The Little Antique Shop Under the Eiffel Tower (16 page)

“Yes, it was.” He’d made a lot of lucky guesses when it came to me.

“Anything take your interest?” I arched a brow.

“Very much,” he said, not looking away from me, and I felt a rush of heat flash through me. No matter how hard I tried to switch it off, I couldn’t.

Summoning my best poker face I said, “Let me rephrase, anything in the
auction
take your fancy?”

He gave me a slow once-over as he pulled on the length of his tie, and then locked eyes with me again.

“The sketches – I’d like them very much.”

The art work he was alluding to were some very rare black and white drawings believed to have been done by Matisse that were discovered recently between the pages of a book. They’d fetch a huge amount of money I was sure. They were achingly beautiful. “I hope you don’t have too much competition.”

We stood awkwardly, something I doubted happened to him very often. Electricity practically sizzled between us. In order to quash it, I fidgeted with the straps of my handbag, and gave him a jittery smile. “Well, I better find my seat,” I eventually managed.

“Sure,” he said. “And maybe we can catch up later?”

“Maybe.” I had to push every thought out of my head or I couldn’t concentrate on my job.

It was getting harder to act noncommittally in his presence. It was as though my body had a mind of its own, and every fiber of me leaned toward him. It had danger written all over it, and yet something in me desired him just the same. I didn’t immediately take my seat; instead, I ambled around the lots once more, hoping to see the sketches he wanted, knowing I’d never see them again after today.

I found them in a cabinet under tight lock and key, right next to the security guards. Up close the drawings were even more exquisite than the photos online suggested. Matisse must’ve been an amazing man to conjure up such beauty with the flick of a pencil. No wonder the halls rang out with more footsteps than usual. Many, I knew, would covet these sketches. Under my lashes, I surveyed the punters, scanning their faces. Some I knew, a few I didn’t. My mind carried to the recent thefts, and in a way I was glad so far only jewelry had been stolen, because losing the Matisse drawings to the black market would be a crime against history.

What would a thief do? Blend in, or stand out? There was little to go on in the newspapers. No physical description, at any rate. All I could do really was secure the hutch for my customer and know it was safe from being shipped elsewhere, and that there was record of its origins…

With my head down, staring into the display case, I stood on the shoe of someone and stumbled. “I’m so sorry,” I said, glancing at the man, and inhaling sharply. The snake. He always had to edge close to me for the upper hand.

What was he here for today? Unintentionally I glanced in the direction of the hutch, only for the briefest second, but that’s all it would take if he was paying attention. I wanted to kick myself. May as well have held up a flashing sign saying BUY THE ANAÏS NIN HUTCH!
Merde!
Had he seen? I wanted to cup my head and weep.

Lesson one when attending an auction: never, ever give away what you’re after. Joshua would circle like a shark, if he knew I was after that piece.

“Don’t start with me.” I gave him a hard stare, and fluttered my hand ushering him on. Then I looked determinedly at a vintage 1920s’ Murano glass lamp, hoping he’d think it was that I yearned for and not the hutch. It was a stunning piece of
Italian
craftsmanship…

He stepped close. “Anouk, my lovely little Frenchie. How nice to see you here. Anything you want to gift to me today?”

I could have slapped the smarmy expression off his face and be damned by the consequences. “Your time will come, Joshua. Mark my words.” But it probably wouldn’t. People like him never seemed to get their comeuppance.

“So is that a no to dinner? It would be a shame to waste a night in paradise. My new girl isn’t a patch on you in the sack.”

My skin crawled with the thought. “You’re a pig. Why don’t you pack up and leave? Go ruin someone else’s life.” That he could stare at me like it was a game broke something deep inside me again. I dropped my voice. “You’re lucky I don’t tell everyone what you did to me. It’s only embarrassment that stops me.”

“Oh come on, Anouk! You made some bad business choices. There’s no point harboring a grudge!” His boyish good looks, and faux affability fooled them all. There was little I could do to stop him without looking like an imbecile myself. Though I wanted to stamp my foot and scream to the world that he was a con man.

“Say one more word and I’ll tell them everything, consequences be damned,” I bluffed, hoping my steely voice was convincing.

“Try it, Anouk, and you’ll look like the scorned woman.” His face darkened and he stalked off straight in the direction of the precious hutch.
He saw me glance at it!
I spotted Tristan chatting to the security guards, and a wave of relief washed over me. He hadn’t seen me chatting to Joshua. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I needed to be rescued.

Biting back fury, I retreated to the parlor and took a champagne flute from the waiter. I drank it down fast, knowing I was breaking my own cardinal rule, but needing something to stop the staccato beat of my heart. Damn Joshua for upsetting the balance yet again. As a waiter passed, I switched my empty flute for a full one, and knocked it back. The effect of the alcohol was almost instantaneous.

Flushed, and slightly calmer, I teetered back into the sunroom for the auction. My wedged heels clomped noisily, announcing my arrival.

All eyes were on me as I made my way to the seating area. Next time I’d wear ballet flats, and try to blend in. My carefully crafted rules were tumbling down like a house of cards around me as the two American men were each pervading my senses for different reasons. I always prided myself on my poker face, and acting a certain way in business – but the mask was harder to wear these days.

There were no vacant chairs at the front. I was forced to take one at the very back, which meant the auctioneer wouldn’t see my eyebrow raise. I’d have to bid glaringly obviously with my numbered paddle, leaving me open to others bidding against me because they’d wonder at my interest in such a piece. Damn it all to hell. This is what I got for losing focus.

The sale began and I cursed myself for drinking champagne in the middle of the day. The drone of the auctioneer was making me sleepy, as sunlight crept in through the windows and landed in soft shards on my face bringing with it more heat.

When the Anaïs Nin hutch was announced, I put my game face on, paying zero attention to the auctioneer, and instead glancing heavenward, as if I was daydreaming, which was easy to do in my post-champagne haze. There were a steady stream of bids for the hutch, and it took all my strength not to wince. The woman beside me leaned over to her friend and said, “I heard Anaïs Nin wrote
Delta of Venus
on that very desk. Can you imagine?” And then she raised her paddle, and joined in.
Merde!

The bids escalated quickly, the price already double what I had anticipated it would sell for. Eventually bidders dropped off until there was only one man left, Piers, a regular on the South France circuit. Piers had an antique shop in Monaco, where, it was rumored, Grace Kelly had once been a regular customer.

I saw my chance. Piers always stuck to his budget and didn’t let emotion get in the way. He was entirely about numbers with no trace of sentimentality. The auctioneer called it, “Going once, going twice, third and final…” I raised my paddle, but so did Joshua who was smack bang in the front row. The auctioneer took his bid, and hadn’t seen mine so I had to do the unthinkable and stand up to be seen. “New blood,” the auctioneer said, unprofessionally, with a smirk. He was probably mentally spending his fatter commission.

Joshua turned and gave me a wolfish grin, before pivoting back and leaving his paddle up signaling he wasn’t going to stop. I kept going way beyond my budget, caught in the cross fire and wanting so badly to win that any rational thinking once again had escaped my mind. Then a cloud pitched the sunny space I’d been standing in into shadow, and that snapped me from my frenzied bidding.
What was I doing?
I’d send myself bankrupt if I kept this up! But it was a matter of principle – I couldn’t let that man beat me.

The women beside me kept up their chatter, giggling and pointing. “Isn’t he a feast for the eyes,” one of them said, indicating Joshua. Her friend concurred.
Really?
My brain was about to explode. “He’s actually a fraud,” I hissed to their startled faces. They frowned at me, like I was insane. “He’s a con man,” I said with more force. They tutted and shrunk away from me in their seats, exchanging wide-eyed glances with one another.

Without intending to, my paddle went up once more only to be shot down again by Joshua. Frustration sizzled through me, and I fought hard to sit still in my chair. I wanted to pull the paddle from his hands, and break it in half.

The auction was becoming too tense. I was so far over budget I knew I had to stop. I had to let this go. When I glanced over to clear my sight of Joshua’s smug face Tristan caught my eye and gave me a nod, as if asking if I wanted him to bid for me. But I shook my head. I couldn’t owe another man, no matter what happened. I would never put myself in that position again.

As I made that heartbreaking vow the auctioneer gestured toward me, asking for one more bid. “Non,” I said.

Joshua twisted in his chair, giving me a bawdy wink and I could hear the
ping
as my heart broke in two.

I knew Joshua only bid on the hutch because I wanted it. I’d thought I was almost free of him, but here he was always one step ahead, wanting to torment me for his own pleasure. If everything in life happened for a reason, I’d dearly have liked to know what it was that sent him into my life… What lesson could I learn except don’t trust anyone ever again? It seemed a somber punishment for no crime except loving the wrong man. With as much grace as possible, I stood, and made my way out of the room, hands shaking with anger.

Outside, birds chirped from their vantage points in leafy trees. I stomped down the path, ruing the day I’d ever laid eyes on him.

I’d just about reached the gate when my arm was pulled back. “Wait,” Tristan said.

With a deep breath, I stopped, shading my eyes to glance up at him.

“Let’s go have a drink; you look like you could use one. And perhaps you can tell me why that guy is so hell-bent on hurting you.” He was too close for comfort. I could smell his aftershave, his minty breath, the powdery scent of soap and even if I didn’t need him fighting my battles the thought of opening myself up, admitting to Tristan what had happened in my past was appealing. I hadn’t spoken to many people about what had happened with Joshua, and maybe Lilou was right – I should be honest with people who stepped into my life. Hiding behind a smokescreen clearly didn’t help matters. The worst that could happen was that Tristan thought I was stupid, and if that was the case, better I find out early.

“Let’s go,” I said. “I’ve had enough of that guy to last me a lifetime.”

Chapter Thirteen

We made our way through the garden and somehow I managed to walk down the steep hill without toppling forward on my wedged heels.

“I’m fighting the urge to pummel him, and I just want to know the full story,” Tristan said, pulling me out of my own thoughts.

“Pummel him? Oh, Tristan, he’d probably love that, so he could sue you for everything you’ve got. He’s one of those men who sees dollar signs in everything.” Was Tristan a ‘kiss and tell’, and ‘love them and leave them’ type? Or worse, the ‘steal from me, and throw it in my face at every opportunity’ breed?

“I’m going to freshen up,” I said, indicating the street my hotel was on. “There’s a bar on the beach if you want to meet there in an hour or so?” I had to give Marie the bad news about the hutch before she heard it elsewhere. And after being so close to Joshua, I had the urge to wash his presence off my skin like he was toxic.

“See you soon,” he said, giving me a sweet smile.

Showered, and dressed, business calls made, I left the hotel just as evening fell, and walked along the promenade in the balmy Saint-Tropez air. Moonlight shone through sapphire clouds as the sea reflected its blue to the heavens. The marina was lit up with colorful pink, and green lights, neon shining from the hull of boats, which were big enough to live aboard. Couples meandered along, holding hands, and whispering to each other. Saint-Tropez was the perfect setting for new love.

Perky jazz notes of a band drifted toward me and I followed the sound, coming to a bar by the water. The musicians were playing on a stage set atop the sand, their backdrop the waves rolling in, an accompaniment to their more robust melodies.

On the deck plump white lounges beckoned. As I sank into one a waiter dressed in light blue linen trousers and a white T-shirt materialized and handed me a drinks menu. Being in the French Riviera it would be gauche not to sip on a fruity cocktail and enjoy a few hours beneath the blanket of twinkling stars.

It was only a moment before Tristan joined me, taking the lounge opposite. He was as disarming as the coastline, with his intense blue eyes, and easy smile. The way he held himself so sure, so solidly as if to say: I belong here.

I ordered two Saint-Tropez cocktails, and realized I was doing what Lilou would. Taking charge with no thought to anyone else. “If we’re here, I figured…”

“The perfect choice.” He grinned, and relaxed further into the lounge.

His gaze ran slowly from the roll of my hair, parted to the side, and curled into soft waves, pompadour style, to the curve of my lips, painted scarlet red. “It’s like you’ve stepped out of 1940s’ Paris. Your hair, the way you dress. You’re not like anyone I’ve met before.”

I went to protest, but he lifted his palm.

“You don’t see women who look like they’re from a black and white film. You’re utterly eye-catching. Even the way you move, it’s like you’re from another era. Dramatic, feisty, and spellbinding.”