ROBBINS Harold - The Carpetbaggers

"Did Amru Singh also tell you how one goes about kissing a girl who is standing on her head?" he asked with a smile.

"No," she answered. A mischievous smile came over her face. "I thought of that myself!" She arched her back quickly and moved her legs.

He laughed aloud. There was no mistaking the invitation of the Y she made against the wall. He bent forward quickly, placing his head between her outstretched legs, and kissed her.

She collapsed on the floor in laughter. "It is good to hear you laugh," he said. "You did not laugh much at first."

"I wasn't happy at first."

"And you are happy now?" he asked.

The laughter was still in her eyes as she looked up at him. "Very happy." She was a very different person from the dazed girl he had seen that night several months ago. He remembered the telephone ringing beside his bed.

"Monsieur Deschamps?" a deep, quiet voice had asked.

" Oui ?" he replied, still half asleep.

"My apologies for disturbing your rest," the voice continued, in French with a peculiar British and yet not quite British accent. "My name is Amru Singh. I am with a friend of yours, Mademoiselle Rina Marlowe. She needs your help."

He was awake now. "Is it serious?"

"Quite serious," Amru Singh replied. "Mademoiselle Bradley had an accident. She was killed in a fall and the police are being very difficult."

"Let me speak with Mademoiselle Marlowe."

"Unfortunately, she is in no position to come to the telephone. She is in a state of complete shock."

"Where are you?"

"At the studio of Monsieur Pavan, the sculptor. You know the place?"

"Yes," Jacques answered quickly. "I will be there in half an hour. In the meanwhile, do not let her talk to anyone."

"I have already seen to that," Amru Singh said. "She will not speak with anyone until you arrive."

Jacques did not quite understand what Amru Singh had meant until he saw Rina's ashen face and the blank look in her eyes. The police had efficiently isolated her in the small dressing room of the studio.

"Your friend seems to be in a very bad state of shock, monsieur," the Inspector said when Jacques introduced himself. "I have sent for a doctor."

Jacques bowed. "You are very kind, Inspector. Perhaps you can tell me what happened? I just arrived, in response to a telephone call from a mutual friend."

The Inspector gestured broadly. "It is nothing but routine, Monsieur. Mademoiselle Bradley fell down the stairs. We require only a statement from Mademoiselle Marlowe, who was the only person with her at the time."

Jacques nodded. There must be more to it than that, he thought. Or why would Amru Singh have sent for him? "May I go into the dressing room?"

The Inspector bowed. "Of course, monsieur."

Jacques entered the small room. Rina was seated on a small chair, half hidden behind a tall man wearing a turban.

"Monsieur Deschamps?"

Jacques bowed. "At your service, Monsieur Singh." He glanced at Rina. She didn't seem to see him.

When Amru Singh spoke, his voice was soft, as if he were speaking to a child. "Your friend Monsieur Deschamps is here, mademoiselle."

Rina looked up, her eyes blank, unrecognizing.

Jacques looked at Amru Singh questioningly. The man's dark eyes were inscrutable. "I was at the scene of the accident, Monsieur Deschamps. She was very upset and seemed under a compulsion to accept blame for her friend's accident."

"Did she have anything to do with it?" Jacques asked.

"As I already explained to the police," Amru Singh said blandly, "nothing I saw led me to think so."

"What did she say to them?"

"I thought it best that she not speak with them," Amru Singh replied.

"Are you a doctor?"

"I am a student, monsieur," Amru Singh replied.

Jacques looked up at him. "Then how were you able to keep her from speaking to the police?"

Amru Singh's face was impassive. "I told her not to."

"And she obeyed?" Jacques asked.

Amru Singh nodded. "There was little else she could do."

"May I speak to her?"

"If you wish," Amru Singh answered. "But I suggest someplace other than here. They would perhaps misconstrue what she might say."

"But the police have already sent for a doctor," Jacques said. "Will he not- "

Amru Singh smiled. "The doctor will merely confirm that she is in shock."

Which was exactly what the doctor did. Jacques turned to the Inspector. "If you will permit me, Inspector, I shall escort Mademoiselle Marlowe to her home. I will bring her down to your office tomorrow afternoon, after her own physician has attended her, to make a statement."

The Inspector bowed.

In the taxi, Jacques leaned forward and gave the driver Rina's address.

"I think it would be better if Mademoiselle Marlowe were not to go to her own apartment," Amru Singh said quickly. "There is much there to remind her of her late friend."

Jacques thought for a moment, then gave the driver his other address.

Amru Singh walked into the apartment and Rina followed him docilely. Jacques closed the door behind them. Amru Singh led her to a chair. He gestured and she sat down. "I have taken away my shoulder," he said quietly. "I can no longer speak for you. You must speak now for yourself."

Rina raised her head slowly. Her eyes were blinking as if she were awakening from a deep sleep. Then she saw him.

Instantly, the tears rushed to her eyes. She flung herself into his arms. "Jacques! Jacques!" she cried. "I knew you would come!"

She began to sob, her body trembling against him. The words kept tumbling from her lips in wild, disjointed sentences.

"Shh," he whispered soothingly, holding her. "Don't be afraid. Everything will be all right."

He heard the door open and close behind him. He turned his head slightly. Amru Singh was gone.

The following day, they went to the Inspector's office. From there, they went to her flat and moved her things to his apartment. Two nights later, when he had come into the apartment unexpectedly, Amru Singh rose from a chair.

"Amru Singh is my friend," Rina said hesitantly.

Jacques looked at her, then at the Indian. He stepped forward quickly, his hand outstretched. "If he is your friend," he said, "then he is my friend, also."

The Indian's white teeth flashed in a smile as their hands met in a warm clasp. From that time until now, the three of them had dinner together at least once a week.

Jacques turned the key in the door. He stepped aside to let Rina enter, then followed her into the bedroom. As soon as she entered, she kicked off her shoes. She sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing her feet. "Ah, that feels good."

He knelt in front of her and massaged her foot. He smiled up at her. "You were very beautiful tonight."

She looked at him mischievously. " Monsieur le Ministre thought so," she teased. "He said if I should ever consider another liaison, to keep him in mind."

"The old lecher!" Jacques swore. "He must be all of eighty years old – and at the Opera, too!"

She got up from the bed and took her dress off, then seated herself, yoga fashion, on the floor. Her legs were crossed under her, her arms formed a square in front of her chest.

"What are you doing?" he asked in surprise.

"Preparing for meditation," she answered. "Amru Singh says that five minutes' meditation before going to sleep relieves the mind and the body of all its tensions."

He removed the studs from his shirt and placed them on the dresser. He watched her in the mirror. "It would be very easy for me to become jealous of Amru Singh."

"That would make me very unhappy," she said seriously. "For then I would have to stop seeing Amru."

"You would do that for me?"

"Of course," she said. "I love you. He is only my friend, my teacher."