Parisian Affair

by Gould, Judith

  She began sliding off the four rings she wore. They were golden trinkets as far as she was concerned, not worthy of association with her exalted name and therefore not going up for auction. There was the Harry Winston diamond set in yellow gold; a plain matching band; a ruby, blue sapphire, and diamond confection; and a large peridot from Bulgari. She dropped them into a jewel-encrusted seashell. Count Fulco di Verdura had designed the seashell in the 1950s, and she had received it as a gift from Stefano several years ago. Looking down at it, she suddenly felt a sickly moment of panic, then realized it was a false alarm. The emerald wasn't there. But it wasn't supposed to be, she reminded herself.

  She emitted a throaty laugh. If the men from Dufour only knew what she knew.

  The world might have been informed that she was disposing of her earthly possessions, but only fools would expect a lady to give all of her baubles to charity.

  She opened a gold compact and lightly dusted her face with powder. Flipping the compact closed, she picked up the bottle of Golconda perfume from JAR. She dabbed beneath her ears with it, trailed the stopper down her neck, then generously rubbed it between her breasts and on her thighs.

  She heard the bedroom door open and looked into the mirror. She watched as the backlit figure closed the door behind him and slowly approached her at the vanity. After he crossed the room, he stood directly behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them lightly, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head tenderly with his sensuous lips.

  'You smell heavenly,' he said softly, his voice deep, masculine, and seductive.

  She turned to face him. The pearl buttons on the filmy silk chiffon gown she wore were open, exposing her ample breasts to him. Her nipples were lightly rouged. 'Take your clothes off,' she said, her dark eyes glinting in the soft light.

  His jacket, tie, shirt, and undershirt dropped onto the floor, and he stood proudly before her, exhibiting his lean, muscular torso with its well-defined abs, his broad shoulders, and his pumped-up biceps. Naturally olive-complexioned, he was deeply tanned, and his raven black hair and dark eyes shone against his skin.

  The princess feasted her eyes upon his young unblemished body, drinking in his masculine hardness, then leaned back against the vanity, her head cocked at an angle. 'Light a cigarette for me,' she said, indicating the gold cigarette box with a slight nod of her head.

  The young man stepped forward and reached for the box, took one out, and lit it with her gold lighter. He exhaled a stream of smoke, then handed the cigarette to her. She accepted it from him, took a deep drag, smoke trailing out of her nostrils. 'Now finish.'

  The young man slipped off his expensive loafers and socks, then loosened his belt and took off his trousers. He wore no underwear.

  Princess Karima stared at his body with hauteur, but her eyes shone with hunger. She was gratified to see that he was already aroused, whether by her body or the cash he knew he would receive at the end of the evening. She didn't care which. She had no illusions about her aging body, but it wasn't her allure that was important in this transaction. It was power over him. Not to mention the physical satisfaction she would no doubt receive from his considerable endowment.

  'Here,' she commanded, pointing with a lacquered fingernail to her right nipple. 'Kiss it.'

  The young man went down on his knees and leaned toward her breasts.

  'Let me see your tongue,' she said.

  His tongue appeared, pink and wet, and she nodded her head slightly. The young man kissed her nipple lightly and began licking it, slowly and delicately at first, tracing circles around it, then more rapidly, groaning with desire as it hardened on his tongue. He began stroking himself as he licked, his breath coming in audible gasps.

  'Don't touch yourself,' she ordered.

  The young man immediately obeyed, removing his hand from his engorged manhood, then looked up at her, awaiting a signal from her before he made another move. The whites of his eyes and his perfect white teeth stood out in contrast with his darkness, and she suddenly remembered his name. Yamal.

  She spread her legs apart and boldly thrust her pelvis toward him. She enjoyed the momentary look of surprise on his face when he saw her shaved mound, then the naked lust that came into his eyes. With a finger she motioned him toward her, and when his head was nestled between her thighs, she stroked his coarse black hair as she spread her legs farther apart, giving him uninhibited access to her.

  She tilted her head back as shivers of pleasure traveled up her spine and throughout her body. The seclusion of my new spiritual path, she thought, is going to enhance my physical life immeasurably. Without the prying eyes of society, I'll be able to enjoy myself as never before, all the while garnering the praise of the world for my charitable acts.

  The press will compare me with Mother Teresa, she thought as she ground herself against Yamal's face, holding his curly black hair tightly.

  Kitty's mouth was set in an unmistakable pout, and she barely uttered an acknowledgment of Hilton's cheerful greeting when he strode into the penthouse's master suite. Her eyes remained glued to the Italian Vogue she held, as if its pages provided the secret to immortality.

  Hilton caught her sullen expression out of the corner of his eye as he loosened his necktie, took it off, and placed it across the back of a chair. She was pissed, he thought. He refrained from chuckling aloud, amused by her childish behavior.

  He promised himself that he wouldn't tell her what he was doing. He knew it was going to be the biggest surprise of her life. But he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when he presented her with Princess Karima's thirty-something-carat emerald ring.

  Staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the early-evening lights of Manhattan, he began undressing, whistling tunelessly. Behind him, he heard the magazine flip shut, then land on the floor with a whack.

  'Do you mind?' she complained.

  'What's that, beautiful?'

  'The whistling,' she said. 'It's driving me crazy. It's not like you can carry a tune, you know.'

  'Why, I think you're the first woman I've ever known who complained about my whistling ability,' he countered jovially.

  'Then they were all deaf as doornails,' she said sourly.

  He gazed at her, grinning. 'Thought we were going to Swifty's for dinner,' he said. 'Why aren't you dressed?'

  She shifted on the bed and looked away from him. 'I don't think I'm in the mood tonight.'

  'Why not?' he asked. 'You were all set to go earlier today. What happened?'

  'Nothing,' she said in a small voice. 'I ... I just don't have anything to wear.'

  'What?' He laughed. 'Jesus, Kitty, you've got more clothes than Bloomingdale's.'

  'It's not clothes,' she replied.

  'Then what the hell is it?' he asked, stepping out of his trousers.

  'It's . . . it's my jewelry,' she replied. 'I... I don't have anything new to wear to Swifty's, and you know how those society bitches are. They'll be analyzing everything I have on—especially my jewelry—and I'll be a laughingstock if I wear the same thing twice.'

  'Oh, fuck,' he said, laughing again. 'Half of the old cows in that place can't see well enough to know whether or not you're even wearing jewelry, and the other half are wearing worn-out old pearls and mine-cut diamonds they inherited a thousand years ago. You've got more jewelry than nearly any woman in New York.'

  She bolted upright from the pillows against which she lay, her eyes wide with fiery anger. 'That is a lie!' she cried. 'I don't have anywhere near as much jewelry as most of the women in this town. Nowhere near as much.'

  Naked now, Hilton strode to the bed and sat down beside her. He put his hands on her shoulders and massaged her gently. 'Oh, come on, Kitty,' he said. 'I didn't mean to upset you. I know there are women in New York with more jewelry than you've got. There's always going to be somebody with more. More money, more clothes, more jewelry, a fancier car or apartment, a bigger yacht. You name it. If yo
u're in some kind of game where you always have to have the biggest and the best, then you've come to the wrong place. I'm not interested in playing that game.'

  Kitty could see that she'd gone too far, and quickly tried to mollify him. She put her hands on his cheeks and caressed them tenderly. 'There is more to me than that,' she said softly, an earnest expression on her face. 'You know there is. It's just that. . . well, I guess I try to overcompensate sometimes because I grew up poor. And a lot of these women have had fabulous things all of their lives. I will admit that I do try to impress them, partly for me but for you, too. I want you to be proud of the woman walking beside you. I try to look my best for you all the time.'

  'Aw, Kitty,' he said, melting at her words. 'I know what you're saying. You're the most beautiful woman in New York City. I'm just afraid to see you get caught up in keeping up with the Joneses.' He kissed her tenderly, inhaling her exotic scent.

  Kitty returned his kiss, putting her arms around his bare shoulders. 'I'm sorry for upsetting you,' she whispered. 'I didn't mean to. You know that.'

  He drew back and looked into her dark eyes. 'Now, tell me,' he said. 'What's this all about, huh? This having-no-jewelry business.'

  'Well . . .,' she began, choosing her words carefully, 'I ... I admit that I do have a lot of jewelry. Not many emeralds, though.'

  He chuckled. 'Go on,' he said when she paused.

  'It's just that none of it's . . . none of it's famous, Hilton. You know? It's all new. No provenance, like the auction catalogues are always talking about. And I've met women here in New York that have jewelry that belonged to Marie Antoinette, for God's sake. Or Empress Josephine.'

  'Somebody like Princess Karima,' he said.

  She nodded. 'Yes, like her.'

  'And the auction with some of her stuff is coming up, isn't it?'

  Kitty nodded again, her long black hair swinging. 'This week,' she said. 'The viewing is at Dufour in Paris tomorrow.'

  'I see,' he said, enjoying the harmless game he was playing with her.

  She stared at him in silence, her eyes full of hope.

  'Well, maybe I can see what I can do,' he said. 'I don't know. The estimates are sky-high, you know.'

  'But the provenance,' Kitty said. 'You can't do any better these days. This is the most important sale since the Duchess of Windsor died. Princess Karima is one of the greatest legends of our time.'

  'You've got a point there,' he allowed. 'Look,' he added, pulling her to him, 'I'll see what I can do, but remember: No promises.'

  Kitty felt something closely akin to the thrill of acquisition rush through her body.

  'I understand,' she said. 'No promises.' She brushed her lips against his. 'But. . . but if it's possible, Hilton ... I ... I really need emeralds.'

  'We'll see,' he said, his lips pressing against her neck.

  Kitty threw her head back and thrust her chest out, offering herself to him, and he responded at once, covering her bare breasts with his lips and tongue. He soon entered her, and they made passionate, almost violent love.

  When they had sated themselves, they lay entwined in one another's arms. 'You're sure you want to go to Swifty's tonight?' he asked.

  'Whatever you want to do,' Kitty said compliantly.

  He looked at her and grinned. 'Well, since you don't have any new jewelry to wear, maybe we should stay in and wait till you have something to knock their eyes out. What do you think?'

  Kitty almost hyperventilated with excitement. 'I think you're a genius,' she said, her hand sliding down to his groin. 'A genius.' She began stroking him, slowly, teasingly.

  Hilton quickly became aroused and slid around on the bed and up onto his knees. 'Here,' he whispered. 'Genius.'

  Kitty looked up and knew what he wanted at once. She opened her mouth and licked her lips lasciviously. That emerald's mine, she told herself as she took him into her mouth. All mine.

  CHAPTER 10

  Allegra dressed conservatively in a simple black pantsuit with a black cashmere turtleneck sweater and high-heeled black boots, and wore no jewelry except her watch. She didn't want to draw attention to herself at the auction house preview, and even small pieces of her jewelry might catch a connoisseur's eye at such a gathering.

  Anxious to get out onto the streets of Paris, she looped a thick woolly scarf around her neck, put on her heavy winter coat, took up her shoulder bag, and set off to have something to eat before visiting Monsieur Lenoir at the Citibank branch near the place Vendome. At a small cafe down the rue des Archives, she took a seat at a table next to the window, where she could watch the perpetual show that paraded back and forth along the sidewalks. Ordering a croissant and a cup of caffeine-rich French coffee, she slathered the perfect, flaky croissant with butter and thick-cut orange marmalade and put two lumps of sugar, along with heavy cream, into the coffee. Surveying the crowd in the cafe, she noted that her fellow patrons ranged in age from about eighteen to eighty, most of them stylishly dressed, and many of them reading the daily papers.

  She paid her bill and was out of the cafe in no time, and began the short walk to the Metro stop located at the Hotel de Ville. It was much cleaner and seemed safer than its counterpart in New York City.

  After emerging from the Metro at the Tuileries, she walked briskly in the direction of the bank. She entered the palatial building and approached a uniformed security guard. 'Monsieur Lenoir?' she asked.

  The guard indicated a roped-off area to her right, where several people worked behind big desks. She strode to the area, where a young woman looked up at her quizzically. 'Mademoiselle?'

  'Monsieur Lenoir?' Allegra repeated.

  'Do you have an appointment?' the young woman asked in English.

  'No,' Allegra replied, wondering how the woman knew she was American. 'But he is expecting me. I'm here on business for Mr. Hilton Whitehead.'

  'One moment,' the young woman said, rising from her chair.

  A tall, handsome young man with dark, slicked-back hair strode toward Allegra, his hand outstretched. He was tanned and looked more like an athlete than a banker.

  'Miss Sheridan?' he asked, his eyes traveling the length of her body, appraising her in one quick moment.

  Allegra shook his hand. 'Oui,' she said.

  He smiled graciously, exhibiting perfect white teeth. 'We all speak English,' he said. 'I'm Richard Lenoir. It's a pleasure to meet you. If you'll come with me?'

  She walked along beside him to a plush cherry-paneled inner office, where he closed the door and indicated a chair for her. 'Please have a seat.'

  Allegra sat down on the comfortable leather chair at the side of his desk and removed the manila envelope in her shoulder bag.

  'This will only take a moment,' Monsieur Lenoir said. 'I spoke to Mr. Whitehead and his assistant, Ms. Javelle, yesterday, and I just need your copy of the letter of credit, then your signature on a form.'

  'I have the letter of credit here,' she said, handing him the envelope.

  'Very good,' he said, taking it from her. 'Thank you.'

  She watched as he sat down and took out the letter of credit. He glanced at it briefly, then searched through a small pile of papers on his desk.

  'Ms. Javelle faxed me a copy,' he said, 'but we have to have the genuine article.' He chuckled, and Allegra smiled.

  'Ah, here we are,' he said. He held a piece of paper in his hand. 'Please sign this on the line by the X.' He handed her an expensive- looking fountain pen.

  Allegra signed her name and returned the pen to him.

  'Thank you,' he said. 'Ms. Javelle said that Mr. Whitehead would be calling me tomorrow. She said that you would be writing a very large check against this account.'

  'Yes,' Allegra said. 'And I'm sure she told you that it has to be honored immediately.'

  He nodded. 'That's not a problem for Mr. Whitehead,' he said. 'He's a valued customer of ours, and we've performed this service for him a number of times. We've also arranged for a safe-deposit box in case you should ne
ed it.'

  'Good,' she said. 'I'll probably be paying a bill for him tomorrow, then bringing something by here to keep until Friday. I'm scheduled to leave that morning.'

  'Oh, so soon?'

  'Afraid so,' she said.

  'You'll hardly get to enjoy Paris at all,' he said. 'In any case, don't worry—you won't have any problem from this end, I can assure you. Oh, and here's your safe-deposit box key.'

  'Thanks,' Allegra said, taking the proffered key and putting it in her handbag.

  'That's it, then,' he said, rising to his feet from behind the desk. 'It was a pleasure to meet you, and if I can be of any further assistance to you while you're in Paris, I'll only be too happy to oblige.'

  He smiled again, and Allegra had the distinct feeling that his offer was more than professional. 'I think I have everything I need,' she replied, 'and I'd better get going now.'

  'It was a pleasure to meet you,' he said, leading her toward the office door. 'Maybe I'll see you again.'

  'Maybe,' Allegra said, noticing the glint in his eyes.

  As she left, she couldn't help but smile. Some women might be offended by a come-on as obvious as the handsome Monsieur Lenoir's, but she felt complimented by it.

  She spied a taxi cruising by and hailed it. After she was seated in the rear, she gave the driver the address for Dufour, nearby on the rue de Richelieu in the area known as les Grands Boulevards. It was time for viewing the auction items, and suddenly she felt excited by the prospect.

  The taxi soon pulled over in front of the Hotel des Ventes Dufour. It was a venerable, gray stone neoclassical building that gave the impression of solidity and quiet old-world wealth. Inside its twenty hallowed auction rooms, however, she knew that the atmosphere could become noisy, raucous even, when the bidding escalated into a frenzy for the treasures that were put on the auction block every day at two p.m. promptly.