Bolt - By Dick Francis Page 0,61

right,’ I assured her truthfully. ‘Perfectly all right. I do stand in Mrs Bunt’s way. In the matter of Monsieur acting against his conscience, I always will.’

Litsi looked at me speculatively. I had made a very explicit and provocative declaration, and he seemed to be wondering if I was aware of it. I, on the other hand, was glad to have been presented with the opportunity, and I would repeat what I’d said, given the chance.

‘You are after Danielle’s money,’ Beatrice said furiously.

‘You know she has none.’

‘After her inheritance from Roland.’

The princess and Roland were looking poleaxed. No one, I guessed, had conducted such open warfare before at that polite dinner table.

‘On the contrary,’ I said civilly. ‘If selling guns would make Monsieur richer, and if I were after Danielle’s mythical inheritance, then I would be urging him to sign at once.’

She stared at me, temporarily silenced. I kept my face entirely noncommittal, a habit learned from dealing with Maynard Allardeck, and behaved as if we had been having a normal conversation. ‘In general,’ I said pleasantly, ‘I would implacably oppose anyone trying to get their way by threats and harassment. Henri Nanterre has behaved like a thug, and while I’m here I’ll try my hardest to ensure he fails in his objective.’

Litsi opened his mouth, thought better of it, and said nothing. The speculation however disappeared from his forehead to be replaced by an unspecified anxiety.

‘Well,’ Beatrice said. ‘Well …’

I said mildly, as before, ‘It’s really as well to make oneself perfectly clear, isn’t it? As you have admirably done, Mrs Bunt?’

We were eating dover sole at the time. Beatrice decided there were a good many bones all of a sudden demanding her attention, and Litsi smoothly said that he had been invited to the opening of a new art gallery in Dover Street, on the following Wednesday, and would his Aunt Casilia care to go with him.

‘Wednesday?’ The princess looked from Litsi to me. ‘Where’s the racing next Wednesday?’

‘Folkestone,’ I said.

The princess accepted Litsi’s invitation, because she didn’t go to Folkestone normally, and he and she batted a few platitudes across the table to flatten out those Bunt-Fielding ripples. When we moved to the sitting room, Litsi again helped make sure I was next to the telephone, but it remained silent all evening. No messages, threats or boasting from Nanterre. It was too much to hope for, I thought, that he had folded his tents and departed.

When Roland, the princess and Beatrice finally went to bed, Litsi, rising to his feet to follow them, said, ‘You elected yourself as goat, then?’

‘I don’t intend to get eaten,’ I said, smiling and standing also.

‘Don’t go up to any balconies.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Sleep well.’

I did the rounds of the house, but everything seemed safe, and in due time went to the car, to go to fetch Danielle.

The alley seemed just as spooky, and I took even more precautions with the guts of the car, but again everything appeared safe, and I drove to Chiswick without incident.

Danielle looked pale and tired. ‘A hectic evening,’ she said. Her job as bureau coordinator involved deciding how individual news stories should be covered, and despatching camera crews accordingly. I’d been in the studio with her several times and seen her working, seen the mental energy and drive which went into making her the success she’d proved there. I’d seen her decisiveness and her inspirational sparkle, and knew that afterwards they could die away fast into weary silence.

The silences between us, though, were no longer companionable spaces of deep accord, but almost embarrassments, as between strangers. We had been passionate weekend lovers through November, December and January, and in her the joy had evaporated from one week to the next.

I drove back to Eaton Square thinking how very much I loved her, how much I longed for her to be as she had been, and when I stopped the car in the mews, I said impulsively, before she could get out, ‘Danielle, please … please … tell me what’s wrong.’

It was clumsily said and came straight from desperation, and I was disregarding the princess’s advice; and as soon as I’d said it, I wished I hadn’t because the last thing on earth I wanted to hear her say was that she loved Litsi. I thought I might even be driving her into saying it, and in a panic I said, ‘Don’t answer. It doesn’t matter. Don’t answer.’

She turned her head and looked at me, and then