Quest for Alexis Read online

  “Stop it,” I shouted. “I won’t listen to you.”

  “That was always your trouble, Gail. You never would listen. You just jump to conclusions.”

  “Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing about Alexis?”

  “No, I’m merely facing facts. I suppose you realize that he’s hopped it with the loot from his book. I gather he was paid a gigantic fee for the newspaper rights.”

  “Yes, and you know why, too. Alexis has always needed every penny he could scrape together to help his refugees. These people arrive here destitute and need to be put on their feet again and found somewhere to live. It all takes a great deal of money.” I checked myself, knowing I was being tactless in front of Rudi.

  “It’s all right, Gail,” he said quietly. “I haven’t forgotten how much I owe Alexis Karel. And I never will—whatever is being said about him now, whatever may come to light. His life hasn’t been easy, always having to worry more about others than about himself—and Belle is a very attractive woman.” He glanced at Brett, then back at me, a desperate appeal for understanding in his eyes. “Is Alexis so much to blame for snatching at happiness?”

  “There’s just the little matter of deserting a wife who went through hell on his account,” Brett pointed out viciously. “That’s hardly going to endear him to the people who regarded him as a national hero. Not just Czechs but millions of people all over the world. People like my father.”

  “I feel dreadful about Sir Ralph,” I admitted miserably. “I know how all this has upset him. But you’re wrong, all of you, in what you think about Alexis. I don’t believe he’s gone off with Belle Forsyth—at least, not in the way you mean. There’s some mistake, there must be—and I’m going to find out the truth.”

  “Such blind faith is touching,” said Brett. “It’s a pity you don’t apply it to everyone.”

  Even now I was shocked to see the cold scorn in Brett’s eyes. I had been imagining he was indifferent to me, but it was still war between us. Brett was making it clear there would be no forgiveness. No truce, even.

  In the months since we parted, I had forgiven Brett a thousand times—and instantly hardened my heart once more. It had been so flagrant, his relationship with Elspeth Vane.

  Brett had never denied the fact that they had been lovers but it was nothing serious for either of them, he insisted, and over and done with before we met again, in England. Painful though it was to know about their love affair, I tried to accept the fact, to reconcile myself to it. To believe Brett when he told me it was a thing of the past. But unceasingly I was filled with terror that, compared to Elspeth Vane, he must find me naive and ordinary.

  Elspeth had so much to offer a man. She was tall and slender, with delicately molded features and raven black hair. As if such looks weren’t enough for anyone to be blessed with, she was a career woman of exceptional ability. Within a very short time she had thrust to the top of the younger generation of television producers. Brett had admitted to me frankly that he would rather work with Elspeth than any other producer, male or female.

  “She’s brilliant, Gail,” he said more than once. “She can grasp a vague idea of mine and translate it into crisp filmic terms. I admire her work enormously. But you don’t have to worry, darling. To Elspeth, the job and ... and her private life are two things apart. We work together now purely as colleagues. Honestly.”

  I tried hard to believe him, to trust him completely. I fought to suppress the flushes of jealousy that swept me. But my constant feeling of inadequacy resulted in angry, bitter scenes. The final showdown between us was inevitable.

  They had been making a TV film on Richard Cobden and the free-traders—Brett and Elspeth, the cameraman and the sound recordist who made up the team. They were due back in London one Friday after being up in Manchester for a couple of weeks, and Brett and I had a date for the same evening.

  The previous evening I’d been working late, revising copy for the Sandalwood Cosmetics autumn campaign. As I stepped off the escalator at the Oxford Circus tube station, by sheer blind chance I bumped into Eddie Fox, the cameraman.

  “Eddie, what are you doing back in town? I thought you weren’t finishing in Manchester until tomorrow.”

  He grinned at me cheerfully. “We got through the last few takes quicker than we expected, and Elspeth said we might as well pack it in and have a long weekend off.”

  My heart began to pound. Why on earth had I chosen this one evening to stay late at work? Brett might be at my apartment at this very moment, or trying to ring me. Calling a hasty goodbye to Eddie over my shoulder, I rushed onto the platform and just managed to jump on a train before the doors closed.

  It was a long evening, waiting for Brett. As my phone stayed unbelievably silent, I lifted it several times to convince myself it was still working. At nine-thirty I dialed the number of Brett’s apartment, but there was no answer.

  Slowly, suspicion crawled into my mind. I suppose it had always been there, deep down, but at last I could fight it no longer. Hating myself for what I was doing, I rang the hotel in Manchester where the team had been staying.

  “Is Mr. Brett Warrender there, please?”

  The night clerk didn’t hesitate. “Hold on, please, and I’ll put you through to his room.”

  I heard a low-pitched buzz, a click, then a woman’s voice, unmistakably Elspeth’s voice. Cool, crisp, confident.

  I was too numbed to say anything, and after a moment she began to get irritable. “Hello ... who is it? There’s something the matter with this damn phone, Brett.”

  I heard him say, “Give it to me, then. Hello ...”

  As if it were an intricate action to perform, I put the phone back on its cradle. I don’t remember going to bed that night, but I suppose I must have. Somehow, feeling drained and exhausted, I got myself to the office next day and pretended to work. In the evening, Brett came around to the apartment as if nothing in the world was wrong. He looked surprised at the state I was in.

  “Darling, what’s the matter?”

  I had to force the words out because my throat was tight and choked. “You stayed in Manchester last night!”

  “That’s right,” he said easily. “I told you—remember?”

  “But you finished filming a day early. I know that because I ran into Eddie.”

  Brett’s face became a mask, giving nothing away. When he spoke, his voice was clipped and distant.

  “We finished ahead of schedule, so the team came back to town. I stayed on overnight because an old boy who’s some sort of descendant of Richard Cobden insisted on laying on a little dinner party. He’d been so helpful, digging out a lot of historical facts, that I could hardly refuse.”

  I said stingingly, “I notice you carefully avoided any mention of Elspeth.”

  Brett stared at me, and a faint color crept into his face. After a long pause, he said heavily, “I didn’t mention Elspeth because I knew how you’d react, Gail. I’m sick to death of this crazy jealousy of yours. It’s completely insane.”

  “Insane? I was insane ever to trust you.”

  He threw back his head and laughed mirthlessly. “You’ve never trusted me for a single instant, Gail— not since I first told you about Elspeth. You’re too damn possessive—that’s your trouble. You resent every moment I’m not with you, every last second I’m not at your beck and call.”

  I went cold with fear at the storm I’d unleashed. I had never suspected this depth of resentment in Brett. Desperately, I wished I could go back, back to yesterday, to the time before my meeting with Eddie. I had been happy then, and I longed to wipe the past twenty-four hours from my mind.

  Perhaps if Brett could convince me that I’d been wrong...

  I said, “If ... if you can give me your solemn word that you and Elspeth weren’t... that you didn’t...”

  His face went dark. “No, I won’t give you my solemn word. You can bloody well take me on trust, or we might as well finish. It’s up to you.”

 
We were suddenly caught in a knot of silent fury, glowering at each other, hating each other. Confronting Brett, I felt pitifully small and vulnerable. I could only think of hitting back at him.

  “All right then, we’ll finish,” I heard myself say in a shrill voice. “If that’s the way you want it—goodbye.”

  Turning my back on him, I stared out of the window, seeing nothing through the mist of my tears. Brett said my name softly. I stayed quite still, not looking round. A moment later he flung out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I heard his footsteps on the stairs, the street door closing. I heard his car start up and drive away, and it seemed as if Brett had abandoned me, wounded and bleeding.

  Opposite, down on the pavement, some people were laughing.

  * * * *

  Now, in a different room, a different time, we stared at each other and relived the bitterness of that last quarrel. Then, abruptly, Brett walked past me to the door.

  “It’s a waste of time trying to argue with you,” he said. “My father tells me you have some idiotic plan to go rushing off to Majorca. What earthly good do you think that will do?”

  “I have to go,” I said. “To get at the truth.”

  “You know the truth, Gail, only you won’t accept it. Don’t be such a fool. Think of Madeleine and stay here.”

  “I am thinking of Madeleine,” I cried. “You don’t imagine I want to leave her at a time like this, for goodness sake. But I must, can’t you see?”

  Brett stood in the doorway, looking back at me. His eyes were cold, his mouth set in a hard straight line.

  “If you’re really determined to go, Gail,” he said at last, “then I’ll come with you.”

  Beside me, Rudi couldn’t have been more astonished than I was myself. Brett didn’t wait for me to answer but walked out into the hall, remarking over his shoulder, “You’d better let me know what you decide.”

  Rudi turned to me and said uneasily, “He was telling me, just before you came downstairs, about your plan to go to Majorca. Is it wise, Gail? I don’t see what you can hope to achieve.”

  “What can I hope to achieve by doing nothing? At least I shall have done my best. I’m going, Rudi—I’ve made up my mind. Don’t try and argue me out of it, please.”

  “Brett means what he says, you know. If you insist on going, he’ll go with you.”

  “No, I won’t let him.”

  “How can you prevent him? Please, Gail, why don’t you drop the whole idea? I can’t bear to think of you being hurt.”

  “I’m hurt already, Rudi. It can’t be any worse than it is now. But I don’t intend to have Brett tagging along. I’ll have to think of some way of stopping him.”

  Rudi was frowning. “Why does he want to go with you, Gail?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “He was in love with you once. Perhaps he still feels the same way?”

  I laughed shakily. “Oh no, it’s not that. Brett doesn’t care about me or Alexis or anyone else—except himself. He’s just angry because that wretched film of his is ruined, and he thinks he’s been made a fool of.”

  “Suppose ... suppose I told him you had changed your mind about going? I know he’s got to return to London this evening, and if he thinks you’re not going to Majorca after all, you’ll be able to slip away in the morning without Brett realizing.”

  “Oh, Rudi, would you really? I’d be so grateful.”

  He smiled ruefully. “You know I’d do anything for you, Gail. I’m dead set against the idea of you going at all, but if you must go, then I’d rather he wasn’t with you.”

  * * * *

  Caterina, in her typically generous and thoughtful way, had sent Jenny through with a message that I wasn’t to bother about preparing a meal as she would provide something for us. Promptly at seven-thirty her cook, Mary, appeared with a laden cart—a roast chicken and all the trimmings and a lemon mousse for dessert. But in spite of the excellent food, dinner was an uncomfortable meal for me.

  Madeleine was there; she always came down to the dining room in the evening unless she was feeling particularly unwell. Freda Aiken sat with us too, making not the slightest effort to help while I served the meal. An agency nurse who knew her rights.

  How different she was from Belle Forsyth! Belle, much more than a nurse-companion, had become virtually the housekeeper at Deer’s Leap, always ready and willing to turn her hand to whatever needed doing. And she was a good cook, too.

  I had liked Belle in every way. I found it almost as difficult to believe that she had ruthlessly deserted her patient as that Alexis had deserted his wife. And yet...

  Tonight, the atmosphere around the table was edgy, none of us talking very much. It was as if we were all watching and waiting. There was one awkward moment when Madeleine turned to me, saying, “Gail, dear, you didn’t tell me where it is you’re going tomorrow.”

  “Oh, didn’t I?” I hated having to lie to her. Poor Madeleine was so trusting that it was pathetically easy. “I’ve got to go up to London. It’s an awful bore, but a rush job has cropped up.”

  She smiled at me sorrowfully. “It’s really not fair, is it, darling? That firm of yours gives you a holiday, and then they expect you to go to the London office and work.”

  Across the table, Freda Aiken smirked at me, as if we were sharing some private joke. It made me feel tainted. Obviously, from her expression, she knew all about where I was going—and why. I wondered whether Rudi had told her, or if she’d picked it up as gossip from Jenny next door.

  “I’ll try not to be away for long, Madeleine,” I said. “I’ll be back just as soon as I can.”

  “And then you’ll stay for a proper holiday, won’t you? I expect Alexis will be home when you get back, and we’ll have a lovely time together.”

  * * * *

  That night I slept fitfully. After four months in New York I had forgotten the deep nocturnal silence of the countryside. Not an empty silence, but filled with tiny rustlings and stealthy movements. Every twig that brushed another could be heard, every drip of water, the faint far-off murmur of a passing car. I found myself breathing shallowly, trying to listen. But for what? I was glad when morning came at last.

  I went down early to get myself some breakfast. While I was filling the kettle for coffee, the back door opened and Mrs. Cramp came walking in. She was a thin, shrewish woman in her forties, the latest of a string of domestic helps. Since Deer’s Leap was rather isolated, it was difficult to get anyone to come the three and a half miles from the nearest village. Mrs. Cramp used a motor scooter, riding it in a curiously awkward, upright fashion.

  “Oh, you’re back then!” she said, taking off her coat to reveal a flowered apron tied tightly around her middle. “It’s a funny business about your uncle, isn’t it? He didn’t seem the type to me, but you can never tell with men, can you? I wouldn’t trust any man as far as I could throw him.” She hung her coat on a hook behind the door and patted her mousy hair. “What’s going to happen to Mrs. Karel, then?”

  She would have settled down to a nice juicy chat, but I had no intention of discussing the situation with her.

  “I’ll be out of your way in a minute,” I said, dropping a slice of bread into the toaster. “I’ve got a plane to catch, so I’m in rather a hurry.”

  Affronted, she went to the broom closet and started making a clatter. I shrugged and sat down to eat my breakfast hurriedly at the alcove table, scanning through the copy of the Times that I’d picked up in the hall. The news about Alexis was played down. But I wondered uneasily what the popular papers would be making of it.

  There was something I had to do before saying goodbye to Madeleine—something I found embarrassingly difficult in the circumstances.

  Caterina was an early riser, and, as expected, I found her in their small breakfast room, alone. She was wearing a purple silk housecoat trimmed with gold and looked very splendid. Caterina, watching her figure, always kept to the light Continental breakfast, just rolls and butter
and fruit conserve, and there was a delicious aroma of freshly made coffee. She greeted me with a warm smile.

  “Gail, my dear! Will you join me? Ralph won’t be down for at least another half hour.”

  She spoke artlessly, too kind to be making a deliberate point. But it was just further confirmation that Sir Ralph’s feelings about Alexis were reflected in his attitude to me. Caterina knew he wouldn’t welcome my company at the moment.

  “Thank you,” I said, “but I’ve just had my breakfast. In any case I mustn’t stop. I’ll have to be off soon to catch the plane.”

  She stopped pouring coffee to glance at me, puzzled. “The plane?”

  “Yes—to Palma.”

  “But, Gail, we understood from Brett that you had given up the idea of going. Rudi told him. Ralph and I were so relieved.”

  “Yes, well ...” I said uneasily. “I’ve decided I will go after all. That’s why I’ve come to see you, actually. Caterina, I hate having to impose on you when you’ve been so wonderfully good already. I know how this whole business has upset you and Sir Ralph. But, you see, I shall worry dreadfully about Madeleine while I’m away.”

  Putting down her coffee cup, Caterina stood up and took my two hands in hers.

  “My dear—of course! We cannot allow poor Madeleine to suffer any more than she must. I shall watch over her with the greatest care, Gail. You need have no fear of that.”

  “Oh thank you, Caterina. That makes me a lot happier in my mind. You don’t know what a consolation it is to me, to feel that you are right next door. I am not much impressed by that new nurse.”

  “How are you getting to London Airport?” she asked.

  “By train. I’m going back now to ring for a taxi to take me to the station.”

  “No, no, no.” She shook her head emphatically. “I’ll drive you.”

  “But I can’t allow you to do that.”

  She looked at me reproachfully. “We are friends, Gail, you and I, are we not? Please don’t let this terrible trouble change our relationship. It’s true that I think you are unwise to go chasing after your uncle, but if you have made up your mind, then please let me do you this small service.”