The Little Antique Shop Under the Eiffel Tower (30 page)

“What will you have to drink?”

I gulped, my head pounding. I couldn’t turn this man in to the gendarmes! What would jail do to a man like Tristan? I’d have to reconsider my position. Tonight was the night; I could feel it in my heart. If I proved it was him, I’d tell him to run, and be done with it, as long as he promised to return what he’d stolen.

“Anouk?” He touched my arm. The drink, right.

“Sparkling water to start.” I flashed a grin, hoping to appear relaxed, unsuspecting.

A barman appeared and took everyone’s drink orders. Tristan settled next to me. “Where are your friends?” I asked. It seemed a bit over the top to have Bar Hemingway to ourselves with scant attendees.

“They’ll be along soon,” he said, his eyes clouding. “They had a few things to do en route. Besides, the most important people are here.” He gave me a long, penetrating stare that had me fumble with my clutch to break the moment.

From it I took out a small gift. It was wrapped in ruby tissue paper and tied with a gold ribbon. Maman had insisted I bring Tristan a gift to say thank you. I knew just the thing, and consulted with Dion and Madame Dupont to make it happen so quickly.

“For you,” I said and gave him the box.

My family gathered around, keen to see what I’d chosen too. He unwrapped it gingerly, and held it aloft. “A pen! How handy!” Laughter rumbled out of him, and we all stopped to see if he was impressed or thought it gauche.

“A pen?” Maman mouthed to me. “It’s very…practical.”

I nodded. “It’s not just any pen, it’s a
fountain
pen.”

“I’ll treasure it always,” he said, still a touch of laughter in his voice.

I took it from his hands. “It’s a fashion statement in Paris, you see,” I lied, and hooked the pen in his breast pocket so the blue glass bead of the top was showing. It had a mini camera hidden under the glass, which was now trained on Tristan’s face, and we’d catch whatever lies fell from those smooth lips of his after he left the party. The footage was being played live back to Madame. Whatever he said or did for the length of time the battery ran, we’d catch it on camera and have undeniable proof. Whether we chose to use that proof remained to be seen.

We took our drinks and thanked the barman.

“What?” I asked, as Tristan stared at me with a goofy grin, which was so unlike him.

“I didn’t think you’d turn up tonight, that’s all.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Well, you didn’t leave me much choice by visiting my family…”

A waiter wandered over with a tray of canapés. I made a show of deciding what to eat, my gut roiling.

“Ah, here are my friends.” He gestured to the door.

Two older men wandered in, their faces lined with fatigue. It struck me as odd they were his friends. They weren’t at all what I pictured them to be, which was an offshoot of Tristan with those fun-loving good looks and a sharp, tailored wardrobe. These men were downright dour, with little sense of style. One wore an ill-fitting suit and tugged at his collar as though it was strangling him; another wore a polo shirt and linen trousers crinkled like he’d slept in them. These were his high-flying friends? Their expressions were grave. What kind of friends come to the Ritz with faces like that? You’d have been forgiven for thinking they’d just attended a funeral.

My hackles rose. Something was up. They were part of his team.

The backbone of his operation? Of course it would take more than one person to break into an auction house, and nab the jewels and get out so fast. I’d watched enough movies to know specialists were needed to override the various aspects of security while one devious thief made their way in for the hit.

We’d been so naïve!

Before I could think Tristan motioned for the men to join us, and made a round of introductions. The newcomers were Ben and Jerry. Their gazes lingered on me far longer than necessary, and I wondered what they were cooking up in their criminal minds. I wished Madame Dupont was here to guide me, but with only Lilou who knew the truth, I had to use the time with this gang of unlikely looking thugs to my advantage. Only in movies did the criminals have that swagger and smart way of dressing. It was a brilliant guise to hide behind cheap clothing and bad haircuts. Tristan stood out among them for being so suave.

“So,” I ventured, gazing at the newcomers, “been in Paris long?”

They shook their heads.

“Italy is lovely. Have you been there?”

Jerry, the ill-fitting suit guy said, “We have. Gorgeous place. You’ve been also?”

“Oui,” I said.

Jerry nodded. “Where did you stay?”

Dare I tell the truth? What harm could it do? “Sorrento. And you?” I stilled to watch their reaction but they remained stony-faced, like rocks.

“Sorrento too.”

“A lovely place for jewelry.”

Ben nodded. “A fine place.”

It was like talking to grass. Even my soup bowl had more personality.

“The jewelry in Paris is exquisite too,” I said.

Ben and Jerry confirmed it with a nod.

“Especially Cartier – have you heard of it?” They didn’t flinch; in fact they were like statues with zero movement.

“We have.”

My family were chatting happily to Tristan who kept shooting glances at me. Every now and then their laughter rang out as though whatever Tristan was saying was hilarious. They were rapt, following his every word.

“Drink?” I said, not waiting for a response. I topped up their glasses with a bottle of red wine that had materialized.

“So,” Ben said. “Quite a party.”

I frowned. I wouldn’t exactly call it a party with my family, Tristan, and these two guys. “Oui. The Ritz is magnificent.”

Tristan stood and made his way to the bar, whispering something to the barman, who threw a quick glance at me. I had the distinct impression they were sizing me up for something. The barman polished glasses and kept his eyes trained on me, while Tristan ducked behind a chambray curtain. How could I follow him when they all were studying me? I hoped Madame Dupont was watching the pen footage, but still, I didn’t want Tristan to steal away unnoticed.

“Excuse me,” I said to Ben and Jerry. “I think I left my oven on. I’m just going to call my neighbor.” I exited hastily, stumbling on the thick carpet. The barman’s gaze followed me and then he exchanged glances with Ben and Jerry.

I pushed the thick drapes aside and tumbled into Tristan’s arms. “My neighbor,” I said. “She’s left her oven on.”
Merde!
“I mean, I’ve left mine on. I must call my neighbor to check.”

He held me by the arms, a smile curving at his lips. “I don’t think your oven is on.”

I squinted up at him. “I’d better check.” I wanted to phone Madame Dupont and ask what she’d seen on the pen footage, but I couldn’t have him listening in.

“Did you cook something before coming here?”

“No, I mean, yes, it was the
kettle
you see. I was going to make a pot of coffee. It could be boiling dry as we speak!”

“I wish for once you’d be honest. I can help you.” He held me in his arms, and it was all I could do to stop the truth tumbling from my lips.
Run, run! If I can work it out, anyone can!

I gave him a tight smile. “I don’t need help. I’ll just call my neighbor to go and check.”

He let out a groan. Why was my dried-out kettle upsetting him so?

“Anouk, you’ve got a great family. Have you ever thought about them? What it’ll all mean?”

“I can always buy another kettle, Tristan. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

He shook his head, and dropped his hands. “OK, if that’s how you want to play it.”

A shadow of pain lined his features, and I wanted to shake him to confess. “Excuse me? I’m not the one with two expressionless goons as sidekicks. Playing what exactly, because I might ask you the very same question.”

“They’re good guys, and they have a place in my life.”

Yeah, as his tech support. Code breakers. “I bet they do. It must be nice to have friends you trust.”

“Trust? Well that’s a two-way street.”

How dare he? The man was irredeemable. “I better go make this phone call before my apartment burns to the ground. I won’t be long.”

“Take your time.”

I bustled into a sitting room and pulled out my second cell phone, the one Madame Dupont called the ghost phone. She said it couldn’t be traced back to either of us.

“Anouk!” Madame Dupont cried. “I have so much to tell you! Are you alone?”

“Oui,” I whispered. “But I can speak for long. What’s going on?”

“The barman is one of them! Tristan told him to keep an eye on you.”

“I knew it! But why?”

“They said something about you being in the right place at the right time. I don’t know what that means, but I think perhaps they’re going to try and pin the robberies on you!”

My stomach heaved. “That selfish, unworthy…”

“Try to remain calm. We need to think.”

“He’s got two goons with him: Ben and Jerry. They give me the creeps. How can we find out who they are?”

“Dion,” she said. “Let me ring him and get him up to speed.”

“OK OK. What do I do in the meantime?”

She cackled high and loud. “You flirt. You pretend to drink a lot of champagne, talk too loud, act as though nothing is amiss and you’re having the time of your life.”

“They’re all watching me. It’s going to be difficult.”

“You can do it. Keep an eye on him. And I’ll see what Dion can find out.”

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up, determined to put an end to this.

Game face on, I sauntered back into Bar Hemingway wondering what Ernest would make of this scene playing out in one of his favorite watering holes.

Tristan was dancing with Maman, swinging her around, and doing a double step. Her face lit with joy. My heart tugged watching them. I hadn’t ever seen Maman take to someone like she had to him. It would tear her in two when she found out he was trouble.

“Here’s Anouk!” she cried. “Time for the old woman to stand aside.” She offered Tristan’s hand to me, and I took it grudgingly but made my face bright.

He pulled me tight against his body, and slowed his dance steps.

“She really likes you, you know.”
And when you wind up in jail, she’ll be bereft.

“I think she’s great too. I hope she and your father can work things out. I’d love to meet him.” I stood back and gazed into his face. What was he thinking? As if he could breezily meet my papa, and then move on, leaving me the fool, when my family found out who he really was. I was damn tired of men leaving casualties in their wake like it was nothing.

“Don’t make a bigger mess of things, Tristan. Leave my maman be.” She’d obviously taken him into her confidence, which was so rare for her and I hated to think of the fallout.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve tried to stay out of things but it’s proven impossible.”

“Try harder.” We were both inching around the truth. Why was life so complicated?

For the sake of my maman, who was ogling us like we were young love personified, I leaned my head against his chest so I didn’t have to gaze into his lying eyes. The steady thrum of his heart beat against my face, and I listened to the sound knowing it would be the last time I’d hear it.

“Where are your parents, Tristan?” After the night in my kitchen when he’d closed his features and turned his back, I’d wondered what the story was with them. Would they be disappointed their son was a thief? Were they estranged?

His eyes shadowed, like he was pained. “They’re not around anymore.”

“Not around?”

“They died. A long time ago.” His words were clipped as though he wanted to shut that line of conversation down. It obviously hurt him, but I pressed on, wondering if their deaths made him the way he was. Able to steal without conscience.

“How?”

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

I frowned. “Do you have siblings?”

“I don’t have any. What’s with the interrogation?” His voice was light, but I sensed he was trying very hard to make it that way. He really was adrift without anyone to anchor him down. What a lonely existence that must be. It didn’t make anything OK but it went some way to explaining why he had no compunction stealing – it was because he had no one to be disappointed in him.

I shrugged. “You know me, and my family, and all their confessions. I was just hoping I could understand you better. Your motivations, so to speak.”

We stepped along to the music, but limply, so focused were we on each other. “I’ve enjoyed meeting your mom and Lilou. I miss it, you know. Miss calling on my parents for no reason, and having them gather round like I’m the only star in their universe.”

“Would they be proud of you, do you think?” I asked, hoping I could appeal to some part of him that was still connected with them. I felt his sadness – it was almost tangible – through his hands, which cupped mine. No parent would want their son to be locked away forever. And even if I didn’t tell the gendarmes, eventually he would get caught. Watching his face soften at the memory of his loss made him so much more real, and I ached for him, for what he must have been through.

“It’s hard to say. They were…” His gaze moved upward as he grappled for a description. “Homebodies, the type of people who preferred to be still with one another, rather than live hectic lives. They worried about me, endlessly. But I can’t change who I am or what I do…not yet anyway.”

His eyes sparkled. I wasn’t sure if it was unshed tears, or just the glassiness of memory. I hadn’t heard Tristan speak so honestly before and I knew he was being sincere because it rippled off him in waves. “I’m so sorry. They’re still around you know. It’s not like they don’t visit from time to time. You could still save them the worry by…changing.”

He cocked his head, and his lips twitched like he found my sentiment amusing. “They’re still around? They’re not, you know. They’re as far away as can possibly be.”

“You wouldn’t even think of being a better man, even in their memory?”

“And how do you recommend I become a better man? I wasn’t aware I was lacking.”

“I think you know.”

He sighed. “And this is where I tell you that you’re the worst kind of hypocrite there is. No don’t stop me,” he said as I went to interrupt. “You have a family who adore you, you’re the center of their lives, and you don’t give a damn. I’d swap lives with you in a heartbeat to have that kind of love in my life again. That unconditional embrace that only a family can give, and yet, it means nothing to you.”