The way they moved, their attitude, suggested it was Ritchie, Shay’s fashion model islander, and Clovis, the slick Peter Lorre look-alike. But the one I thought was Ritchie wasn’t wearing his signature bandanna, and Clovis looked bigger, fitter than I remembered.
It wasn’t until the men moved into the light that I realized I was mistaken.
I touched Montbard’s shoulder, and handed him the binoculars. “Do those two remind you of anyone?”
“Hmm. Yes… I see the similarities. Late twenties… rather nasty-looking young chaps. Same cocksure swagger. On some islands, those types are referred to as beach boys. Gigolos in many cases, not all.”
“How’s Senegal going to react if the man who seduced her works here?” I was thinking about Beryl-the same could happen to her.
“We’ve already discussed it. I told her to pretend as if she’s never seen the man before in her life. I’d be very surprised if he didn’t do the same. If spa management, or an employee, behave in any other way, it’s the same as admitting they’re the blackmailers. It won’t happen.”
I wasn’t so sure. I still hadn’t told Montbard that his exquisite actress wasn’t an actress. Not a professional actress, anyway. It was unlikely Beryl would pretend she didn’t recognize Ritchie and Clovis if they worked here.
Like the Englishman, I wore a battered old Rolex-a basic Submariner, stainless steel, no date-that I’d been given when I was nineteen. The radium-coated numerals of a Rolex have never been adequate for low light, and I had to put my eye to the crystaclass="underline" 10:07 p.m.
Getting late. I was about to remind Montbard that it was time to go, when a startling sound descended from the stars-a forlorn howling. A predacious howl, like ice on the spine. The note echoed through the tree canopy, then was absorbed by rain-forest gloom.
“Dogs,” I whispered.
“Worse than dogs,” Sir James replied, still using the binoculars. “They’re bloody young vipers if they’re anything like the others.”
He was talking about gigolos, I realized. I also realized that Isabelle Toussaint was leaving the party, suddenly in a hurry.
"SHE’S HEADING HOME,” I told Montbard. “We can follow her, but we have to start down the mountain no later than ten-thirty. That only gives us twenty minutes.” When he didn’t reply, I added, “Agreed?”
The man was toying with his Freemason’s ring again. “You run along, old sweat. I have business to attend to here. Now that the Maji Blanc is leaving, I may take the opportunity to pop down to the lodge and have a look around.”
“What?”
“It’s not as mad as you think. A well-dressed Englishman is accepted without suspicion at most social functions, no matter the circumstance. Fortunately, we are also dependably forgettable. To the uninitiated, we all sound alike, you know.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, I’ve heard it’s true.”
“I’m not talking about your accent-”
“I know, I know.” There was a sly smile in his voice. “Shadow the woman in white. Stay close. You suggested we create an emergency? I have something in mind.”
Now he was standing and taking off his shooting jacket. He folded it, put it into his bag, then surprised me by taking out a stiletto, which he fitted behind the shoulder holster that held his Walther PPK.
I said, “You plan on stabbing someone?” as he reached into his bag again. I watched him produce a white dinner jacket, which he slipped into as if standing in front of a mirror.
“I certainly hope not; I had this tailored in Hanoi. Pure silk, you know. Bugger of a job to get stains out. Ford?-” He was straightening the jacket’s lapels now. “-would you mind very much staying on post until ten forty-five? A fifteen-minute lead on a Brazilian mastiff is more than enough-even if you are slightly out of training. I’ll pull stakes no later than ten fifty-five. Or thereabouts.”
I said, “But before we make any decisions, there’s something you need to know-the actress isn’t an actress.”
I told him about Beryl. When I’d finished, he gave the situation some thought before saying, “That gorgeous woman is here posing as your fiance?”
“I have no idea. I mentioned the place in a phone message, that’s all. She’s… a resourceful woman.”
“That may make it a bit sticky for our girl Senegal, don’t you think?”
“For all of us. Maybe worse for Beryl if Ritchie and Clovis work here. She wants revenge.”
“When you say revenge, you mean-”
“I’m not sure. If she had access to a weapon, violence maybe. Beryl’s motivated. She has more reason than most.”
“I shouldn’t ask any particulars, I gather.”
“I appreciate that.”
“But do you really think she would-”
“I wouldn’t be shocked. She’s not as even-tempered as Senegal.”
“Really. Part angel, part lioness, eh?” Montbard liked that. “What a splendid creature-you can tell me more about her later. But I think Lady Beryl is actually in less danger here among the enemy, so to speak. Those two cretins won’t dare lay a hand on her while she’s a guest. And it’s all the more reason for me to slip down and mingle.”
“No way. I’m not leaving you. Let’s drop the stiff-upper-lip stuff, please.”
“Don’t be silly! This is a perfect opportunity to discover where the old girl keeps her treasures. Stick with Madame Toussaint. Keep your eyes open. If I’m not back at the boat by midnight, it simply means I’ve taken a different route down the mountain. Return to Saint Lucia without me.”
“But where will you-”
“My God, man! This won’t be the first time I’ve grabbed a bit of kip without a roof over my head. I’ll take the morning ferry and meet you for breakfast at Jade Mountain. The buffet’s excellent. Say, ten-ish? Have a Bloody Mary waiting, won’t you?”
I was rubbing my forehead, annoyed.
“Oh… a couple of details.” He was putting a fountain pen in his pocket, next a lighter. “The moment we split up, night vision is required. I have my little infrared. You have your lovely little Triad flashlight. No one will be the wiser. Swing the light side to side, it will mean stand fast, something interesting may happen. Circular motion means regroup immediately. Rapid series of dashes means danger approaching, run. Got that?”
He added, “And remember to keep your eye open for the Misericord. A secure little structure where monks were punished-it would fit with Madame Toussaint’s psychological profile.”
I said, “Someone’s compiled a profile?”
“Several dozen pages.”
“A professional?”
“I’d like to think so. I already knew a fair bit about Toussaint because of the monastery, but I really went to work on it when Senegal told me about her problem. Ample time to put together a decent profile.” Then he added, “You have no idea who I am, do you, old boy?” He said it as if he found me entertaining.
I said, “No… but I’m starting to get the picture. James? Hey
… Hooker.”
He was already moving down the hill, straightening his jacket, using fingers to neaten his silver hair. When he got to the fence, I watched him hide his bag behind a tree, then reach for something growing near a low limb. An orchid.
Sir James inserted the flower into his lapel. He patted it in place before scaling the fence.
25
I was straddling a tree limb outside Isabelle Toussaint’s chateau when I heard the man scream. It was the frantic, soprano wail of someone who was falling… or being mauled.
Sir James?
Had to be, although it was impossible to identify the voice. It was an unearthly bawling mixed with what resembled the rumble of a distant waterfall.
No… not a waterfall. It was the rumble of growling dogs.
Only five minutes earlier I’d been lying belly-down on the stone wall that enclosed the woman’s estate, when the power went out. Not just her house-the entire property, lodge and monastery included. A moment later, emergency lights blinked on. Frail blue beams in the darkness. Simultaneously, I heard a warbling siren, like a police car in an old French film. A fire alarm or a burglar alarm.