Double Take (30 page)

“Singapore.”

“What?” He rubbed his eyes. “How?”

“Plane, it goes up. Remember?”

“What?” Jack didn't understand. There was no way he'd slept for seven hours. “What about dinner? I'm starving.”

“I ate it. Now get up. Time to get off.”

“Get off what?”

“The plane, shit-for-brains. We're here.”

Jack was swept up with the passengers, but didn't share their eagerness to disembark. He still couldn't comprehend that he'd just lost all those hours. And a couple of meals, too. He'd been dreaming about airline food ever since Steel bought his ticket five days ago.

Once again Jack followed Steel's lead as they progressed through the plane and into the airport.

The place was as busy as the prison mess hall at dinnertime. People were everywhere. And the variety of nationalities was extraordinary. Some Jack could recognise, but others…he had no idea.

Steel was walking at a cracking pace and Jack wondered where he was going. If he recalled correctly, the Singapore stopover was a little over two hours, so they were stuck here in this airport.

They passed food store after food store and the wonderful smells made his stomach growl even more fiercely. “Hey, Steel, I hope you plan on stopping for food pretty darn soon.”

“Nope.”

“Oh come on, man. I'm starving.”

“Not my problem.” Steel moved on ahead.

Jack planted his feet and made a show of throwing his carry bag to the floor. It worked. When Steel turned, his eye roll was enough to convince Jack he'd won that round.

“All right. What do you want to eat?”

Jack scanned the area, feeling overwhelmed with the variety. “I'm not sure what half of these places sell.”

Steel rolled his eyes again. “Come on, I'll pick for you.” Five minutes later Steel chose a Mexican café with brightly coloured decorations and sombreros hanging off the walls.

Jack reached for a menu.

“Happy now?”

“Yep.” Jack smiled at Steel, but the big man didn't share his joy.

He ran his finger down the meal options. “What do I order?”

“Anything.” Steel signalled for a waitress.

Jack studied the list of foods and didn't recognise any of them, so he went with the most expensive. $1.99. “What's a chicken quesa—”

“You're having a taco.”

“No I'm not. I don't know what that is.”

“Afternoon gentlemen, what can I get you?” The waitress's voice was so sweet, like that of an angel.

“I'll have a Corona.”

“How about you pick for me?” Jack said to Steel. “Nothing with chili.”

The waitress laughed. “This is Mexican food. Just about everything has chili in it.”

Steel snatched the menu off Jack and based on the speed he did it, he knew he was angry. “One chicken taco.”

“It's not enough, Steel. I'm hungry.”

“And a chili beef taco. That's it.”

“That'll be $6.90.”

“I'd like a Coke, too, please.” Jack smiled at the waitress.

“Okay that'll make it $7.90.”

Steel leant back on his chair, removed his wallet from his front pocket and fished out ten dollars.

“Thanks, I'll be back soon.”

“Thank you.” Jack's stomach rumbled. He was beyond ready to eat. This had better be good. Mind you, everything had tasted good since he left prison behind.

“You know.” Steel waggled a finger at Jack. “You're lucky Tiffany is in France.”

Jack blinked at him. “Why?”

“Because most countries don't issue visas to convicted felons. Especially not armed robbers.”

Jack wanted to say that he wasn't an armed robber—the guns weren't real. He wanted to say that he'd done his time, paid for the crime and now he was a free man. But it was pointless. He deserved the labels of convicted felon and armed robber. But both classifications cut very deep. He would never be able to put the past behind him. What he could do though, was get closure on the missing money. Maybe then he could move on to the rest of his life. Maybe.

“It's good that you served your full term, too.” Steel grinned.

“Really.” It was Jack's turn to roll his eyes.

“Yep, because there's no way you could leave the country if you were still on parole.”

“Well shit, I must be a lucky guy then.” Jack said it sarcastically.

The waitress who delivered the food was a pretty little thing and Jack's heart fluttered when she smiled at him. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had shown him even a smidgeon of interest. He had to admit, he looked like a bit of a mean bugger with his really short hair. Maybe he should let it grow again.

Jack finished the food quickly, not because it was that great, especially with the darn chili in it, but because he was hungry, and no sooner had he finished than they were re-boarding the plane. He wasn't anywhere near as terrified as he had been on the first flight.

The flight from Singapore to Paris was a further fourteen hours and Jack remained wide awake this time so he didn't miss the food service. He wasn't disappointed either and even though he was full from the Mexican food, he still forced everything down.

Once they landed and disembarked, Steel had them rushing through the bustling airport. He was a man on a mission.

Waiting at the taxi rank was freezing and Jack was forced to endure that and another twenty minutes of Steel's restless temperament. Finally they were allocated a cab and Jack wasn't surprised when he was relegated to the back seat.

“Où puis-je vous prendre messieurs?”

“Parlez-vous anglais?”
Jack was amazed Steel could speak French.

“
Oui
, a little.” The driver held his fingers an inch apart.

“Thank goodness. Can you take us to Avenue Montaigne?
S'il vous plaît.
”

Jack nearly blurted out that he'd learnt French while in prison. He wasn't fluent by any means, it was just one of the study options he chose to fill in the empty hours. But he caught himself just in time. He certainly didn't want the driver aware that he was carrying a convicted felon.

“Ahh,” said the driver. “Are you here to review our
magnifiques maisons de mode
?”

“Umm, I'm sorry but—”

“He's asking if we're visiting the fashion houses,” Jack said.

Steel tried to look at Jack over his shoulder and Jack preempted his question. “I've had some time for personal development over the last couple of years.” Jack actually smiled at his impromptu solution to the problem.

Soon Jack got caught up in the crazy, busy Paris whirlwind: traffic, people, high life, low life. Snow. For the first time in his life he was watching snow fall from the sky. He looked for the button that wound down his window, found it and pressed.

“What are you doing, numb-nuts?”

Jack was getting sick of Steel's name-calling. “What? I want to feel the snow.”

“Bloody hell. You'll be feeling plenty of it soon enough. Wind up that window before we all freeze to death.”

Jack huffed. “No need to exaggerate.”

“D'où venez-vous, messieurs?”

“Australia,
Australie
,” Jack answered the driver. He liked that he knew something Steel didn't.

Jack studied the driver. His accent reminded him of that reporter covering the funeral he'd seen on television. It suddenly dawned on him that he was about to meet the woman who had been at the centre of his nightmares for years. But this was also his first trip abroad, and as it was impossible to predict how the next couple of hours would play out, he figured he might as well make the most of it.

Jack pointed at various buildings and monuments as they went and asked the driver about them, mainly to save the poor man from Steel's silent treatment. As much as he wanted to keep speaking in French, he decided against it. Jack could feel Steel's impatience even from the back seat. If he didn't chill out soon, Steel might well pop a haemorrhoid with all that anger stewing up his insides.

“Is this the direction to the Eiffel Tower?”

The driver chuckled. “No,
Tour Eiffel est
many blocks that way. I could take you there if you like—”

“That won't be necessary,” Steel interrupted.

The driver didn't miss a beat. “We pass many other
magnifique
buildings. Shall I point them out?”

“Oui, merci monsieur.”
Jack hadn't had this much fun in a very long time. Soon he and the driver settled into tourist-and-tour-guide mode. Meanwhile, Steel maintained his don't-talk-to-me stance. Not that Jack cared. Steel was the one missing out. Maybe he'd been to Paris before. Jack hadn't thought to ask him that. Maybe later.

After about twenty or so minutes, Pierre pointed out his window. “This area is known as
Triangle D'or
. It's a triangle between the
Champs Élysées
, the Seine and Avenue Montaigne. This is where you'll find all the high fashion boutiques. Louis Vuitton. Christian Dior. Chanel. Fendi. Only the
riches et célèbres
can afford to shop here.”

Rich and famous, hey?
Jack wondered if
she
shopped here. With the amount of money she'd just inherited from her husband, she probably shopped along here every day.

“Marlene Dietrich once resided on Avenue Montaigne. Number 12. Do you remember her?”

“Not really.”

“She was
très célèbre
, ahh how do you say, famous actress. She starred in
The Blue Angel
and
Shanghai Express
.”

The houses—if they were still called houses in this area—were enormous and looked more like museums. The people who owned these homes had to be multi-millionaires. Jack tried to imagine what he'd do if he had a million dollars, but he couldn't even comprehend the suggestion. For nearly a whole year Jack had studied architecture in jail. He couldn't get enough text books to satisfy his curiosity. He'd even started to imagine himself as an architect. But then he realised that nobody would want an armed robber designing houses for them.

“So we are approaching Avenue Montaigne now. Where should I go?”

“We want the home of Tiffany Delacroix.” Those were the first words Steel had spoken in about twenty minutes.

“
Oui
, why didn't you mention? She's so lovely.”

The noise that came from Steel's throat had Jack wondering if he was choking. Thankfully, neither Jack nor Steel had a chance to tell Pierre why Tiffany was worlds apart from lovely, because he pulled to the curb, right alongside the grand entrance of Chanel.

“Are you here to meet her?” Pierre looked at Jack through the rear-vision mirror. Clearly he'd given up on Steel.

“
Oui
, we are.”

“But she's not home. Didn't you hear? It's so sad. Her husband died. The poor lady has been so pained. She has umm…
quitté
Paris for a holiday.”

Steel slammed his fist into his palm. “Goddamn it.”

Pierre blinked at him.

“Do you know her?” Jack asked the question.

“
Mais bien sûr
, everybody knows her. She's in all the papers. She loves the attention.”

“
Merci
Pierre, do you know where she went?”

“It's ski season. She went to her chalet in Chamonix.”

Steel slumped back into the seat. “Shit.” That was all he said.

“What do we do now?” Jack asked.

“We've come this far. I guess we go to Chamonix, wherever that is.”

“
Chamonix est près de Genève
.”

“He says it's near Geneva,” Jack translated for Steel.

“It's a charming little ski town in the shadow of Mont Blanc. Most
picturesque
ski resort in the world. It's on the border of Switzerland, France and Italy.”

“
Merci
Pierre,” Jack said. “What's the best way to get there?”

“I can take you.” Pierre beamed.

Steel glared at the driver. “What're our other options?”

“Fly to Geneva. Then a bus or taxi to Chamonix.
Mais le train serait moins cher
.”

“Pierre says the train is cheaper,” Jack said.

“Which one is quicker?” asked Steel.

“Technically the plane,” Pierre said. He held up his finger. “However…at this time of night, the train will arrive first.”

“Okay, the train it is then.”

“I think the night train to Saint-Gervais-Les-Bains leaves about ten o'clock. You can sleep all night and wake up in one of the most
magnifique
ski villages in the world.”

“Perfect.
Merci
. To the train station, Pierre.” Jack spoke on behalf of both of them. He was looking forward to a scenic train trip.

T
iffany Delacroix eyed herself in the mirror then turned to examine her backside. The cream pants suit left little to the imagination, but she was happy with what she saw. The surgeon had done a marvellous job. He should have, too. He most likely paid off his mortgage with the amount he charged. And that was saying something. She knew where he lived. He might have bought that apartment at a bargain, given the previous owner drowned in the pool, but nothing in Place de la Concorde came cheap.

It was her own fault that she needed the surgery. Her increase in body size was one of the lingering side effects of The Little Macaroon Shoppe she'd founded in London. It was, however, ironic that her high-sugar treats lured one of the world's greatest fashion designers her way. He was looking for some sweet relief from the lettuce cups filled with tofu and chickpeas being offered at London Fashion Week. And Tiffany loved personally tempting him with all her own handmade delights.

Twice a day for ten days he visited her little shop and then, inexplicably, he vanished. Almost one year later to the day he was back again, however, not only was he lured by her decadent treats, he admitted he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. Their whirlwind romance was an enchanting dream. Helicopter rides to fancy alpine restaurants. Private yachts in the south of France. High fashion, expensive jewellery, parties attended by the who's who of the celebrity elite and a charming gentleman who was just looking for a bit of fun in the latter part of his life. She sold her shop, moved in with Jacques, and showed him just how thrilling life could be. Especially when money was in abundance.