelled good.
Tony took Sally’s arm and led her away and back towards the hotel. They passed under an arch that was faceted with mosaics, crossed a short public garden and came to one of the side gates of the Mirador grounds.
“That was pleasant,” said Sally, as they went towards the terrace. “I don’t suppose Lucette has missed us, but we ought to go in. Will you go out to the lagoon with Mike and me tomorrow?”
“I’ll tray. If I can’t make it, I’ll let you know.”
They were at the terrace doors into the dining room, blinking a little at the brilliance of the lights. The crowd were eating and dancing, laughing, chattering and drinking a great deal. And Lucette was in the centre of them.
Behind Sally, Dane said, “Your father wants you, Tony. You can leave Sally with me.”
She turned swiftly and looked up. Her heart thudded and sent blood to her cheeks, but caution kept the excited greeting from passing her lips. Instead she said evenly, “Hallo, Dane. Had a good trip?”
“So-so,” he said coolly. “Like a drink?”
“A small one, please.”
He called a waiter, told him to bring the drinks to the terrace, then moved and indicated she was to go first. For some reason he had no intention of touching her. She smiled at Tony as he left them, but within a second felt her smile fade. She felt shivery, yet her heart still beat too quickly while her pulses told her that this was Dane, who had been away for what seemed like a year. “Sit down,” he said abruptly, when they reached a screened table. “Are you warm enough?”
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