A Deceptive Attraction: The Wilsons, Book 3 (12 page)

“Ah, that is a miracle indeed,” Colette replied.

The apartment was spacious by New York standards, and probably Paris’s as well. It was situated on the fourth story of an old building that had been refurbished and fitted with a modern elevator. Light streamed in through the big windows, and the living room had a fabulous view of the Seine.

Violet had brought her sketchbook, tape measures, and a portfolio of samples from her own shop and other designers. If necessary, she could take Colette out for try-ons at some Paris ready-to-wear shops, but her printed samples might be sufficient. She suspected that Mademoiselle Girard was the type of client who knew what she wanted.

The two women sat at a table in the living room and looked through Violet’s samples.

“I am in need of at least one evening dress,” Colette said. “I have made friends with a producer who frequents the Cannes Film Festival, and he invites me to movie industry soirees. I know it sounds exciting, but it is mostly about funding. Art is always secondary. At any rate, my friend needs me to appear as…how do you Americans say it?”

“Arm candy?” Violet ventured. She winced inwardly. Not long ago, she had been Leon’s arm candy during an evening that had ended badly. Very badly.

“Exactly,” Colette said, laughing. “And for that I am thinking about red. Do you think it is too bold for a woman of middle age?”

“Not at all,” Violet said, and she wasn’t lying. Colette was beautiful and had kept herself in perfect shape. With her height, she could get away with a flamboyant design. “If you want to tone things down slightly, we can go with a brick red. It has all of the head-turning effect of bright red, but without the bad press.”

“Ah, bon,” Colette replied. “Leon is always telling me I need to enjoy life more. I believe a red evening gown would accomplish that goal.”

Violet jumped at the sound of Leon’s name. She hoped Colette hadn’t noticed.

She took the Frenchwoman’s measurements in her boudoir, which contained an elaborate vanity stuffed with a cosmetics collection that put Violet’s own to shame. Wearing a white chemise over her bra and panties, Colette was relaxed and poised as Violet positioned and repositioned her tape measure.

When she finished, Violet explained the process. “I like to have sketches approved by the client before starting the project,” she said. “After your approval, I will create a toile in plain calico and return to France with it to custom fit it for you before constructing the gown itself. Of course, Mademoiselle Girard already knows all this.”

“Please,” the Frenchwoman said. “You may call me Colette. May I call you Violet?”

“You certainly may,” Violet replied. “Merci,” she added to show her gratitude.

She knew the French were much more formal about first names than Americans, and she was a bit surprised that Colette has chosen a form of address ordinarily reserved for family members and close friends. She wondered how much Colette knew about her relationship with Leon, and whether she was part of Leon’s insider trading scheme.

“You must allow me to take you to lunch,” Colette said.

“Oh no, Colette,” Violet said, “You are my client. It is I who should take you to lunch.”

“Nonsense, Violet. You have flown all the way to Paris to design a grown for appeasing my vanity, and you showed mon petit frère Leon around your city and were gracious to him even though he behaved atrociously. Taking you to lunch is the least I can do.”

Violet laughed. “Since you put it that way, I accept.”

Maybe she would finally learn the truth about Leon after all.

Colette took her to a cafe a few blocks away from the apartment, where the host greeted the tall Frenchwoman with a mix of familiarity and respect and showed them to the best table in the house. A waiter brought them two glasses of an excellent merlot without being asked.

“Do you come here frequently?” Violet asked.

“Nearly every day,” Colette laughed. “Is it that obvious? Leon says I am too much a creature of habit. He is probably right, but how else does a woman alone get a good table for herself?”

Violet nodded. She had been through the same experience often enough in New York.

They ordered lunch. When the waiter brought their plates, Violet was careful to follow the national custom and keep the conversation confined to small talk. The French were serious about food and didn’t tolerate distractions like business dealings and cell phone calls during a meal.

After the waiter took their plates and refilled their glasses, Colette gave Violet a searching look. “Excuse me if I presume, Violet, but I must say something.”

“Yes?” Violet said. Her heart was beating fast.

“I would hate for you to become like me. I am happy, but…” she trailed off for a moment, then resumed the conversation.

“My little brother, he has a Sir Galahad complex. It is why he is so good at his work. He tries so hard to do the right thing that he twists himself into a pretzel and ends up doing it all wrong.”

Violet’s mind formed a cynical response but she stuffed it down. Colette was her client. She was also Violet’s only source of information for what had really happened with Leon. Reliable or not, she wanted to learn as much as she could.

“What is Leon’s work, really?” she asked.

“Ah, I knew he would keep you in the dark,” Colette said. “Leon made a big mistake involving you in his job and I told him so. By the time I learned that he had done it, he was ready to agree with me. I only wish I had found out earlier, before he told me to visit your shop and arrange for the two of you to meet.”

“I wanted to help my brother with his romantic life,” Colette continued. “He certainly needs all the help he can get. If I had known I was helping him with his work instead, I would have refused. But ce n'est pas grave. If I had not helped him meet you, I would be searching in vain for a designer of your talent to design a beautiful red evening gown for me.”

Violet nodded. She was relieved that Colette hadn’t helped Leon involve her in his criminal activity, although there was still the question of how much Colette knew about it.

“I know what you are thinking, Violet,” Colette said. “You think I haven’t told you enough. That is because I cannot. They have rules.”

“Who has rules?” Violet demanded.

Colette leaned forward and said in a hushed voice, “The European Securities and Markets Authority. ESMA for short. I believe they are the European Union equivalent of your Securities and Exchange Commission.”

Violet almost raised her voice. “I knew it! So Leon is under investigation for…”

“Shhhh,” Colette cautioned. “I would be angry too if I were you. But the facts are not as you think.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a slightly yellowed copy of Le Monde, the French newspaper. “This much I can do for you. The information is already public, after all.” She handed the paper to Violet.

“I can’t read this, Colette,” Violet protested. “It’s in French.”

“Ah, of course not. How silly of me.” Colette summoned the waiter with a faint nod of her head and said something to him in French. “Julien will translate,” Colette said.

Violet listened as the waiter read the story to her, first in disbelief, then with tears in her eyes as the truth sank in.

According to Le Monde, Leon had been the lead undercover investigator for ESMA during a securities fraud scandal that broke out in the EU three years ago. A ring of crooked investors had bilked hundreds of their clients out of their money, everyone from the country’s wealthiest citizens to little old ladies investing their pension funds. The story made Leon sound like a hero.

Colette nodded to the waiter and slipped him a Euro banknote with a 20 printed on it.

“So you see,” Colette said. “Leon is very good at his work.”

“Yes,” Violet said. “It reminds me of a similar fraud we had in New York City a few years ago. Everyone was very glad that justice was done and the swindler went to prison.”

“I hope you will forgive him for investigating you,” Colette said. “And I would not assume his interest in you was entirely professional, although I am sure it appeared to be.” She looked searchingly at Violet and rose from the table.

“Shall we go?” she said. “Paris is lovely in the summertime. Perhaps Leon can return the favor you did for me and show you around our city.”

Violet waited until she was walking behind Colette to wipe away the tear making its way down her cheek.

Chapter 17

Leon was waiting for them outside the cafe. He nodded silently to Violet, then embraced Colette. The two chatted for less than a minute in French, then exchanged kisses on the cheek. Colette then kissed Violet’s cheek, whispered “au revoir” in her ear, and walked away in the direction of her apartment.

Violet wondered if the conversation in French had been about her. They had both sounded happy. Her intuition told her that she had been set up, but unlike the horrible evening at the reception with Leon and Hugh, this felt good.

Leon held out his hand to her. “Would you like to go for a walk, Violet?”

“Thank you Leon, I would,” she replied.

They walked hand in hand along the promenade that ran along the Seine. It was a beautiful summer day in Paris, with a soft breeze that ruffled the leaves on the trees. To Violet it suddenly seemed as if there were couples everywhere. Some sat on park benches holding hands. Others lay on blankets in the deep shade under the trees, kissing and making out, oblivious to everything but each other.

Leon walked with her down the Champs Elysees. “I will be your tour guide today, Violet,” he told her. “Fortunately for both of us, this tour will be conducted in English.”

Violet giggled.

“At the end of the Champs Elysees you can see the Arc de Triomphe, which Napoleon built to celebrate his victories,” Leon continued. “Across the Seine on the Left Bank is the Eiffel Tower. As you might guess, I have never been to the top.”

Violet tried to smother her laughter but failed miserably.

“Over there is the Louvre, which you have no doubt heard of,” Leon said. “And here is the Tuileries Garden. The place has an interesting history. The French royal families had a castle here. After the revolution, they were imprisoned here. You would never know today that such a beautiful place could contain so much strife.”

They entered the gardens. Violet was bedazzled by the endless array of fountains and the showy flower beds. Leon’s country was home to some of greatest art treasures in the world.

They came to a white alabaster sculpture of a woman on a square pedestal. Her willowy, nude figure was bent slightly forward, and her wavy hair was caught up in a casual chignon.

“This sculpture is simply called, ‘Nymph,’” Leon said. “She is not as spectacular as your Statue of Liberty, nor as tall as your Columbus, but I think she is captivating in her own way, don’t you?”

Violet had to agree. The figure had a grace and innocence about her.

“She reminds me of you,” Leon said. “After I returned to France two weeks ago, I came here every day to think about you and hope I would see you again.”

“Your wish came true,” Violet said softly.

“So it did,” Leon replied. “We have much to talk about, Violet. But first a ritual of sorts. It is only fitting that this statue is where I kiss you for the first time in Paris.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her. It was a short kiss, but it sent a host of sensations scurrying through Violet’s body.

Leon released her and found them a bench in the shade to sit on. He put his arm around her and pulled her close to him.

“At last I can answer your questions,” he said. “Colette read you the newspaper article, of course, but there are more details.”

“The IPO reception was a sting operation, as you probably have figured out,” he continued. “It was a joint effort between ESMA and the SEC to catch traders who were breaking the law in both the EU and the USA. Your family business had recently gone international, so Hugh, who is an idiot, put it on his target list. I ran a background check and learned that Zetta Corporation has no publicly traded stock, and Zetta Holdings only trades on the New York and NASDAQ exchanges.”

Leon rolled his eyes. “I tried to explain the difference between Zetta Corporation and Zetta Holdings to Hugh, but he didn’t get it. As I said, he is an idiot.”

“I humored him because ESMA and the SEC have a memorandum of understanding,” Leon went on. “According to Hugh’s plan, I was to accost you on the street in SoHo, bundle you into a cab, win your confidence, and invite you to the IPO reception.”

“You’re right,” Violet said. “Hugh is an idiot. No New Yorker ever shares a cab unless there’s a civil emergency.”

“I gathered that from your reaction,” Leon laughed. “I knew as soon as I saw you that I wanted to protect you from Hugh. I thought the best way to do that was to keep an eye on you, so I called my sister and had her arrange for us to meet. She was temporarily distracted by your
couture designs, which should come as no surprise to anyone who knows her, but in the end she helped me win your trust. She had no idea you had been made an SEC target.”