Peach Read Free Page A

no longer believe that Sekhmet ruled her life, but her eyes avoided his and her expression would grow remote.
    Shrugging aside the past, Jim walked down the path to meet her. There were enough family problems withoutbringing up the dead. Should he, or should he not, tell Leonie about her granddaughter? Leonie’s great friend, Caro Montalva had telephoned from Paris only an hour ago to say that something had better be done before Lais caused as big a scandal in the de Courmont family as Leonie had done forty years ago.
    Leonie’s garden never failed to give her pleasure, it was so full of memories. The reflecting pool with its fountains shimmered in the twilight and beside it was the bench placed so that she could watch the sunset over the sea. And there was the flowering oleander that she had planted in remembrance of Bébé, her very first and most beloved cat. Terraced steps led to the curve of beach, tucked between the tangled green headlands that framed the blue and jade and aquamarine bay.
    The villa itself had been just a small foursquare white building when it first became hers, but now it had sprawled and expanded with arches and terraces and terracotta tiled floors, cool and white and green-shuttered. Her home and her refuge. The place she loved most in the world.
Her life had begun here
. And it was here she had finally come to terms with who she was.
    Old Madame Frénard was pottering around the dining room setting out Leonie’s favourite blue plates and the big blue lustre jug full of bright summer flowers. Madame Frénard had been with her grandmother ever since Leonore could remember. “Bonsoir, Madame,” she called loudly to combat the old lady’s increasing deafness.
    “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Leonore. What news of your little sister Peach?”
    Leonore laughed. Three-month-old Peach was the centre of all interest at the villa. “I have some photographs to show you later, Madame Frénard,” she called.
    On the long terrace with its view of the bay a silver icebucket beaded with chilly drops held a bottle of champagne. Leonore waved as Jim and her grandmother walked up the steps to the terrace. They made a handsome couple, Jim tall, clean-cut and all-American, and Grand-mère, who managed to look French and glamorous even in a simple shirt and skirt. She wondered nervously whether she should tell them the rumours about Lais.
    Leonie regarded her granddaughter with a critical eye as she kissed her. “I do wish you would wear something less severe,” she said. “You’re too young to look so … buttoned up!”
    They laughed at her description but it fitted. Leonore did give the impression that she was buttoning away her youth and femininity behind her business façade.
    “You may feel glad about that,” Jim said, pouring the champagne, “when you hear what Caro had to say about your other granddaughter.”
    “Lais? Why, what is it this time?”
    “I’m afraid I heard the rumours too,” admitted Leonore.
    “All right,” said Leonie with a sigh, “you’d better tell me the worst.”
    “The worst,” said Jim, “is twenty years older than Lais and was disowned by his family for his bad ways. He claims to be a Russian aristocrat who is the only member of his family to survive the Revolution. He also claims their money and possessions went with them, confiscated by the Bolsheviks. Over the years he’s been a cab-driver, a singer in various nightclubs and, Caro says, a procurer. Currently he’s living with—and off—your granddaughter—apparently with various little sidelines that Lais may, or may not, be aware of.”
    Leonie sighed. “Such as?”
    “Supplying drugs, women—anything he can put a price on—to those who need them.”
    Leonie’s face looked set with anger. “And what did you hear, Leonore?”
    Leonore stared at the terracotta tiles at her feet. “Must I tell you, Grand-mère?”
    “You must.”
    “There are wild parties. The police are called often because of the