Lady From Argentina Read online

  Elizabeth was a fashion designer, and a fairly successful one. She was an elegant brunette who had modelled for other designers before discovering that she had a gift for the work herself. It was this work that had put a strain on her relationship with Craig. She was so often being called away to places like Paris and Rome for fashion shows and business conferences and so on, and this sort of thing did not always fit in with his own plans. So they had rows. Elizabeth valued her independence and did not take kindly to any criticism of her life style.

  ‘This happens to be my living,’ she told him. ‘I can’t fix everything to fit in with your arrangements. If you’d wanted a doormat you should have found someone else, and that’s all there is to it.’

  So they had agreed to go their separate ways and see how things worked out.

  Craig himself was a gambler; not on the roulette wheel or the cards or the horses but on the stock market. He had at one time been one of the bright young men in the City, working for a merchant bank and juggling with international currencies. He had made millions for the bank and quite a bit for himself, but he had grown sick of it; it was really no sort of a life for a man. So he had thrown up the job and gone off on his own.

  He was a free man now, and pretty well heeled.

  *

  ‘Who were they?’ he asked.

  ‘The taller one was Luis Gomez and the other was Fernando Villa.’

  ‘Old friends of yours?’

  ‘Not friends exactly. Acquaintances. I knew them in Buenos Aires.’

  ‘So they’re Argentines?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are they over here for? Business or pleasure?’

  ‘Business undoubtedly.’

  ‘And the business concerns you?’

  She answered quickly: ‘Oh, no. What makes you think it might?’

  ‘Well, it seems rather odd that mere acquaintances should take the trouble to call on you when they have business to attend to.’

  ‘So it’s odd. Don’t let it bother you. People do odd things now and then, you know.’

  He thought she seemed a trifle impatient with his questioning. He felt, too, that she was rather nervy, and he wondered whether this had anything to do with the visit of the two men from Argentina. He had not liked the look of them; they were not the sort he would have trusted on sight, and somehow he found it hard to believe that they really had called on Adelaide merely as a courtesy. His personal opinion was that neither of them was the courteous type.

  He noticed that her left cheek was slightly bruised, and he remarked on the fact. She seemed embarrassed and quickly put a hand to the cheek as if to hide it.

  ‘I knocked it. On a door. It’s nothing.’

  He felt sure she was lying. How often did anyone knock their cheek on a door? He would have said that the injury looked more like the result of a blow inflicted perhaps by a human hand. And he thought again of the men from Argentina who had paid that social call on his beautiful neighbour. If it had been social. They had both looked pretty sour on leaving, as if they were going unwillingly with some piece of business still unfinished. Had one of them struck Adelaide? The smaller one perhaps, the one named Villa, who looked like a real thug and capable of any brutality.

  He thought of putting the question directly to her, but decided not to. She seemed to be in no mood to accept any interrogation. But he was convinced that she was worried about something, and he guessed that the worry had to do with the two visitors. He was concerned about her, and if she was in any kind of trouble he would have liked to be told about it. He might have been able to help. But if she was unwilling to confide in him there was nothing he could do – for the present. Perhaps later she would change her mind and ask for help.

  ‘I called,’ he said, ‘to ask whether you felt inclined for an evening on the town. Nothing hectic. Just a meal somewhere and a West End show. How does that sound to you?’

  He was gratified by her instant acceptance of the invitation. There was no hesitation whatever, no careful thinking about it before coming to a decision. It was as if she had been waiting for just such a suggestion and would have been disappointed if he had not made it.

  ‘I’d love it. It sounds great. When do we start?’

  *

  It could have been an enjoyable evening for both of them. The food was good, the play was good, and they were in the best of company. For Adelaide, however, the enjoyment was marred to some extent by the thought of two South American gentlemen which came now and then to torment her.

  For she was quite certain that she had not got rid of them for ever; she had merely gained a temporary respite by the fortuitous intervention of Brian Craig. But there was another day tomorrow, and if there was one thing she could rely on it was that they would call again. There was only one way of getting them off her back, and that was by giving them what they wanted.

  The idea of doing that, however, was repugnant to her. She would not do it. No; she just would not do it, come what might. She had gone through so much to gain what she had that she would not surrender it lightly now.

  Yet what was the alternative? If they came again – as they undoubtedly would — the pressure would be applied again; the threat of torture and even the torture itself if she proved stubborn. How could she resist when the cost of doing so would be mutilation, pain, disfigurement and in the end possibly death?

  Maybe they would kill her anyway, once they had got from her what they were seeking. They might decide to do so as punishment for her giving them so much trouble. She would not be their first victim and possibly not their last.

  So what could she do? She could think of only one way out, only one possible course of action — flight.

  Craig noticed the occasional frown clouding her face, the apparent distraction, and he guessed the cause.

  ‘You’re worrying about those two men, aren’t you?’

  She denied it immediately. ‘Why should I worry about them?’

  ‘I don’t know. But my guess is they were not particularly welcome visitors. Am I right?’

  She did not answer the question. She just said: ‘Let’s forget it, shall we?’

  But of course she herself could not forget it. It remained in her mind like a burr, tormenting her.

  *

  It was late when they arrived back at her house. Craig went in with her, and as soon as she switched on the light in the sitting-room it was evident that in her absence there had been intruders. It was also evident that those intruders had made a thorough search of the room.

  She came to a halt and stared aghast at the disorder which met her eyes.

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  The drawers of a bureau had been pulled out and their contents tipped on to the floor; cushions had been removed from the sofa and chairs, and these pieces of furniture had been overturned so that their undersides could be examined. Here and there the carpet had been rolled back to get at the floorboards beneath it, and two china vases had been smashed, the shards lying scattered around.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ she said again. ‘They came back.’

  ‘You think those men did this?’ Craig asked.

  ‘I am sure of it.’

  ‘But why?’

  She hesitated a moment, then said: ‘Oh, you may as well know, I suppose. It was not a social call they paid on me. They came for something; something they want very badly.’

  ‘Something you have?’

  ‘Yes. They are criminals. When you came this afternoon they were trying to force me to tell them where it was. When I refused they threatened to use torture to make me speak. While Villa held me Gomez put the lighted end of his cigar close to my face. He said if I refused to tell them what they wanted to know he would burn my face and disfigure me; perhaps even blind me.’

  Craig uttered a low whistle. ‘Would he have done it, do you think? Really.’

  ‘Without a doubt. He is capable of worse things. And Villa too. I know them of old, you see. I have no illusions about wh
at they are capable of doing.’

  He did not ask how she came to know such people, though it was in his mind. Some other time perhaps she would enlighten him. It could be a long story.

  ‘Did you tell them?’

  ‘I would have done so. I have no taste for mutilation. I had agreed to their demand when you rang the doorbell.’

  ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘Now I see what you meant by being saved by the bell. I came in the nick of time, as they say.’

  ‘Yes. Gomez told me to ignore the bell, to wait for you to go away; but I decided to take a chance.’

  Craig surveyed the chaos in the sitting-room. ‘They certainly must have been keen to get their hands on what they were looking for. Is it so very valuable?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It has to be, hasn’t it? No one would come all the way from Argentina and be prepared to use torture and this kind of action just for peanuts.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘they wouldn’t, would they?’

  ‘So are you going to tell me what it is?’

  ‘Do you want to know?’

  He did, but he was not going to press her to tell him. ‘It’s up to you. I don’t wish to pry into your business. If you want to confide in me, well and good. If not, okay; you don’t have to.’

  She gave his arm a squeeze. ‘Let’s leave it then, just for the present. Some other time maybe I’ll tell you everything.’

  He had doubts about that. He was beginning to suspect that she was a lady with a past which might perhaps be a trifle murky in parts. It would almost certainly be interesting to hear about, but there might have been incidents in it that she would rather not reveal even to a close friend, or for that matter a lover. Perhaps especially to a lover.

  ‘I wonder how they got in,’ he said.

  The answer to that question was not far to seek. In the kitchen a window looking out on to the yard at the back had been forced. It would have presented no great difficulty to men determined to make an entry. There was evidence too that the kitchen had been searched.

  ‘To use an old cliché,’ Craig said, ‘it looks as though they were leaving no stone unturned.’

  More evidence of the truth of this was forthcoming in the other rooms of the house: all had been given the treatment. A trapdoor into the loft had been left open, and the loft ladder was still in place.

  ‘So they hunted even up there,’ Craig said. ‘Do you think they found what they were looking for?’

  She shook her head. ‘I am sure they didn’t. It is not here.’

  He was not surprised to hear this. If whatever it was that was the object of the search had been hidden in the house she would have gone straight to the hiding-place to see whether it was still there. But she had not. She seemed to have been upset more by the fact that the men had broken in than by anything they had done thereafter. He could tell that it had badly shaken her. And one thing she said confirmed this.

  ‘They will be back. They will come again.’

  ‘You will call the police, of course?’

  To his surprise she was vehemently opposed to the idea. ‘No! I do not wish to bring the police into this.’

  ‘But why on earth not? You’ve had a break-in. A crime has been committed. Besides being assaulted by two thugs. The only sensible course is to call in the police. You could tell them about the men. It would give them a lead.’

  But she would not hear of it. ‘No, no, no! The police cannot help me. It is out of the question. You have to believe me.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘I shall have to leave. At once. I cannot stay here another night. It would not be safe.’

  He could tell that she meant it, and he could not deny the fact that she was in danger. What had happened was proof of that. He did not know what Gomez and Villa were seeking, but it was apparent that they would stop at nothing to get it. Adelaide had good reason to be alarmed.

  ‘But where will you go?’

  ‘I don’t know. Somewhere. Anywhere away from this place. I must start packing my things at once.’

  Craig did not like it. If she went away he might lose touch with her, and he could not bear the thought of that possibility. He had known her for so short a time. He could not allow matters to end like this. It was unthinkable.

  ‘Now hold on a minute. There’s no need to go dashing off at this time of night. It’s crazy.’

  ‘But I cannot stay here. Don’t you see? I have to go.’

  ‘Yes, I do see that. But I’ve got a better idea. You can stay the night at my place. You’ll be safe enough there.’

  He could see that she was thinking about it and maybe liking the proposal. Already she was looking less worried.

  ‘And tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow is another day. We’ll work something out.’

  ‘We?’ she said, with a lift of the eyebrows. ‘It isn’t your problem, Brian.’

  ‘Perhaps it is. Perhaps I choose to make it mine.’

  She gave him another questioning look and then said: ‘That is sweet of you, it really is.’ She flung her arms round his neck and gave him an impulsive kiss before breaking away again. ‘I don’t know why you should want to do this for me.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I don’t think that’s quite the truth, is it. I’d say you know very well why I want to. And I’m not just being sweet, either; because there’s nothing altruistic about this. Anything I do from here on in has a strictly selfish motive. And I don’t think I need to tell you what that is, do I?’

  She laughed at this; and he was pleased to see that she was recovering her spirits so quickly.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘I am being rather selfish, also.’

  *

  Lying awake in bed beside the sleeping man, she let her thoughts slip back through time to other men who had made love to her in the course of her life. There had been quite a number of them. Some she had loved; one in particular, long ago now, it seemed; a few she had hated. And now this one: did she love him? Perhaps – a little. And perhaps she might come to love him more if the relationship lasted. But she knew that that was something you could never rely on; she had had too much experience to believe that you could. What indeed in life could you rely on?

  In her mind she fell to comparing Brian Craig with other men she had known. Physically he came out well enough from the comparison: he was not as handsome as some, but he had a lean muscular body without a hint of flabbiness anywhere. She liked that. And he was certainly not ugly. He had strong features, a somewhat aquiline nose, bony cheeks and a mouth which gave an impression of quirkiness and good humour. His hair was the colour of straw, thick and springy and neatly trimmed. She liked that too.

  She wondered whether he was in love with her. Perhaps it was a little early for that as yet. But it could happen; she had no doubt of that; she knew the signs, and they were there. He was attracted to her, very much so; that was certain.

  But could he even begin to suspect what he might be letting himself in for? Of course he could not. He had had a hint perhaps in the arrival of Gomez and Villa and he might have guessed at a mystery somewhere in the background; but he could never guess the whole of it, or even the half of it. Some day she might tell him the half if they stayed together that long. But never the whole; no never the whole of it. Because that might mean the end of everything between them.

  *

  They intended leaving London early the next day, travelling in Craig’s car. It was he who had made the suggestion.

  ‘There’s this little place I have down in the country. It’s a holiday home really; somewhere to get away from it all and relax. It’s beside one of the Norfolk Broads, fairly isolated. We could go there for a time. It’s nothing very grand; a bit primitive in fact; but there’s no way those two ogres could find us there. What do you think?’

  She thought it sounded fine. It would be just temporary, of course; something to give her time to make plans. She could not have asked for anything better; it saved
her from having to make any immediate decision regarding what to do about the threat from Gomez and Villa.

  ‘I think you’re a darling,’ she said.

  Chapter Four – A Kiss

  She had been born in Paris. Her father was French but her mother was German. It was from her mother that she inherited most of her blonde good looks, though her father was a handsome man and contributed his share. Indeed, the husband and wife were a couple whose picture could often be found in glossy magazines and the gossip columns of popular newspapers.

  But of course that was before they split up.

  Charles Lacoste was a film director, and it was in the course of his work that he met Frieda Strauss, a minor actress and former German beauty queen. Frieda had no great acting ability, but she looked splendid in a statuesque way and Lacoste was attracted to her when she was playing a small part in a film he was directing. They were married in the glare of considerable publicity and a year later Adelaide was born.

  She had a curious childhood. The Lacostes seemed to be forever on the move; so much filming being done on location. Sometimes they took their daughter with them; sometimes she was left in the care of relatives, either in France or Germany, and she became bilingual at a very early age. As she grew older she was sent to a number of boarding schools for young ladies. She hated them all and did her best to be such a troublesome pupil that a request would eventually be sent to her parents to remove her, since she was such a disrupting influence on her fellow pupils.

  Occasionally, when for some reason or other to do with the film business, the Lacostes were settled in one place for a decent length of time, she was allowed to live at home and attend a local school. This was usually in Paris and she loved it. Her father was a negligent but affectionate parent, but her mother seemed to regard her daughter as little better than a nuisance, in whom she could not be bothered to take much interest.

  Adelaide was about twelve years old when the marriage finally broke down, but it had been falling apart for years before that. There had been frequent slanging matches when each flung accusations of infidelity and other faults at the other. At first they took care not to engage in this kind of bickering in the presence of their child, but she had already gained more than an inkling of what was going on by listening at closed doors, and later they abandoned any attempt to hide from her the true state of affairs. The squabbling would take place at the dining-table or in the sitting-room or anywhere else where they chanced to come into contact with each other.