Devil and the Deep Sea (10 page)

As she'd walked into the judge's private office, Samma had been

blushing, and she'd heard a faint hiss from the other side of the

table.

The Augustins were not a prepossessing couple, both plump, with

discontented expressions. Their lawyer, Maitre Felix, looked

irritated and resigned.

Samma hardly heard the opening statements by both attorneys. She

was waiting tensely for the announcement of her marriage. When it

came, she was still totally unprepared for the sensation it caused.

'Married?'
Madame Augustin shrilled. 'What lie is this?'

'It is the truth,
madame
.' Maitre Felix studied the marriage

certificate, then passed it back to Judge Lefevre. 'A valid ceremony

has taken place. Your son-in-law has legally remarried.'

There was a silence, then the woman shrugged a shoulder. 'What

difference does it make? Now that he has a new wife, he will

simply neglect
la pauvre petite
all the more.'

'Au contraire,'
Maitre Giraud said. 'Madame Delacroix is anxious

to care for Solange—to establish a stable home background for the

child.'

Madame Augustin gave an incredulous laugh. 'Look at her! She is

scarcely more than a child herself.'

Judge Lefevre gave a slight cough. 'If you will permit me,' he said

austerely. He studied Samma unnervingly for a long moment. 'May

I ask,
madame,
if you were acquainted with your
belle-fille
before

the marriage took place?'

She said huskily, 'No, I—I met her for the first time today.'

'And did it go well—this meeting?'

Samma met his gaze, and realised that he would detect any attempt

at a cosy lie. She said, 'Actually, it was pretty much of a disaster.'

'You see!' exclaimed Madame Augustin, and was hushed by her

lawyer.

'So,' Judge Lefevre said slowly, 'there is little chance of any

immediate rapport between you?'

'Within the near future, very little.' Samma was aware of Roche's

restive, angry movement. 'But we're talking about a lifetime—the

building of trust—of a stable relationship.' She took a deep breath.

'Solange, frankly, doesn't want me in her life, or anyone else for that

matter, but I intend to be there for her, just the same. She may never

accept me, but that's a chance I'm prepared to take. Maybe I'm too

young to be a—a conventional mother to her, but I can be her

friend, and that's what I'm offering, now and in the future—to be

there for her when—if she wants me.' She bit her lip. 'I've been a

stepdaughter myself. I don't expect instant miracles.'

'Words.' Madame Augustin dripped contempt into the thoughtful

silence which followed Samma's little speech. 'We can offer
la

petite
a secure, familiar home.'

'Familiar?' Jean-Paul Giraud queried. He glanced at his papers. 'I

understand there was little contact between yourselves and the late

Marie-Christine Delacroix.'

'My poor child.' Madame produced a handkerchief. 'Trapped in her

tragic marriage to that—monster. Is it any wonder she lived like a

recluse?'

Roche's face looked as if it was carved out of stone.

'Control yourself,
madame
.' The judge gave her a grim look.

'How can I?' The woman gave a hysterical laugh. 'This marriage is a

trick—a fabrication by this brute—this womaniser.' She turned the

venom of her gaze on Samma. 'You may think you have done well

for yourself, Madame Delacroix, but you will live to regret this day,

as my poor Marie-Christine did. He used my child, and when he no

longer wanted her, he cast her aside.'

Maitre Felix took her arm, trying to hush her, but she shook him off.

'He killed my girl—he shut her in that terrible house alone—and

drove her to her death with his cruelty and neglect. And he will do

the same with this new girl, once he has taken what he wants from

her. Wife!' She uttered a snort, then burst into loud, dramatic sobs.

'She will soon find out what it means to be Roche Delacroix's wife.

Married to the incarnation of
Le Diable!'

'Babette -' Monsieur Augustin, his face sweating and ashen, tried to

calm her, as the two lawyers exchanged discreetly appalled glances.

Above the tumult, Judge Lefevre made himself heard. 'There will be

silence.'

Amazingly, there was. Then he spoke again slowly, his eyes fixed

meditatively on Samma. 'I am not convinced the interests of the

child Solange Delacroix would be best served at this juncture by

placing her in the custody of her grandparents. Therefore, I shall

adjourn this matter,
sine die
.' He removed his glasses, and inclined

his head courteously. 'I wish you good fortune, Madame Delacroix.'

And I'm going to need every scrap of it, thought Samma as Roche's

hand closed with disconcerting firmness round her own, and he led

her from the room.

'You are very pale,
madame.'
Jean-Paul's voice was sharp with

concern. 'May I fetch you something—some coffee, perhaps?'

'Thank you.' Samma found herself in a kind of waiting-room,

furnished with easy chairs, and sank into one of them gratefully.

She accepted the coffee Jean-Paul brought her, then looked up at

Roche. 'I don't understand. Did we win?'

'You could say so,' Roche acknowledged. 'Judge Lefevre has

postponed any further hearing indefinitely. The Augustins will have

to think carefully before taking any further action.'

'And they will have to find a new lawyer to represent them.'

Jean-Paul put in. '
Dieu
, but that woman is poison!'

'The man is no better, believe me,' Roche told him grimly. 'What do

you imagine their next move will be?'

Jean-Paul shrugged. 'To return to France. Maitre Felix intends

personally to put them on the next plane out of here.'

'I can only hope they never return,' Roche said with disgust.

Jean-Paul smiled at Samma. 'Judge Lefevre preferred your honesty

to their malice,
madame.
My felicitations.'

She bit her lip. 'I wondered if I'd been a little too honest.' She

caught Roche's ironic look, and flung up her head defiantly. 'But

there have been too many lies, too much pretence already.'

Jean-Paul kissed her hand. 'Your husband is a fortunate man,' he

told her. 'I am sorry that these Augustins should have clouded your

wedding day.' He clapped Roche on the shoulder, with a grin. 'But

nothing will be allowed to spoil the night to follow, eh,
mon vieux?'

Samma swallowed the rest of her cooling coffee with something of

a gulp.

The square outside the town hall was crowded when they emerged.

Strolling pedestrians spilled on to the road, jostling for position with

cyclists and elderly taxis brightly painted in a variety of bizarre

colours.

'Will you wait here while I fetch the car?' Roche asked, and she

nodded.

'Have I got time to do some shopping?'

He frowned slightly. 'Did we forget something earlier?'

'No,' she said. 'It's just an idea I've had.'

She found what she was looking for in a toyshop in a quiet side

street. It was a doll with long blonde hair, limbs that moved, and

clothes which could be removed for laundering, and almost

identical to one Samma had possessed herself at Solange's age.

Roche's brows rose sardonically when he saw her purchase. 'I

thought you did not believe in instant miracles,
ma belle.'

'I don't. This is—an olive branch.' She paused. 'I suppose Solange

does play with dolls?'

Roche shrugged, starting the car. 'You had better ask Elvire.'

All hell will freeze first, she told herself silently. She said, 'She's

your daughter. Don't you know?'

'I thought I had made it clear how little time I have been able to

spend with her,' he said coldly. 'That,
ma chere,
is why you are

here, after all.'

And there was no comeback to that, she thought despondently. In

future, she would remember her place.

And, just in case there was any danger of her forgetting, the first

person she met as she walked into the house was Elvire, descending

the stairs.

She paused in evident surprise. 'The hearing is over already?'

'Mais oui,
and it has gone in our favour—for the time being,' Roche

said.

'I am so happy for you, and for
la petite
.' She bestowed a polite

smile on Samma. 'And for you too, of course, Madame Delacroix.'

Samma said with a faint snap, 'Would you mind not calling me that,

please?'

Elvire's brows lifted. 'There is some other form of address you

would prefer?'

Samma was tempted to say, Why don't you call me by my given

name—as you do my husband? But she knew the answer to that

already.

She said, 'I'll try and think of something,' and turned towards the

stairs, the box containing the doll tucked under her arm.

Half-way up the flight, Roche caught up with her, gripping her arm

with fingers that bruised.

He said quietly, 'You were less than polite to Elvire. May I remind

you that she has been the mainstay of this household for some time.'

'There's no need.' Samma wrenched herself free. 'She's exactly the

image of what a mainstay should be.'

The dark eyes narrowed. 'What does that mean?'

'Nothing at all.' Samma ran her fingers along the gleaming polish of

the banister rail. 'She's—obviously very efficient,' she added lamely.

She tried an awkward smile. 'I just expect—housekeepers to be

older, handing out hot broth, and homespun advice. That kind of

thing.'

He looked at her for a long, edged moment, then turned away with

a faint shrug. 'I will see you at dinner.'

'May Solange join us?'

He glanced back, clearly surprised. 'If you can persuade her.' His

tone doubted it, and Samma's spine stiffened in determination.

Solange's room was dim and shuttered, but the small mound in the

bed wriggled as Samma entered.

She said cheerfully, 'I'm glad you're not asleep,' and threw back the

shutters, letting the afternoon sun pour in.

The face which regarded her over the top of the sheet was still

mutinous, but also distinctly woebegone.

'What do you want?' was the uncompromising question.

Samma sat down on the edge of the bed. 'To talk. To explain why

we should at least try and get along together for your Papa's sake.'

'Why should we?'

Samma shrugged. 'Because men get very bored and cross when

their womenfolk are always bickering,' she returned. 'You don't

want Papa to get annoyed with us.'

Solange considered this for a moment. She said dubiously, 'When

Maman was alive, Papa lived at the casino.'

'Well, we don't want that to happen again.'

There was a long pause, then Solange nodded slowly and

reluctantly. She said, 'But I won't call you Maman.'

'I don't expect you to.' Samma kept her voice matter-of-fact,

avoiding even the slightest taint of triumph. It was, after all, a very

small victory. She put the doll on the bed between them. 'I brought

you this.''

'Why?'

Again Samma decided nothing but the truth would do. 'As a bribe,'

she said.

Solange stared at her. 'You mean—so that I will behave well?' At

Samma's nod, she looked down at the doll, touching the fair hair,

and the lace-edged skirts. She said, half to herself, 'I had a doll

once, and when we came here, Maman said there was no room in

the case.' She gave Samma a fierce look. 'But I make no promises,

madame.'

'Nor do I—and my name is Samma.' She paused. 'Also, Roxanne

tells me it's your favourite, chicken Creole, for dinner tonight.'

Solange's lower lip jutted woefully. 'Papa said I had to stay here.'

'I think you'll find Papa has changed his mind,' Samma told her

gently, getting to her feet.

As she reached the door, she heard Solange say, 'But you will not

stay here. When the curse begins to work on you, you will be glad

to leave.'

Samma forced a smile. 'Perhaps I'm not that easily frightened,' she

said lightly, and went back to her own room.

It was a delicious dinner, but it was not the easiest meal Samma had

ever sat through. Solange had come downstairs, bringing her doll

with her, which was a small step in the right direction.

The little girl was wearing a brown dress with a crocheted collar,

which had a distinctly old-fashioned look. Roche should apply

some of his acumen about women's clothing to his daughter's

appearance, Samma thought. Beginning with those awful braids.