Chavasse reached out and took her hand gently. 'Are you afraid of him?'
It was a long moment before she replied. 'Yes, I think I am, which is strange, because just as surely, I know he could never hurt me.'
She drew a deep breath and scrambled to her feet. 'But this is nonsense. I came out for the deer-stalking, not psycho-analysis.'
A cry drifted down to them on the warm air and they looked up to see Colonel Craig and George Gunn above them on the shoulder.
'This way, you two,' the old man cried.
She turned to face Chavasse, her face calm and yet there was something very close to an appeal in her eyes and he took her hands in his.
'I would never willingly see you hurt, Asta. Do you believe that?'
Something seemed to go out of her in a long sigh and she leaned against him. 'Oh, I needed to hear that, Paul. You'll never know how much.'
He kissed her gently on the mouth and when they went up the hill, they walked hand in hand.
9
Beyond the French windows, the beech trees above the river were cut out of black cardboard against a sky that was streaked a vivid orange above the mountains. Inside, it was warm and comfortable and Asta in a silk dress of apple green, playing the grand piano softly, was somehow a part of the stillness of the evening just before nightfall.
It was a comfortable room, panelled in oak three centuries old and Donner had had the sense to furnish it in character. The soft light came from a tall standard lamp and a log fire crackled on the wide stone hearth.
Donner, Colonel Craig and Jack Murdoch were in evening wear, but Chavasse wore a beautifully tailored suit of dark worsted that somehow gave him an elegance lacking in the others.
The door opened and Stavrou entered with more coffee. He placed it on the table and Ruth Murray said, 'I'll see to that, Stavrou. You can go.'
He departed as silently as he had come and she got to her feet and moved forward, an attractive figure in a deceptively simple black dress.
'Can I offer you some more coffee, Colonel Craig?' she said.
The old man held up a hand. 'No thanks, my dear, not for me.'
'Another brandy, then?' Donner said.
'Hard to say no. It's the best I've tasted in a long, long time, Mr. Donner.'
'Plenty more where that came from,' Donner said and nodded to Murdoch who got up obediently and reached for the decanter.
Colonel Craig held out his glass. 'And the dinner-remarkable, that's the only word for it. No local cook, I'll be bound.'
Donner chuckled, obviously pleased. 'I should say not. My man Stavrou handles that department. He's Greek and when they're good, they're really good.'
And the dinner had been good, Chavasse had to give him that and leaning on the piano, listening to Asta play, he watched the group by the fire casually.
In any group of people anywhere, large or small, Max Donner would have stood out and Murdoch lounging in the corner, idly fondling the ears of the Doberman sprawled beside his chair, wore his evening clothes with the sort of careless ease to be expected from a man of his background and breeding.
He sipped his drink slowly, staring across the rim of his glass at Ruth Murray who sat beside Colonel Craig on the settee. He wants her, Chavasse thought, but he's too scared of Donner to make any kind of approach.
Ruth Murray held out her glass for the fourth time and Murdoch picked up the decanter and filled it for her. Donner moved forward and in a casual gesture that would have been missed by most people, plucked the glass from her hand.
'You don't look much like a bridge man to me, Colonel,' he said. 'How about a game of billiards? Jack and I play most nights.'
'All right, by me,' the old man said, getting to his feet. 'What about you, Paul?'
Chavasse grinned. 'I'm fine where I am. I don't know where you get the energy from. This afternoon just about finished me off.'
'Suit yourself,' Donner said and he and the other two men went out.
Ruth Murray reached for the brandy decanter and filled another glass. She got to her feet and crossed to the piano. 'I hear you were in the wars again this morning, Mr. Chavasse?'
'A slight misunderstanding,' Chavasse said blandly. 'Nothing more.'
She was a little tight and when she leaned on the piano and spoke to Asta her eyes were full of malice.
'Did you enjoy yourself this afternoon?'
'Tremendously,' Asta said and continued to play. 'You should have come with us, Ruth. It was quite an experience.'
'I'm sure it was.'
'Oh, yes, I learned many things.' Asta stopped playing to tick them off on her fingers. 'That you cannot stalk a stag down-wind, even at a thousand yards. That I must never hurry. Never attempt to shoot when I am out of breath. Always shoot low if the target is down-hill.'
She paused with a slight frown and Chavasse cut in, 'And never pull the trigger until you're close enough to see the ears move.'
They both burst out laughing and Ruth Murray straightened and said sourly, 'Very funny, I'm sure.'
She went out and as the door closed behind her, Chavasse said, 'I don't think she likes you very much.'
'Not just me,' Asta said. 'Everyone. You see she loves Max and he doesn't love her. It's as simple as that.' She picked up her wrap and draped it over her shoulders. 'Do you mind if we walk for a while? It's a beautiful evening.'
She slipped her arm into his and they went out through the French windows, crossed the terrace and walked through the velvet darkness towards the trees. He lit a cigarette and they leaned on the small bridge over the river.
After a while, she turned, her face a pale blur in the darkness. 'Tell me something about yourself, Paul.'
'What would you like to know?'
'Oh, the really important things. You and your family-where you come from. You're English and yet you're as French as the Pigalle on a Saturday night. Now there's a paradox if you like.'
And he wanted to tell her, that was the strangest thing of all and leaning on the wooden rail of the bridge there in the darkness, he spoke as he hadn't spoken to any other human being in years.
He told of his father killed fighting for France so long ago that it was barely a memory. Of his mother who lived in retirement on that most delightful of all the Channel Islands, Alderney, and of the family farm in Brittany that his wonderful old tyrant of a grandfather still managed so competently.
When they turned to walk back to the house, she hung on to his arm and sighed. 'Life is nothing without roots, that's true, isn't it?'
'We all need a place to rest our heads from time to time,' he said. 'A place where we can be certain of perfect understanding.'
'I wish to God there was such a place for me,' she said and there was a poignancy in her voice that went straight to his heart.
He paused, turning to look down at her and Donner walked out on to the terrace. 'Oh, there you are. Your uncle's ready to leave, Chavasse.'
His voice was calm, but he was angry and Chavasse knew it. Asta ran up the steps and placed a hand on his arm. 'You've lost money, Max. I can always tell.'
