Dennis Wheatley: The White Witch of the South Seas

It was close on seven o'clock in the morning when he left her. They had agreed to meet downstairs for drinks at midday, then lunch together. Back in his own room he hardly gave a thought to the prophecy that his life was drawing swiftly to a close. He had been faced with probable sudden

death too often, and physically he felt not exhausted but wonderfully relaxed. Having cleaned his teeth and telephoned down to be called at eleven o'clock, he got into bed. Within five minutes he was sound asleep.

Manon had also ordered her cafe complet to be brought to her at eleven o'clock. Having munched a croissant, she poured her coffee, lit a cigarette and lay back to think.

Like a happy cat that has licked up all the cream, she smiled at her memories of the hours Gregory had spent in her bed. Within ten minutes of meeting him the previous evening she had made up her mind to get him if she could. She had been telling the truth when she said it was not her custom to hop into bed with men after only a brief acquaintance; but she was glad, in this case, that circumstances had enabled her to do so without loss of face.

Idly, she compared Gregory with Pierre, her current lover, and could not decide which was the more physically satisfying. Mentally, she found Gregory the more stimulating companion, but that might be because he was still like a book of which she had turned only the first page. In any case, Pierre was far away in Tahiti, so she would not be plagued by jealous scenes owing to their coming into collision.

Pierre certainly had his points as a lover, but the social graces were not among them. He would have had little chance of penetrating circles that she could hope to without difficulty; that was why she had reluctantly agreed to go to Rio for him. All had gone well. She had succeeded in making the personal contact he had considered so important and had good hopes now that the venture in which they were engaged would prove successful. If it did not, she thought bleakly, she would be in a fine mess.

Manon 's besetting sin was extravagance. It had plagued her all her life, yet she never seemed to be able to control her impulse to squander money. Building a house on one of the outer islands of the Fiji group had been sheer madness. But for that, she would still be receiving a handsome income. As it was, ferrying the material over from Suva alone had cost a fortune. If the gamble that Pierre had persuaded her to finance failed she would have to sell the house, and how many people would want to buy a handsome property in such a remote place? She would be lucky if she saw a quarter of her money back. And what then? Unless they were successful she would be reduced to living on a pittance. She shuddered.

The thought of money brought her back to the present. She would never have gone to the expense of this trip to Rio had it not been essential to scare off the Brazilian. Anyway, she should have had more sense than to stay at this grande luxe hotel; yet, after all, how could she have brought herself to live, even for a week, at some shoddy pension?

She had booked a passage back to Tahiti for two days hence, but now this exciting Englishman had come on the scene. And she had gathered from something Patricia Wellesley had said that he was extremely rich. Somehow she must find the money to stay on for a while. If need be, she could sell a ring.

Suddenly it came back to her that Gregory was doomed to die within twenty four hours. Could that possibly be true? Fortune tellers often made false predictions. Yet the old man had been terrifyingly accurate about herself. He had told her she would have a new lover, had spoken of another with whom she had financial ties, which fitted Pierre and, quel horreur, had dragged up from the past the fact that she had killed Georges. At the memory of how she killed him, another shudder ran through her. Thrusting the thought from her mind, she jumped out of bed and ran herself a bath.

The Copacabana Palace formed a huge quadrilateral built round a large swimming pool. Three of its sides were many storeys high and looked down on the pool or across the fourth, much lower side, to the sea. This fourth side faced the promenade and contained the reception hall, bars, restaurant and grill room. But a wide terrace ran all round the pool and along it were set tables, under gaily coloured umbrellas, at which guests could take their meals in the open while watching the bathers.

A little before twelve o'clock, Gregory, dressed in a bright blue open necked shirt and a freshly pressed suit of pale fawn linen, secured one of the tables just outside the bar and ordered himself a Planter's Punch. His four hours' sleep had considerably refreshed him, although he admitted to himself that at his age he could not stand up to a succession of nights like that just passed. Having gratefully downed the first half of his drink, he smiled cynically to himself at the thought that it looked as though he would net be called on to do so.

Manon did not put in an appearance until nearly half past twelve. She looked as fresh as a daisy and came towards him with the faintly swaggering air of a woman who is extremely chic and knows it. The scarlet dress she was wearing suited her dark hair and bronzed skin to perfection. The skirt was short and flaring, displaying her admirable legs, and the bodice had a deep `V', showing the valley between her full breasts. Gregory would have bet good money that she had very little on beneath the dress; but the heat from the sun blazing almost directly overhead was excuse enough for that, and most of the people sitting nearby were wearing only bikinis or bathing shorts.

Seeing the circumstances in which they had parted only a few hours before, it was quite natural that anyone who observed them exchanging greetings would have taken them for old friends, but in fact they knew next to nothing about each other; and within a few minutes of Manon's having been provided with a drink, she said

`I gave up blushing long ago, but if I hadn't I would now at the thought of what happened last night, and that we're practically strangers. I don't even know if you're married.'

He looked a little surprised at the question, then shook his head. `No; I lost my wife some years ago.'

`Well,' she smiled, `men have been known to travel without their wives and, er… How did you lose her?'

`We were guests with several other people on a private yacht owned by an old friend of mine, Sir Pellinore Gwaine-​Cust, enjoying a round the world cruise. One night, on the run up from Tahiti to Hawaii, the yacht struck an uncharted reef that ripped her bottom out. It was all over in a few minutes and a high sea was running. Everyone aboard except myself was drowned, and I was washed up on a remote island."

`How awful for you. Were you very devoted to her?'

`Very. I still miss her terribly.'

`Had you been married to her long?'

`Since the end of the war, and we had been lovers from within a few weeks of its beginning.'

`Why didn't you marry her before, then?

'For one thing she was already married. For another, there were various complications, which made it next to impossible for her to get a divorce.'

`Do tell me about her.'

Gregory shook his head. `No, my dear. The history of an old love would only bore you.'

`It certainly would not. You are a fascinating person and I want to know every single thing about you.'

He grinned at her. `Then we are two fascinating persons. All right, if you insist. But let's order lunch first.'

When they had studied the long menu the waiter brought them, Gregory decided on cold bisque hotnard and poulet Duc de Bourgoyne; Manon on melon, followed by a tour nedos done rare and a caju ice.

`I think I could manage an ice, too,' he said. `But what is caju?'

`Cashew,' she replied. `But this isn't made from the nuts. It is flavoured with the fresh fruit of the plant, and it's delicious.'