Dennis Wheatley - To The Devil A Daughter

`Still, he is a life long friend of your father's; so I'm afraid, my dear, there cannot be very much doubt about this shocking news he has brought you. It is hardly credible that he would cause you such anxiety had he not been certain of his facts.'

`Yes, I suppose so.' Christina sighed. `I think, though, I may have unconsciously misled you a little about his relationship to Father. I have always had the impression that their association is based more on some common interest than on genuine friendship. One of the occasions when I ran into him by chance was soon after we had moved into our present home, and when I told Father about it he said that should the Canon ever ask me to the Priory I was to make some excuse for not accepting. At the time I put that down to a revival of his anti Christian bias, and a fear that I might get religion, like Mother. But quite apart from that I'm pretty certain that Father does not really like him, and for some reason that I can't explain I don't either.'

`Apart from this personal prejudice, do you know anything against him?'

`No, nothing at all. In the village he is highly respected.'

`Then it doesn't seem as if he is the sort of person who would be mixed up in anything shady, or lend himself to practicing such a brutal deception on you.'

`It doesn't, does it? Yet, all the same, I feel I ought to stick to Father's orders and remain where I am.'

`What did the Canon say when you refused his offer to take you back to England to morrow?' John enquired.

`He spent quite a time trying to persuade me to change my mind, and, when I wouldn't, seemed to think me very callous.'

`What excuse did you make for digging your toes in?'

`I said I thought the friend who had written to him must have exaggerated Father's danger, and that his office would have been certain to let me know if my presence was really required in England; so I meant to remain here until I heard something more definite. I took the precaution, too, of telling him that I was living under the assumed name of Christina Mordant, and asking him not to divulge my real identity to anyone down here. Naturally he looked very surprised, but he did not ask me for a reason, and gave me his promise.'

`Clever girl,' John smiled. `There is one way you could find out about your father for certain though. Why not telephone your home or his works?'

`No, I can't do that. He said that whatever happened I was not to attempt to get him on the telephone; because, if the call was traced back, it would give away my hiding place.'

For a while longer they discussed matters without getting any further, then Molly said, `Johnny and I are going to dine in Cannes to night, and we'd like you to come with us. We thought of going to the Carlton, but if you haven't got an evening dress with you we could go to some quieter place.'

`It's terribly kind of you,' Christina hesitated a second, `but I don't think I ought to. It doesn't seem right somehow, as there is a possibility that Father may be dying.'

`Just as you like, my dear; but I think it is a great mistake ever to anticipate the worst, and that you would be much wiser to let us take you out and try to cheer you up, rather than stay at home brooding about unhappy possibilities. I won't press you, but should you change your mind, as you did last night, we shall be leaving about half past seven.'

Christina did change her mind, and returned at twenty past seven dressed to accompany them to the Carlton. As she stepped from the half darkness of the garden into the lighted room, both Molly and John had difficulty in hiding their astonishment. She was wearing a long frock of oyster satin. It was backless, strapless and low cut, to display her good neck and shoulders to the best advantage, but at the moment she had draped over them a short cape of dark skunk. Neither of them had seen her before in anything but very ordinary and rather girlish day clothes; so the difference in her appearance was quite striking. It made her look several years older and entirely sophisticated a change that was further stressed by a new expression in her face and a much brisker manner.

Molly was thinking, `I wonder where she learned to dress like this? It can only have been at her finishing school in Paris. That must be quite a place ! I'll swear the scent she has got on is by Dior. Too old for her pity she didn't choose something a little less exotic. Her father may have neglected her, but he certainly isn't mean with her about money. The little number she's got on must have cost a packet.'

John's mind was running on the lines, `Gee whiz ! Call that nothing ! And after lunch I thought she looked like Skinny Lizzy, the sixth form's tallest girl. All the same she must be darn near as tall as I am. If the mind under that brown hair fits this evening's turnout she won't prove as dumb as I feared. Anyhow, if we see anyone I know I shan't be accused of cradle snatching.'

At the moment he was shaking a cocktail, and producing a third glass he said, `Can't I tempt you?'

`Why not?' she replied lightly. `When the drinks were offered round at our social evenings in Paris, we girls were only allowed to take sherry; but I suppose one must make a start on the hard liquor some time. You must warn me, though, if you think I am getting tight.'

He laughed. `As a confirmed drunk myself I should certainly lead you astray if I got the chance, but you can rely on my Mama to provide a restraining influence.'

Soon after eight they were in Cannes. As it was the height of the winter season the big restaurant at the Carlton was quite crowded. Everyone was in evening dress and at the many tables one could hear spoken every language outside the Iron Curtain. French and Americans predominated, but there were Indians and Egyptians, as well as Swiss, Belgians and Scandinavians. The only major nation ill represented for its size was Britain, but as an acid commentary on mismanagement after victory the richer citizens of the defeated nations, Germany and Italy, were back again in force, enjoying themselves once more. The fact that champagne cost £4 a bottle did not prevent its flowing freely. The scene was glittering, the service excellent ,and the menu a triumph in gastronomic art. Nothing more could have been desired to ensure a gay and happy evening.

Yet, before they were half way through dinner, Molly was conscious that her little party was a flop. Johnny and Christina seemed to have nothing in common except an unhappy inability to do full justice to the good things set before them. Neither had anything but a vague recollection of the time when food had not been rationed in England, and so many years of meagre feeding had reduced the capacity of their stomachs to a point where they were incapable of containing more than would sustain life. Johnny was the worst affected, as he had eaten an exceptionally large lunch and, although he was not particularly greedy by nature, it irritated him not to be able to enjoy all the rich dishes which would normally have been such a treat; while Christina, who had also found herself defeated after the second course, was obviously worried that she might give offence to her hostess, as she kept on apologizing for only toying with the rest of her dinner.

In addition to this unsatisfactory state of things, Molly found herself quite unable to get a spark going between them. They had no mutual friends, had been brought up in totally different surroundings, and seemed to have no tastes in common. Johnny, she could see, was suffering from indigestion, and although the girl had drunk two glasses of champagne, her tongue showed no signs of being loosened by the wine.

When the time came for them to have coffee, she was commiserating with herself on the failure of this expensive evening, and thinking how much simpler it would have been to draw them out had she had either of them alone. It was only then the thought struck her that the barrier between them was almost certainly herself. All men, she knew, loved to talk about themselves, but Johnny would not do so in front of her for obvious reasons; and if they were alone the girl, no doubt, would trot out her little stock of airs and graces, but not with his mama looking on.