There was little doubt who he was. The handsome aristocratic face, the easy poise, spoke of a man who was supremely aware of the fact that God had created the de Beaumonts first.
“Such a nice surprise,” she was saying.
“Pure luck that I passed, I assure you. I was trying out my new speedboat.” De Beaumont raised her hand to his mouth. “My dear Anne, you grow more delightful each time I see you.”
She coloured charmingly and the General cut in: “And now that we’ve got you won’t get away so easily. You must come to dinner tonight. It’s been far too long.”
“Please do,” Anne said.
He shrugged, still holding her hand. “How can I refuse?”
Raoul Guyon was standing with Fiona beside the deckhouse and Anne turned towards him. “Have you met Monsieur Guyon?”
“I have indeed,” de Beaumont said. “I’ve been looking at these delightful sketches he’s done of the General. If he can spare the time perhaps you could persuade him to come across to St. Pierre one day and sketch me?”
“A pleasure,” Guyon said.
Anne turned towards Mallory. “And this is Mr. Neil Mallory. He’s running the boat for us for a month or two till Fiona and I get used to things.”
De Beaumont stood for a moment, looking towards Mallory, and then he slowly removed his sun-glasses. His eyes were a strange, metallic blue and very cold, no warmth in them at all, and yet something moved there, something that instantly put Mallory on the alert.
“Mr. Mallory.” De Beaumont held out his hand.
Mallory took it and the grip tightened. The Frenchman looked into his eyes for a long moment, then turned back to Anne.
“And now I must go. At what time this evening?”
“Seven,” she said. “We’ll look forward to seeing you.”
He went down the ladder into the speedboat and nodded to Jacaud. The engine roared into life and the boat turned away in a surge of power.
De Beaumont raised his hand in farewell, took a gold cigarette case from an inner pocket, selected a cigarette and lit it.
“Shall I tell Marcel to be ready to run you across tonight?” Jacaud said.
De Beaumont nodded. “And Pierre, but I shall also require you, Jacaud.”
“Something interesting?”
“I have just seen a ghost,” de Beaumont said calmly. “A ghost from the past, and ghosts are always interesting.”
He settled back in the seat and Jacaud spun the wheel in his hands and took the speedboat round the point, his face quite expressionless.
Mallory stood at the wheel of Foxhunter thinking about de Beaumont. There had been something there, of that he was sure, but what could it possibly be? They had certainly never met.
The door clicked open behind him and Raoul Guyon came in and leaned against the chart table, lighting a cigarette.
“What did you think of him?”
Mallory shrugged. “Very charming, very elegant. Seems soft until you look in his eyes. Are you dining with them tonight?”
Guyon shook his head. “I’ve been invited for drinks afterwards. What was it like on the reef? Anything interesting?”
Mallory told him everything that had happened. When he had finished Guyon nodded. “From the sound of it, this cavern under the island would seem like an adequate hiding place for L’Alouette.”
“That’s what we’ll have to/find out.”
“And how do we do that?”
“We’ll use the aquamobiles. Try the Middle Passage approach I told you about.”
“Straight into the cavern. Do you think they’ll let us?”
“That’s what we’ll have to find out. We’ll go in sometime tonight. The forecast’s good and there’s a moon. If the weather holds it shouldn’t be too difficult. We’ll go round the point in the dinghy. That should give us a good start.”
Guyon sighed. “Legrande told me this one would be interesting. Little did he know. I’ll see you later.”
The door closed behind him and Mallory increased speed. The strange thing was that as Foxhunter ran back towards the jetty he wasn’t thinking of the danger that lay ahead, of the long swim through the dark night. He was thinking of two metallic blue eyes and wondering what it was that he had seen in them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
through the French windows the lawn shimmered palely and the great beeches were silhouetted against the evening sky. Beyond was the timeless sad sough of the sea.
Inside, the room was warm and comfortable, the light softly diffused and a log hissed and spluttered on the hearthstone. There was a grand piano in one corner, two old comfortable couches drawn to the fire and a print or two on the walls.
It was a room that was lived in, a quiet, comfortable place, and the five people gathered loosely about the fire talked quietly to each other, Fiona Grant’s occasional laugh breaking to the surface like a bubble of air in a quiet pool.
De Beaumont and his host wore dinner jackets and the Frenchman looked elegant, completely at his ease as he talked to Anne Grant and the General.
Fiona was wearing a simple green dress in some heavy silk material and sat on the arm of an old tapestry chair. Guyon stood beside her smoking a cigarette, one hand on the high mantelpiece. He was not in evening dress, but a well-cut suit of dark blue fitted his wiry figure to perfection, giving him a touch of distinction.
He leaned close to Fiona, muttered something in her ear, and she chuckled and stood up. “Raoul and I are going for a little walk. Anyone feel like joining us?”
“And what would you do if we said yes?” her father demanded.
“Brain you!” She kissed him affectionately and moved to the door. “I’ll get a coat, Raoul. It could turn chilly.”
Raoul smiled at de Beaumont. “Will I see you again before you leave, Colonel?”
De Beaumont shook his head. “Unlikely, I’m afraid. I keep early hours these days. Strict instructions from my doctor.”
Guyon held out his hand. “For the present, then.”
“And don’t forget about that portrait,” de Beaumont reminded him. “I meant what I said.”
The young Frenchman nodded to the others and walked across to the door quickly as Fiona called from the hall.
“Seems a nice enough young chap,” the General observed.
“Fiona obviously thinks so,” Anne said. “And he’s certainly talented. He was in the army in Algeria for several years before he took up painting.”
“He’s remarkably talented,” de Beaumont said. “He’ll make a name for himself with little difficulty.”
The General turned his head as Jagbir came in and handed round drinks from a tray. “Any sign of Mr. Mallory yet?”
“No, General.”
The General opened a silver box at his elbow and took out a long black cheroot. “I wonder what’s happened to him?”
“Probably something to do with the boat,” Anne said. “And he is walking, remember.”
De Beaumont fitted a cigarette into a silver holder and said carefully, “Have you known him long?”
Hamish Grant shook his head. “Anne picked him up in Southampton. As a matter of fact, he got her out of a rather nasty scrape.”
“And this is the basis upon which you hired him?”
“His papers were all in order. He’d only just signed off a tanker from Tampico a day or so before. Why do you ask?”
De Beaumont stood up, paced restlessly across to the French windows and turned. “This is really most difficult for me. I don’t want you to think that I am interfering, yet on the other hand I feel that I should speak.”
“You know something about him?” the General said. “Something to his discredit?”
De Beaumont came back to his chair and sat down. "You’re aware, of course, that during the latter part of my army career I was commanding officer of a parachute regiment in Algeria. During the first few months of 1959 I was seconded to the general staff in Algiers and placed in charge of military security.”