Parisian Affair (31 page)

'Thanks, but I have to fly,' she said,
putting it on as she rushed out. 'Mr. Whitehead's going to be
calling me,' she said, turning to him, 'so it's essential that I
get back to the hotel in time. You know how it is with these
billionaires.'

'I see,' Monsieur Lenoir said, disappointed.
Then his face suddenly brightened. 'Please give him my best
regards, and tell him that we're only too happy to have been of
service.'

Allegra smiled. 'Thank you again, Monsieur
Lenoir, and I'll be sure to tell Hilton what a help you've
been.'

He nodded. 'Good-bye, and have a good stay in
Paris.'

Allegra swept out onto the sidewalk and began
walking with a quick stride, taking deep breaths of air.
God!
I'm so glad to be out of that place and away from that appalling
man
, she thought.
How could somebody so good-looking and so
well-placed be so creepy?

She started looking for a taxi and, when she
saw one, raised her hand high into the air.
Now if only my next
appointment works out as well
, she thought hopefully.

Todd had spent over an hour sitting at the
ornate bureau
plat with Madame de la Montarron, and it was all
he could do to control his growing excitement. He hadn't known that
Jules Levant would have document books, nor would he have imagined
that he would actually get to look at them—and have a running
commentary from a woman who had personally handled or sold many of
the jewels. Madame de la Montarron had excused herself for a moment
to help a promising-looking middle-aged woman who'd come into the
shop, the only customer who'd appeared in the time he'd been here,
with the exception of a couple who'd indicated that they were
merely browsing.

He rubbed at his eyes with his fingers,
feeling practically blinded by the countless photographs he'd seen
and the staggering quality, size, and colors of the jewels
involved. He'd known that Jules Levant was one of the world's
premier jewelers, but he hadn't been prepared for how magnificent
and, in many cases, important their jewels were. Their clientele
had always been the richest people in the world, the creme de la
creme of international society.

Madame de la Montarron had happily pointed
out jewels that she'd sold to celebrities, royalty, and the merely
rich, often telling him anecdotes about the people involved, or
sharing patrons' peccadilloes or eccentricities she'd discovered
during the process of selling jewelry. All of that had been very
interesting, even fascinating in some cases, but it was something
else entirely that had at first merely piqued his interest and then
begun to excite him to a near fever pitch.

He couldn't wait to see Allegra, to tell her
what he had found out. She wasn't going to believe it. She would
probably be angry with him because he'd gone behind her back to do
his own investigation. But he felt he had no choice. He certainly
didn't think it would be wise to put her in the proximity of
Tadjer, a vital consideration, and who else was there to do the
work he'd done? Besides, he thought with a smile, who else could've
gotten the cement-haired Jacqueline de la Montarron to open up
Jules Levant's document books and her life as a saleslady
there?

One thing he was sure of: when Allegra heard
his news, she would forgive him anything.

Allegra exited the taxi on the winding
cobbled lane and looked up at the ancient building where he lived.
It resembled a tenement in New York City, and the neighborhood, or
this small area of it, was reminiscent of certain blocks on the
Lower East Side. Across the lane was a shop that sold Hebrew
literature, yarmulkes, menorahs, and other material of Jewish
interest. There was a kosher delicatessen on the corner, and street
vendors sold falafel and all sorts of food from blazing braziers.
This was a Marais she hadn't seen before.

She turned her attention back to the building
and saw that the buzzers for individual tenants were mounted next
to the door. Names were scribbled on little pieces of paper in
tarnished brass slots beneath each buzzer. She found the one for
Solomon Weiss, number seven, and pressed it. She waited for the
door to buzz, her hand at the ready to open it, but there was no
response. She pressed the buzzer again, holding it down longer this
time, but there was still no response.
What the devil?
she
wondered.
I hope nothing's happened between the time I called
and now. The thought made her stomach turn
.

She knew the man must be at least
eighty-something years old, and she knew that he wasn't in good
health. He had told her so only a short while ago when she'd called
him from the taxi. His voice had been so weak it seemed he was
exerting a great effort to merely speak with her.

The buzzer suddenly sounded, and she quickly
turned the handle and pushed on the door. It was very heavy and
scrapped against the stone floor as she pushed it open. Once
inside, she faced a long, dark tunnel at the end of which she could
see a garden.

Aha
, she thought.
It's like the
situation at Paul's apartment
. She went through the tunnel and
out into the garden. There were several small trees and a number of
potted plants struggling toward the gray light of Paris above. Old
bicycles were chained here and there, and through the opaque glass
set in what appeared to have once been a greenhouse, she could
discern the figure of a woman setting a table. Through an opening
on her right, she saw the staircase the elderly man had told her to
take. She climbed the decrepit curving stairs, noting that they
were made of stone and oak as those in Paul's building were. The
walls were peeling plaster, and old electric lines ran across them
like drapery swags.

When she reached the fifth floor, she stopped
on the small landing and caught her breath. Her feet had begun to
ache in the four-inch heels she'd worn.
How on earth does the
old man ever get up and down these steps?
she asked herself. On
the landing she noticed a water spigot that emptied into an dented,
tarnished copper basin mounted on the wall. It was probably the
only source of water when the building went up, she thought.

When she reached the sixth-floor landing, the
door to apartment number seven stood ajar, and just inside it, she
saw an ancient bent man who'd once been tall. Wisps of snow-white
hair stood out straight all over his head, giving him the
appearance of a man who'd stuck his finger in an electric socket.
His brushy white eyebrows weren't concealed by the thick glasses on
his large nose, and his mustache was slightly yellowed around his
lips. He was wearing a shirt and tie, both a little rumpled, over
which was a gray cardigan sweater. A paperback book poked up out of
one of its pockets. In his hand was a wooden cane with a silver
handle. He stared at her with rheumy eyes surrounded by a mass of
wrinkles.

'Mr. Weiss?' Allegra asked.

He nodded. '
Oui, mademoiselle
,' he
replied. 'Please come in.' He opened the door wider and stepped to
the side.

Allegra stepped into the apartment and put
her hand out. 'I'm so glad to meet you, Mr. Weiss,' she said.

He took her hand and moved his up and down a
fraction of an inch, then let it go. 'I'm always glad to make the
acquaintance of a beautiful young woman,' he replied.

Allegra saw the smile on his lips and the
twinkle in his eyes. 'Thank you,' she said. 'I'm so grateful that
you'd let me visit with you.'

'Come this way,' he said, slowly going down a
narrow hallway, his cane thumping against the bare wood floor.

She followed him into a large, stuffy,
overfurnished room whose walls were covered with drawings and
paintings. The four windows were all shuttered, permitting little
light into the room. She saw that books were everywhere: on
shelves, on tables, chairs, and couches, and in high piles on the
floor.

'Please, Mademoiselle Sheridan,' he said,
'make yourself comfortable.' He indicated a tufted, leather-covered
chair, its upholstery torn and its springs coming loose.

Allegra sat down gingerly on the chair and
looked around the room.
It looks English
, she thought.
Edwardian
. There wasn't a single piece of furniture that
appeared to be French. 'This is a fascinating apartment,' she said.
'You must love to read.'

'Yes,' he replied. 'Always have. My late wife
and I, both of us incurable readers.' He had seated himself in a
chair similar to hers and looked over at her with a steady gaze.
'But I don't assume you came to listen to me ramble on about my
personal life. It's my career at Jules Levant you want to know
about, isn't it?'

Allegra nodded. 'Yes, Mr. Weiss,' she said.
'I did some reading on the Internet this morning and discovered
that you worked for Jules Levant for many years.'

'Yes,' he said in a wistful voice, his gaze
directed at some distant point. 'I was there practically from the
beginning. We were very close, Hannah, Jules, Elisse—my late
wife—and myself. After Hannah and then Jules died, Ramtane
inherited the business, and I worked for him for some years until I
decided it was time for me to retire.' He drew in his gaze and
looked at her. 'But you don't want to listen to me reminisce. You
want some sort of very specific information is my guess. Am I
right?'

Allegra nodded. 'Well, yes,' she replied, a
little startled by his directness. 'I... I came to Paris to bid on
a ring that Jules Levant sold several years ago.'

'Ahhh,' he said knowingly. 'Princess
Karima's.'

'Yes,' Allegra said.

'So you're the beautiful and mysterious young
American woman who placed the successful bid?'

Allegra felt herself blush. 'Well,' she
replied, 'I did place the successful bid.'

He chuckled. 'Your modesty is refreshing,
Mademoiselle Sheridan,' he said. 'But do go on. Tell me what it is
you want to know.'

Allegra told him everything that had happened
up to this point in Paris.

Monsieur Weiss shook his head and muttered
under his breath as she told her tale, but didn't interrupt her.
When she was finished, he pushed himself to his feet and shuffled
over to a tray of bottles, carafes, and glasses that sat on a
bookshelf. He turned to her and asked, 'A glass of wine,
mademoiselle? Regrettably, it's a
vin ordinaire
, but not a
bad Bordeaux.'

'Yes,' she said, 'that would be lovely.'

He poured two glasses of wine from a carafe,
and Allegra noticed that his hands shook slightly. She got up and
crossed to him, and he held a glass up for her. 'Thank you,' she
said.

'You'd better taste it first,' he replied
with a chuckle.

They returned to their chairs and sipped the
wine. 'It's quite good,' Allegra said.

'Palatable,' he said. Then he looked at her
with a serious expression. 'I have several immediate thoughts about
what you've told me. Allow me to express them. Then you may ask me
whatever it is you think I might be able to help you with. First,
the business at Dufour is absolutely execrable. Someone in the
auction house was involved, of course, but the more important
question is, who was this person working for? Princess Karima? Ram
Tadjer? Some other interested party? Naturally, I don't know the
answer, but my guess would be that the princess or Ram was trying
to pass off a copy of the ring to you.'

'Why one of them?' she asked. She took a sip
of the wine.

'Princess Karima because she didn't want to
let go of the ring,' he replied, looking at her through his thick
lenses. 'She's rich beyond belief and will never want for money,
but that ring held a very special place in whatever heart she's
got. Donati, the Italian, was more than a great love affair to her.
He gave her entree—legitimacy, you might say—to international
society.'

'It sounds to me like she does have a very
big heart,' Allegra said. 'Getting rid of all of her possessions
and setting up this charitable foundation.'

'Ha!' the old man exclaimed. 'Nothing but
public relations. I don't know what it is, but the princess has
something up her sleeve. For one thing, she's only divesting
herself of her Paris holdings. I know that amounts to many millions
of dollars, but she's got plenty besides. Her millhouse they keep
referring to in the press is a multimillion-dollar pile in the
forest of Fontainebleau.'

'So you really believe that she might be
responsible for Dufour trying to pass off a copy of the ring to
me?' The thought hadn't even occurred to Allegra, and she was
genuinely surprised with this information.

He nodded. 'Absolutely.'

'And Ram . . . Ramtane Tadjer?' she said.

'He went there expecting to get the ring,'
Weiss said, 'but he was overlooked for you.'

'What do you mean, 'overlooked'?' she
asked.

'I'm certain he would have outbid you, but at
the last minute the auctioneer simply failed to recognize him and
let you win the ring.'

'Are you serious?' she asked, appalled that
such a thing could take place.

He nodded. 'Happens all the time,' he said
with confidence. 'The auctioneer didn't want Ram to have the ring
even if it meant letting you have it for a million or few
less.'

Allegra was silent for a moment, digesting
this tidbit. She didn't know whether to believe the old man or not,
but this was yet another angle she hadn't considered.

'But there's something more important,' Weiss
said.

Allegra looked over at him. 'What's that,
Monsieur Weiss?'

'Something that I think you may know a bit
about, since you are a jewelry designer.' He paused and took a sip
of his wine. 'Ram has been buying back certain jewels that were
sold over a period of years by Jules Levant Joaillier,' he went on,
'and Princess Karima's ring was yet another of these
purchases.'