Parisian Affair (33 page)

The earrings. William Cosgrove Hutchison. A
New Yorker. Allegra searched her mind. She knew that she'd heard
the name, but she couldn't quite place it. Probably one of those
quiet, old-money New Yorkers who neither wanted nor got much
publicity.

The list accounted for a hell of a lot of
thirty-four-and-a-half-carat emeralds. Especially of the same
color. She couldn't begin to calculate what they would be worth if
they were reunited and sold as a set. Princess Karima's ring was
the only anomaly. It was the same size and color, but it had its
unique inclusion.

She looked over at Todd. 'This is fabulous,'
she said. 'I still can't believe you did it.' She formed a kiss and
blew it across the table.

The waiter approached again. 'Do you need
more time?' He poured more champagne for them both.

'I think we're ready,' Todd said. 'What if I
order for us both?'

'Perfect,' Allegra said.

'We'll both have the lamb,' he said.
'Rare.'

'No appetizers, monsieur?'

'No, thanks,' Todd said. He looked over at
Allegra for confirmation, and she nodded.

'Very well,' the waiter said, and he
disappeared.

'Now,' Todd said, 'you've got to tell me what
you've been up to, all right?'

'Well ... I did a little research on the
Internet,' she said, deciding not to tell him about her visit to
the bank and using Monsieur Lenoir's computer while there.

'Uh-huh,' he said. 'What kind of research?'
he asked.

'Looking at stuff about Jules Levant
Joaillier,' she replied.

'And?'

'And I found out that a man named Solomon
Weiss used to work there,' she replied. 'He was a cutter, polisher,
and setter. I also found out that he was still alive and living
here in Paris.'

Todd looked excited. 'And you went to see
him? What did you find out?'

'He's a widower, well into his eighties, and
lives on the rue des Rosiers. It's a little Jewish neighborhood in
the Marais.'

'Odd, isn't it?' Todd said. 'You were staying
in the Marais in Paul's apartment. You went to a museum in the
Marais where you were shot at twice. We checked into a hotel in the
Marais, then checked out. Now this Weiss character turns up in the
Marais. The neighborhood keeps popping up.'

'Yes,' Allegra said, 'and get this. Ramtane
Tadjer has an apartment in the Marais. In the same building that
Monsieur Weiss lives in. The Levants gave it to him when they took
him in years ago, and he's kept it.'

'Jesus,' Todd exclaimed. 'Him again. There
you were in the same building where he lives.'

'No, no,' Allegra said. 'He doesn't live
there. He has a mansion a few blocks away, Weiss said, but he keeps
the apartment for assignations.'

'Oho,' Todd said, smirking. 'So our Mr.
Tadjer is either married or he won't do the dirty at home.'

'I guess,' she replied neutrally, although
for some reason the thought of the handsome, charming jeweler
involved in clandestine, sordid- sounding escapades didn't sit well
with her.

Their food was served, and as they ate the
delicious lamb and vegetables with gusto, Allegra told him about
her visit with Solomon Weiss. When she had finished her tale, Todd
sat thoughtfully eating the last of his meal before responding. He
finally said, 'You know, it's as if you found one giant piece of a
puzzle, and I found the other. We know to whom these emeralds have
been sold and that Tadjer has been buying them back over the years.
Though Madame de la Montarron didn't mention anything about him
buying back any of the jewels she showed me.'

'She may not even know,' Allegra offered.

'True,' he responded. 'She probably doesn't.
She would've mentioned it. I mean, once she got started talking it
was like floodgates had opened, and she wouldn't stop.'

'But it's odd that Solomon Weiss knew,'
Allegra said. She shrugged. 'It's probably not even important, but
I'm curious.'

'Well, madame certainly knew that Tadjer was
bidding on Princess Karima's ring,' Todd said.

'Everybody in Paris knows that,' Allegra
said. 'But it was a very special case, being the princess's and
all.'

'Now what do we do with what we've got?' Todd
mused aloud.

'Good question,' Allegra said. 'And where did
the emeralds come from? And why does Ramtane Tadjer want them
back?'

Todd looked at her with thoughtful eyes. 'How
do we find out?'

'I'm not sure,' she said, 'but my enquiring
mind wants to know.' She put her knife and fork down. 'That was
wonderful. Do you want dessert?'

'I'll have something if you do,' he said.

'I think I'd rather get out of here, fabulous
as it is, and go back to the hotel. Brainstorm a little bit.'

They left the restaurant, walking hand in
hand in the arcade of the Palais Royal, avoiding the section where
Jules Levant was located.

'How did you extricate yourself from the
saleslady?' Allegra asked.

'I told her I was having lunch with my
fiancée,' Todd said. 'She appreciated the idea of two young
lovebirds meeting for lunch at Le Grand Vefour.'

Allegra laughed. 'I guess that's a very
French reaction.'

'I guess so,' he agreed, 'but she does expect
me to return to the shop later today or Monday.'

'She's going to be disappointed. She won't
get to see you again.'

Todd squeezed her hand affectionately.
'Maybe,' he said. 'Then again, maybe not. They do have some really
nice jewelry.'

'Oh, don't even tease about that,' Allegra
said. 'It is all magnificent, but it's priced accordingly.'

'Can your feet handle the walk back to the
hotel in those heels?' Todd asked, looking down at her
stilettos.

'Sure,' Allegra said. 'They've had a good
rest, and it's not that far.'

He brushed her cheek with a kiss. 'It's so
wonderful to be here in this beautiful city with you,' he said.

'Even if it's gray and chilly?'

'Who cares about the weather?' he said,
kissing her cheek again.

'Not me,' she said, stopping and kissing him
on the lips.

With their eyes only for each other, they
failed to see that they were being watched, and when their walk
finally took them back to the place Vendome and the Ritz, they
didn't realize that they'd been followed.

Sylvie paced in Paul's ground-floor
apartment, her heels click-clacking a loud tattoo on the cold
limestone floor, plumes of blue gray smoke encircling her in a fog
before lifting to the ceiling.

Paul sat on the sofa watching her, his body
hypertense. Sylvie had both fascinated and scared him, and today,
her histrionics were almost proving too much for his already
frazzled nerves. The generous snorts of crystal meth she'd offered
him had increased his body's state of alertness but simultaneously
made him feel as if his concerns weren't important anymore, even
though intellectually he knew that wasn't true.

Clack!
She had made another turn in
her to-and-fro path, and his body jerked involuntarily. He watched
her take a long drag on the unfiltered Gauloises she was smoking
and send another noxious plume of smoke into the room.

He'd been in love with her for years, and had
always wondered what appeal she'd found in him. She could have
anyone. And though Sylvie wasn't exclusive to him, he was grateful
for whatever time she deigned to give him.

They had met at le Rosey, the exclusive
boarding school, and as unlikely as their friendship might seem to
outsiders—he, a reticent, unattractive nerd; she, a stylish,
bubbling social butterfly—they had found a common ground at once.
They both felt like misfits at the expensive school, and together
they sought escape in recreational drugs. Not that they were
exceptions among the student body, but they developed an intimate
relationship that lasted for years, even if it was almost entirely
dependent on Sylvie seeking him out, rather than the opposite. She
had, and still did, come to him after debauched evenings with
boyfriends and pull him into bed and make passionate, if drugged,
love, telling him how superior he was to the rich but thuggish boys
who had gotten their rocks off then fled the scene.

'You're like me, Paul,' she would say.
'Sensitive and caring. Creative. Artistic. Not like those animals.'
All this while they fucked again and again, sometimes for hours on
end, until their bodies could no longer perform, and they collapsed
into long, drugged sleep.

Their time together had of necessity been
lessened by her work in New York, but she often visited Paris, and
Paul often make the trek to New York to see her. He would do
anything for her, and while he knew that the reverse was not true,
it didn't matter to him.

'Do you have any vodka?'

At first her question didn't register,
although he saw her stop and whirl around and look at him. He saw
her beautiful painted lips move and the inquisitive look on her
elegant face. He was so distracted by the powerful drug that he
simply looked up at her with a blank expression.

'Do you have any vodka?' she repeated in a
louder voice.

'Oh, yes, of course,' he replied, jumping off
the sofa and going to the refrigerator. He opened it and took a
bottle of Stolichnaya out of the freezer, then poured two glasses
nearly to the brim. He handed her one and smiled. 'Here.'

Sylvie took it and raised it to her lips
immediately, taking a long sip, then shuddering slightly.
'
Magnifique
,' she said, returning his smile.

Paul took a swallow of the vodka and enjoyed
the burning sensation as it traveled down his throat to his
stomach. 'Why don't we sit down,' he said, 'and relax a bit.'

Sylvie kicked off her heels and sat down on
the couch, pulling her feet up under her. She patted the space next
to her. 'Here, darling Paul. Sit here. We must talk.'

He sat down next to her, waiting for what
would come next. He never knew. Sylvie was unpredictable, to say
the least.

She reached over and stroked his face with
her fingers, her nails scraping along his cheek lightly. 'I want
you to help me,' she said.

He looked at her. 'Help you do what?' he
asked.

Her eyes narrowed. 'I want to get back at
Allegra,' she said. 'I want to pay her back for ruining my life in
New York.'

'I think we'd be wise to leave well enough
alone, don't you?'

She didn't respond but took a sip of the
vodka.

'I mean, look at it this way, Sylvie,' he
said. 'You're lucky you got out of New York without Whitehead
stopping you. We're both lucky to be sitting in this apartment
instead of some fucking police station today. He might decide to
pursue you. Us. Have you thought about that?'

Sylvie shrugged. 'He won't,' she said. 'I'm
sure of it. He doesn't really care about a few thousand dollars,
only that fucking emerald for Kitty. Besides, he liked me. He liked
me a lot.'

'You didn't. . .'

'Don't be a fool,' she said. 'Of course not.
He isn't my type, and it might've ruined a good working
relationship. He paid me an enormous salary, and I did a great job.
That was all there was to it.'

She put a hand on his thigh and rubbed it
gently. 'Let's forget about him,' she said. 'He doesn't matter.
That bitch Allegra does. She and her boyfriend. They ruined my
life, and what's worse, they humiliated you. For that I will never
forgive them.'

'But... but it's pointless,' he said.
'Besides, what can we do? They'll be going back to New York on
Monday, and we don't even know where they are.'

Sylvie smiled mischievously. 'Oh, I bet I
do.'

Paul looked at her. 'So where are they?'

'At the Ritz, of course,' she replied.
'That's where she was supposed to stay to begin with, and I'm sure
that after talking to Hilton, that's where they went.'

'Well, then we might as well forget it,' he
said. 'The Ritz is like a bunker. We'd never be able to get at
them. What could we do anyway?'

'Something . . . ,' she said slowly,
'something to make her life miserable.'

'But what?' he asked.

'Something simple . . . like . . . like
throwing acid in her face,' Sylvie said.

Paul froze. 'I—I think you're going too far,'
he said. 'Sylvie, we could really get in trouble. I don't like
this.'

She put her glass down and put her hands on
his shoulders. Looking into his eyes, she said, 'Trust me, Paul,
darling.' She kissed his lips. 'Nothing will happen to us.' Kiss.
'Nothing.' Kiss. 'We'll be off in Provence tomorrow or the next day
without a care in the world.'

He started to pull away, but she held him
with her hands. 'No, Sylvie,' he said. 'I really don't like this.
I—I think it's the drug talking.'

She laughed. 'That's ridiculous,' she said.
'But so what if it is? I want to do it. And we can do it. It's very
simple. I have it all worked out.' She took her hands off his
shoulders and placed them on his thighs, where she began massaging
him slowly and gently. 'Just this one little last thing before we
head down to Saint Remy,' she said, 'and start a new life ...
together.'

He looked into her eyes. 'Together? You
mean—?'

'I meant what I said, Paul,' she replied.
'Yes. The two of us. Together in Saint Remy. We'll start a new life
there. Away from the rat races of New York and Paris. We can garden
and decorate the house and live healthy lives.'

Paul looked into her eyes and saw the dreamy
expression they held. He didn't know whether to believe what she
said or not, but he wanted to. He wanted to with all his heart.

'Whatever it takes,' he said, 'we'll do it.
Together.'

Cameron had already been to the gym and
showered, and now as he changed clothes, Jason watched, enraptured
by the sleek, buff body with its hardened, defined musculature.