The Volcano E-Book

Dorothy Fife

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 552

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

This is a love story, not quite a Barbara Cartland type, but not far off. There is much travel, much hardship for the heroine, but in the end all ends well.

Leseprobe

Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter I

She was staring into a pair of incredibly blue eyes surrounded by mass of yellow curls. The eyes were looking worriedly into hers, but she had no idea why he was looking at her or who he was. She started to get up, but to her surprise discovered that she couldn't. None of her muscles responded to the commands from her brain. She was unable to move. The brain, that at least, functioned. She thought, 'why can't I move? Why can't I hear anything?' because this person over her head was obviously speaking to her, at least his mouth moved and she assumed that words left it intended for her ears. But they were as useless as her muscles. Funnily enough she was not the slightest worried over being unable to move, yet she wanted to know why she was in that strange position, supine, on the humid ground, looking at this rather unkept person.

She panicked for a moment, her heart racing as she tried to piece together what was happening to her. As she looked around, she realized that she was lying on the ground in a dense jungle. The trees towered above her, their leaves blocking out the sun. The person with the blue eyes was still staring at her, and she wondered if they knew what was happening to her. She tried to speak, but no words came out. Fear crept over her as she realized that she was completely trapped inside her own body, unable to move or communicate. She wondered if she would ever be able to escape this strange paralysis and return to the life she once knew.

He was wearing a dirty, blue, short-sleeved shirt. His strong, sinewed arms and the broad chest with a light cover of fine yellow hair showed a man used to a healthy outdoor life. His face was not exactly clean, unshaven but well-built she decided. He had a strong chin and a straight nose. His mouth, when it was not moving, seemed 'severe'. He looked as if he was used to command. Yet it was a nice face, she thought. That was all she was able to see of him from where she lay. Behind his head there were huge trees that stretched up and up until they reached a green canopy which in one or two places parted to show a bit of blue sky with white clouds. It was warm. In fact, it was hot. She noticed that creepers were hanging from the branches of the trees.

She closed her eyes and tried to think hard. Where was she? Obviously not at home in Geneva. This was mid-February 1990 and it was not 34 degrees in Geneva at that time of the year. There were no creepers on the trees either, and the trees weren't as tall. No, she must be in the tropics. Yes, now she remembered, she was in the Caribbean. Why she was there she wasn't sure of, but she remembered getting off a bus and walking down a narrow trail that was leading to... yes, it was leading to a waterfall she had decided to see. The descent had been easy at first, but she was only wearing a pair of flimsy sandals, not the most suitable footwear for the trip she had discovered. The path had been narrow and slippery. Attempts had been made to make it passable, but the rains had reduced much of that effort to lose stones that no longer gave the intended support. She had slipped and grasped for the wooden rail on her right. It was green and ouch to the touch, so for a fraction of a second, she had considered letting go, but realizing instinctively that would mean a nasty spill, she had held on and steadied herself. She had breathed a sigh of relief, wiped one hand against the other to get the green algae off and had taken another step down towards the broiling waters.

There hadn't been much traffic on the trail, but she remembered having passed a tall, young man who was on his way up. He had been wearing a pair of dirty jeans and had hardly even noticed her as they passed. The atmosphere was heavy, humid and warm. Not that she had perspired from the exercise, but she had felt that if she walked just a little faster, sweat would be pouring out of her. She had concentrated on where she was putting her feet. She peered down, but all she could see was the luxuriant green foliage intercepted now and again by a tall trunk that would make any Brazilian logger's teeth water.

On her left the brown rocks rose almost vertically towards the sky that she knew was above her, but the canopy was so complete that the amount of light which blinked through was limited. The rocks were covered with thick mats of moss. Small tinkles of water spilled hundreds of tiny beads down the rocks and made the moss shine as the water, dripping down the rocks, ending in a small pool of water at her feet. She had walked on. A fern branch deposited all its accumulated water over her as her arm had brushed against it. She had stared annoyed at the fern. It was huge. The biggest she had ever seen, almost five metres tall. Its trunk was about the size of a sumo wrestler’s thigh. Brown and hairy, with a halo of branches at the top. She shook her blouse, 'well', she thought, 'I am perspiring after all'.

Suddenly she had slipped. Instinctively she had again grasped for the rail, but it had given way and she had tumbled off the trail into the shrubs. Branches and leaves swept around her as she fell. She had landed with an ugly thump on her shoulder and had felt as if something broke, a soaring pain had flashed through her as she continued down and down. The leaves had turned round and round. She had grasped wildly for something to stop her fall, but it had been all wet and horrible. Then there had been a big flash, and all had become dark.

She opened her eyes again. The blue eyes were still there. They looked concerned at her. Then they faded. When she opened her eyes all she saw was the blue sky. A white cloud sailed into view. It looked like Mickey Mouse. She closed her eyes.

"Are you o-kay?" the words seemed to be floating through the air. She tried to turn her head, but the pain stopped her. She gave a small cry.

"Are you o-kay?"

'Yes,' she wanted to say, but not a sound came over her lips.

"You had a nasty fall, hit your head on a rock and you have been bleeding quite a bit. Nothing to worry about," he added quickly as he saw her eyes cloud over with anxiety, "there were some old leaves and with your hair it softened the blow. I have managed to stop the bleeding."

But how long have I been lying here?' she wanted to ask. She tried again, but was still unable to speak. Then she tried to move her hand towards her head but he stopped her, "better not touch it, I have not been able to do a very good bandage and I am afraid it'll come off." He sounded both concerned and competent. She relaxed a bit, taking confidence in him. Then she said to herself, 'I must try to stand up, to get back to the hotel'. She thought with horror of the hotel. Then it all came back to her.

She had arrived only the day before yesterday on a cheap charter flight. As the plane began to descent, she had eagerly stared out the window and seen one dark green island after the other passing under the plane, each one surrounded by a turquoise sea that abruptly gave way to a darker blue. When they came lower, she noticed white stripes on the water and decided that it must be the trade winds that wiped up the waves. They passed low over one island and she distinguished well-kept fields, although she was unable to determine what kind of crop they were growing.

Then they had landed and passed through a surprisingly quick customs and immigration check. They were obviously interested in the tourists she decided. She had looked around for the hotel bus that had been announced in the programme, but when there was none, she thought no more of it and caught a cab. The driver had looked a bit surprised at her, when she had told him to drive to the hotel, and when they arrived, she understood why. The expected luxurious hotel on the beach turned out to be a fourth-rank dump located up a noisy street in the middle of town.

She had stormed down to the local representative of the travel agent's office, but while they had been very understanding and apologetic, there was nothing they could do about it, they shrugged, the agency she had been dealing with back home had obviously been cheating her, but they had no way of helping her. Well, of course, if she wanted to move to a better hotel, they had very good connections with one, she had forgotten which, but it had sounded very expensive - just the name had made her think of money, a commodity of which she was very short. Particularly after she had paid for her one-week stay at the "luxury hotel on the beach". Now she had neither money, nor a decent place to stay, and on top of that now she would surely need to see doctor. Her head was hurting. She could feel the blood rushing to her temples.

"I," she started to say.

"Don't say anything," he said, "don't worry, I'll take care of you. You are exhausted and have hurt yourself. Just lie down."

She was annoyed, she couldn't even get up, let alone take care of herself. The stranger looked at her, "stop being worried, I'll drive you back to your hotel." The voice was well-bred and calm, the English was flawless. 'The hotel, God only knows what kind of doctor they might have,' she thought, then all became dark around her and she sank into a nice, velvet black nothing.

When she woke up it was still dark around her, but something was different. She was clearly no longer lying on the damp ground, but in a comfortable bed. Slowly she stretched out her left arm, but couldn't reach the edge of the bed. Puzzled, she lifted her hand to her head careful so as not to disturb the dressing he had put on her. But instead of the makeshift bandage she had expected, her hand felt a professionally laid crisscross of gauze that covered the larger part of her head. She lowered her hand and let the discovery sink in. 'One', she thought, 'I am no longer in the forest but in a place that is neither the bed in my hotel, nor a hospital bed. Two, someone has brought me here and has arranged that my wound be dressed'. Her hand slipped under the sheets at the thought of the word dressed and sought out what should have been her tee-shirt, but the fabric she had between her fingers was not cotton; no, it felt like - was it silk? Disbelieving she touched it again. No doubt, it was silk. She accepted the findings of her fingers and filed that information with the other. 'Three', she continued, 'I am better, I can move my arm, my head no longer hurts, I am neither exhausted nor sleepy. Consequently, I must have slept, must also have been unconscious for some time. And where does all that lead you, Amanda?' she asked herself. 'Well, maybe the blue-eyed young man had called for help? But that didn't explain the comfortable bed and the silk nightgown.'

Before she could find a plausible answer, the door opened. Light slipped over the thickly carpeted floor towards her bed, but she couldn't see the person who entered, only the profile of a woman who moved past the foot of the bed towards the window. Amanda followed her move with her eyes and discovered when the woman had pulled the curtains that the shutters had been shut. Carefully the woman opened the shutters slightly, letting in a bit of bright sunshine. Satisfied with her work she turned around and went back to the bed.

"I thought you might be awake," she said smilingly as she saw Amanda's open eyes, "how do you feel?"

"Thank you, better I think."

"I am glad, you have been sleeping a long time." The woman was in her early sixties, guessed Amanda, she was about the same height as Amanda, which meant about 1,75m, thin and, as far as Amanda could ascertain, well preserved. Her hair was cut short and was carefully arranged without being held in place by tons of hair spray. There were some traces of grey, but not much for her age Amanda decided. Her dress was very simple. Amanda thought it might be a light cashmere knit, but then that would have been far too warm for the place. It had to be cotton she decided although she had never seen such quality. It was light grey and had an open, round neck. It stopped just below the knees. She was wearing stockings and a pair of Charles Jordan shoes, Amanda thought. Her face had some wrinkles, but not too many or very deep. Amanda was quite impressed.

"Have I slept long?"

"More than two days! You have been quite ill, and very lucky according to the doctor."

"Two days! What has happened, and where am I and who are you?" The questions tumbled out of her. Her concerns had returned all of a sudden; and what about her things at the hotel? She had a worried look on her face.

A very pretty face, in fact, a face of a startling beauty, said Mme. Beaufils to herself as she again contemplated the young woman her son had brought to the house a couple of days earlier. A pair of slightly raised cheekbones and a perfect skin covered her finely chiseled face. The two black eyebrows had been plucked into a pair of impeccably shaped crescents. The mouth was neither too large or too small and the lips had a natural healthy red colour. As she lay on the bed Mme. Beaufils could see her small pearl-coloured earlobes. She had been unconscious and had looked terrible with Xavier's makeshift bandage completely soaked in blood. His car had entered the driveway very slowly, indicating that something had to be wrong. Normally, he came up the long, winding gravel road at top speed, swinging around the fountain which stood in front of the imposing brown front door which one of her husband's forbearers had carried with him from Europe hundreds of years ago. Xavier had stopped the car, leapt out, and hurried up the broad stone stairs leading to the front door.

He had swung it open and shouted, "please call Dr. Henriques and tell him to get over here right away. Tell Diane to boil some water and then come up to the blue room!" He had not waited for any answer but hat returned to the car where he had gently lifted out a young woman who had something red wrapped around her head. He had carried her up the stairs and in through the front door, across the vast hall and up the staircase leading to the first floor. As she was putting down the phone, she had heard him curse when he couldn't get the door opened at first. Dr. Henriques was on his way. Diane was attending to the water, so Mme. Beaufils hurried up the stairs.

"Xavier, what has happened? Who is that girl? Why are you bringing her here?"

"I'll tell you in a minute, but first please help me get her undressed."

"Leave that to me, just you go down and wait for Dr. Henriques, he promised to be here right away." She pushed him out of the room and closed the door behind him. Then she had turned back to the bed and its occupant. It wasn't a girl she noticed, but a beautiful young woman, 28-30 she guessed, with a long black hair that right now was matted with blood. She lay on top of the large, baldaquined bed, her short brown skirt torn and dirty. Her tee-shirt was equally dirty and she had only one shoe on. Mme. Beaufils started by removing the shoe, then she carefully undressed the young woman who was still unconscious. She had just finished this task tucking the woolen blanket well around her to keep her warm, when Diane came in with the boiled water and a wash basin.

"Pour some of the water in the wash basin then go down boil some more," said Mme. Beaufils. Diane did as she was told and Mme. Beaufils brought the washbasin over to the table next to the bed. She found a small towel and began carefully to clean the young woman. She had finished when Xavier came up the stairs with Dr. Henriques.

"Mme. Beaufils, your son tells me you have a person who has been seriously hurt in a fall on the volcano."

"Good afternoon, Doctor, so kind of you to come so quickly, yes, she seems to be quite badly hurt although I have no idea how it happened. She is unconscious and I wonder if she shouldn't be taken to the hospital."

"We'll see, let me examine her first." The doctor went over to the bed and started to remove the bandages. He turned around to the two others and said, "you might as well go downstairs, I shall be some time, but I won't need any help."

They all left the room and Xavier went to shave, shower and change his dirty clothes. Half an hour later the doctor came downstairs where they were waiting impatiently for his news.

"She has indeed had a bad spill, but I have cleaned and dressed her wound and given her a tetanus injection. What she needs now is to be kept warm and be given a god rest. I don't think it will be of any use to move her to the hospital. She will get more peace here, if you agree to keep her Mme. Beaufils?"

"But of course," Mme. Beaufils discovered that she had never thought seriously of the hospital.

"I'll come tomorrow morning and see how she is doing; but now I'll have to get back to my clinic."

"Thank you very much Doctor," said Xavier.

"Yes, thank you Dr. Henriques, it was kind of you to come so quickly," Mme. Beaufils stood up and led the doctor to the door. When she had closed it behind him, she returned to the sofa which stood in front of the large fireplace on one side of the hall. "Now, tell me what happened!" she had said to her son.

He walked over to the fireplace and picked up one of the trinkets on the mantlepiece, a walrus tooth with a silver cigar clipper at the thick end. He toyed with it for a moment enjoying the soft touch of the polished ivory, then he said, "well, there actually isn't very much to tell. You know that I had gone out to inspect the fields on the north side of the volcano, the ones that are next to the reserve," he looked at her, she nodded. "Well, I had left my car at the carpark where the tourists enter the reserve, and when I was through with my inspection - oh, we need to send out some of the men to repair a couple of the fences, I think the cattle have gone through it - but, as I was saying, I was on my way up the small path by the waterfall when I passed the girl going down. Just after I had passed her, she evidently slipped on the wet path and tumbled down the ravine when the hand rail gave way. I rushed after her. She had hurt her head on a rock outcrop and was bleeding profusely. She was out when I reached her, came to a little later, but then she passed out again. I tried to bandage her wound, but I am afraid I didn't do a very good job at it. Then I picked her up and carried her to my car and brought her here. You know the rest." He finished and looked at his mother.

She thought for a minute, then she said, "where exactly did you say she fell?"

"About two bends up from the bridge."

She looked at her son, 'two bends up from the bridge'; that meant he had carried the young woman over a kilometre on a narrow slippery path that rose by about 500 metres, she would reckon. He followed her thoughts, "oh, it wasn't very difficult, she is very light. Think if it had been Elizabeth!"

"Don't be naughty," she scolded. Elizabeth was their neighbour's daughter who had had a crush on Xavier since they had been kids together. She was very sweet, but she was slightly overweight well, quite overweight if one had to be honest.

"So, you have no idea who she is?"

"Not the faintest."

"Don't know where she lives what she does?"

"No, I told you." She thought for a moment, then she said, "why didn't you take her directly to the hospital?"

Now it was his turn to pause, "well, I guess I panicked, didn't think straight."

'Fat chance', she thought, 'that walk up to his car must have taken the better part of 30 minutes, plenty of time to unpanic, plenty of time to have a good look at the beautiful woman he was carrying in his arms, and in any case, she knew her son as a very thoughtful and methodical young man. Panic - my foot!'

"Yes, I am sure that was it,” she said; “in any case now that she is here, maybe we should try to find out who she is. She may have relatives, parents or a husband who may be worried over her."

At the suggestion that the young woman might be married Xavier's face became dark, then it cleared up and he said, "I don't think she is married. She doesn't have any ring on her finger."

His mother smiled, she had noted that herself, "but maybe there are somethings in her pockets."

"Drats, why didn't I think of that. I'll go have a look."

"You'll do no such thing. I'll have a look." She got up and had returned a few minutes later with a bag and handful of papers and other objects. She had put the bag on the table and sat down. "I found these," she waved a passport, a driver's license, a vaccination card and a map over the island.

Xavier had taken the passport, "Amanda, her name is Amanda Charlemagne. She is 29 years old and was born in Zagreb. But she is a British subject, and the passport has been issued by the British Consulate in Geneva. There is no indication where she lives. She came here two days ago according to the stamp in the passport."

His mother had picked up the driver's license, "issued in London five years ago, no other information." She had picked up the international vaccination booklet, "seems to have all her shots up to date. But we still don't know where she is staying."

"Let’s look in her bag." Xavier had taken the bag, opened it and turned it upside down. Its contents had spilled over the table. There were all the usual items, cosmetics, coins, used rail tickets, a set of keys, some old namecards, a pack of Kleenexes, and a crumbled envelope. He picked up the cards. "Here we are, she is staying at the 'Duc d'Anjou'".

"Where is that?" she had asked surprised.

"It is a fourth-class hotel located somewhere on Johnson Street, you know halfway up the mountain, fifteen minutes from the port and even longer from the beach."

"But that is a horrible part of town!"

"Yes. I wonder how she ended up there?"

"We'll have to contact the hotel immediately, maybe someone is waiting for her wondering what has happened to her."

Xavier had reached for the phone and had dialed the number on the card he had found. He looked irritated at the phone, "no answer. That figures! I'll drive over to them." He got up, "I'll be back in an hour or so."

Fifteen minutes later he pulled up in front of a narrow threestoried house where the rose paint was coming off. It was undistingui-shable from the other houses on the street. There were eight windows per floor. Most of the shutters that once had been green were closed, but the dark brown front door was open. He walked across the street and entered. At first, he couldn't see a thing, the contrast with the sunlit street was too great, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he could pick out a low counter in front of a handful of pigeonholes with a few keys. It was not a big hotel. On one wall hang a dirty, torn calendar with an impressionist light green north-French landscape.

"Anybody here?" he asked into the dark interior. He took a step towards the door at the back of the room when something stirred behind the front door. He turned around and saw a shape getting off the floor. It was a dirty, old man who stank of cheap rum.

"What do you want?" the voice was squeaky.

"Do you have a guest, a young woman who is called Miss Charlemagne, staying here?"

"What?" the old man looked suspiciously at him.

Xavier thought he hadn't heard him, "Miss Charlemagne," he repeated patiently.

"No!" The answer had been too quick. Xavier took one long step that brought him right in front of the old man. He stared down at the grey stubbled face where the eyed had begun to flicker nervously from side to side. He grabbed his shirt and almost lifted the man off the floor, "don't lie to me, I know she has a room here" he barked. The old man began to cry. He was terrified.

"What's her room number?"

"Number six, but she is not in. I already told the others."

"What 'others'?"

"The three men who came half an hour ago. They also asked for her."

"Did they say why they wanted to talk to her?"

"No, but they didn't look as if they wanted anything good," the little man's courage began to return, "they were quite different from you," he looked with admiration at Xavier's clothes. They were not quite like those he had been wearing on the volcano in the morning; a pair of white cotton trousers and a red golf shirt. He had a pair of white socks and light, brown moccasins instead of the mountain boots.

"What did they look like?" Xavier was becoming impatient with the old man who had stopped speaking and instead was staring at him as if he came from some other world. The old man returned to the present, "one was large and fat. He had a dirty grin on his face when he asked for her. The others were brown. I think they spoke Spanish. One had a scar on his left shoulder."

"How could you see that?"

"His shirt was torn."

"And the third?"

"I can't remember, except he was skinny and dirty. They looked mean. I was glad she was out. Anyway, they didn't believe me but went up to her room where they made a real mess of it. Then they came down again and left telling me to inform them as soon as she returned or else..." he made a telling gesture with his finger across his throat.

"She is not coming back. She is dead!" Xavier was surprised how easily the lie came over his lips, "and I am here to pick up her things and return them to her parents."

The little old man looked aghast, but said nothing.

"Did they say what they wanted?"

"Something about a package." His courage increased, "but why do you ask, and how do you know she is dead, and in any case, who are you?"

"I ask because I do. She is dead and I am here to get her things. And I am Xavier Beaufils, but I don't presume that means anything to you?" It was a statement of fact, but to his surprise the man's face changed completely at the name.

"Beaufils, you mean you are the son of old Raymond Beaufils?"

"Yes, but he is also dead," now it had been Xavier's turn to be surprised, "how do you know my father?"

"Ah, Mr. Beaufils," the man was growling, "your father was a fine man. I worked on his farm when I was young. He always treated his men well, not like the others. But Mr. Beaufils, take care," he looked around as if he expected the trio to appear out of the walls, "those three men looked as if they were after Amanda, I think they thought she had something they wanted real bad."

"Why do you call her Amanda?" Xavier's suspicion was again aroused.

"She asked me to. She had real rotten luck. She came here only day before yesterday thinking she had bought a luxury vacation all prepaid. She had little money and when I told her that I did have a reservation for her so that she would still have to pay for the room, she looked very unhappy. So, I did my best to console her, and that was when she told me to call her Amanda. And now she is dead!" His eyes grew moist and he sniffed away a drop that had been hanging under his nose for some time.

Xavier had listened to the tale in wonder, but made no comment. Then he said, "well, that's odd, but it doesn't change anything, and I still have to get her things," he started towards the back door.

The little old man took the key and scurried ahead. They went up a creaking staircase and he fumbled a moment with the key before the door swung open. Xavier stepped in. The tiny room was in total disarray, clothes were scattered over the floor, a cheap suitcase lay torn in a corner. Whatever they had been after, they had been looking well. He wondered if they had found it. He bent over to pick up the suitcase when something hit him and he passed out. He slumped to the floor.

When he came to, three dirty faces stared at him.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," he had managed to get out before a huge, flabby hand tried to tear his head off his shoulders, "we are doing the questioning here! Answer!"

He looked at his adversaries, yes, they were undoubtedly the three guys the little old man had been talking about. Where was he anyway? he wondered, but then the flabby hand came swinging back and his head flew off to the other side, "ANSWER!"

There was no point in fighting them. They had him pinned in the corner, "I was here to collect Miss Charlemagne's things. She had an accident this morning and died on the volcano."

"Liar!" the hand swung back. His head knocked against the wall and the lights went out again. When he came to his face was drip-ping with water. He shook his head to get rid of the dark curtains that seemed to hang around, "ask the receptionist.”

"'The receptionist'," the fat man mocked, "'the receptionist'. Fernandez, get 'the receptionist' up here."

The man, who answered to the name Fernandez, disappeared and a minute later the little old man entered crying that Fernandez was hurting him.

"And he'll hurt you more if you don't do as you are told" the fat man threatened, "he says she is dead," he shook his head towards Xavier.

"It’s true, he told me so himself when he came."

"What happened?" the fat man questioned Xavier.

"She was walking down the small path towards the waterfalls on the volcano when she stumbled and fell down the ravine. I happened to be going the other way and saw it all. I went down after her but she was dead. She had a piece of paper in her pocket with her name and the name of the hotel. Since I saw her fall, I felt responsible for returning her thing to her family."

"How do we know you are telling the truth? Why would you bother to do that for a total stranger? There is more to it than that."

"You can ask the police; they have the body."

The man named Fernandez winced and looked scared at the fat man who laughed, "yes, we'll do that in due course." His hand swung again. Xavier saw it coming as in a dream, slowly it descended on his cheek and again all became dark.

When he again woke up it was almost evening and the room was dark. He was still on the floor. He tried to get up, but something was holding his legs. He sat up and stretched his arms down to remove whatever it was. His hands became all sticky and wet when they touched the weight over his legs. He pulled them back and stared at them in the fading light. Blood. He struggled and got rid of the body. He felt for a light switch and looked down. It was the little old man. He was dead. An ugly wound in his head had spilled the blood that was on Xavier's hands and trousers.

"Shit!" the word exploded over his lips as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. He was alone with a dead man lying in the room of the woman who right now was in a bed in his house.

He weighed his options. There were only two: either he sneaked out of the hotel hoping he would not be seen, and then try to get back home, dispose of his clothes with all the blood and hope for the best, or he could go straight to the police who would have a hard time believing him. He thought about it. His car had been parked in front of the hotel all afternoon. Some people might have seen him enter the hotel, and others might see him leave. And in any case, there were three men who could testify that he had been in the hotel. He doubted that they would, but they could. And the trail from the girl to the room might in any case point to him having been there. So, he might as well come clean, and the sooner the better. He got up and went down to the room which he in his mind called "the reception". There he had picked up the phone and dialed the police.

"This is Xavier Beaufils, may I speak with Commander Jones," he waited until the girl at the switchboard had put him through. She had not asked any questions; Commander Jones often came to La Galette for dinner. Perhaps not as frequently after the death of his father, but he had been there only a few months ago. "Commander Jones, it is Xavier Beaufils. I am in a bit of a mess. Could you please come over to the Duc d'Anjou right away? Take one of your trusted men with you, I'll explain once you get here."

Commander Jones was an old police officer, who did not waste time on questions, "I'll be right there," he said and hung up, then he stabbed at the intercom, "Hamish, get a car ready, no, not my car, one of the regular patrol cars, then meet me downstairs." He got up, grabbed his gun and checked it. Satisfied, he returned it to its holster, put on his cap and walked briskly out of his office, "I am going out, I'll be back soon. Lieutenant Gamal will go with me."

The girl in the front office looked up, "very well Sir."

When he came down to the courtyard a car was ready with Lieut. Gamal at the wheel, "the Duc d'Anjou," said Jones as he got in. Gamal put the car in gear and they were off. When they were out in the street, he looked at his boss. Gamal had worked with Commander Jones for over ten years and knew better than asking directly what they were doing or why.

"Had a strange phone call from young Beaufils, said to meet him at the hotel. I have no idea why," the Commander explained. They drove in silence until the car swung into Johnson Street. Jones noted Xavier's car on the other side of the road in front of the hotel. "Carry on, don't stop here," he said, "park two blocks down the road, then we'll walk back." The car continued, having hardly slowed down. As the lieutenant stopped the car, they got out and started to walk away from the hotel. At the first side street they turned and ambled up the narrow road acting as if they were on a normal patrol. The street was virtually empty. At the next intersection they turned right again and, in a few minutes, they were back on Johnson Street. It was deserted. When they came to the hotel they quietly slipped in the front door.

Xavier had been waiting for them in the dark, "what was keeping you? why didn't you stop?"

"Thought it more prudent not to park directly outside," said Jones simply, "now, what's the matter?" he looked at Xavier whom he had known since he was a young boy.

Xavier quickly explained right from when he had met Amanda and until he had woken up with the dead man in his lap. Jones listened attentively to everything, then he said, "nasty story. Lead the way." Xavier led the two police officers to room number six where the corpse of the old man still lay. He had been careful not to touch anything. Commander Jones took one look, then he said, "Hamish, call in the squad and wait here, I'll take Mr. Beaufils down to the station. Does your mother know where you are, she must be worried?"

"I phoned her after I had called you, only told her I had been delayed."

"Good."

They went down and out in the street, "we'll take your car," said Commander Jones. They got in and drove off. An old woman looked out the window after them. "Tell me the whole story one more time. Don't leave out even the tiniest detail. There is something that doesn't click." Patiently, Xavier had retold it all. He had tried to remember everything but had not felt he had added anything to the story he had already told.

"How long had you been in the room when they hit you?"

"I don't know, maybe one minute, that's all."

"And you didn't hear anybody come up the stairs?"

"No," Xavier was quite emphatic.

"Then they must have been in the building all the time," said Jones.

"But if they were then the old man must have known, and then he wouldn't have told me all he did."

"Maybe, and maybe not. Didn't you say he woke up behind the door only when you started to call out?" inquired Jones stroking his moustache.

"Yes."

"Then anybody could have entered the hotel quietly and sneaked up the stairs?"

"I guess so," Xavier was unsure, but it was a possibility.

"They must have been waiting for her."

"Maybe, but why? Why were they so interested in her, she only arrived two days ago," Xavier wanted to know.

"Yes, but apparently she had something they wanted."

"I can't believe it."

"We'll find out. In the meantime, I am afraid we'll have to take your deposition of what happened at the hotel."

"Of course. Am I suspected of murder?"

"Not by me, but it is not me you have to convince but the prosecutor. But I won't lock you up for now. As soon as you have made your statement, you go home, your mother will be worried."

"Thanks." Xavier was relieved.

When Xavier had finally made it home it was almost ten p.m. He had put the car in the garage and had walked up the front steps. As he was about to open the door his mother had rushed out, "Xavier, where have you been? I have been so worried."

He had kissed her on the cheek, "I'll tell you in a minute," he had pulled her inside, dropped the remains of Amanda's suitcase on the floor and closed the door. "How is Amanda? Has she woken up?"

"She is o-kay, but now she is asleep again. Have you had anything to eat? Should I order dinner?"

"No, I just want a sandwich and a beer."

"There is some cold turkey in the fridge, I'll make you some. Go sit down and I'll be right there." She had gone to the kitchen, had made him the sandwiches and had then returned to hear his strange tale.

Mme. Beaufils straightened up, all that had happened three days ago and now the young woman was recovering and sitting up in the large bed asking a flood of questions. Mme. Beaufils felt that it was more important for all of them rather than to answer questions from Amanda, no matter how pertinent they might be to her, to obtain some satisfactory answers from her to quite a few questions that had been pressing ever since Xavier's visit to the hotel.

"Slowly, not so many questions all at once," said Mme. Beaufils, "first tell me what you remember, begin right from the start then I’ll try to fill in the rest." She sat down on the bed and took Amanda's hand in hers.

Amanda took an immediate liking to the older woman, so calm and composed. She was obviously at ease with herself and her house, because there was no doubt, the house was hers. But, was she living here alone? Amanda realized that after she passed out on the volcano, the only person she had any recollection of having seen was this woman. Oh yes, she had a vague souvenir of a lean, grey elderly man, a doctor? 'yes,' she thought, 'maybe a doctor,' but it was very faint and she was not at all sure. But there had to be other persons living here. If this room was any indication of the size of the house, it had to be big, and Amanda could not imagine this woman living here all alone. 'Well, I'll soon find out,' she said to herself, 'but, what was the connection between her and the big blue eyes that been staring into hers on the volcano?' That thought brought her back to the events that obviously had terminated with her ending up in this luxurious bed. She thought for a while, wondering whether she should talk about Mr. Buchwaldt and of Mr. Lebos, who was supposed to have contacted her about the package, but then she thought that prudence was the safer course. Having made up her mind she looked into Mme. Beaufils' grey comforting eyes, and began.

"My name is Amanda Charlemagne. I am 29 years old, British and live in Geneva where I worked as a consultant for the UN High Commissioner for Refugees until last month, when my contract ended. I had been there for over three years and had hardly had any vacation. So, after I finished in Geneva, I decided to take a real holiday. First, I went back to the UK to visit some friends, and one day, when I had gone up to London, at the spur of the moment I decided to do something different. A week on a Caribbean island sounded just like what the doctor ordered. So, I went into the first travel agent I came across and bought myself a week in luxury on a white sand beach by the turquoise sea, or so I thought. But, when I arrived here, I discovered, that I had been cheated, and that the luxury hotel was a third or fourth rate dump, miles away from the sand and the sea. I had given the travel agent in London practically all the money I had allocated to the holiday, but it seemed foolish just to return to Europe on the next plane. In any case, my return flight was only on Sunday and I was not about to fork out my hard-earned money for a full-fare ticket. The least I could do was to try to get a bit of holiday out of it, even though it would not be as luxurious as I had imagined. The hotel was actually relatively clean and the old man who seemed to run it took pity on me and gave me some suggestions on what to do on a low budget. After I had slept one night I got on a bus and went down to the volcano to see the waterfalls," she paused and looked at Mme. Beaufils who smiled and pressed her hand encouragingly, "go on."

"Well, the bus ride was actually quite fun. Not many tourists do the island like that, I imagine. At least, I was the only non-local on my particular bus. Everyone on board was very kind and I got a lot of information on the island from the woman who sat next to me. She had been on the market in the morning and was returning home with a large basket of kitchen utensils she had been trying to sell. I asked if she had sold any, and she said that it had been a very good morning, and that was why she was returning so early, she had made enough money for her family to survive for a week. I asked her if she wouldn't have made more money by staying a couple of hours longer, but she looked at me in amazement and, like another Porkey, said that she had enough money so there was no reason to get more. Quite different from the way people react where I come from. She wanted me to come to her house which was near the volcano, and we agreed that I would stop by on my way back from the waterfalls. She must be wondering why I never showed up." Amanda paused for a minute, then she continued, "I got off the bus and took the trail that was leading to the falls. Of course, I didn't have the right kind of shoes, I had not planned on any type of trekking, so it was not easy to keep the balance. I slipped once or twice, but each time managed to catch the rail that ran along the trail. But then suddenly I slipped again and the rail gave way and I fell. I fell and fell, the branches and twigs slapped into my eyes and every time I tried to get hold of something it was wet and slippery and I couldn't stop. Oh, it was horrible!" reliving her ordeal her tale stopped for a moment.

Mme. Beaufils squeezed her hand again, but said nothing, waiting instead until the moment had passed. Amanda sniffed a last time, then she smiled through her tears and continued, "finally, I must have hit my head, because suddenly all became black. When I came to, I was staring into a young man's face. I started to say something, but then I passed out again, and the next time I woke up, I was in this bed. And that is all."

"Well, then let me continue," Mme. Beaufils cleared her throat, "the face you remembered was that of my son Xavier. He had been on an inspection of some fields which lie next to the reservation on the volcano and was on his way back to his car at the carpark where you got off the bus. You had just passed him when you fell, so he climbed down after you and brought you here. You were unconscious, so I undressed you and put you to bed. Then we got Dr. Henriques, our house doctor, to dress you wounds. They are not too serious, you shouldn't worry, but you have a concussion and he has ordered strict rest for at least another ten days to make sure you won't have permanent head damage. You were, after all, unconscious more than 48 hours."

"48 hours! But, what day is it today then?" Amanda was shocked.

"It's Saturday. You arrived Saturday afternoon, right?"

"Sunday."

"You can't have. You said yourself that it was the first day after your arrival, that you went to the volcano, and that was Monday.

Amanda bit her lip and frowned, after a little pause she said, "of course, it was Saturday."

Mme. Beaufils looked at her, but let it pass, "you woke up yesterday, but weren't really conscious. We gave you a bit to eat, hot soup, but you soon fell back into a mixture of unconsciousness and deep sleep. Dr. Henriques has been here each morning to see to you. He gave you some pills that were supposed to help you, and they obviously did because today the colour flowed back into your face and then you woke up. You do look much better," Mme. Beaufils smiled again, "do you want to have something more substantial to eat?"

Amanda shook her head, then she said, "thank you Mrs..." she looked questioningly at Mme. Beaufils.

"Oh, I am so sorry, of course, I am Janine Beaufils."

"Mrs. Beaufils, thank you very much for what you, and your son, have done for me. You have been very kind, but why didn't you simply send me to the hospital?"

"Well, it was quicker to bring you here than all the way to the hospital, which is on the other side of town, and once Dr. Henriques had seen you, he suggested it would be better for you to stay here, after all, you didn't require intensive care, only peace and quiet, and that you could get here better than on any hospital."

There was a pause. Amanda thought the situation over. She was grateful for the care the Beaufils family had given her, but she could not stay here forever. In any case her "week in the sun" was over in two days’ time, and she needed to get back to Europe to find a new job. "I have to get back," she said, "if I miss my return flight, I'll have to pay for a full-fare ticket, and I haven't enough money with me for that."

"I am sorry, my dear, but you are to stay in bed for another ten days, and even after that I doubt very much that you are in any condition to return right away. As for the return flight I am sure something can be arranged because of your accident. Don't you have an accident insurance?"

"No, that was with the job, and I haven't had time to take out a new one. It was one of the things that got pushed aside, when I decided to take this super holiday," she sounded suddenly bitter and despondent at the same time.

"Well, now that we know who you are and that you don't really need to be back at a given time, I am sure things will arrange themselves once you get better." Mme. Beaufils was reassuring, "I will have Xavier talk to the travel agency to see what can be done about the return flight, but I am certain he can fix something."

"Well, I guess so..." the thought of another few days in these luxurious surroundings appealed to her, but then she thought of the hotel and her things, "my things," she began.

"Don't worry, Xavier has recuperated whatever was left at the hotel. It's all over there," Mme. Beaufils pointed towards a large, dark wooden cabinet which occupied a good part of one of the walls. She was about to mention that the suitcase had been thrown away, but then thought better of it. Instead, she said, "you obviously did not intend to spend your time in many other places than on the beach."

Amanda blushed at the thought of her minuscule wardrobe. There were three mini bikinis, one simple evening dress and a couple of blouses and skirts including what she had been wearing on the volcano. Not really much that fitted into these surroundings.

Mme. Beaufils followed her thoughts, "I have looked in my own wardrobe and have found a few things which you can probably fit, I think we are about the same size. But, in any case, that is not for now. At the moment you just stay in bed, then we can look at that once Dr. Henriques permit you to get out of bed."

"But, I can't stay here!"

"Why not? We have plenty of room, Diane, our maid, and I will be pleased to continue to look after you, and Dr. Henriques has forbidden that you be moved."

Amanda sighed. She saw that there was nothing she could do, Mrs. Beaufils had obviously made up her mind that she was going to look after her, until she got well. But then she thought of Mr. Lebos and the package she had for him. He was to have contacted her several days ago, Mr. Buchwaldt had said that the last day would be Thursday, today, so she had to be at the hotel and she couldn't if she stayed here. "It is very kind of you Mrs. Beaufils, but I must go back to my hotel. I can't stay here and be a burden on you."

"It is out of the question! In any case, the hotel is no longer open. It closed two days ago."

"What do you mean it is no longer open?" Amanda burst out. She thought about the package she had hidden in the hole in the wall down the corridor. Mr. Buchwaldt had told her that it was very important that only Mr. Lebos got it, and that he had it latest today.

Mme. Beaufils looked at Amanda for a moment. Why this insistence on returning to the hotel. There was something strange there. "The caretaker died the other day, and there was no one else to run it, so it is closed. Xavier has brought your clothes here, so it is neither necessary nor possible to return to the hotel."

"What do you mean he died?"

"Well," Mme. Beaufils wondered if she should continue, but then she said, as gently as she could, "he was murdered!"

"Murdered?"

"By whom?" Amanda was aghast.

"If only we knew."

Amanda sighed again. Caught, that was what she was. Even if she could get out of this house, she could not return to the hotel for the package for Mr. Lebos. Well, there was nothing to do at the moment, she might as well make as good a show of it as possible. Once she got up, perhaps she could find a way to get back into the hotel to retrieve the package. Mr. Buchwaldt had been quite insistent, even threatening, when he said to her how important the prompt and correct delivery of the package to Lebos would be. But then she thought, 'I don't even know how to contact him. Mr. Buchwaldt just said he would contact me. And now with the hotel closed and me here, how is he to do that?'

Silently, two big tears rolled down her cheeks. Mme. Beaufils looked at her, but thought it was just a normal reaction after her accident. She said, "so, there my dear, just you take it easy. Lie down and rest. Try to get some more sleep, and you will soon get better. In a couple of hours Diane will bring you something to eat, and then maybe you will feel strong enough for Xavier to come and say hello to you. Until now only Dr. Henriques and I have been allowed into your room."

But Amanda didn't hear her. She only thought about Lebos and the package and what might happen, when it wasn't delivered. Mme. Beaufils looked at the crying body, but decided against doing anything. She squeezed Amanda's hand a last time, then quietly rose and left the room. Amanda turned her face to the wall and in a couple of minutes she was asleep.

When she woke up it was dark. She could see the stars shining through the window. The moon had to be somewhere, because its cold light fell on the butler's tray under the window. Amanda's eyes followed the light down the legs of the tray towards her bed, where they came across a thick, shaggy carpet that seemed to surround the bed. She knew there was a lamp to her right, and reached out to light it when the door opened. She let her arm sink and waited. A silhouette appeared in the doorway, it was a man, Xavier? She closed her eyes and waited. There was a click and the light in the chandeliers lit.

"Are you awake?" came the soft and well-bred voice she had heard for the first time on the volcano. She liked it.

She opened her eyes slowly, and said, "yes, I just woke up."

"Good evening, I am Xavier Beaufils, the guy who picked you up when you fell down the ravine."

"Good evening Mr. Beaufils and thank you for what you have done for me. Your mother has told me all about it." Amanda looked at him. She guessed he would be a head taller than her, broad-shouldered, well-proportioned with that heavy yellow mane of hair, that she had seen for a brief moment before she passed out after her fall. He was wearing a yellow polo shirt and a pair of sand-coloured pants. He was older than he had looked then. She would guess about 35. She couldn't see much more from where she was, but liked what she saw. She made a move to get up a bit.

"Don't move, the doctor has said you must lie quite still for several days more."

She sank back, "your mother told me you had been to my hotel to pick up my clothes. How did you find out where I stayed?"

"Well, we looked in your bag, sorry, but we had to find out who you were and were you stayed, there could have been someone waiting for you."

"Nobody is waiting for me anywhere," Amanda smiled faintly, she was weaker than she had thought, "I understand; but you shouldn't have brought me here, you could have taken me to the hospital."

"Nonsense! You were seriously hurt, bleeding, and had to get to a doctor as soon as possible, and the quickest was to call Dr. Henriques to the house. He is very competent and discrete."

Amanda became annoyed. His concern, while gratifying, was a bit too much. She was perfectly capable of looking after herself. Well, perhaps not now, but still. She was angry that she had to depend on their concern. "As soon as I am allowed to get out of bed, I must go back to Europe."

"Of course," there was a slight pause, "is there anything you would like? Can I get you something to eat?'

Amanda discovered that she actually was hungry, "I think I could eat a little bit, if it is not too much bother."

"I'll get Diane to bring up some food for you." He turned around and left, closing the door behind him. 'He just walks out, just like that,' thought Amanda.

A few minutes later a black woman entered. She carried a tray with some cold cuts, a glass of soda and two pieces of bread. It was all nicely arranged and there was silver cutlery next to the plate. She looked at Amanda, "good evening, Miss, I am Diane, where do you want me to put it, Miss?" She was a 'typical black maid', medium height, rotund and smiling with a white apron.

"Good evening, Diane, my name is Amanda. Please put it on the table by the lamp."

Diane did as she was told, "please let me know, if there is any-thing I can do for you."

"No thank you, not for the moment."

"You should just ring Miss," she pointed to a bell next to the bed, then she left.

Amanda surveyed the plate. The cold cuts looked appetizing. She took a piece of bread and spread some butter over it, put on one of the pieces of meat and began to eat. It tasted good. She must have been hungry. When she had finished all the food, she pushed the tray away, drank a bit of the soda and slipped down between the pillows again. Soon she was fast asleep.