“It’s not silly at all. Why didn’t you bring her with you?”
“You know how these travel agents are. Mine told me some of the hotels I’m staying in don’t allow pets,” the woman said. “I wanted to change hotels but my son convinced me my little Sugar would be fine staying with him and his wife. I didn’t know what to do. I’m traveling alone for the first time.” She looked at me and the look on her face broke my heart. Like me, she was waiting to get her life back. Waiting for someone to come along and fix it, put it all back the way it used to be. “I lost my husband a year ago and decided I needed to try to strike out on my own.”
“I’m so sorry.” I put my hand on her arm and looked in her eyes. “I understand exactly how you feel. I made my mind up a long time ago that if I can’t take my dog, I won’t go. That way you’re never alone. Besides, there isn’t any place I want to see that badly anyway.”
“I agree.”
“I love to be at home.”
“I do, too,” she said.
We smiled at each other. We were kindred spirits. I could tell, neither one of us cared if we ever left home again, but she had, because she felt she had to give it a try, and I had because I didn’t have any choice.
“This trip has been the worst experience of my life. What’s your puppy’s name?”
“Bijou,” I answered.
“Bijou.” The woman kissed her again before placing her back on the chair. “She’s absolutely precious. I’m so glad I ran into you. I think I’ll just forget the whole thing and go home tomorrow.” She retrieved her purse from her table. “Thank you so much for the champagne, Count de Camarque,” she said to Alesandro, who’d gotten to his feet. “It was lovely meeting you.”
“And you, signora,” he said charmingly. ”Buona sera.”
We both watched her make her way across the terrace and disappear into the main lobby. Alesandro turned to me. He looked stupefied, at a total loss.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I hope I didn’t ruin your evening. I didn’t mean to make her cry.” Bijou had jumped onto my lap and returned his gaze innocently. He gave a small shrug and stood there, not seeming to know exactly which way to go.
“Won’t you join me and finish your drink?” I said. “Really. It’s the least I can do.”
“No. Grazie, Priscilla. I’ll hope to see you tomorrow. Buona notte.” He turned and walked off.
I didn’t hear it go off, but just before he entered the lobby, Alesandro took a small cell-phone out of his pocket and studied it as though he’d just been paged.
A pager in Portofino? How unbelievably cheap.
How unbelievably Colombian.
T W E N T Y - N I N E
I didn’t sleep all night. All I did was think about Giancarlo and his kiss. It was so gentle. So familiar. So sexy. So practiced. So unsettling. I played that part of the evening over and over again, dancing on the terrace in the moonlight with Portofino twinkling all around us. I would have given anything for it to have been Thomas. Giancarlo’s kiss was sweet and tantalizing—like a spritz of champagne. Thomas’s, on the other hand, had depth and passion. They were as complex and alluring and satisfying as a fine bordeaux.
I also thought about Alesandro.
His laid-back style was an act. He gave the impression that he had not a care in the world, and that was part of his talent. It took energy, creativity, drive, and discipline to break into a museum. And the robbery at the Ritz had required long-range planning and nerves of steel. And the Riviera robberies? Well, it took an enormous amount of stamina to rob two ladies in two different hotels on the same night. All you had to do was see Alesandro on the tennis court to appreciate his level of energy and concentration. But the personality he put on was feline, magnetic. He just watched and watched, and waited for his victims to come to him, for the time to be exactly right to slip upstairs for a nightcap. Then, I imagined, he handed off his loot to the girl he’d been having lunch with at Splendido Mare. I assumed she dressed as a hotel maid and waited in the hall for him to come out.
I further assumed his accomplice had paged him because she’d had another bird on the wire.
By seven o’clock, I gave up on sleeping and called the front desk to see about an eight o’clock tennis lesson. Eight o’clock in the morning in Portofino might as well be the middle of the night, but the pro, my darling Guilberto, could not have been more courteous or accommodating, even though he smelled slightly boozy I don’t think he’d been home yet from whatever he’d been doing the night before.
The exercise felt good and the focus the game required took my mind off my problems for a while.
“Brava! Brava, signora,” Guilberto called across the net.
I’d returned six shots in a row, including a lunging backhand that he’d raced to return. And missed.
The hour flew past.
“Tomorrow, I will teach you to serve,” he said.
“I can’t wait.”
I think I am going to become a fitness nut.
Alesandro was waiting for me, courtside, with a towel. “You’ve improved impressively. Did you practice all night while the rest of us were sleeping?”
“Beginner’s luck,” I answered. “Isn’t it the most beautiful day?”
He nodded. “It’s going to be warm. You were smart to come out early before it gets hot. Will you join me for breakfast?”
“I’d love to.”
He followed me down to the main dining room where we were seated in the shade. The ocean breeze was cool and fragrant.
A waiter poured our coffee and placed a basket of steaming hot, miniature orange muffins in the center of the table.
“Have you been following the Shamrock Burglar’s antics on the Riviera?” I split a muffin in two and spread it with butter. The muffin had flecks of lemon zest and chopped pecan—it practically melted in my mouth.
Alesandro nodded. “He’s very busy. I think he must be very young. Two ladies in one night? Dio.”
“I think he has an accomplice.”
A large smile crossed his face. “Two people? Very intriguing. You might be right. Perhaps it’s an entire gang. Probably Russians, I hear they’re very successful at robbing people.”
“I’ve heard Colombians are better,” I said.
“Really? Where did you hear that?”
“I don’t recall. I read it somewhere.”
“Interesting.” His expression was totally unreadable because he had on his dark glasses and I had on mine. If I took mine off, he’d take his off. But then he’d see what I really looked like in the morning with no makeup and then, I’m sorry to say, the jig would be up and he would lose interest quickly. My eyes were puffy—they are every morning—not so bad that they look like I have flapjacks pasted on them, but well, maybe little silver dollar-sized pancakes. There was no possibility I was going to take my glasses off.
“I’m sorry for those women,” I said. “It’s sad.”
“You should be careful yourself, Priscilla.” Alesandro dropped three sugar cubes into his coffee and stirred it slowly. “Be on your guard against such men. You are an uncommonly beautiful, desirable woman traveling alone. You have beautiful jewelry. You’re exactly what these men look for. There’s no shortage of scoundrels, men who prey on lonely, wealthy women.”
“Well, thank goodness I’m not lonely,” I laughed.
“Oh, that’s right,” he grunted. “I forgot. You have your little dog.”
We smiled at each other.
T H I R T Y
After breakfast, I took a shower, wrapped a towel around my wet hair, pulled on a soft cotton summer robe, and stepped out onto my private terrace to plan my day. The view never failed to give me pleasure—the natural beauty, the busyness of the small port, the quiet privacy. The heady daytime fragrance of petunias. I looked across the hillside to just below the Giolitti palazzo at the little house I’d bought. I could only see the corner of the covered terrace—the rest of it was hidden by shrubbery.
/> I was looking forward to lunch with Lucia Giolitti, not just because it would put me back inside the palazzo, but because I liked her. And I would have liked her whether or not she could serve my purposes. She was special. She reminded me of myself—she was alone. But not lonely
While I was bathing, the maid had placed a bottle of Panna Water, a small pot of coffee, and a folded morning paper on the patio table. I opened it up. The headline was huge:
LADRO TRIFOGLIO! IN SAN REMO!
The Shamrock Burglar had struck again. This time right up the road, around the Corniche at the magnificent Hotel Excelsior in San Remo, just east of the French-Italian border.
I took a deep breath. This person was on a joyride. Who was it?
I turned on the television set. Before long, Thomas was on the news, talking to Giovanna McDougal who was following the robberies at the same leisurely pace he did. They were stopping off at all the Riviera’s most beautiful watering holes, for a robbery, a story, and a cup of coffee or a coupe de champagne. I know theirs was supposed to be a professional, adversarial relationship, but when you really looked at the facts, she and Thomas were having a most luxurious, all-expenses-paid vacation. Together.
“A fifth robbery, Commander Curtis. How do you explain this?”
“We’re dealing with a very sophisticated criminal, Giovanna,” Thomas responded, and I couldn’t help but notice he’d called her by her first name. “This individual, we’re not sure if it is a man or a woman, has a plan to which I am not privy. However, we have some very solid leads. I’m confident the Shamrock will not remain on the loose for much longer.”
I felt as though I were looking at a stranger.
“You think the Shamrock Burglar could be a woman?”
Thomas nodded. “You seem surprised.”
“Well, the impression has been that there has been seduction involved.”
“Impressions can be misleading.” I knew he was about to get patronizing, something he was inclined to do when dealing with what he considered to be lesser human beings, meaning basically anyone who didn’t hold a doctorate from Oxford, preferably two. One in law and one in philosophy, as he did. Or anyone who couldn’t tell a fresh, young merlot from a slightly oversized burgundy. “And frankly, Miss McDougal, those seduction implications have come only from you and your colleagues in the media. Not from the authorities.”
“Has a pattern emerged?” She ignored his tone.
“Not particularly, but the burglar is taking very fine and distinctive pieces that will be easily identifiable.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t think it would serve our case to become specific.” Thomas smiled paternalistically.
“You haven’t provided any specifics at all, Commander, about any of the robberies.” Not only was Giovanna undaunted, she was a crackerjack reporter and she wasn’t going to accept any brush-off answers. “Since the original burglary at the museum in Paris, the police have not released specifics of anything that’s been stolen. Why won’t you give us some idea of the sorts of jewels—especially if they are as distinctive as you claim. Perhaps one of our viewers will see one of them and call you.”
I expected Thomas just to turn and walk off at her sheer naiveté, at her sheer audacity for questioning his judgment, so what he said next caught me totally off guard.
“All right.”
Any number of factors could have contributed to Thomas’s relaxation of his professional demeanor—maybe the seductive Mediterranean climate that seemed to put the world in a different perspective. Or maybe it was the seductive Giovanna herself. Whatever it was, they were starting to seem awfully chummy to me.
“Although it’s against our policy,” he said, “I think in this instance, you might be right. Perhaps we will get a tip from one of your viewers. Among the pieces stolen in Beaulieu were two matching diamond bracelets and an extremely rare diamond and turquoise blackamoor brooch.”
“Blackamoor?”
“Yes,” he answered slowly I could tell he was trying to choose his words carefully, so the uneducated could comprehend them. “In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, when the British Empire was at its peak, with new frontiers breeched almost on a daily basis in the Near and Far East and Africa, it became stylish to have exotic black slaves, although some were classified as indentured servants. Indentured means … ”
“Yes, Commander. We all know what indentured means,” Giovanna said.
“Of course. Some were Nubian, some were Indian, all were men, most were eunuchs. As it inevitably does, fashion followed this trend and many elaborate sculptures and pieces of jewelry were created with black faces, generally made out of ebony or onyx—hence, blackamoor.”
Thank you, Kick Keswick, I said to myself. Thomas—Mr. Television-Jewelry-Expert—didn’t know a diamond from a dingbat until he met me.
“The brooch that was stolen in Beaulieu was about three inches tall, and had an onyx face, with a gold bib and gold turban studded with diamonds and turquoises.”
“Sounds beautiful,” she said.
“Very striking,” Thomas answered. He smiled at her again. What was going on here? Just because I lost my bearings for a moment or two under the spell of Giancarlo’s sensuous lips, it never occurred to me the same thing could happen to Thomas. Was he having a fling with this girl? Had he been swept away by romance and glamour? By a blond with a good tan who had unlimited access to airtime? Which we all knew Thomas thrived on. Was he kissing her on a terrace over the Mediterranean? Dancing with her in the moonlight? Feeling exhilarated and ashamed? Never! Thomas would never kiss anyone but me.
“Do you know where the Shamrock is likely to strike next?”
“I have a good idea,” Thomas said.
“Portofino.” She said it as a statement of fact. I didn’t care for the look on her face—it seemed lascivious to me.
Thomas didn’t answer.
“Son of a bitch,” I said.
Time had run out for me. If I didn’t move quickly, I would be in handcuffs before lunchtime.
I pulled out all my suitcases and started packing.
T H I R T Y - O N E
I waited as long as I could before calling Villa Giolitti. My watch said ten-thirty and I knew it was still too early but I needed some fast decisions. I was counting on Giancarlo’s inborn sense of hospitality, and the hope that our delicious, sexy kiss burned in his memory as intensely as it did in mine. If I put it the right way, he would invite me to come stay at the palazzo before Thomas got to town and mucked everything up. But he needed to invite me right now, otherwise not only would I have to scrap my plan to prevent the Star from being stolen by my copycat, but I also wouldn’t have time to get off the peninsula before Thomas—and his media groupies—headed in and spotted me trying to escape. The road was too narrow and, unless I disguised myself, I was too noticeable to slip past them and I’d be trapped. I couldn’t use my little cottage as a hiding place. That was for later, when all this had blown over. I had to get out of the hotel and possibly out of town. Now.
It wasn’t as though Thomas could arrest me for anything legitimate. Even if he wanted to go whole hog and reveal the truth about my life, and our life, and claim I was the real Shamrock Burglar, he had no proof of anything. The only piece of incriminating evidence I had, the Queen’s Pet, was gone, and now presumably in his possession. No. He couldn’t pin any of this on me. I didn’t have any of the goods and I hadn’t been in any of the locations except the Ritz. The only thing he could prove, if he really decided to go for me, was that I was traveling under an assumed identity And even at that, the most he could get me for was renting a car with a fake ID—not an insurmountable problem. The bigger problem was, if he did detain me, I would miss my shot at the Star and I’d be back at square one.
“Pronto,” a man’s voice answered.
“Count Giolitti, please. It’s Signora Pennington calling.”
“One moment, please, signora.”
It took Gia
ncarlo a couple of minutes to pick up. ”Buon giorno, Bella.” He sounded as though he’d been asleep.
“I’m so sorry, Giancarlo. Did I wake you?”
“No. No. Not at all. What a lovely way to begin my day Lucia and I are looking forward to seeing you for lunch.”
“That’s why I’m calling, Giancarlo,” I said. “I’m not going to be able to join you for lunch or the gala.”
“What?! Why?” Now he sounded awake. I could picture him sitting straight up in what was probably an ancestral bed that had a canopy and bed hangings and was four feet from the floor. I imagined he slept in the nude. Something I wouldn’t consider doing under any circumstance.
“I have done the stupidest thing,” I lied.” I completely forgot that when I booked my rooms at the hotel they told me they were sold-out for the nights around the gala. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. But I have to check out by noon, today. I’m already packed.”
I wanted to say eleven, because noon was pushing it for me with Thomas’s arrival, but I knew eleven would push it too much for Giancarlo. I had no choice but to risk the hour.
“Where will you go?”
“They’ve made arrangements for me to spend two nights in a perfectly lovely spot in Genoa—as you can imagine, everything on the whole peninsula is booked solidly. I’m so sorry, Giancarlo. I’m so disappointed—I had such a beautiful time with you last night.”
“Genoa?” I could see his nose wrinkle. “There is no ’perfectly lovely’ spot in Genoa. No. You will move to the villa.”
I smiled. Steady, Kick. Steady.
“I can’t do that, Giancarlo. You have too much going on. You’ve already got a house full of guests, you don’t need to add another. We’ll have dinner when I get back.”
“Don’t be silly. I will call for you at twelve o’clock. You will stay at Villa Giolitti. There is plenty of room.”
2 Priceless Page 12