Chapter Eleven
I went out on deck for no
other reason that to assert my right to be there. That young creep wasn’t going
to scare me into hiding my face. I sensed there was something about him that
just wasn’t right. His cheeks seemed even paler than before, his eyes sunk
deeper into his skull. He stood up lethargically and, without a word to me, he
slunk away into the yacht’s cabin. I was glad to see the back of him. When I
went back below it was because I needed to, not because of him.
Brigitte
came out to join me in the saloon shortly after. She was in her usual state of
undress, but that no longer surprised me. We were too close to the town centre
for her to appear semi-naked out on deck, so she planted herself firmly on a
seat in the saloon. From the dark looks she gave me, I guessed that she was
still smarting from my refusal of her charms the previous night. After a few
moments she shook her head and snapped, “Americans! Huh!”
“Good
morning, Brigitte.” I wasn’t going to be put off by a damn stupid little
teenager’s fractious behaviour. Not at that time of the morning.
“I did
not sleep well.”
“Really?
Why not?”
“Because
you would not make the loving with me.” A pout was followed by, “I wanted it.”
“Seems
to me, Brigitte, that you want too much from life. Learn to loosen up a bit.
You’ll live long enough without constant sex. Maybe longer.”
She
gave me a sultry look and sidled away to her cabin.
An
hour later I left Brigitte sprawled across a saloon seat, reading a magazine
and sucking her thumb. She was still acting sore and the only feelings I could
find for her were centred around the administration of a severe spanking.
I
headed off towards the local food stores. I couldn’t find a supermarket, but it
was only a short walk to a small grocery store where they spoke enough English
to sell me what I needed. On my way back from the town back to the basin, I had
to cross a busy main highway and I stopped on the sidewalk to wait for a break
in the traffic. And there, directly across the road from me, was the swarthy
faced watcher: the one who had set about the big youth on the marina quay at
St. Malo. The same guy I suspected of dropping his cigar ash in the Breton Belle.
Hell!
Was every villain trying to haunt me in this town? The man didn’t see me at
first, being more interested in the Breton
Belle down in the basin.
“Hey,
you!” I shouted to him as I dashed out between the traffic. A little Citroen
2CV screeched to a halt just inches away from me, but I raced on across the
road, ignoring the driver’s angry curses. He’d soon forget me.
The
watcher must have heard me because he suddenly swung round. He had been smoking
a cigar, but it fell from his hand. Probably the shock of seeing me. His mouth
fell open to speak, but he seemed to think the better of it and raced away down
a side street. The guy was fast on his feet and I was carrying an armful of
groceries so I let him go. At that speed he would have escaped me anyway. Damn!
Why the hell was he on my tail?
On my tail? Was he also the one who had
been on Viola’s tail?
That
swarthy-faced man was still bugging my thoughts when I got back to the boat
which was why I didn’t immediately notice something odd. It struck home only
when I was coming down the steps to the pontoon. A red Renault saloon was
parked at the side of the road, directly above the Breton Belle. And a black shopping bag was left lying on the deck.
The little car looked smart, expensive and very appealing.
I
could hear an argument going on in the saloon even before I boarded the
Sunseeker. I didn’t need any guesses to picture what was happening down below.
Mama had turned up and was giving Brigitte hell. And Brigitte was giving mama a
real hard time in return. It was just one big domestic ding-dong. How the local
police didn’t get to hear about it God alone knew.
I went
down the companionway.
“What
the blue blazes is going on here?” It was a stock opening which did no more
than put me in the firing line between Brigitte and her mama.
Mama
responded in machine gun French, gesturing wildly. When she stopped for breath
Brigitte took over, with more wild gestures. “Mama says I must go back home.
She will not understand that I want to go down to La Roche Bernard. She is
impossible!”
“You
mean… she didn’t know where you were travelling with me?”
“I
forgot to tell her.”
I
rounded on her fiercely. “You mean you didn’t want to tell her. Dammit all Brigitte! Do you want to go back with
her?”
“Non!”
“But
you told me you missed your family.”
“Oui, but that is different. I must see Monsieur Hassim.”
At the
name Hassim, mama once again broke into a loud rattle, which went right over my
head. I waited until the volume subsided and then addressed Brigitte again.
“You just sort this out for yourself with mama. I’ll be out on deck. Tell me
what’s happening when you’ve finished.”
Out in
the warm air I could still hear the muffled noise of the two women fighting.
Passers-by ignored it as if it was an everyday natural occurrence, so I did my
best to ape their indifference. Not an easy task.
After
a while Brigitte came out on deck, head lowered sheepishly.
“Well,
Brigitte?”
“I
will go back with mama.”
“Good.”
The sense of relief must have brought a grin to my face.
Brigitte,
by contrast, wore a dark sour expression for the rest of the short time I saw
her in Redon. Even when Mama’s Renault pulled out into the traffic, I could
still see Brigitte in the passenger seat, scowling. If I’d had any sense I
suppose I’d have said good riddance to Brigitte L’Orly and her mother, but I
just wasn’t put together that way. Something was spooking me about the L’Orlys
and their association with Hassim and I knew I had to find out what it was. I
was certain that it was tied in with Viola’s death.
The young
couple’s yacht was still moored across the basin and as I sat and pondered what
to do next I noticed the girl leave it and head off in the direction of the
town. It was around half an hour after Brigitte and her mother had departed.
Seeing the girl walk away seemed to present a possible opportunity to explore
the yacht, provided I exercised a high degree caution in case the youth was
still aboard.
I made
my way around the marina basin and crept quietly down onto the yacht’s deck. No
one gave me a second look so I paused, knelt down and looked in through the
cabin porthole.
There
were two people inside, naked and copulating with such a wild frenzy that they
would never have noticed me even if I had been banging a bass drum and singing
the Marselliaise. A mass of pale
flesh marked out the youth who lay on the bunk with his partner astride him. I
gasped when I saw that the girl was coloured. Dammit! It was the same girl who
had taken Viola’s place on the Breton
Belle.
I
watched them for some minutes without even being aware that I was behaving like
a voyeur. God, what sort of woman would actually want to screw that huge jerk?
Whoever she was, I now had another positive connection and that made the whole
story somewhat more complicated. And it seemed like the white girl was not the
gorilla’s girlfriend after all. Or was there a cosy threesome going on here?
I
paused to let my thoughts juggle around the matter. What the hell did all this
mean? After a couple of minutes I decided this wasn’t the moment to find out so
I withdrew and walked back to the Breton
Belle.
What
lead should I now follow? Should I home in on the coloured girl? Or should I
spend a bit more time finding out exactly what sort of games Brigitte and Mama
L’Orly had been playing? And what was their connection with Hassim?
The
coloured girl was an interesting suspect and I was strongly tempted to bide my
time and catch her on her own. But would she lead me to the right answers? I
had a suspicion she might be only a bit player. The deciding factor was the
L’Orly’s link with Hassim: that had to be important. On balance, I decided to
concentrate my attention on the L’Orly’s and pay them another visit at their
farm. I would go there unannounced and—almost certainly—highly unwelcome. Maybe I would learn
something by sheer bravado.
I went
up to the Redon marina office and checked in the boat for a few days. They
spoke pretty good English there and they gave me the number of a local car rental
company. Within half an hour I’d hired a little Citroen diesel and I was on the
highway heading out of town in the direction of the L’Orly farm.
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