‘This was 1915 so I was eighteen or maybe nineteen.’

‘But you never made it to the Place Vendôme?’

‘No, I didn’t. Fate took a hand. In those days Fate was always taking a hand! Perhaps it still is.’

She shivered slightly and looked up at Joe speculatively then snuggled closer, passing an arm under his jacket, seeking his warmth and closeness. He was conscious that she was wearing only a light silk dress and after the heat of the chase she must be cooling off rapidly. He enjoyed her touch and for a moment, perhaps more than a moment, his senses began to spin. He took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, putting his arm once again around her and effectively pinioning her arms to her sides. He had not forgotten that the woman in his arms was a crack shot and she was still holding a revolver in her right hand.

‘Suddenly there were no men left on the Côte d’Azur. No gaiety. Everything closed down. I decided to play my own game. I sold the little jewellery I had, took my maid and left for Paris. I put on a wedding ring and became a widow. I had decided to choose and not be chosen any longer. I set up in a smart apartment in the Avenue de l’Opéra and I chose the lovers I entertained. There were plenty of officers on leave constantly from the front. By this time I spoke French as one born there and very aristocratic French. I was decidedly a poule de luxe, Commander!’

‘And why did you find yourself on the Blue Train back to the south the year after the war ended?’

‘Obvious if you think for a moment! My lovers were dead or gone back to their homes to rebuild their lives. The world had changed for ever. There were many – genuine – widows in the market for a little love and protection (amateurs!), and the competition was fierce. I was again destitute. All I had left was my good clothes. I hadn’t even the money to pay for the services of a maid. I got a letter from an old friend who was recovering from war wounds in the south, in Nice. He asked me to join him. Even sent me a first class ticket.’

‘And then you met Alice Conyers?’

‘We were snaring a compartment. She had a great effect on me. So eager, so innocent, with everything to look forward to! She was not much younger than I was but there was a lifetime’s experience between us. She was on the brink of a new life with a fortune to come to her and a husband. And I – I felt as though I were at the end of my life, tired, disillusioned, used, knowing so much and having achieved so little. I envied her.’

‘So much that you stole her life?’

‘It wasn’t deliberate. It wasn’t thought out in any way. It was Fate, I do believe. An impulse. You have no idea what it feels like, or perhaps you have, Commander, to realize that you are the only one to have survived such a horror. Fate, you see, had led me to the ladies’ room seconds before the crash. That saved my life. It was a small space and well padded and carpeted. I rattled around, of course, but in the confines of that space I was much more protected than everyone else.’

She touched her face. ‘The mirror broke and sliced through my face, a few ribs were cracked and I sprained a wrist but really, I wasn’t as badly injured as I pretended to be. When I got free of the wreckage I stood and looked at the carnage. There was no one left alive but me. A baby was screaming for a while but then that too went silent. I should have been overwhelmed, distraught, but I wasn’t.’

She wrinkled her forehead, anxious to convey accurately her feelings. ‘I felt elated, powerful, chosen. I of all had survived and I could do whatever came into my head. I walked about and looked at my fellow passengers. Alice Conyers, pretty little Alice was dead. Minutes ago she had everything and now she was no more than a broken doll. What a waste of a life! But I didn’t steal her life, Joe. It was presented to me. I found it torn and shattered in a rock-strewn ravine. I picked it up. I put it on. It fitted. You know what Napoleon said? He said, “I didn’t usurp the throne. I found the crown of France in the gutter and picked it up on the point of my sword.” That’s what it was like for me.’

There was a very long pause in which it seemed to Joe she was wondering whether to proceed. At last she resumed and her voice had hardened. ‘You must realize that Alice Conyers was – nothing! A brainless little chatterbox. Completely without intelligence or experience. She had a certain amount of mouse-like charm but she was no more capable of running ICTC than a… a… spaniel! She could never have kept her feet in the shifting commercial politics of the firm. She would have married Reggie and been completely submerged by him. He would have milked the company and it would all have been a disaster.’

‘Why are you telling me all this, Isobel?’

‘Please – go on calling me Alice, won’t you – I’ve got used to it and you’ve made your point.’

‘All right then – Alice. I don’t know you very well…’

‘We could put that right, Joe.’ The invitation in her voice was unmistakable.

‘I don’t know you very well, Alice, but I do know this – that you’d never say or do anything without a purpose and just at the moment I’m wondering why you’ve told me all this. I wasn’t far behind you but I hadn’t got there.’

She turned to him with a frank smile. ‘Because I know and you know that there’s absolutely nowhere you can go with this information! Assuming you could find someone credulous enough to listen to your story, I would deny everything. But you’ve worked that out already, haven’t you?’

‘Oh, yes. There are many who would step forward to bear witness in your favour. There are many who depend for their livelihood on the continuing prosperity of ICTC. What would be their reaction if I were to attempt to clap you in handcuffs and remove you from the scene? And, anyway, what would be the charge? Would anyone thank me for being the instrument which put your husband Reggie in the driving seat? I don’t think so! There are many here in Simla who admire what you do. The only evidence against you is that of a semi-blind and badly injured fellow passenger who met you briefly three years ago. And even he’s not convinced he’s right. I wouldn’t put him on the witness stand. Your friends in high places would close ranks to preserve the status quo. You’re right – we both know this, so I’m asking you again, Alice – why are you confiding in me?’

She edged closer and sighed. ‘Because by finding out my identity you’ve put yourself in grave danger of assassination, Joe Sandilands. I have to warn you. And it’s important that you know the whole story to understand why.’

Wriggling gently under the jacket, she freed her right arm and carefully placed her revolver into his hand. ‘Here, take this. You have much more urgent need of it now than I. You know who I am but… you’re not the only one.’

She shivered again and turned anxious eyes, silver in the moonlight, to his, determined to make him understand the urgency of what she had to tell him.

‘Someone else in Simla knows. Someone in Simla has always known! And they’ll try to kill you now for the same reason they killed Lionel Conyers and Feodor Korsovsky.’

Chapter Seventeen

«^»

A chilling wind stirred the jasmine over their heads. Alice shook a shoulder free from the jacket and spread it over Joe’s back so that they were sharing the protection of the light tweed and sharing their body heat. Her arm slipped round his waist and Joe felt a thumb inserted into his waistband. He was disconcertingly aware as she snuggled closer that her softly curved body was pressing against him, aware also of her warm breath as she whispered urgently in his ear.

‘I’m telling you all this because I need help and I think you need help too. We may be able to do a deal. Let me tell you… When I’d been in India for nearly a year I came up to Simla. My first season here in the hot weather. ICTC had begun to turn round. Everybody knew it. I had a letter. The strangest letter! It said, “Dear Isobel.” And that was all! Literally all! Someone wanted me to know that they knew who I truly was.’