City of Secrets (23 page)

Seated behind her and Devin, Daisy and Laurie felt no such giddiness in the even less spacious rear seat, which consisted only of a cushion and metal back and armrests. Devin glanced at Maddie, who was clutching the armrest as he maneuvered through the rue de Rivoli and turned west toward the Neuilly Road. “You’ll get used to it,” he said.

Maddie shot him a doubting look, but by the time they had reached the Porte Maillot, she found that he was right. As they picked up speed on the far side of the river, she was able to balance herself even when taking her hands from the side of the motorcar to arrange her veil around her neck. After a time, she was even confident enough to wave back to the people along the road who waved their hats and shouted after them.

Maddie had been in fast carriages before, but the Daimler was speeding along at twenty miles an hour. Even so, the motor was quiet enough for her to hear Laurie and Daisy’s lively chatter from behind her, although she made no attempt to speak to Devin while he was steering around startled horses and indignant carriage drivers.

In less than an hour they had arrived at a place called Cormeilles-en-Parisis and stopped to stretch their limbs. Laurie, their designated navigator, had detoured them through this village so that he could see the bust in front of the church of the pioneer photographer Daguerre, who was a native of Cormeilles. Maddie and Devin, meanwhile, sat on a bench at the edge of a little square, and he poured her a cup of tea from an insulated jug he had brought along. “Are you comfortable? We can go into that café over there instead.”

“This is fine, thank you. I also see a
patisserie
on the corner and trust Laurie to spot it and bring us back a little something.”

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes as they watched the townspeople go about their business. There were no sounds but footsteps and the occasional song of a bird in the square’s lime trees. It seemed to sing out more clearly than usual now that the drone of the car’s engine no longer addled her ears. This place could not have been more different, Maddie couldn’t help thinking, from the bustling café they had stopped in yesterday.

Devin must have sensed the direction of her thoughts and said, “The police arrested your young anarchist last night.”

Then, when she looked questioningly at him, he added, “And they let him go again this morning. He said he’d been on his way to a lecture at the Sorbonne, and he was in fact registered there as a student. There was also no evidence that he had planted the bomb.”

Maddie sighed. “I suppose it shouldn’t matter. He has no connection to ... to our business, does he?”

When he hesitated, she said again, “Does he?”

“I talked to Oliver Drummond last night,” he said instead.

Maddie had to laugh. “You have a wonderful way of not answering questions,” she said. But when he didn’t respond to the hint, she asked another question. “Have you two made up again, then?”

He smiled. “If you mean, are we working together again, yes. We’re not friends yet. Your Oliver is very loyal, you know. He accused me of using him—and you—to further some ulterior purpose of my own.”

“Are you doing that?”

He hesitated, then turned a little on the bench to take her hands in his and look into her eyes.  “Maddie, you do know that I also work for the Prince of Wales?”

“Yes.”

“That work is very important to me, and right now, I’m afraid, it’s vital to a lot of other people as well. What I do for him is apart from what I am trying to do for you, but the cases overlap in ways I hadn’t entirely expected.”

She could feel the warmth of his strong hands through her gloves and had to concentrate to comprehend what he was saying.

“Sometimes I may be using one case to solve the other, but I’m not using
you
in any way—at least not deliberately—and I will find out what happened to your husband. I promise you that. But I can’t promise any more, and I can’t tell you any more than that. Do you understand?”

She didn’t, but somehow she knew that he was being as truthful as he could be, or as he was allowed to be by his own conscience as well as by forces he could not control. She didn’t know why she trusted him, either, but she did now. Perhaps she always had, and that was why she had been afraid of what he would say. Whatever it was would be the truth.

“I understand.”

“Good,” he said, letting her go as if he had been holding his breath as well as her hands. He looked around. “Where have Daisy and Laurence got to? We ought to be getting on.”

“Where, by the way, are we going?” she asked.

“I thought we could get as far as Cocheret comfortably. You may see your impressionist landscapes there. We can lunch at the inn and return to the city in good time for dinner.”

“Hullo,” Daisy said just then, from behind them, and when they turned she snapped their picture with her Kodak. Maddie laughed, but Devin shook his head and said he hoped they had brought a limited supply of film.

“Oh, no,” Laurie assured him, “we are well supplied.”

This he demonstrated by taking a number of views of the Daimler, with and without passengers, until at last Devin ordered him to get in or they would never go any farther. So Laurie tucked his equipment into the blanket at his and Daisy’s feet, and they were off again.

They had left the last paved roads when they drove out of Argenteuil, but there must have been a rain the night before—or they might have been high enough off the ground—for the dust did not rise enough to be annoying, and they passed only the occasional farm cart. Maddie took off her veil and breathed deeply of the clean, fresh air.

The road led for a time straight as a die through an avenue of poplars, then began to climb and wind through more rolling country where they rode either along a ridge with long views on either side, across rich fields dotted with fat cows, or through low roads like leafy tunnels with high hedges on either side, where Devin blew the horn whenever they neared a curve that might conceal a vehicle on the other side. The only populated places they passed were villages with a single main street and almost identical brick houses lining it behind walls they could only just see over.

At last they stopped in one of these villages, which at first appeared no more promising of interest than any other. But Devin seemed to know where he was going. He turned onto a narrow lane and pulled up before a large building with a blue slate roof and flower boxes at the windows. An elegantly scripted sign over the open door revealed that it was the River Inn.

“What river?” Maddie asked.

Devin smiled. “You’ll see.”

The landlord emerged from the inn just at that moment, bobbing up and down in numerous bows seemingly triggered by the honor of entertaining such a distinguished—and hungry-looking—party. Still bowing, he led them through the dark interior of the building to the garden in the rear, and it was there that Maddie realized they were expected, for a table had been set with white linen and green-and-white Limoges china for four people.

“Oh, how jolly!” Daisy exclaimed, when she saw the table. “A picnic lunch!”

The second thing Maddie saw was the view. From the road, there had been no hint of the sweep of countryside beyond. From the profusion of wild roses, nasturtiums, and marigolds that made up the inn’s garden, yellow-green grassy fields dotted with red poppies swept down to the sun-bedazzled Eure River in the distance, where pale green willows rose along the banks as if placed there by an artist choosing the most pleasing composition. Maddie stared speechlessly for several minutes, then finally turned to Devin.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

He came up behind her to help remove her dust-coat and, as light as his touch was, she made an involuntary movement away from it and removed her hat by herself.

Laurie set up his camera, but Daisy for once was more interested in the menu and attacked a buttered roll as soon as the landlord brought it out. When broiled fresh trout and asparagus followed, even Laurie’s attention was caught, and they all set to with large appetites, which Devin blandly assured them was the major hazard of motor travel.

By the time they arrived at cheese and coffee, Maddie was growing drowsy in the sun and would have been content to spend the whole afternoon sitting on the garden terrace and looking at the view. Daisy and Laurie, on the other hand, seemed to have been revived by their meal. They looked at each other, Daisy nodded encouragement, and Laurie spoke up.

“Excuse me, sir—”

“Please don’t call me sir,” Devin interrupted. “It makes me feel like your grandfather.”

“I beg your pardon, sir—er, Mr. Grant. I wondered, if you prefer to stay here at the inn for a little while, Daisy and I might take the motorcar for a spin?”

Devin eyed Laurie appraisingly. “Now I do feel like your grandfather. Are you to be trusted, young man? Do you know how to operate the thing?”

“Oh, yes, sir. I was taught in London ... not on a Daimler, but I’m quite a good driver.”

Maddie glanced at Daisy, who had obviously put Laurie up to this little fib, but she said nothing. Perhaps Devin meant to play it safe and refuse. But then he looked at her. She didn’t think she had made any signal of her preference one way or another, but he must have seen something that made up his mind for him, for he took the starter key out of his pocket and held it out to Laurie. “Half an hour,” he said.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Grant!” Daisy said, jumping up to hug his neck, then blushing at her own temerity. Laurie promised to be careful, and taking Daisy by the elbow, he led her outside before Devin could change his mind.

“You are very rash,” Maddie said.

“I’m sure the Daimler will survive. At least it will be quiet here for the next hour or two, and we needn’t be on constant alert to be photographed.”

“Hour or two?”

He smiled. “You don’t really expect to see them back in half an hour, do you?”

She hadn’t thought otherwise, and now, unaccountably, thinking of it made her heart lurch. The fantasies she had guarded so closely were suddenly coming to light, and she was afraid of what they might turn out to be.

“Where
did
you get the car?” she asked, wondering if she could fill an hour or two with small talk.

“It belongs to a friend of the prince.”

“Oh, dear.”

“A very rich friend who has already bashed up two other motorcars by exceeding both his skill and the speed limit. A little scraped paint, which I’m sure is the most Laurie can do to it, won’t trouble him.”

“He must be a good friend of yours as well.” But he only smiled and offered her another cup of coffee, which she accepted, reluctant to waste the afternoon napping, even if her imagination shied away from the alternatives. They fell silent again, and Maddie was a little surprised at how restful he could be when he wanted; he did not expect her to make small talk after all, or to listen to him talk. Or to make a move toward him before she was ready to. But she would have liked to know what he was thinking. She looked his way.

He was looking at her; he had been for some time, she guessed. His eyes captured hers, and now she did know what he was thinking. A little shiver of excitement passed over her. For a moment she thought it was just a breeze from the river, and she looked in that direction instead. “Shall we take a walk in the garden?” she said. He stood up and pulled her chair back for her, then offered his arm. She disregarded it—she could not touch him, not yet—and instead swept a large straw hat off a wall peg conveniently placed for guests, put it on, and walked down the shallow steps to the garden ahead of him. Away from the shade of the terrace trees, the midday sun was hot and white, and she put up her hand to shade her eyes until they became more accustomed to the glare. It was so intense, it seemed to make its own noise, until Maddie realized that what she heard was the hum of bees among the enormous marigolds and hollyhocks in the garden.

All the while she was aware from the edge of her vision that Devin had scarcely moved, and was watching her again. She put up her chin and her defenses and sat down on a white-painted iron bench, pushing her skirts to one side of her so that, when he joined her, he would not be too close.

“Do you still want to find him?”

Maddie did not pretend to misunderstand the question. A month ago, she would have flared up at it, protested angrily that she had hired him for the express purpose of finding her husband, and who was he to question her sincerity? But now she felt a deep desire to be honest with him, except that she was not quite sure she could be honest with herself yet.

Devin hadn’t wanted to bring it up; that much was obvious. What surprised her was that she was sorry he had. She would much rather have gone on as they had for the last few days, talking about anything but Teddy. They had been having so much fun.

“I must,” she said, but then went on quickly, so he would not back off too far, “I’ve been thinking that ... that Teddy may not have stayed with the anarchists. He may have gone away somewhere on his own, to another city or even another country.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I don’t think he had anything in common with those people. He may have found them exciting for a while, but he isn’t the kind of man who would give up everything for a cause.”

“I thought he was such an idealist.”

Had she really said that? The words seemed to mock her, even if Devin didn’t. She didn’t know what to say.

He did. “I’m sorry, Maddie. I shouldn’t have—”

He had put his hand over hers, but she shook it off. “It’s all right. I deserved that. Nevertheless”—she had to force the words out now—“even if Teddy has found a new life for himself and does not want to come back, I must see him—or at least talk to him—once more. I need to say certain things to him.”

He was silent again for a time, during which she did not dare to look at him, before he said, “Shall we walk down to the river?”

He held his hand out for her and they were on the path before she remembered, “What about Laurie and Daisy?”