Jean-Claude took a step back. He clearly thought I might slug him. I thought I might slug him.
“I’ve seen your grandmother and I’ve spoken to the Mounties.”
Now he looked worried. “What did you tell them? Did you tell them about seeing me?”
I could have easily said yes and then watched him swing in the wind, but I wouldn’t lie. I would not go down the same road he’d taken.
“They actually approached me after I began poking around. I had to be sure that I had actually seen you that day in Paris. They were watching, Jean-Claude. They got on to me within a day.”
“But you didn’t tell them that you’d seen me? I must know that!”
I took a deep breath to steady myself. “No. I did not.”
The door behind me opened.
It was a young woman, holding the hand of a toddler just learning to walk. “And there is your papa,” she said to the boy, then to Jean-Claude, “Gaston has walked all the way from the car. Isn’t that great?”
She was maybe twenty-five, my height and my colouring. Her hair was longer, well below her shoulders, and she was quite slender. It struck me with the force of a blow that she looked very much like I had at the same age.
My husband, clearly distracted by this entrance, took a moment to gather his wits. “Ah, Marie, that is indeed wonderful. I am a bit busy for a visit, however.”
Marie then noticed me, and with that sixth sense women possess, her eyes narrowed. “And you are?”
I was about to answer when Jean-Claude butted in. “She is an old friend from Montreal. She has dropped in unexpectedly and we were just catching up.”
Marie’s expression clearly said, Oh really?
It was my turn to say something, but I was spared by the child, who having successfully disengaged his mother’s hand, had tried to wobble to the bar, fallen, and bumped his head on the leg of a chair. It was nothing serious, but he set up a lusty howl, more from surprise than anything, I expected.
“Isn’t it time for the boy’s nap?” Jean-Claude asked sharply.
“I suppose so, but I’ll be right down once he’s asleep.” She turned to me. “And I look forward to speaking with you, an old friend from back home. Luc has told me nothing about his past.”
As soon as Marie was out the door with the child, Jean-Claude looked at me with desperation in his expression. “You cannot be here, Marta. You must go.”
I sat down at a nearby table, enjoying his discomfort. “Why?”
“Marie suspects something.”
“Oh, and she counts more than I do, I suppose.” A thought occurred to me and I glanced down at his left hand. “So you’ve married her, have you?”
His expression was a wonder of apprehension and fear.
“I believe bigamy is illegal in France, Jean-Claude.”
“Marta, please, I beg you! There is the child.”
“Yes, I had noticed. Adorable little tyke. He has your eyes.”
“Why did you come here?”
“To talk. To ask you some questions.”
“I will not speak to you if you stay.”
“You’ll talk to me or you’ll talk to the police,” I stated coldly.
Jean-Claude stared at me for a long moment, then said, “Do your worst! If you will not leave, then you will have no answers to your precious questions. You will ruin two innocent lives and you will go away unsatisfied. Do your worst.”
I couldn’t believe it when he turned and went back to his straightening of the bar.
Now what? A moment ago, I’d thought I had him over a barrel and with one deft move he turned the tables on me. I damn well knew if I stayed there would be a scene with his new wife. I would have to tell her what was what. Any papers that proved Jean-Claude was my legal husband were back in the mess in Toronto that was my apartment. I could ask Tony to send them, but it would take two days at least to get them here. Would it even do any good? By that time, Jean-Claude would no doubt be long gone.
“If you are thinking I’m going to run again, you are wrong,” he said without turning around. “If you know my story, you know I had good reason for running. They came for me that day, and it is only through luck that I survived.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “You could have shared your troubles with me. I could have helped. That’s what two people in love do when there’s trouble.”
He turned. “You would have gotten killed. If you had been with me that day, the man they sent to do their dirty work would have killed you. I can see by your eyes that you know I speak the truth.” Wiping his hands on a towel, Jean-Claude walked around the end of the bar again and sat down across the table from me. “I am not proud of what I did to you. Not a day goes by that I do not regret it. I should never have let things between us ...” He sighed heavily. “But I couldn’t help myself. You bewitched me from the first.”
I shook my head at his twisting of the situation. “You regretted it so much you ran here and married someone else and now you have a son. Wow. Some regret. Excuse me if I don’t get up to pat you on the back.”
“It was not planned. It just happened. I did the right thing by taking Marie as my wife. Her family would have thrown her out otherwise. My old life with you was over. I could not go back.” He glanced at his watch. “It is getting late. I will talk to you any time, any place you name, just not here and not now. I swear on the graves of my parents that I am not lying to you.”
“Oh spare me. Your grand-mère told me all about your parents. You don’t even know if your mother’s still alive.”
He had started to sweat, something hard to believe in someone who was always so cool, calm and collected. “I will come to you tomorrow. I swear! What can I say that will make you believe me?”
Jean-Claude’s hands were gripping the edge of the table and I looked more closely at his wedding band. Not plain like the ones we’d bought in Ottawa, this was an intricately carved gold Celtic knot, obviously handmade. I suspected Marie had one like it.
I held out my hand, fluttering my fingers. “Give me your wedding band.”
He looked truly shocked for a moment, then shrugged, knowing he had no argument. It took a bit of twisting, but it came off. When he dropped it onto my palm, its weight surprised me.
I consulted the train schedule I’d picked up. “Tonight you will take the train into —”
“I have to work tonight.”
“Tough. Book off.”
“That is not possible! Not tonight,” he answered in a low voice. “Marie’s mother —”
“Old broad with the nice manners upstairs at the front desk?”
“Yes. I must be here tonight. Tomorrow? Can we meet tomorrow?”
It was against my better judgment, but I agreed. I’d always had trouble saying no to Jean-Claude.
“Tomorrow morning then. There’s a train from here at 10:31. Be on it. I’ll meet you at the other end.” I walked to the door leading out to the street, stopped and tossed the ring up. It glittered magically in the light before I snatched it out of the air. “Don’t screw with me, Jean-Claude. I will not hesitate to come back here with this ring and tell your darling Marie what a lying rat you are. And I will show her papers that prove she’s not the first Mrs. Lachance. Or should I say Luc Whatever-your-name-is-at-the-moment? Believe me, I will not hesitate one instant to ruin your life here.”
The trip back to Paris was much different than the one out to Beauvais. I had faced down the enemy and sent him packing with his tail between his legs.
True, I didn’t know for certain that he wouldn’t pull a bunk again. If it hadn’t been for little Gaston and the love that had sprung into Jean-Claude’s eyes the moment he looked down at that child, I would have held my ground. I was betting this whole enterprise on the fact that he loved his son completely and utterly — that he loved his son more than he had loved me.
I arrived back at Le Gare du Nord in the middle of the evening rush, and it was not pleasant. With seemingly everyone in
the city streaming toward the trains but me, I felt like a lone salmon buffeted and battered as it tried to swim up the fastest-flowing stream ever.
Backing up against a wall in the lee of a pillar, I pulled out my tourist book to look for a restaurant we could go to the next day. I was determined it was going to be good, and that also meant expensive. That was the least Jean-Claude owed me.
Of course, he would also be rather unhappy when I told him what I expected him to do.
I arrived back at my room tired and very hungry. I figured I’d go to one of the restaurants I’d seen the previous evening at the top of the street. But first I wanted a shower. The afternoon’s work had left me feeling gritty. In more ways than one.
After stripping off my clothes, I glanced at the computer and realized I hadn’t bothered to check my inbox before I left for Beauvais. This incessant checking of email thing everyone always told me about hadn’t taken hold with me yet. Drumming my fingers while the computer turned itself on, I wondered if Tony had gotten back to me.
He had and I felt my blood pressure go through the roof as I read what he’d done.
Dearest Marta,
I was so worried about you that I have decided to come because I haven’t heard from you today and I just have the feeling you will need someone on hand. I am en route to Paris. If I do not hear from you in the meantime, I will head for downtown. I am texting this on my cell, so all you need to do is send me a normal email and I’ll be able to read it on this.
Tony
He didn’t say when the plane was due in, but his email had been written at nearly eleven o’clock the previous evening. I did a quick sum in my head. Unless the flight had a ridiculous stopover, Tony would have arrived by mid-afternoon at the latest. Where the heck was he?
As if in answer, the computer pinged at me.
Marta,
I am finally in Paris, and I’ve had an awful trip. My plane from London to Paris was socked in by fog and I have only just arrived.
Please let me know that you’re safe!
Call me. I’d like to take you out to dinner.
Tony
I felt like banging my head on the table. After the day I’d had, a quick meal or even just some bread and soup and an early evening was more my speed. The last thing I wanted to do was get dressed up and go out to dinner.
Since my cellphone only worked in North America, that meant getting dressed and trooping up the hill to the phone booth I’d used the previous evening. My thoughts were unprintable as I made the trek.
Tony must have had his phone in his hand, because it barely rang once. “Marta?”
“Yes, Tony, it’s me.”
“You sound angry. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stay away.”
“I’m tired. It’s been a very trying day.”
“Would a nice dinner fix you up?”
I shook my head and sighed. Why was the man always so damn cheerful? It made it so much harder to yell at him.
“Where are you right now?” I asked resignedly.
“I had no idea where you’re staying, so I just headed for the Opera Garnier. Are you around here?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Do you want me to come to you?”
You shouldn’t be here! I yelled at him in my head.
“Marta? Are you still on the line?”
I sighed again. “Do you speak French?”
“About as well as any Ontario high school student.”
“That settles it. It’s probably best for me to come to you. Do you already have someplace in mind to eat?”
“The Café de la Paix is across the street. Do you know it?”
“Yes, and it’s very pricey.”
“I’ve come all this way to take you to dinner. Why do it on the cheap?”
“It’s going to take me some time to get ready. I can probably be there by eight. You do need reservations for this place, you know.”
He laughed. “Made them an hour ago.”
I shook my head. “Pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you?”
“I always live in hope.”
Getting into a cab an hour later, I felt that control of this volatile situation seemed to be slipping away from me again.
Much as I was growing to really like Tony, I did not need the distraction of having him around right now. To accomplish my task, I needed a tight grip on the reins and complete focus.
Husbands and lovers are never a good mix at the best of times.
Chapter Twenty
Cracking open an eye, I stared out at the murky light of the dull morning filtering through the partially closed curtains. Once again, I’d forgotten to check whether they were properly pulled together. Today, though, it didn’t make much difference. Judging by the lack of light, the sky must have been piled with dark clouds.
I couldn’t believe I’d done it again. When I’d left to meet Tony the previous evening, it had been with every intention of asking him to get a room in a hotel for at least that one night. Today, it was essential that my head be clear and my brain functioning at its very best.
At that moment, it was neither of those things.
Dinner the previous evening had been perfect in a way only the French can manage. The Café de la Paix, being right across the street from the opera house, plus the fact that I’d dined there several times with Gerhard in the distant past, meant that I’d been recognized immediately by its maître d’.
“Mademoiselle Hendriks! It is such a pleasure to see you again and after so long a time.”
I knew a little polite French chiding when I heard it. “Actually, I am meeting a friend. His name is Antonio Lusardi.”
“Ah! Monsieur Tony. Oui, he has been waiting rather impatiently for you,” the little man had replied.
Tony had secured one of the best tables in the room. How, I had no idea. It overlooked the Place de l’Opéra with a perfect view of the Palais Garnier as it glittered in the night, alive with people attending the ballet on this particular evening.
He’d risen as I’d approached the table, producing a bouquet of roses and a huge smile. I presented my cheeks for rather chaste kissing. Charming as he might be, he was still in the doghouse as far as I was concerned.
The maître d’ hovered for a moment to get me seated. The sommelier arrived shortly after with a bottle of rather expensive champagne, which he opened with a great flourish.
“Roses and champagne, too?” I said with a shake of my head as we clinked glasses.
“I had no idea how you would react to my being here,” Tony answered. “This is a special night for me. Can you believe that despite my many trips to Europe, I somehow never made it to Paris?” We looked across at the opera house for a moment. “I’ve dreamed of seeing it all my life,” he told me.
“You’ve certainly picked an excellent vantage point.”
“It is more beautiful than I imagined.” Then he looked at me and lifted his glass again. “And so are you, Marta.”
I smiled despite myself. “Look around you. Garnier also designed the interior of this café.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
I picked up my menu. In line with the sumptuous decor, the location and the restaurant’s standing, the expense of a meal was suitably horrendous. When I’d eaten here with Gerhard so many years ago now, I never thought about it. One never thought about anything as mundane as the cost of a meal when in Fosch’s company. I’d probably ordered from one of the “lady’s menus” — the ones with no prices.
The food was indeed as good as ever, and I found myself enjoying it. Tony was also just so damned enthusiastic about being in Paris. It made me think of my first visit and how smitten I’d been with the French capital. New York overwhelms you, crushing you down with its size. The City of Light overwhelms you but lifts you up. I’d forgotten that.
Over coffee and mille-feuille, a favourite dessert, I noticed Tony studying me intently.
“What?” I laughed. “Do I have a bit of
pastry cream on the tip of my nose?”
He seemed to snap out of it. “No. No. I was just wondering if you’ve had any luck with your search, that’s all.”
The nice place where the meal, the location, and the company had sent me was suddenly blown into a million pieces. I had known it would only be a matter of time, but I still didn’t welcome the intrusion. “Um, it’s been going well, I guess.”
He took both of my hands across the table and looked at me steadily. “Did you find him?”
“Look,” I said, “can we talk about this later?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, then tried smiling but it wasn’t his best. “Yeah, sure.”
Pointing at the long colonnade running the length of the front of the opera, where I could see people out getting a breath of fresh air, I said, “Must be intermission.”
Tony turned and the bad moment drifted off to the side but not away.
After our meal (with complimentary cognac), Tony paid the bill without even wincing and we walked out onto the Place de l’Opéra. The night was chilly, but clearer than it had been all day, and the opera house twinkled magically under the spotlights focused on it from nearby buildings.
“What’s it like to step out on that stage?” Tony asked.
“Amazing ... just amazing. You can’t help but be aware of where you are. Vienna’s like that, too. Imagine performing in an opera on the same stage where it was premiered. I’ve done that once or twice. These old houses have such history to them. We mostly lack that in North America. We’re too young.”
A cab drifted by and Tony had hailed it. “I want to see a bit of Paris. Will you show it to me?”
Tony’s arm was draped over my waist, and I could tell from his breathing that he was still very much asleep. He’d been fine through dinner and the cab ride, which eventually led us back to my apartment.
Men have the reputation of falling asleep quickly after making love, but last night had to have set a record. Tony was out like a light within one minute. My pride wanted me to think that it had not been purely due to jet lag.
Masques and Murder — Death at the Opera 2-Book Bundle Page 23