Parisian Affair (8 page)

The bracelet had been bought by an
Argentinian general for his beautiful wife, Dorisita. 'It's the
same green as in my new Givenchy dinner suit,' his flame-haired
wife had pronounced. Sadly, Dorisita was to have it in her
possession for less than two years. The dictatorship in which her
husband served an important role was overthrown by another junta,
and the general and Dorisita barely managed to escape to their
high-rise penthouse on Brickell Avenue in Miami. The luxurious
apartment was a considerable comedown from their baroque mansion in
Buenos Aires and the 180,000-acre estancia where they'd raised
cattle and bred polo ponies in the country. But they had their
lives at least, unlike the thousands of the general's victims whose
blood he had shed in his native country. Cash was in relatively
short supply, however, and the general contacted Sotheby's and sent
the bracelet to auction. Secrecy was essential in this case, too,
and the bracelet was sold as 'property of a lady,' as the brooch
had been at Christie's. The ever watchful Ram recognized the
bracelet immediately and was the high bidder at auction. Thus, the
bracelet was stowed away in the vault, where it shared a small
compartment with the brooch.

Snapping out of his reverie, Ram stubbed out
his cigarillo in the malachite ashtray on his desk and took a sip
of the Armagnac. He relished its warmth on his palate and the fiery
trail it made to his stomach. Within moments, its warmth seemed to
spread throughout his body, suffusing him with the glow of
well-being.

I must celebrate
, he told himself.
Yes, I must mark this day in a very special way
.

Setting down the crystal snifter of Armagnac,
he picked up the alligator-bound Hermes address book on the desk
and flipped to the Gs. There it was, her name and number. Denise
Girard. He would call her and arrange to get together this evening.
Perhaps they would have a light dinner first. Then he would take
her to the tiny fourth-floor walk-up on the rue des Rosiers that
he'd retained possession of all these years. The same apartment in
the old Jewish quarter that the Levants had given him so many years
ago.

He could bring her here or take her anywhere,
for that matter. After all, she was beautiful, sophisticated, and
well-mannered. But he preferred taking her here tonight. With the
right drugs, he could get her to do almost anything, and for that,
the little apartment was perfect. The neighbors, primarily gays
who'd invaded and begun to gentrify the neighborhood, asked no
questions, being the misfits they were. He picked up the telephone
and dialed her number.

Although a magnet to women, he'd managed to
stay unattached. No matter how beautiful or rich the various women
in his life had been, he'd always ended their affairs quickly and
with minimum fuss. He didn't want the unnecessary complications
that inevitably arose from relationships with women, and had always
found it more expedient to hire one when he felt like it.

Denise picked up at the other end of the
line. 'Bonjour,' she said in a breathy voice.

'I want to see you tonight,' Ram said.

'Oh, it's you,' Denise replied. 'I ... I...
of course. What time?'

He heard the initial hesitancy in her voice,
and he smiled slightly at her obvious change of mind. Money always
talks. 'Eight o'clock,' he said. 'We'll have a little dinner.'

'Where?' she asked. 'How shall I dress?'

'Nothing too fancy,' Ram replied. 'I'm in the
mood for simple bistro fare.'

'Okay,' Denise said, disappointment in her
voice.

'See you then.'

'Ciao.'

He replaced the receiver in its cradle,
leaned back in his chair, and smiled with satisfaction. He would
have a good time with the whore tonight, and although she wouldn't
want to see him for a while, she would inevitably be drawn back by
the money and the drugs. And once again she would let him do
whatever he pleased. He felt a familiar hardening in his trousers
and finished off the Armagnac, setting the empty snifter down with
deliberation. Anything, he thought. Anything I want.

Allegra sank back onto the plush banquette
and, panting hard, untied the satin bows at her ankles and slipped
out of her high-heeled shoes. Wiggling her toes and massaging her
feet against the thick carpeting, she took a sip of the champagne
in her glass.
Ah, that's better
, she thought, setting the
glass back down. She glanced at the black Louboutins that lay on
their sides at her feet, like fallen monuments. Beautiful as they
were, they weren't made for dancing.
At least not the relentless
way Todd goes at it
, she thought with amusement. She'd almost
forgotten that he was an indefatigable dancer, and tonight he was
absolutely a dancing fool, refusing to sit out a single number.
Allegra finally had to take a break.

The DJ was spinning a spectacular dance mix,
and they'd been on the dance floor for at least thirty or forty
minutes. She wasn't sure because she'd lost all track of time, but
her feet had started killing her. Dehydrated, she wanted nothing so
much as a long, cold drink of water. She looked toward where she'd
left Todd wildly gyrating with Candie Gundersen, but didn't see
them.

Thank God she was out tonight
, Allegra
thought. The young blond beauty, a giantess of about six feet three
inches in height, was a fixture on the downtown art and club scene
whom they both knew slightly.

She took the last sip of her champagne, then
put back on the uncomfortable shoes. Standing up, she took her
beaded bag and started weaving through the crowd that stood between
her and the bar. They were watching the action on the dance floor
or gathered into little clumps engrossed in conversation.
How
they can hear one another I'll never know
, she thought. She
loved the music, but it was deafening. A space opened up, and
turning sideways, she slipped through it. In the distance she could
see the bar. As enormous as it was, it was jammed with people four
and five deep.

Allegra didn't find the scene off-putting as
she sometimes did. Tonight, on the contrary, she was enjoying being
out among the trendy revelry and away from her workshop.

'
Scusi
,' an extremely tall young man
said in a heavily accented voice as he bumped her side. His deep,
resonant voice was raised so she could hear him over the music.

Allegra turned and looked up at him. He was
very handsome, deeply tanned with longish dark hair combed straight
back, dark eyes full of mischief, and a square jaw. 'It's okay,'
she said with a smile, raising her voice as he had.

His high forehead creased in a frown. 'Don't
I know you?' he asked. Then his lips spread in a smile, exposing
gleaming white teeth. 'Yes, I'm sure I do. It was Positano last
summer, wasn't it?'

Allegra shook her head. How many times had
she heard this or a similar pickup line? 'No,' she replied
good-naturedly. 'In fact, I've never set foot in Positano.'

'Saint Moritz, then,' he said, unwilling to
end the game. 'Last winter. Yes. At the Corviglia Club.'

'I hate to disappoint you, but I haven't been
there, either,' Allegra said. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to
get some water.'

His handsome features collapsed into a mask
of mock disappointment. 'No, no,' he said. 'You must allow me to
get it for you.'

'That's really not necessary,' Allegra
replied.

'I insist,' he said. 'Look.' He gestured to
the crowded bar. 'I'm a regular here. They know me well, so I can
save you time.' He looked at her with a theatrical plea.

Why not?
she asked herself. She had to
admit that he was extraordinarily good-looking, and his manners
were impeccable. 'Okay,' Allegra said at last. 'Why not?'

'Come with me,' he said, gently placing a
hand on her arm. 'I'm Carlo, by the way. Carlo d'Annunzio.'

'Allegra,' she said, following him into the
crush of bar patrons.

He turned and smiled down at her. 'Ah. You're
Italian, also?'

Allegra shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'I
hate to disappoint you again, but my mother just happened to like
the name.'

'I see,' he said. 'So you are Allegra. And
that's it?'

She looked at him with puzzlement.

'No last name?' he said, his eyes twinkling.
'That's okay. I understand. After all, I could be a serial
killer.'

'Sheridan,' she said obligingly.

'Stay right here on this spot, Allegra
Sheridan,' he said, pointing a finger downward, 'and I'll have your
water in a flash.' He turned and elbowed his way into the crowd,
politely excusing himself as he went, one arm held high in the air,
gesturing toward the nearest bartender.

Allegra turned and looked back toward the
dance floor, but still saw no sign of Todd or Candie. She felt a
hand on her shoulder and turned back. Carlo, already.

'Mademoiselle,' he said, smiling as he handed
her a tall glass of ice water. 'Or is it madame?'

'Mademoiselle,' she replied, 'and you really
were fast. Thank you very much.'

'It's nothing,' Carlo replied with a shrug.
'I told you. They know me. Well, cheers.' He lifted a glass of
pinkish liquid and waited for Allegra to follow suit. They touched
glasses and took sips of their drinks.

'What is that you're having?' she asked.

'It's champagne,' he said, 'with a shot of
Campari. Would you like a taste?'

Allegra shook her head. 'No, thanks,' she
said. 'Water's perfect. I'm so dehydrated from dancing.'

'Of course,' he said, 'you would be. I'm sure
every single man in this place has asked you.'

'That's nice of you to say, but actually, no
one's had the chance,' she responded. 'I've been dancing with my
friend since we got here.'

'And where is this friend of yours now?' he
asked.

'Dancing with someone else,' Allegra
said.

'You've been deserted?' His eyebrows went up,
feigning surprise. 'I can't believe a man would desert a woman as
beautiful as you in a club like this, where nearly every man is on
the make.'

Allegra laughed. 'You're too much.'

'What do you mean?' he asked, pretending
innocence.

'You know very well what I mean,' she
replied. 'You—' There was a light tap on her shoulder, and she
turned around expecting to see Todd. 'Sylvie!' she exclaimed.

Sylvie Javelle air-kissed her on both cheeks
in the continental manner, then stood back. 'Don't believe a word
that Carlo says because he is a terrible womanizer,' she said.
Allegra noticed that she was wearing what appeared to be Chanel
couture.

'Ah, Sylvie,
cherie
, how could you?'
Carlo began, holding his arms out to her. She quieted him with
kisses and returned his hug.

'You know I'm only making a little joke,' she
said with a laugh. 'I'm so glad to see you both.'

'So you two know one another,' Allegra
said.

Sylvie arched a thinly plucked brow. 'You
might say that.'

'A little bit,' Carlo said, shrugging.

'Allegra, I've been trying to get you on the
phone. Did you get my message?'

'No,' she said. 'But I haven't listened to
the machine.'

'We've got to talk,' Sylvie said.

'What's up?'

'Hmmm, not now,' Sylvie said, looking from
side to side as if expecting spies to be eavesdropping. 'Later. In
private.'

'You don't have a drink,' Carlo said. 'What
would you like, Sylvie? Or have you had plenty of medication?'

'Oh, Carlo, aren't you funny?' she said,
looking at him mischievously. 'But you're a darling. I'll have a
cosmopolitan.'

'I'll be back in a minute,' he said.

'Thank you, Carlo,' she said, watching him
leave. She turned back to Allegra. 'Isn't he a hunk?'

'He's very good-looking,' Allegra agreed,
'and he knows it.'

'Oh, yes,' Sylvie said, nodding her head.
'You're right about that, but still. . . he's not unbearable about
it.'

'Who is he?' Allegra asked.

'He's with an investment company downtown,'
Sylvie said. 'From a very good family in Turin.'

'You know everybody,' Allegra said with a
laugh.

'If I don't, you do,' Sylvie said. 'Where's
Todd, or is he out of town?'

'He's dancing with Candie Gundersen,' Allegra
said. 'Or at least he was the last time I saw him.'

'Aha, the giantess,' Sylvie said. 'How are
things between you two?'

'Oh, God, Sylvie, who knows?' Allegra
replied. 'What about you? Who're you with?'

'Ahhh, Jean-Pierre,' she said with a Gallic
shrug of her shoulders, as if the subject bored her.

'So is it serious with you two?'

'God, no!' Sylvie exclaimed. 'It is
impossible. Jean-Pierre can't be serious for five minutes. Not with
anybody. He's probably screwing somebody in the loo right now.'

Allegra laughed, nearly choking on her water.
'How do you put up with it?' she asked.

'How could I bear him otherwise?' Sylvie
retorted. She saw Carlo returning with her drink.

'Here you are,' Carlo said. 'A cosmopolitan.'
He handed it to Sylvie.

'
Merci
, Carlo,' she said. 'You're a
lifesaver.'

'And another glass of water for you,
mademoiselle,' he said to Allegra.

'You didn't have to do that,' she said, 'but
thanks.'

'My pleasure.' He turned to Sylvie. 'Is
Jean-Pierre here?'

She nodded. 'Somewhere.'

'I think I'll have a quick look for him,'
Carlo said, 'but don't worry, I'll be back soon.' He winked and
headed off.

Sylvie and Allegra laughed. 'He's so crazy,'
Sylvie said, 'but so amusing.' She took a sip of the
cosmopolitan.

'So he and Jean-Pierre are friends, I take
it?'

'Yes,' Sylvie nodded. 'They've known each
other for years. They went to school together in Switzerland.'