Noelle heard her father shout out in an agony of loss.
Somehow he corrected the descent. The wings wobbled and shook but a few feet from the ground he levelled her out and set her down on the dirt in a perfect three point landing. The Beechcraft bounced to a halt at the end of the runway.
Noelle whispered her thanks to the Virgin. She suddenly realised she had been clutching the crucifix at her throat so tightly it had left a livid imprint in the flesh of her palm.
Baptiste shut down the engines. Eerie silence.
Bonaventure ran back to the Mercedes. “Get over there,” he shouted to his driver.
***
Baptiste had bled all over the cabin.
Noelle cradled him in her arms. He was unconscious. There was a deep laceration on his scalp and a crust of it had hardened on his face, soaking his shirt and trousers, and the force of the jet stream through the shattered Perspex had sprayed blood around the cockpit. There was more blood seeping from a sopping bandage on his lower left leg.
The eyelid on his left eye was split open, and she could see the eyeball underneath, the pupil dilated and misshapen.
Bonaventure was more concerned with what was in the back. “He got the opium,” he said with grudging admiration.
Noelle ignored him. “Look what I've done,” she moaned. She could not believe she had led him to this. She was as crazy and as cold as her father.
“Is he alive?' Bonaventure asked her, curious rather than concerned.
“Barely.”
“Well, let's get him in the car then,” he said. “We'll find him a doctor.”
Chapter 21
B ONAVENTURE found Baptiste dozing in the garden of the Bungalow, one leg heavily bandaged, resting on a rattan chair. There was a thick pad over his left eye. The rest of his face was still misshapen from the beating he had taken in Cholon and there was a thick swathe of bandaging under his shirt splinting his ribs. He held a cigarette in one hand and a glass of vermouth cassis in the other. He looked pale and tired and insufferably smug.
' Crocé.”
He opened his good eye. “Monsieur Bonaventure. What a pleasure.”
Bonaventure grunted. “For you perhaps.” He pulled up a rattan chair and sat down. He took out a silver cigarette case and selected a black Russian cigarette. His doctor had told him they were not good for him, but he allowed himself one on certain occasions, such as when he had unpleasant duties to perform.
“How is the leg?'
“The bullet broke a small bone, but the doctor says it will heal. It is the eye that is the problem.”
“Oh?'
“He says the fragment of Perspex he removed has damaged the cornea and I will probably lose sight in it.”
So you will be one-eyed from now on, Bonaventure thought bitterly. Like my daughter. “Will you be able to fly again?'
“Not without an aeroplane.”
Bonaventure took the point. “I don't know whether to shake your hand or cut your throat.”
“A difficult choice for you, I imagine.”
“My daughter seems to be very fond of you, Monsieur Crocé.”
“She is a poor judge of character.”
“Precisely.” Bonaventure drew on the cigarette and studied the other man. I wonder what he wants? he thought. I can guess. But perhaps I shall be able to accommodate him. He has shown himself to be far more resourceful than I imagined. “You are either very brave or very foolish. I cannot make up my mind which it is.”
“Perhaps both. Such qualities go hand in hand. If a man is a hero or an idiot depends on how things turn out. Anyway, it was Noelle's idea.”
“She says she is going to marry you. Is that her idea also?'
“No. It was mine.”
“Who are you in love with, Monsieur Crocé? My daughter - or my business?'
“Both.”
Bonaventure was startled by the candour of the reply. He hadn't expected that.
“Well, it seems you have dazzled her with your charm and your foolish antics. I have decided to make the best of the situation.” After all, he did get my opium, he thought.
Somehow he corrected the descent. The wings wobbled and shook but a few feet from the ground he levelled her out and set her down on the dirt in a perfect three point landing. The Beechcraft bounced to a halt at the end of the runway.
Noelle whispered her thanks to the Virgin. She suddenly realised she had been clutching the crucifix at her throat so tightly it had left a livid imprint in the flesh of her palm.
Baptiste shut down the engines. Eerie silence.
Bonaventure ran back to the Mercedes. “Get over there,” he shouted to his driver.
***
Baptiste had bled all over the cabin.
Noelle cradled him in her arms. He was unconscious. There was a deep laceration on his scalp and a crust of it had hardened on his face, soaking his shirt and trousers, and the force of the jet stream through the shattered Perspex had sprayed blood around the cockpit. There was more blood seeping from a sopping bandage on his lower left leg.
The eyelid on his left eye was split open, and she could see the eyeball underneath, the pupil dilated and misshapen.
Bonaventure was more concerned with what was in the back. “He got the opium,” he said with grudging admiration.
Noelle ignored him. “Look what I've done,” she moaned. She could not believe she had led him to this. She was as crazy and as cold as her father.
“Is he alive?' Bonaventure asked her, curious rather than concerned.
“Barely.”
“Well, let's get him in the car then,” he said. “We'll find him a doctor.”
Chapter 21
B ONAVENTURE found Baptiste dozing in the garden of the Bungalow, one leg heavily bandaged, resting on a rattan chair. There was a thick pad over his left eye. The rest of his face was still misshapen from the beating he had taken in Cholon and there was a thick swathe of bandaging under his shirt splinting his ribs. He held a cigarette in one hand and a glass of vermouth cassis in the other. He looked pale and tired and insufferably smug.
' Crocé.”
He opened his good eye. “Monsieur Bonaventure. What a pleasure.”
Bonaventure grunted. “For you perhaps.” He pulled up a rattan chair and sat down. He took out a silver cigarette case and selected a black Russian cigarette. His doctor had told him they were not good for him, but he allowed himself one on certain occasions, such as when he had unpleasant duties to perform.
“How is the leg?'
“The bullet broke a small bone, but the doctor says it will heal. It is the eye that is the problem.”
“Oh?'
“He says the fragment of Perspex he removed has damaged the cornea and I will probably lose sight in it.”
So you will be one-eyed from now on, Bonaventure thought bitterly. Like my daughter. “Will you be able to fly again?'
“Not without an aeroplane.”
Bonaventure took the point. “I don't know whether to shake your hand or cut your throat.”
“A difficult choice for you, I imagine.”
“My daughter seems to be very fond of you, Monsieur Crocé.”
“She is a poor judge of character.”
“Precisely.” Bonaventure drew on the cigarette and studied the other man. I wonder what he wants? he thought. I can guess. But perhaps I shall be able to accommodate him. He has shown himself to be far more resourceful than I imagined. “You are either very brave or very foolish. I cannot make up my mind which it is.”
“Perhaps both. Such qualities go hand in hand. If a man is a hero or an idiot depends on how things turn out. Anyway, it was Noelle's idea.”
“She says she is going to marry you. Is that her idea also?'
“No. It was mine.”
“Who are you in love with, Monsieur Crocé? My daughter - or my business?'
“Both.”
Bonaventure was startled by the candour of the reply. He hadn't expected that.
“Well, it seems you have dazzled her with your charm and your foolish antics. I have decided to make the best of the situation.” After all, he did get my opium, he thought.
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