Brunwald leaned closer again. “Yes?”
“He did say something about Waterloo. Piers works for Waterloo. And he spat at him.”
“Auguste spat at Piers?”
“Yes.”
Brunwald furrowed his brow. “I see. He must have known he wasn’t going to make it, and was venting his anger at his brother in crime.”
Sidney looked into Brunwald’s eyes. “Do you think?”
Brunwald’s face remained impassive and he nodded slowly, deliberately, exaggeratedly.
Sidney slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my god.”
“Don’t blame yourself, my dear. He and his sort use and abuse everyone they come in contact with. You haven’t done wrong. Quite the contrary. You are perfectly placed to do your country a great service.”
“I … am?”
“Indeed. As I said, I am engaged in rounding up the many pieces of art that have been stolen from our country. You may have heard about it. Our government is, of course, trying to manage the situation and the adverse publicity, but we must recover what is ours, do you not think?”
“Yes I do, but—”
Brunwald smiled. “What can you do? That’s easy, my dear.” He pressed a slip of paper into her hand. “This is my personal number. Text me. Keep me updated of what you find. No detail is too small. The people involved. Their locations. Oh, and there is money involved. Knowing who has it would be just as important as retrieving the painting.”
Sidney bit her lip. “Right. Ummm … “
“You are concerned, my dear, I understand that.”
“Er, no. I was just wondering, what is the painting?”
Brunwald gripped her elbow. “You don’t know? It is The Angel, The Angel of the Cross.”
She gasped and her eyes narrowed. “From the Basilica?”
Brunwald held his index finger over his mouth. “It is something we are most keen to keep quiet, my dear. Can you imagine the hurt and anguish that would be caused by the news of this theft, if it were to be confirmed? And all for some lowlife’s tawdry desire for mere money? No, no. This is something I wish to recover at all costs.” He gripped Sidney’s hands. “Something you and I must do, if we are ever to make our country right again, my dear.”
A horn sounded. Sidney noticed the black Mercedes was parked just yards away.
“I must go now. Please do not fail me. With your help, we will rebuild our great country. Once again, we will able to hold our heads high in the world. We will be proud of our history and our achievements.”
He gave her hand, the one holding his phone number, a squeeze, and bowed his head. “Goodbye for now, my fellow comrade.”
In a moment he was in the Mercedes and the car was purring away.
She stood numb as she watched the small plume of vapor from the car’s exhaust trail around the corner and out of sight.
Boucher Brunwald! Boucher Brunwald had talked to her. To her. The man who’d used the army to take control of Elbistonia when the riots had started. The man who had installed himself in the old king’s palace. She swallowed. The man had a brutal reputation. People called him Brunwald the Butcher, but only out of earshot of his secret police. She’d even fled the country because things had become so bad.
But perhaps things hadn’t all been his fault? Riots and political unrest were tearing the country apart until he took control. He had been ruthless, but perhaps he’d had to be? Maybe it had been criminal gangs that stirred up the unrest?
Besides, he was here in Paris to find The Angel, the painting that had hung in the Basilica for five hundred years, and the single greatest symbol of their country. He was here to take it back from the criminals. Him. Personally.
She looked at Brunwald’s phone number. The Angel was going to be returned to the Basilica if she had anything to do with it.
She pulled her phone out. As she entered his number into the address book, she heard her name, half called, half hissed. She looked up. Piers stood in an alleyway across the street, staring at her.
Shit. Her skin prickled. How long had he been standing there?
She rammed the paper into her pocket, and smiled with all her might.
Chapter 15
Piers waved Sidney to cross the road and join him.
Disgust spread across her face as her eyes locked onto Rover. “What the hell’s that?”
“A dog.”
“A dog?”
“Yes, it’s a dog, all right. D-O-G. Dog. Man’s best friend and all that. He got me out of trouble, but now we’re stuck with him.”
“Whoa. You’re stuck with him. I’m not even sure I want to be stuck with you.”
“Thanks very much.”
“No offense, the dog’s probably fine, but I’ve got this whole finding-the-painting-and-not-dying thing going on.”
“And I haven’t? I went in that bloody building. Walked in through a bunch of police and escaped out the back when Inspector Clouseau returned, all on the off chance of finding a clue to a painting that might keep us alive.”
“With a dog.”
“Yes, with a dog.” Rover paced circles around Piers. “He helped me get out without getting caught. We can’t walk him back home. So, we’ll just hang on to him for a while and take him back when all this has quieted down.”
“You mean when we’ve found the painting.”
Rover circled Piers. “Yes, okay. When we’ve found the painting. What’s gotten into you? You’re suddenly all serious about finding the painting.”
“That’s how we sort this mess out, isn’t it?”
Piers untangled the leash from his legs. “Yeah.”
Sidney wrapped her arm through his free arm and they started walking. “So, what did you find?”
Piers took a deep breath. “The place was very tidy and neat.”
“And?”
“Looked like April has another apartment. She had some stuff there, but not much.”
“So that was it? That whole visit to his apartment and all you know is they were clean, tidy, and each visit comes with a free dog.” She wrinkled her nose. “And a smelly one, at that.”
“Leave the dog out of this.”
“I wish I could. This is serious, Piers.”
“All right. I know, I know.”
“And we stink.”
“We can blame it on the dog.”
She glowered at him and stomped off.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get new clothes. I am not going to smell worse than the damn dog.”
Piers pulled the black plastic bag out of his pocket and chased after her, waving it in the air. “Wait, wait. I found this.”
She stopped and grabbed the bag out of his hand. “And when were you going to tell me?”
“I just did!”
“I asked you what you found and all you told me was how clean the place was.”
“You asked what I found.”
“Exactly.”
“I found the place clean.”
“Do you really think I was interested in that?”
“Well—”
“Perhaps I should have asked about the color of their drapes.”
“Give it a rest.”
“Pah!” She flapped the bag in his face. “And what else did you find, eh?”
Piers stepped back. “Nothing. That was it. The place was empty apart from that.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “Sure.”
“Really,” he said.
Rover hopped over and rubbed against her leg. She pushed him away.
“Really,” he repeated.
Rover moved gingerly back and stood beside her.
“Well, I guess we’ll find out one way or another.” She tucked the bag inside her jacket and walked off. “I’m still getting new clothes.”
Chapter 16
Piers ran after Sidney. “We can’t just go shopping. We need to check out that bag.”
“We? So you’re including me in y
our plans now, are you?”
“When haven’t I included you?”
“How would I know if I wasn’t included?”
He screwed his face up. “I don’t understand. Look, we need to find somewhere quiet to open the bag.”
She glowered at him. “Quiet? What’s the point?” She pulled out the bag, dug her fingernails in and ripped it apart.
Piers glimpsed a flash of something shiny, and caught it. “It’s a key.” He turned it over. “There’s a number.”
He tried to look in the remains of the bag. She moved it away from him, pulled out several sheets of paper, and flipped through them. “Swiss Free Bank. Safety deposit box.” She turned the page over and gestured for the key. He handed it over and she compared the key and the papers. “Different numbers. We’re screwed.”
He held his hands out. “Can I?”
She glowered at him before handing the papers over. He looked through them. “What’s the number on the key?”
“It’s no good. There’s more digits in the account number.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Please?”
She grunted and read out the key’s six digits.
He smiled.
She snatched the papers from him. “What?” Her eyes bored into him. “What?”
He forced himself to stop smiling. “The key’s six digits are in the middle of his account number.”
She furrowed her brow and flipped from examining the paper to the key and back again. “What do you know?” She smiled. “You’re not just a pretty face.”
He couldn’t help himself grinning. She drove him mad, she defied all reason, and she changed her moods faster than Parisians drove, but she was the most wonderful person he had ever met, and he trusted her completely.
Chapter 17
Sidney stuffed the key and papers into her pocket, and set off fast.
Piers raced to keep up with her, with Rover only too pleased to bound alongside. “Will you stop?”
“Why? You got another admission to make?” She continued her rapid walk.
“No, I don’t know where we’re going.”
“I do.”
“Well, I don’t and we need to—”
“Need to what? Work as a team? The same sort of team that kept the existence of the black bag to himself?”
“I didn’t keep it to myself. And you have the bag.”
She huffed. “And how can I trust anything you say?”
Rover and Piers kept up, trying to stay alongside her. They walked along a line of shops until Piers called for them to stop.
She stood with her hands on her hips. “What?”
He pointed to the shop behind her. A bank of TVs displayed the frozen image of a girl, one eye half-open and the other closed, rushing toward a Métro exit. Her mouth was wide open and her tongue stuck out. Her wet black hair formed clumps that zigzagged across her head. Her jacket was twisted sideways and the roof-mounted camera was pointed down the cleavage of her blouse.
“Merde!” Sidney said.
He turned and she was already stomping off down the street. He gave chase. “Okay, so they have a picture of you, but it was a miracle they didn’t get a picture on the motorbike.”
“Oh yeah, right. They couldn’t get a picture of me on the bike, could they? No. No action shot for me. No dramatic pose. No catching my best side. No, no, no. For me it’s the five-franc hooker look. The bimbo who’s been groped by every drunk at the bar.”
“What are you talking about? It’s not that bad. Besides, it might slow them up identifying you.”
“Great consolation. I look like a tramp and that might slow up my identification. Yeah, great, thanks.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant. You meant you’re all right and you don’t care about anyone else.”
He grabbed her hand, dragging her to a stop. “Stop it. This is stupid. It’s a picture. It’s a bad picture, yes, but it’s just a picture.”
She shook him off. “Just what you’d expect a man to say.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Pah!” She resumed walking.
He breathed deep and followed her. Rover trotted dutifully, his head down, concentrating on his steps.
She turned down an alley and a minute later, just as Piers thought they had doubled back they emerged into Place des Vosges.
He touched her arm. “Is the Swiss Free Bank around here?”
She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Do you use your eyes at all?”
It took only one glance. “Sidney. We need to find this bank, not go shopping.”
“I told you. I am not going anywhere in these stinking clothes.” She punctuated each syllable by poking him in the chest. He grabbed her hand, but she pulled away and walked off.
He followed her past the cafés and boutiques that lined the arched walkway around the buildings. Fluffy pastries nestled between elegant china, and mannequins displayed haute couture. Nowhere did he see a price tag.
He felt for his wallet. He daren’t use a credit card. The police had his picture, and maybe his name, so they would track them in moments. “We can’t buy anything here. I don’t have enough cash.”
She looked at him. “I wasn’t expecting you to buy me anything.”
“Okay, I was just thinking, we can’t use a credit card.”
“Listen, do you want a change of clothes or not?”
“Okaaay.”
She walked on past a long string of designer boutiques until she came to one with an alley down the side. “This one.”
Piers looked in through the window and saw rustic wood floors with occasional items of clothing hung from statues, and what seemed to be real miniature trees. The clothes in the window were a uniform bright red. A giant lava lamp bubbled in the corner, and sequins were sprinkled over the floor. He glanced at his bargain basement jeans. It was just his sort of place.
He tied Rover to a bench under the shelter of the arches. The dog sat with his tongue out, and watched them go.
Sidney gripped the door handle. “Just do as I say, understand?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”
They went inside, and she tucked the umbrella into a stand behind the door.
A stick-thin girl appeared from behind a giant mushroom. She wore a fluorescent blue oriental-patterned dress, a glitter-covered black beret, and flat black shoes. Her nose wrinkled as they approached.
“Bonjour,” she chimed in a singsong voice.
“Bonjour.” Sidney’s thousand-watt smile burst out and her voice went up an octave. She explained they were looking for new clothes after they had had an impromptu dip in a fountain. The girl took the idea in her stride, looked Piers over and, to his surprise, quoted his size correctly.
“And you will be swimming again?” she said.
“I don’t think so.”
She looked dubious. “Shoes?”
He looked at his bedraggled Marks and Spencer’s specials. “Uh-huh.”
The girl departed, leaving Piers standing and Sidney looking over the items hanging from the trees. He couldn’t help but notice that one of the outfits she looked at seemed uncannily like the one she was wearing. He stared hard and Sidney saw him. She gave him a cold stare and placed one finger over her lips to silence him.
The girl came back with several suits, all very slim and in a shiny fabric. He chose a dark gray one with a fine pinstripe. The girl didn’t ask about a shirt but simply handed him a bright white one and a thin black tie. He took them to a small, enclosed area that had a revolving mirror for a door.
Outside, he could hear Sidney and the girl discussing the merits of various dress, suit, and shoe combinations. He was glad to catch Sidney steer the conversation away from the red items in the window. Red didn’t have a molecule of low profile to it.
To his surprise, the outfit was his size, though the jacket was cut for a tight fit. He looked at himself in the mirror and got the immediate impression he had turned into an e
xtra for the set of Mad Men. At least he didn’t smell like a dumpster anymore.
The girl knocked on the mirror and handed him two pairs of shoes, both extremely pointed. He chose the one he thought would inflict the least long-term damage and thanked her. She gave a smile that was at least 900 watts lower in intensity than Sidney’s.
He emerged, standing straight and looking sharp. The girl was suitably impressed, though Sidney paid him no attention.
Sidney took several patterned dresses into the changing cubicle and closed the rotating mirror.
The girl fussed over Piers’ suit. “It makes you feel happy, no?” said the girl.
Piers kept a straight face. “I guess.”
She walked around him. “We could take it in a little.”
“No, no, its fine.”
“Just don’t get it wet.” She wagged a finger at him. “No swimming.”
“I’ll try not to.”
The girl nodded approvingly.
A phone rang. His phone. The sound rattled from the changing room. Damn, he hadn’t emptied his pockets into the new outfit. Without warning his old clothes came flying over the top of the cubicle’s walls and clattered on the ground. His phone stopped ringing. He retrieved it from his pockets just as it rang again.
Sidney called, “It’ll be mummy.”
He looked at the display and flipped it open with a sigh. “Hello, mum.”
The girl turned away. He was sure he saw a smile creep across her face.
“Piers. You never called me back, dear. I waited and waited and you know I was worried but you didn’t call back.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I know, dear, you said before. Very busy. Has that girl stopped crying?”
“Yes, mum. She’s stopped crying.”
“Well, I certainly hope you weren’t upsetting her.”
“No, mum, I wasn’t upsetting her—”
“Because it sounded like it.”
“I wasn’t upsetting her.”
Sidney spoke from the changing cubicle. “Not then, he wasn’t.”
“Mum, I wasn’t upsetting her.”
“I know, dear, you said.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Is this a girl you know?”
Paris Love Match Page 10