Parisian Affair (25 page)

Trying to clear her mind of all the
conflicting thoughts and emotions that offered no immediate course
of action, she decided that first things first: where to hide the
emerald?

She sat down on the sofa and riffled through
her shoulder bag until she found the small pinkish beige box.
Opening it, she stared down at the huge gem, which returned her
gaze with a mute and magnificent sparkle.
Why are you so
special?
she asked it
. Why would someone try to kill for
you? Why you with your imperfection?

With a heavy sigh she shut the box, hiding
the emerald from view.

Now, where do I hide it?
she asked
herself anew.

The oft chosen plan of hiding within plain
view would definitely not work in this case, she decided. Clever as
it might seem in movies or mystery novels, the ring was too big,
too extraordinary, and attracted far too much light to be
effectively hidden within view. Scanning the studio's single large
room, she could immediately see that it offered very little in the
way of a hidey-hole. Even the kitchen area, positioned as it was
against one wall, didn't offer more than a single drawer, which was
filled with silverware and other kitchen implements. There were no
cabinets, only simple open shelves upon which basic provisions and
dishware and the like had been artfully arranged.

She got up and walked into the hallway. The
one closet there was small, with a single shelf above a rod for
hanging clothes. It could be thoroughly searched in a minute. She
walked on into the bathroom. She'd put her bag containing all of
her bath and cosmetic essentials on the vanity and had chosen
towels from a large wicker basket on the floor by the shower.

Running her gaze over the bathroom walls, she
could instantly see that the room offered a multitude of
possibilities. The ancient walls and pipes had been concealed
behind built-in cabinets of various heights and widths with doors
featuring intricate cutouts in a Moorish pattern.

She began opening all of the doors and
inspecting the contents. Most of the cabinets, she discovered, were
filled with a plethora of shampoos, conditioners, scented bath oils
and powders, and other grooming essentials. Near the floor, they
were stuffed with cleaning materials. One turned out to be a
laundry hamper, in which she saw piled T-shirts and underwear, all
male. Paul's? she wondered. He'd said he lived nearby, but why
would his underwear be here? Maybe he used the apartment
occasionally, she decided, dismissing the thought.

She returned her attention to the cabinets.
Any one of these shelves would do, she thought. They were all
stuffed with so many bottles and tins and boxes that it would take
forever to do a thorough search for the ring, should anybody
undertake one. She'd left the laundry hamper open and started to
close it when it occurred to her that it offered a good temporary
hiding place, as well. Rummaging through someone else's soiled
underwear would not be an appealing task to most people. Reaching
down into the hamper, she pulled out one load of the dirty laundry
and placed it on the floor, then reached in to pull out the rest.
Her hand struck against something hard, and she pulled out the rest
of the laundry slowly, looking down into the deep hamper with
curiosity.

Gasping aloud, she let the laundry slip out
of her hands and fall to the floor. Lying in the bottom, dully
gleaming in the bathroom's soft light, was a gun. '
Jesus!
'
she exclaimed. 'What the hell is sweet little Paul doing with a
gun?' After staring at it a moment, she reached in and picked it
up.

It was small but heavy in her hand. She
turned it over and over, looking at it closely. She had no idea
what kind of gun it was or precisely how to use it, but she
suddenly realized that it might be useful.

What the hell am I going to do with a
gun?
she asked herself.

Almost as if it were a snake, she gingerly
held the gun between two fingers and gently replaced it in the
bottom of the laundry bin. She picked up the dirty laundry and
tossed it back in the bin atop the gun, then shoved the bin closed.
Scratch that idea
, she thought.

Eyeing the open cabinets again, she saw a
roll of bandage tape, and she knew what she would do. Taking the
tape out, she quickly taped the box with the emerald firmly closed,
wrapping the tape around it three or four times to make certain it
wouldn't come open. Then looking into the open cabinets again, she
decided to tape the box to the backside of one of the many pipes
running up and down the ancient walls, where it would be concealed
by the contents of the cabinets. Getting down on her knees, she
chose the one that was the most difficult to see and get to.

She ran three strips of tape across one side
of the box, leaving the ends of the tape sticking out, then
carefully positioned the box on the back of a large pipe. Holding
the box in position with one hand, she secured the tape to the pipe
with the other, making certain that it was tight against the pipe.
Sitting back on her haunches, she studied her handiwork. Only the
most discerning eye would see the pieces of tape reaching around
from the back side of the pipe. After she repositioned the
multitude of bottles, tubes, and boxes on the shelf, she couldn't
see even the pipe, much less the ends of the tape sticking to
it.

She stood up and closed all of the cabinet
doors, then washed her hands in the sink, satisfied with the hiding
place. She glanced at her wristwatch again.
Oh, my God. I'd
better hop in the shower if I'm going to be ready by the time he
gets here
.

She quickly shed her clothes, showered, and
dried her hair. She applied a bit of eyeliner, mascara, shadow, and
blusher, and before leaving the bathroom, she liberally daubed
perfume at her ears, the cleavage between her breasts, and her
wrists.

After wrapping a towel around herself and
looking at her reflection in the mirror again, she decided that she
looked and felt refreshed, as if nothing out of the ordinary had
occurred today.

Princess Karima's dark eyes were ablaze with
fury, and there was a tremor in the hand that held the cell phone
against her ear. It clicked irritatingly against her pearl earring,
which only increased her anger.

'What do you mean?' she asked in a quiet but
threatening voice. She took a deep breath, trying to control the
rage she felt, fearful that Marcus would overhear her. Although he
was mixing drinks in the distant salon, she knew that he loved
nothing more than spreading vicious gossip. Despite their
friendship, he would gleefully get word out among their set that he
had heard Karima have a tantrum after the auction, thus feeding
speculation concerning her real feelings about selling her
possessions.

When she had listened to the fateful words
once again, she abruptly felt something snap in her mind, and
forgetting Marcus for the moment, she shouted into the receiver.
'You idiot. You filthy little
shit!
You're incapable of
doing anything right. I don't want to hear of you or see you ever
again!'

She snapped the cell phone shut and flung it
toward the desk, where it clattered against a vase of flowers
before landing against a basket piled high with the day's mail. She
tore off the turban that still encased her lush black hair and
threw it to the floor, giving it a swift kick with her shoe. She
lit a cigarette with shaking hands. Exhaling a stream of smoke
toward the bedroom ceiling, she felt tears in her eyes. Not one to
cry, Princess Karima was startled by this emotional reaction to the
awful news.

She looked about the magnificent bedroom
where she and Stefano had plotted the extraordinary course of their
lives together. He had been the great love of her life, and the
emerald ring—more than any of the many other priceless gifts he had
showered upon her—had represented that bond between them as had
nothing else.

Taking another long drag off her cigarette,
she glanced at the clock on her desk. She had to get ready to leave
for the millhouse in the country immediately, she realized. Marcus
was waiting for her, and she must, to all appearances at least,
carry out her plan as she had announced it. Marcus was no small
part of it. She knew that he would report on her activities after
the auction.

As she slowly undressed and then put on the
simple black cashmere sweater and slacks that Mimi had laid out for
her, she began to feel better. Perhaps the ring was not lost to her
after all. She could manage to get it back from the odious American
lady. The failure this afternoon certainly didn't mean that future
efforts would not succeed. She would simply have to put someone
more adept in charge of retrieving the ring.

She stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray,
then slipped into flat, supple leather driving shoes. Marcus would
be driving, but these were more comfortable after wearing heels
most of the day. After refreshing her makeup at the vanity, she
picked up the large silk Hermes scarf Mimi had selected—she would
wear it for the drive with large dark glasses, a dramatic look for
any paparazzi lurking about—then tossed her cigarettes in a
carryall and picked up her quilted black Barbour jacket.

At the door to the bedroom, she took one
final glance around. She might never see this magnificent room
again, but she felt little regret. The plan for the next stage of
her life was a brilliant one, and this house would play no part in
it. Closing the door, she walked to the salon, where she would have
a quick drink with Marcus before leaving what had once been an
extraordinary love nest for the chaste simplicity of her millhouse.
There, she would formulate a plan for securing the emerald. Of one
thing she was certain: she would go to her grave with it on her
finger.

Allegra hadn't heard the apartment's
telephone the two different times it rang while she was in the
thunderous shower. She had been enjoying the powerful jets of water
from the enormous saucerlike chrome showerhead as they pummeled her
body, massaging the day's kinks and worries away. When the loud
knock came at the door, however, she had finished showering but
hadn't had time to dress yet. She rushed toward it with a towel
tied around her torso, released the locks, and swung it wide,
prepared for Todd's smiling face and strong arms.

'Ahh, Allegra,' Paul said nervously, trying
to avoid looking at her towel-draped body.

She held the towel tightly against her
breasts. 'Oh, Paul,' she said. 'So sorry. I wasn't expecting you.
I—'

'I'm terribly sorry,' he said, remaining in
the doorway. 'I tried to phone, but no one answered so I thought
you must be out.'

'Come in,' Allegra said, gesturing
expansively with a hand.

'I'll only be a moment,' Paul said. 'I
realized that I forgot ... I forgot to show you how to operate the
coffeemaker.' He coughed a laugh. 'And it's a little complicated
for Americans who've never used one like it. Sylvie called and said
you'd be staying over the weekend.'

'Yes, but coffee's not a problem,' Allegra
said. 'Uh, let me throw on something quickly.'

'Sure.' Paul turned and walked down the
hallway toward the apartment's single room, leaving the door ajar
behind him.

Allegra ducked into the bathroom. 'I've been
going out for breakfast

and don't drink much coffee anyway. You don't
have to worry about it.' She took the towel off and, neglecting a
bra, slipped into the low-cut black ruffled Yves Saint Laurent
blouse that she knew Todd would find alluring.

'I'll just be another minute,' she called to
Paul.

'That's okay,' he replied. 'Take your
time.'

She unrolled the black leather miniskirt that
she'd packed in tissue paper, and put it on, pleased to see in the
mirror that it had survived her small carry-on with hardly a
wrinkle.

She padded out of the bathroom toward the
living room. Paul stood in the middle of the room with a lost
expression on his face. What's with him? she wondered. He's really
an odd character.

'About the coffeemaker—' Paul began.

'Oh, Paul, really,' Allegra said, sitting
down to put on her very high black Christian Louboutin heels. 'I'll
not use it at all.'

There was a knock at the still open door, and
Allegra and Paul looked down the hallway in unison.

Allegra jumped up. 'Todd.' She rushed down
the narrow hall. His arms encircled her, and they kissed. Allegra
loved his familiar warmth, his masculine scent, and the protective
feeling of his arms. He jerked abruptly, and looking up, she saw
his eyes focus across her shoulder on Paul, who remained standing
in the room.

'Oh, Todd. I'm sorry,' she apologized. 'This
is Paul. Paul is Sylvie's friend who owns the apartment.'

Todd took her hand in his and walked to Paul.
'Hi,' he said, extending his free hand with a smile. 'It's nice to
meet you, Paul.'

With a slight nod of his head, Paul took his
hand but held it lightly rather than shook. 'I hope you have a
pleasant stay in Paris,' he said.

'I'm sure we will,' Todd said, his eyes
turning to Allegra. He squeezed her hand affectionately.

'Well, I won't keep you,' Paul said. 'I know
you must have a lot to ... see and do. I came by to show Allegra
how to use the coffeemaker, but she doesn't seem interested in
using it. I'll be on my way.'

He started toward the hallway, but turned and
looked at Allegra. 'You don't mind if I use the loo, do you?'

'Of course not,' Allegra said. 'It is your
apartment, after all.' She laughed.

Todd's gaze swept the small apartment.

'I'll just be a second,' Paul said, going
into the bathroom.

Allegra looked up at Todd and saw the intent
look in his eyes as he continued to survey the room. 'What?' she
asked. 'Why so serious?'