La Brat

by Ashe Barker

  Suddenly Eugenie stiffened in his embrace. She looked up at him, her eyes alight.

  “She was in the garden too. That day. When I burned my hand.”

  “What? How?” The last piece of the puzzle was dropping into his grasp, the one remaining anomaly about to be explained.

  “The gardener. There was a different gardener that day. I assumed it was a lad, an apprentice perhaps. He was slim, not tall. The usual guy is elderly, walks with a bit of a limp. He was nowhere to be seen and that day there was another man pruning the bushes. Except I think now it wasn’t a man. It could have been her.”

  “Pierre, I want the staffing roster for that day. What grounds or maintenance staff did we have on?”

  “I’m already checking, boss.” They waited in silence as the seconds ticked by, then Pierre came back on the line. “No one outdoors that day. It was Edouard Leclerc’s day off—he’s the guy with the limp—and everyone else was deployed inside. Whoever was in the terrace garden that day had no good reason for being there.”

  “Where is she now?” His voice was cold. Arctic. Aaron had seen enough.

  “In Ms. Ajram’s suite.” Pierre’s response was immediate.

  “Right, we’re on our way there. Could you meet us? And we’ll need a security team.”

  “The team’s already outside the suite. I didn’t want her slipping off anywhere while I brought you up to speed. I’ll see you there in five minutes.”

  Aaron looked at Eugenie, who had already started to pull on some of the clothes borrowed from Elise.

  “Better make it ten.” He had no intention of leaving her behind. She stayed right by his side until he was sure this thing was over—really over.

  Eugenie slanted him a quick look. “Five minutes will be fine, Sir.” She pulled a loose sweatshirt over her head and started for the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “If we’re right, she’s tried to kill me three times. At least.” Eugenie muttered the words as they jogged the length of the hallway. They veered to the left to take the stairs, ignoring the elevator.

  “Looks that way.”

  “But why? Why me?”

  “I’m working on a theory, but we need to talk to her.”

  “What theory?”

  “Well, suppose her real goal is to sabotage this wedding, prevent it happening somehow? She might think she could do that by eliminating the wedding organizer.”

  “But that would never work. They would just hire someone else, or go somewhere else.”

  “Yeah, that’s the flaw in my theory. Look, here’s Pierre.”

  They paused to wait for Aaron’s second-in-command as he marched toward them from the direction of the management suite. The three of them made their way to the executive guest accommodation together. A group of six security guards awaited them at the door to the honeymoon suite where Farah Ajram was already in residence. Her husband to be would join her there after the ceremony.

  “Anyone go in or out in the last hour?” Aaron’s question was curt.

  One of the guards was quick to respond, “Just the bridegroom, sir. He arrived about thirty minutes ago.”

  Aaron grinned. “Not a traditional sort, then. It’s supposed to be bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

  “They’ve been living together for over a year. And the Muslim ceremony took place a month ago.” Eugenie leaned against the wall, slightly winded from their dash down there so soon after her close encounter with a smoke-filled room.

  “Are you okay, cherie?” Aaron’s businesslike demeanor was instantly transformed into concern. He rubbed her back as she gasped in large gulps of air. “Maybe you should sit this out.”

  “No way. I want to hear what that bitch has to say for herself. I deserve that much.”

  “Fair enough. Right, let’s see what’s happening, then.” He knocked on the door of the suite.

  Silence. He turned to the informative guard once more. “Are you certain they’re in there?”

  “Yes, sir. The woman Sara Khalid al-Fulani arrived soon after nine, and Lucas Belanger about half an hour later. None of them have left.”

  Aaron knocked again. Still nothing, He leaned against the door and pressed his ear to it. “I hear running water. Sounds as though someone’s taking a shower.”

  “Surely not all three of them.” Eugenie pressed herself up close to him, also listening for any clues.

  Aaron knocked again then called out. “It’s Aaron Praed, Head of Security, Ms. Ajram. I need to speak with you.”

  He waited a few seconds before fishing his passkey from his pocket. “I’m about to unlock the door, Ms. Ajram.” He slid his key card through the narrow channel next to the door handle. An orange light clicked on then a green one. Aaron turned the handle and pushed the door open.

  “Do not enter. I will kill her.”

  Sara Khalid al-Fulani stood facing them. Farah was perching on the edge of the sofa, her eyes fixed on the group in the open doorway. Eugenie’s first impression was that the bride appeared to be remarkably calm given that Sara had a gun pointed at Farah’s temple. Eugenie had no doubt at all that Sara intended to make good on her threat.

  “Aaron, be careful. She means it.”

  “Me too, honey.” He started to edge his way forward, his eyes fixed on the woman with the gun.

  “What is all this? What’s it all been about?” His voice was low, calm. Deceptive. Eugenie knew he was playing for the few seconds it would take him to reach the pair, but then what? As far as she knew, he was unarmed.

  Sara glared at Eugenie, still framed in the doorway. She narrowed her eyes. “What is she doing here? She is like a cat—she has nine lives. Maybe I should drown her, that is how you get rid of cats, is it not? Or maybe just a simple bullet. I should have done that at the start.”

  Eugenie stiffened, transfixed, as Sara glowered at her. Somehow, she had become the object of this crazy vendetta, a target for a woman she barely knew and had no idea she had offended.

  Aaron’s voice remained calm as he inched closer to the center of the room. “No, Sara, you don’t want to do that. So far, no one’s been hurt, not really. There’s no harm done, we can sort this out.”

  Sara switched her attention from Eugenie to Aaron. The woman’s features were contorted in fury, her skin gleaming with a sheen of perspiration. Her breathing was labored, stressed. “No harm? How can you think it does no harm for this marriage to take place? This, this—atrocity? This affront to Islam.” Her voice had risen to a near scream, her fury radiating from her.

  “Ah, I see.” Still that low, even tone, so reasonable, so unmoved by the fear and bitterness reverberating around him. Eugenie watched in astonishment as he continued to edge toward the couch, his hand outstretched in front of him. “You are not in favor of this marriage, I gather.”

  “It is an abomination. How can a princess of the Prophet even bear to be in the same room as, as…?”

  “It’s hard to understand, I know that.” Still he approached, his tone now sympathetic, taking the side of this mad bitch. Eugenie was baffled.

  As though recognizing a kindred spirit, Sara continued her tirade. “He is vile. A monster. Evil. We have no use for such decadence.”

  “We?”

  “Our country. Our people. My people.”

  “I can tell you feel passionately about this. We have to talk. We can find a way out, a solution. But not with a gun. You need to put the gun down and we will talk. Yes?” Aaron was just a few feet from her now.

  Eugenie watched his muscles tense, and sensed that he was about to make his lunge.

  “No! I will end this. I will put a stop to this outrage. We want no alliance with this scum.” She fixed her gaze once more on the woman seated on the sofa the woman whose stony face betrayed not a flicker of fear at the danger she was in.

  Farah turned her head, fixed Sara with a withering look. Eugenie wondered if the princess was born with that gift, an aristocratic talent for putting lesser
mortals in their place.

  “If you intend to kill me then get on with it. Do it now, or I will rip out your lying, treacherous tongue.” Farah’s voice was steady, her words delivered with icy precision. Her eyes glittered with suppressed rage.

  Sara seemed oblivious to Farah’s contempt. “You! You accuse me of treachery? You who have betrayed our culture, our way of life. You who would defile yourself with that animal.”

  “Your way of life. Not mine, not that of my family.” Farah ground out her reply, her teeth gritted as she tilted her chin, daring her assailant to make good on her threats.

  “Well, I expect this sort of talk from City supporters, but I’m surprised at you, Sara. I’d always had you down as more of a cricket fan really…”

  Sara snapped her head around to regard the man lounging in the open doorway to the bathroom. His arms were folded across his naked chest, water dripping from his hair. He was wearing only a towel knotted loosely around his hips. In that split second, Eugenie had an idea why Sara considered him decadent. She might have agreed. Add to that cocky, arrogant, and just possibly stark-raving mad.

  The next couple of seconds were a blur. Lucas appeared to exchange a glance with Aaron, then he grabbed at the knot by his hip and whipped the towel from his body. The fabric unrolled and snaked across the room, the end catching Sara’s gun hand to send the weapon flying. It clattered across the floor to slither to a halt by Eugenie’s feet. She stepped forward and back-heeled it farther behind her, to be retrieved by the security team still clustered in the corridor.

  In the same instant, both Aaron and Lucas dove toward the settee. Aaron was closest and took Sara to the floor. The two rolled across the carpet, though the struggle was an unequal one. In moments, Sara was hauled to her feet and dumped unceremoniously into a chair. Two of Pierre’s men were instructed to make sure she remained there until the police could take over.

  Seemingly satisfied that Sara was no longer a threat, Lucas had diverted his attention to Farah. His fiancée had dived from the sofa as soon as he started his little party piece with the towel and now crouched, poised to fly at her assailant if she showed any signs of escaping from Aaron’s grip. The naked footballer offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet. He hugged her, burying his face in her hair.

  “Baby, baby, I thought she was going to kill you. Fuck, are you okay?”

  “I am fine. You were wonderful. Magnificent. Thank you, thank you.” Her words were muffled against his chest, but Eugenie found no reason to quarrel with Farah’s description of her betrothed. Magnificent was near enough the mark. Privately she had always thought that Lucas Belanger cut an impressive figure in his tailored suits, or in his football strip. But naked, he was beyond beautiful.

  “Ahem.” Aaron’s discreet cough caught her attention as he bent to retrieve the discarded towel. He held it out to Lucas, grinning. “Yours, I believe. Nice shot by the way.”

  Lucas disengaged from Farah and took the towel with a relaxed smile. He seemed in no particular hurry to make himself decent.

  “Thanks. Good work yourself, keeping her talking long enough for me to get in position.” He took his time wrapping the towel around his midsection again before reaching for Farah. “Are you sure you’re all right, love?”

  “Yes, perfectly.” She turned to glare at Sara, who was now reduced to a sobbing mess. “She will hang for what she did. Or worse. My father—”

  Aaron shook his head. “I’d say not. Not under French jurisdiction. We’ll let the police take it from here. You two have a wedding to get to.” He nodded to the gendarmes now shouldering their way past his security personnel and stepped forward, ready to deal with the formalities. Eugenie somehow imagined they would take some time.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Do you, Lucas Etienne Belanger, take this woman…?”

  “Etienne? I never knew his middle name was Etienne.” Eugenie hissed her comment out of the edge of her mouth. Aaron, seated next to her in the second row, leaned toward her to murmur his reply into her ear.

  “What? Some detail has escaped you? How remiss. Maybe I need to do something about your attention to the finer points…?”

  “I appreciate your care, Sir.”

  “Do you, Farah Ajram Abdul Ariz…“ The registrar continued with the ceremony as the couple stood before her, heads bowed.

  “Did you know about all those names?” Aaron whispered to Eugenie, his breath fluttering over her neck in a way that made her tingle.

  “Most of them. Ajram is her father. The others are her grandfather and… Well, something along those lines.”

  “Ah. I see. Nice service, by the way. The room looks superb.”

  Eugenie cast her critical eye around and was gratified to note that he was right. The ballroom had been transformed to showcase this alliance between two A-list giants. Farah had rejected any suggestion of pink fluffiness. She wanted glamour and sophistication, a setting that spoke of elegance, impeccable taste and wealth, as well as the merging of two cultures. Accordingly, the walls were hung with a blend of Arabic art and French impressionist paintings, the oriental gold and deep red resonating with the more subdued hues of European masters. The raised dais at the front where the registrar faced the assembled guests was simple in design, contrasting with a backdrop of more Eastern art in the form of richly woven carpets and tapestries.

  The guests filling the rows of brocade-covered seats surrounding her were the cream of international celebrity. The rich, the famous, the powerful all assembled to witness this marriage. High-profile names from the world of sport, of entertainment, commerce, politics, several royals, all gathered to bask in the splendor of all that Totally Five Star Paris had to offer. The media were here and the pictures would be all over the world within an hour.

  She had done it. They had done it.

  The couple was traditionally dressed for such an occasion, he in a morning suit and she in a flowing red gown designed to bring together a fusion of styles. Her throat encircled by a high mandarin neckline, Farah looked stunning. Her gown was perfectly decent, quite proper, deceptively modest with long, tight sleeves, the sleek fall of the train artfully arranged on the floor behind her. Eugenie knew better. Farah had never turned a hair when her bridegroom took it upon himself to parade naked in a room full of people. It was without doubt a sight she had seen many times, though probably in less public circumstances. Even so, modest hardly seemed the right word to use for this enigmatic woman.

  And Lucas’ unerring accuracy with that towel was giving her pause for thought. Where did he perfect that trick? She supposed his profession called for quick responses, agility, speed, but to have such a proficient whip hand implied an entirely separate set of skills. Perhaps Aaron would know. But there again, perhaps it was none of her business.

  “I now declare you husband and wife…” The registrar brought the formal part of the proceedings to a close as Lucas turned to kiss a glowing Farah. The room erupted in cheering. As the din quieted, the strains of a romantic violin solo swelled from the back of the room.

  The guests rose to their feet as the couple turned and started walking back along the central aisle, ready to file out and continue the party elsewhere.

  The banqueting suite was the scene for the rest of the formal affair, centering on an exquisite ice sculpture depicting a swan taking flight. Farah had requested it to symbolize her new life with Lucas, a journey of interest, discovery, new beginnings.

  The food continued the fusion theme, a series of small courses alternating between the haute cuisine of France and traditional Eastern dishes. Poached salmon in a delicate lemon sauce, bell peppers stuffed with shrimps, strips of lamb with walnuts and orange peel, mussels cooked in white wine, stuffed squid, snails braised in parsley butter. The succession of dishes was chosen and presented to be a celebration of the best of both worlds. Guests picked, selected, sampled, enjoyed. The atmosphere was relaxed, an easy mingling of styles, languages and cultures. It was just as Farah had i
ntended—faultlessly delivered by Eugenie and Totally Five Star Paris.

  The evening’s entertainment was to continue with a cabaret of music, dance, theater. Some of the finest contemporary performers from across the globe were assembled for this private extravaganza. A trapeze act from Russia that Lucas had seen once before and had been impressed by. Bollywood dancing, another less likely favorite of his. A performance by an internationally renowned mezzo soprano reflected Farah’s tastes. Eugenie’s personal favorite was a violin soloist who delivered a haunting rendition of Ave Maria.

  If anyone but the bride, groom and a few others were aware of the dramatic events of earlier in the day, they gave no sign of it. The hotel did not deal in drama or fuss. The wedding went ahead exactly as planned, on time, every carefully choreographed detail executed to perfection.

  “Thank you. It has been wonderful, truly superb. Just as I hoped.” Farah sought out Eugenie as her guests milled back into the now cleared ballroom to continue the dancing and entertainment. “I realize how difficult this has been—for you especially. I had no idea—”

  “None of us did. But it’s over now.”

  “That evil bitch. It is a pity your man will not allow me to deal with her as she deserves.”

  “Oh, he’s not my man. We just work together.” Eugenie opted not to comment on what Sara’s just deserts might consist of.

  Farah shook her head, the gesture decisive. “Nonsense. He is your man. As Lucas is mine. I will dance at your wedding, no?”

  “What? No. I mean, yes, of course, if we—”

  “You will, you will. And I expect to be there. So, where is Sara now?”

  It seemed Farah was not to be deterred. Eugenie sighed. “She’s still with the police. She will remain in custody. Aaron had to go to the police station to be interviewed again. And to fill in forms. He’ll be back soon, I hope.”

  “So much paperwork. Do we know yet what her motive was?”