An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (97 page)

‘Good!’

There was warm approval in Emilie’s tones. She picked up the bouquet with which she had been presented on arrival.

‘We will go back to the Hotel now,’ she said.

Mistral was relieved at her aunt’s decision. She also was ready to leave, for she had experienced too many conflicting emotions this evening for it to have been in any way a happy one. Emilie had already paid the bill and now she led the way across the room, choosing a moment when the band was not playing and the floor was clear of dancers.

Their exit was dramatic and well-timed, with everyone’s eyes directed on them. Mistral tried to move slowly and with dignity across the empty polished boards, striving as usual to think of other things, to forget both herself and the people watching her.

She could not, however, forbear to give one quick glance towards Sir Robert’s table. He was not looking at her, instead he was paying the bill which a waiter was presenting to him. Lady Violet appeared to be irritated, drumming her fingers on the table, her mouth drooping sulkily, and Mistral quickly looking away again wondered how she could be anything but happy when she was with Sir Robert.

Emilie and Mistral reached the entrance hall of the Restaurant, where attendants ran in search of their cloaks and the linkman outside was instructed to call a carriage.

They waited for a few moments and then were informed that the carriage was outside. Emilie swept out on to the steps. A carriage was drawing up and an attendant hurried ahead to open the door. Several other people came crowding out behind them, and Mistral noticed one of the dark-skinned men who had dined with the Rajah. She met his eyes and looked away hastily. There was something in his expression which made her feel uncomfortable.

Emilie moved forward to step into the carriage. As she did so, the man who had been with the Rajah pushed past Mistral and put his hand on Emilie’s arm. He whispered something in her ear, but Mistral could not hear what it was. She only saw her aunt start violently and heard the man say ominously,

‘You must hear me,
Madame
.’

Emilie turned her head and saw Mistral listening.

‘Get into the carriage,’ she commanded.

Mistral did as she was told, though surprised at the order. She wondered what the Rajah’s friend could possibly have to say to Aunt Emilie.

It was dark inside the carriage, and she seated herself at the far side leaving the seat nearest to the open door for Aunt Emilie. Suddenly the door was closed and almost instantly the horses started off, moving at first slowly and then quicker and quicker. Mistral gave a little cry.

‘Wait!’ she called. ‘There is someone else to come! A lady has been left behind!’

But even as she shouted, she knew that her voice would not be heard. The carriage was heavily padded and both the windows were closed. Agitatedly she jumped up and tried to open the one nearest to her, but she could not move it. She tried the other with the same result.

Breathless she sat down again and thought perhaps that it did not matter. It was a very short way to the
Hôtel de Paris,
and Aunt Emilie would easily get another carriage. It was annoying and an added expense, but that was all.

Mistral relaxed and wondered again what the Rajah’s friend could possibly have had to say to Aunt Emilie. Her Aunt’s expression had been startled by what he had whispered. What a lot of mysteries there were about everything! Mistral sighed. She wished everyone would be honest and straightforward, especially Aunt Emilie. It was so irritating to be surrounded by so much intrigue and to have no idea what it was all about.

She looked out of the window. They should be at the hotel by now. It was then that she realised that the horses were climbing uphill, climbing steadily and quickly up the wide road which led away from the Casino through the new town and towards Mont Agel. There was obviously some terrible mistake, Mistral thought.

Once again she tried both windows, finding it easier to exert her full strength now that the horses were trotting quite slowly, but nothing she could do would move them. She decided that the only thing to do was to try the door, but to her astonishment she found it had no handle inside the carriage.

She did not believe this at first, but groped for some time first on one side and then at the other, feeling sure she was mistaken. But at length she was convinced there were no handles and the doors were as securely closed as the windows. She began to get a little frightened. She shouted again,

‘Stop! Open the door !’

But there was no reply. The horses went on climbing uphill and there was no sound save the jingle of their harness and the rumble of wheels over the hard ground.

What could have happened? Had she taken someone’s private coach by mistake? Was she being driven to one of the grand Villas on the higher roads of the town? That, she thought, must be the explanation, in fact it was the only possible one.

Aunt Emilie would be angry when she found she was not at the
Hôtel de Paris.
But she could hardly be blamed for something which was not in the least her fault.

On and on the horses went and now at last Mistral, peering through the windows, could see that they were drawing up in front of a Villa.

It was very large and white and there was a garden in front of it. Wide marble steps led down to wrought iron gates. People of importance must live here, Mistral thought, and they, too, would be angry at being left behind at the Restaurant while she drove away in their carriage. Nervously she rehearsed an explanation of what had occurred.

The carriage stopped, the door was flung open by a native servant in a red coat over voluminous Eastern trousers which were of white lawn like his turban. Several other servants dressed in the same manner came hurrying down the steps. Mistral got out of the coach.

There has been a mistake,’ she said clearly. ‘I was brought here from the
Restaurant des Fleurs,
but I wish to go back to the
Hôtel de Paris. I
would be grateful if the carriage could take me back.’

Another servant with a beard, who seemed older and more distinguished than the others, stepped forward. He bowed very low, said something in a language which Mistral did not understand, then pointed to the open door of the Villa a few yards away.

‘Is there anyone here who can speak French or English?’ Mistral asked.

The servant shook his head and again, speaking in a strange tongue, he pointed to the door.

‘Perhaps someone inside will understand,’ Mistral said.

Feeling there was nothing else that she could do, she walked up the steps and went in through the big double doors of the Villa. She found herself in a large pillared hall of black and white marble. The servants followed her. The one with the beard led the way up a flight of stairs, which were closely covered with a thick, soft-piled carpet so that his feet made no noise, and the whole of the house seemed curiously silent.

Mistral suddenly felt terribly afraid. Where was she going? What did this mean? Somehow she must get back to the
Hôtel de Paris
even if she had to walk. They had reached a wide landing when Mistral made her one last desperate effort to make herself understood.

‘I wish to speak to the mistress of the house,’ she said. ‘Oh, isn’t there anyone here who can understand French, or English, or German?’

The man muttered something and opened the door. Mistral saw a huge room dimly lit by flickering golden lamps. There was the exotic perfume of sandalwood and everywhere the glitter of gold – gold-spangled curtains, gilt furniture and low tables of beaten brass laden with gold ornaments.

Mistral stared about her in bewilderment. Then someone came from the shadows at the far end of the room and walked slowly towards her. Mistral saw a flash of white teeth against dark skin, the glitter of sparkling jewels on a pale turban, and recognised the Rajah.

She gave a little gasp of horror. As she did so, she heard the door close softly behind her.

‘Mademoiselle Fântóme!
It gives me great pleasure to welcome you to my house,’ the Rajah said softly.

‘I have been brought here by mistake,’ Mistral replied quickly. ‘My aunt ordered a carriage to take us to the
Hôtel de Paris.
I got into it first, but the coachman drove off without waiting for my aunt and without apparently waiting for proper instructions. I would be grateful if Your Highness would have me sent at once to the
Hôtel de Paris.’

‘Do you really imagine it was chance that brought you here?’ the Rajah asked.

‘Then it was not a mistake?’ Mistral asked.

‘I seldom make mistakes,’ the Rajah replied.

‘But this is intolerable! Your Highness will kindly order me a carriage or if not, I will walk.’

Mistral turned impulsively towards the door. As the Rajah did not move she turned the handle of the door herself, but it did not open. She knew then that the door was locked. The Rajah laughed. It was a horrible, mocking sound which frightened Mistral more than anything else she had heard in the whole of her life.

Her face was very white, but she held her head high as she turned to face him.

‘What does this mean?’ she asked. ‘How dare you keep me here?’

‘Why not, when I so greatly desire your presence?’

‘Do you imagine my absence will not be noticed?’ Mistral asked scornfully. ‘Do you imagine my aunt will not be worried? This very moment she will have sent for the Police.’

‘You are mistaken! Your aunt will not send for the Police, my dear.’

‘She will, I am sure of it,’ Mistral retorted. ‘I must beg of Your Highness to let me go immediately. This indiscretion will do you no good and nothing will be gained by it.’

The Rajah laughed again.

‘You are very lovely when you are cross,’ he said. ‘I have always liked pretty women when they are defiant. But let us face facts. Nothing you say will deceive me – for the game is up. It was a clever one, but then your aunt is a very clever woman. Yes, the game is up and I am the winner.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ Mistral replied. ‘All I know is that you have brought me here against my will and I command you to open this door.’

‘Very prettily said,’ the Rajah remarked. ‘You are an excellent actress. Your aunt, as you call her, must have spent a great deal of time in teaching you to be so proficient, but now let us dispense with all this nonsense and get to know each other – you and I.’

He drew nearer to Mistral as he spoke and put out his hand as if to touch her. Mistral gave a little cry and moved away from him.

‘Don’t you dare to touch me.’

‘How fond you are of that word “dare”,’ the Rajah smiled. ‘I shall dare many things before the night is out, dear little
Mademoiselle Fântóme.
But first of all you must tell me what is your real name? There is no need now for such rigid formality. We are alone! May I offer you some champagne?

He walked across the room to a table set in the window. On it were many bottles and several glasses. There was something in his calm assurance, in the smile on his face, which made Mistral more afraid than anything he had said or done until this moment. She put up her hand to her neck and touched her pearls. Her fingers were very cold and she could feel them tremble…

‘If it is my pearls you want,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I will give them to you – if you will let me go now, and – at once.’

The Rajah turned, a glass of champagne in his hand, and his eyes were amused.

‘I am no longer interested in your pearls. You shall keep them with the other presents that I will give you. It is
you
I am interested in.’

Mistral felt as if her knees gave way beneath her. In an uncontrollable panic she ran to the door and turned the handle once again. The Rajah watched her.

‘It is locked,’ he said softly, ‘and the only way out of this room leads into my own apartment. You can go there if you wish, but I think you will find yourself more comfortable here.’

He made a gesture as he spoke towards the end of the room and Mistral’s eyes followed his. There, a little out of the golden light shed by the lanterns, she could see the outline of a great circular divan covered with silk cushions and curtained with transparent net.

For a moment she stood very still. Then she felt as if she were paralysed with terror such as she had never known before. She longed to scream, but she knew no one would come to her rescue. The servants in the house would have had their instructions.

Desperately she clutched at her pride, feeling that only by keeping control of herself could she hold the bestial desires of the Rajah at bay.

He was watching the expressions on her face as if he could read her thoughts and realised the effort she was making not to scream.

‘I knew that you would be sensible once you realised you were defeated,’ he said at length. ‘I know, too, that your most clever and experienced aunt will not have left you ignorant, for you had thought to catch Prince Nikolai. I commend you both for an extremely clever idea, but I am the Rajah of Jehangar and far more wealthy than the Prince. You have lost one fish but caught another.’

As he spoke he moved nearer to her, and when he had finished speaking, Mistral realised that he was very near. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with horror.

‘Do not touch me or I swear I will kill you.’

The Rajah threw back his head and laughed.

‘You are extremely entertaining,’ he said. ‘I see that I shall be very amused by you. And now I will give you ten minutes in which to prepare yourself for me. By the divan you will find some diaphanous garments – such as our dancing girls wear. It delights me to see white women in our traditional garb. You will put them on. Do not be perturbed if they are more revealing than the cumbersome clothes with which you disguise your natural charms.’ He paused and looked down at her, and Mistral saw the lust in his eyes. ‘Change quickly, and, as we say in my country, await your Lord and Master.’

He moved silently across the room towards a sliding panel in the wall, which led to his own apartment. He touched the spring, then he looked back at Mistral.