Dennis Wheatley - To The Devil A Daughter

'Hi! Have a heart!' John protested, swiftly swallowing a piece of fried courgette. `That is not very complimentary to your only begotten.'

`Do you seriously suggest that she would have preserved a virginal aloofness had she been out with any other personable young man than yourself?

'Thank you, Mumsie. The word “personable” salves my wounded pride. No, to be honest, I don't. And I think you've hit the nail on the head with this theory of yours that she is a schizo'. All the same, that does not get us any further in solving the mystery of who is after her blood, and why.'

`At least we now have good reason to suppose that the Canon is not to be trusted. No clergyman who had a proper respect for his cloth would show himself in the gambling rooms of a Casino anyhow after midnight and his being a friend of de Grasse makes him suspect in the highest degree. I wouldn't mind betting the serial rights of my next book that the story he told Christina about an accident to her father was a pack of lies, and designed solely to lure her away from her villa. Then, this invitation of de Grasse’s: he and his wife are not the sort of people to spend their time showing young girls the beauties of the Riviera. It is all Lombard Street to a china orange that the Canon put him up to asking her to St. Tropez for some nefarious purpose of his own.'

John nodded; his voice was serious now. 'I'm afraid you're right, dearest. But there is nothing we can do about it for the moment. We can only wait to see if she gets back all right and, if not, call in the police.'

That afternoon there was to be a Battle of Flowers at St. Maxime. As they had planned to go to it, they set off there immediately after lunch. The little town was only about fifteen miles away; so by half past two John had parked the car and they were installed in the seats for which Molly had already secured tickets. Their chairs were in the front row facing the sea, with only a temporary barrier of chestnut pale fence railing them off from the promenade down which the procession would come; and while they waited for it they could scarcely prevent their gaze from frequently coming to rest on the white houses of St. Tropez, which lay in the shelter of the headland just across the bay. Both of them were wondering how Christina was faring there, and although John endeavoured to engage his mother's attention, he did not succeed in doing so until the sounds of the town band in the distance heralded the beginning of the fete.

The battle was not on the grand scale of those held at Nice, Cannes and Monte Carlo; but there were nearly thirty carriages, and a lovely sight they made. The wheels, body and shafts of them all were entirely hidden by massed flowers, each seeking to outdo the others in colour, variety or originality. In most cases stocks, violets and carnations of many hues provided the ground work; while towers, trumpets, sheaves and fountains, on which were wired hundreds of roses, hyacinths, arum lilies and gladioli, surmounted the backs of the carriages. In each rode two or more young women, specially selected for their good looks. Some were displaying their charms in décolleté evening frocks or in ballet skirts below which they wore black, large mesh, fish net stockings, while others were wearing light summer dresses and big floppy hats; but in every case their toilettes had been chosen to carry out the main colour motive of their floral chariots.

In every carriage the girls had big baskets of surplus flowers, with which to pelt the onlookers, and everyone in the crowd had a supply of similar ammunition bought from the gaily dressed flower vendors. At a slow walk the colourful procession passed along between the barriers, while to and from both sides hundreds of little bunches of mimosa, stock, short stemmed narcissi and carnation heads sailed up into the bright sunlight, thrown by the laughing girls and .applauding people. To give the audience ample opportunity to enjoy the spectacle to the full, at intervals of about a quarter of an hour the procession passed and re passed three times; so it was half past four before the battle was finally concluded.

After it was over, remembering his mother's fondness for hot chocolate, John proposed that they should adjourn to a patisserie. While they were there she again became distrait. Then after a time, she suggested that they should go on to St. Tropez in case Christina was still with the de Grasses at the Capricorn; as if she were they could pretend to have run into her by chance and by offering her a lift ensure her returning safely with them.

John considered the idea for a moment, then pointed out that as she had been asked over only to lunch the probability was that she would have left a couple of hours ago, so be home by now; while if the de Grasses had persuaded her to remain with them for the afternoon it would pretty certainly have been on the excuse of taking her for a drive, or to see the town; so the odds were all against her still being at the hotel, and it seemed going a bit far to add twenty miles to their return journey for such a slender chance of finding her.

Molly thought his reasoning sound, so she did not press her suggestion. In consequence, having collected the car, instead of heading west, they headed east for home, arriving there just before six. Leaving John to put the car away, Molly went straight up to Christina's villa, hoping to find her there, and learn as soon as possible what had transpired at the lunch. But Christina was still absent.

More perturbed than ever for the girl's safety, Molly mounted the steep path to her own house, to be met in the hall by Angele, who told her that at about half past three the. English mademoiselle who lived next door had telephoned, but had left no message. When John came in they discussed the situation again, but there seemed nothing they could do, as to have appealed to the police on the bare facts that a girl had gone out to lunch with friends and failed to return home by six o'clock would have been laughable.

They had fallen into an unhappy silence when, a quarter of an hour later, the telephone rang. John answered the call, and it was Christina. A little breathlessly she said, `I tried to get you earlier this afternoon. I lunched with the de Grasses and I am still with them. We've just got back to the hotel, and I'm telephoning from the call box in the ladies' cloakroom; but we shall be going up to their private suite again in a minute. They have made me promise to stay and dine with them on their yacht. But I don't want to. Can you . . . can you possibly think of some excuse to come over here and ... and get me away from them? Please, oh please!'

'O.K.,' replied John promptly. `Was it Count Jules who collected you this morning?'

`Yes; and it was he who took me round the town this afternoon.'

`Right ! We'll be with you in three quarters of an hour. All you have to do is sit tight until we turn up, and in no circumstances fall for any pretext they may trot out with the idea of getting you to leave the hotel. Keep your chin up, and don't worry that pretty head of yours. We'll have you home in time for dinner.'

He had spoken with calm assurance, in order to quiet her evident fears; but as he replaced the receiver he felt far from confident about the outcome of the next few hours; and, while he repeated to his mother what she had said, it became even more clear to him that to get her away from the de Grasses was going to prove an extremely tricky business.

`If they once get her on their yacht it will be long odds against our ever seeing her again,' said Molly, now giving free rein to her anxiety.

He nodded glumly. `It looks as if the Marquis is at his old white slaving game again. Unless we can pull a fast one on him that poor kid may end up in Port Said or Buenos Aires.'

`Perhaps. She might, if they simply want to get rid of her. But I'm sure the Canon is behind this, and it may be that he wants to force her into doing something for some purpose of his own.'