Yet, with all this testosterone-fueled talk, I thought there seemed to be a trace of something geeky and awkward underneath. From photos I’d seen of him, I knew that his face was not conventionally handsome, that his skin was even a bit scarred. Without his mystique, perhaps he might not have been the sort of man that people were magnetically attracted to.
Drake’s monologue was occasionally punctuated by a bolstering comment from his wife, who would enhance the anecdote with quick bits like, “Yes, the Sultan of Brunei still wants to buy your Lamborghini.”
Tina Drake was blonde and statuesque, with large breasts that were displayed quite prominently. Her gown had a spectacularly long train that swept the ground like a peacock’s tail feathers, and around her wrist she carried an ivory fan with a silk cord. She was the kind of celebrity who seems to effortlessly strike poses, yet behaves as if completely unaware of possessing such stunning looks. Her English accent was carefully poshified, but betrayed occasional wisps of working-class tones.
“Arm candy,” someone muttered. “She used to be a fashion model, you know.”
When the music stopped again, Drake turned to his wife, making a big show of adoring her, kissing her hand as if she were one of those mountains he’d climbed and conquered. Then he walked out the door.
A moment later, one of the servants banged a Chinese gong. It must have been out in the hallway, but the sound echoed everywhere. It was a signal, because immediately, some of the men also began to leave the room. The young fellow who’d been dancing with Honorine said enviously, “It’s the card game. I hear you have to have a special pass to get in.” He turned to Honorine. “More champagne?” he asked. She nodded, and he headed toward the flowing fountain.
Jeremy glanced at me and said, “Let the games begin. Will you be okay?”
“Sure,” I said.
“You know what I mean. Don’t do anything heroic,” he said meaningfully.
“The same to you,” I said. Jeremy grinned, and followed the other men.
Honorine, still eyeing her dancing partner, complained, “That boy cannot dance, he has stepped all over my shoes. And, he talked nonstop about how rich Mr. Drake is,” she added under her breath. “You don’t need to worry that he noticed my accent, because he has no interest in hearing my opinion!”
A pair of masked men were approaching us, and we soon discovered that the masks evidently gave some guests the permission they craved to be more daring and frisky; as if somehow the disguise also cloaked their less appealing attributes of stature (short), girth (fat) or other more ordinary features (baldness or big nose). If you said you wanted to sit it out, many of these men assumed it meant that you wanted to disappear into a dark corner with them. Under such circumstances, the safest thing to do was to keep dancing.
So, Honorine and I danced, and danced, and danced. Finally, when we’d simply had enough, we met up again by the doorway and slowly sipped champagne together.
“La-la!” Honorine cried. “It’s all just too much!”
“Cheesit! Here comes our hostess,” I warned, seeing the golden figure approaching us. Tina Drake had been working her way through the crowd, and now, as she drew nearer, she gave us a generic smile of pleasure at our company.
“Hi, I’m Tina . . . Parker’s wife,” she said in a disarmingly plain, frank welcome. “How are you ladies tonight? Don’t you just hate masquerade balls? But my husband adores them!”
She was older than the two of us, but much younger than Drake. She was so refreshingly blunt and cheerful, and seemed to be a genuinely friendly creature.
“Marvellous,” I said, doing my best to sound like Amelia.
“Anyway,” Tina went on, “we’ve already raised half a million euros for the little orphan kids.”
She now glanced encouragingly at Honorine. But Honorine appeared lost in thought, gazing off in the distance, not even responding with a smile for Tina, just seemingly submerged in her own world, contemplating . . . what?
I nudged her. Honorine nodded faintly and dutifully at Tina, not at all convincing, like a bad student who doesn’t even try to listen in class. Tina smiled indulgently at Honorine’s apparent youthful boredom, and was ready to move on, but then, totally inexplicably, Honorine suddenly said, with as little of her accent as she could manage, “I just love your perfume, where can I buy it?”
I sucked in my breath in dismay. Tina smiled patronizingly and answered, “Oh, sweetie, my husband had it specially made for me, with a secret formula so that no other woman in the world could have it.” She glanced at me in amusement and said, “Excuse me, I must see to my other guests.”
As soon as she was gone I turned to Honorine and said, “What on earth—?”
“That woman,” Honorine said urgently, “I have seen her before. I mean, I have smelled her before.”
“Honorine,” I hissed, “what are you talking about?”
Undaunted, Honorine continued, “Didn’t you smell that perfume of hers?”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t. And I don’t see how you could have, either, with all these Marie Antoinettes dancing around, drenched in competing scent—”
“But I did,” Honorine said calmly, “because Madame Drake’s fragrance is one that my poor nostrils could not possibly forget. And you know where I first smelled it? In your offices, when you were away. Remember I told you that a woman came to deliver your gift for Jeremy from the jeweler? And I had to open all the windows, all over the house, to make that heavy, horrible fragrance go away? Alors! It’s her.”
“This is one of the richest women in the world, she doesn’t work in a jewelry store,” I objected.
“Exactement,” Honorine said triumphantly. “Yet, she was wearing this awful perfume on that day, and she is wearing it now. She is absolutely the same woman who came into our office to deliver the ring. But how is that possible?”
Mindful of Jeremy’s admonishment, I thought about how he always avoided leaping to conclusions. I said carefully, “I suppose two different women could have the same perfume. People steal formulas all the time, don’t they? Maybe someone who worked in the factory sold it to a competitor . . .”
“Impossible,” Honorine said emphatically. “You heard her. No little delivery girl could get hold of such a closely guarded, private perfume formula.”
I got that prickly feeling on the back of my neck when I instinctively know that something is true, no matter how improbable. What this actually proved I couldn’t say, but now all my blood-hound instincts were aroused. We had moved out of the ballroom for privacy, wandering down the hall and approaching the foot of the big staircase.
“Honorine,” I said in a low tone, “stay right here and stand guard for me. If somebody’s on their way up the stairs, cough loudly, so I’ll know they’re coming.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked, looking a little scared, as if she’d caused this.
“Snoop around!” I said.
I suppose, on some level, I thought I might actually find the tapestry hanging on a wall like a captured moose head. But I think I just wanted to prove to myself that it wasn’t there, and that there was nothing really amiss with the Drakes; that they were simply powerful people who inhabited a universe where paranoia was unfortunately not misplaced, and, as Monsieur Felix had suggested, Drake was only carefully vetting us before allowing us into their inner circle. However, I was no longer entirely sure that I wanted to have anything to do with these strange people, so, suddenly, there seemed a lot less at stake on that score.
I scampered up the staircase to an interim landing, then hesitated. It was dark, with only a life-sized painted portrait of a young woman in a Napoleonic “empire” dress and bonnet. I continued up the next staircase, which led to the second level; but when I reached it, I discovered a creepy butler posted there, dressed in a weird costume that made him look like a medieval executioner.
Very purposefully, he stepped in my path, and said loftily, “No women allowed on this level. So
rry. The powder room is down on the main level.” I realized that this must be where the men had gone to Drake’s private game room to play cards.
I nodded compliantly, feeling somewhat protected by my eye-mask, so that the guy wouldn’t really be able to identify me. I went back down to the little interim landing where I’d just been, and I ducked out of his sight, hiding in the shadows, my back pressing against the wall. And while I stood there trying to figure out my next move, I saw something very odd: the “painting” moved.
Drake’s P.R. man stepped out from behind it, barking orders at someone into a cell phone. So, it was a secret door! I shrank tighter into the shadows, trying not to breathe. When he went past me I heard him say distinctly, “Well, she’s around here somewhere, dammit, so find her.” He closed the door, and moved on downstairs.
My heart pounding, I waited till his footsteps died away. Once I was certain that he was gone, I returned to the painting, searching for the hidden spring. Sure enough, behind the right side of the frame was a little metal square button. I pressed it, and the door opened obligingly. I stepped inside.
There was a private staircase, lit only by strips of small lights on the floor, along both sides of the stairs. Should I go up or down? In the dim lighting I peered down, and surmised that the stairs eventually led outside, judging by the grassy footprints that the P.R. man must have left behind. So I opted to go up. It was a longer climb than I expected, which indicated to me that I was bypassing the second level with the executioner-butler, and climbing to a higher floor.
I had reached a small, unassuming door, but it opened into an elaborate private suite with a personalized gym and massage table, small kitchen, refrigerator and bar, a bathroom, a steam room and a sizeable bedroom.
Beyond all this was an enormous office. Everywhere were photographs of Drake in all his exploits—sailing, climbing, flying a small plane, and big-game hunting. There were also tons of trophies and awards, for everything from these athletic competitions, to recognition of his charitable impact. The world had given him the keys to their kingdoms, and every conceivable token of their admiration, yet here was a man who apparently needed to be reminded of these things at every turn.
I’d instinctively gravitated to his office, with its massive desk and a computer connected to a huge flat screen. The entire wall behind the computer desk looked like one big glass bookshelf. As I approached, I saw that it was actually a very elaborate display case, locked, and filled with gleaming objects.
I drew nearer . . . and gazed at row after row after row of coins . . . rare coins that he’d amassed, illuminated within their case. Every one of them was fastidiously labelled, with the country of origin and the time period. Each sat upon its own little velvet throne, like a jewel. Roman coins. French coins. German, Iberian, Swiss, Austrian, Byzantine, medieval European, Indo-Greek, Caribbean, Scottish; and coins from Paraguay and Singapore and Bulgaria and the American colonies. Money, money, money. As far as the eye could see.
In a strange way, it made sense that coin collecting would be one of Drake’s hobbies, perhaps even his secret favorite. For I could well imagine him in his geeky adolescence—an awkward teenage boy hoarding his best ones, and haunting the coin swaps. As I peered closer, I saw from their labels that they were very rare coins indeed. My researcher’s “nose” was captivated by their historical value.
Then I reminded myself that I was not in a museum and should not be lingering like this. One thing I had certainly not seen was a tapestry, not a single one; and if Drake was interested in them, I’d surely have found a whole collection. I considered that I was probably wasting my time, but I should check out the rest of this suite, and then sneak back downstairs before I was discovered and accused of trying to steal something.
I was very careful, moving as quietly as possible. But when I pussyfooted past the sleeping computer, my motion made the computer “wake” and the screen went on with a soft, obliging groan. The screen now displayed several open files, with various photographs of rare old coins; so many that I didn’t know what to look at first.
But then my eye was caught by an enlarged drawing of a coin that appeared startlingly familiar. As I drew closer, I gasped. I certainly recognized the “J.L.” coat of arms and the half-moon behind it. It was absolutely the same insignia as the one on the tapestry. But what was it doing on this rare old coin? I squinted and leaned closer, trying to see what the text beneath it said, but . . .
Footsteps. Rapidly. Right outside, coming up the secret stairs, therefore evading Honorine’s lookout post on the main staircase. I made the computer sleep once more, and I switched off the light, just as Parker Drake entered the room.
Chapter Thirty
“So. I knew you couldn’t be trusted,” he said, moving purposefully toward me. I thought, Oh God, I’m going to end up a dead woman, floating around in Lake Geneva tonight. And, by the time Jeremy figures out what happened, and dredges the lake for me, I’ll already be one of those awful mysterious murders that go unresolved, forever.
“You just couldn’t stay away, could you?” Drake said, close to me now.
I sensed that he was going to grab me, even before he reached out and clasped my arms in his aggressive grip. However, what I did not know was that he wasn’t going to toss me out the window, but, instead, plant a big, wet kiss on me that lasted a lot longer than you might guess; or maybe it just felt interminable because of that suddenly awkward, overbearing tongue, which made it the kind of surprisingly bad kiss you’d get from a defensive, insecure date, prompting you to decide to never go out with him again. This guy may have kissed a lot of women in his day, but he’d apparently learned nothing from his experiences, possibly because he’d never had to. Eee-yuck. Not good.
“Mmm . . . you taste good tonight, new lipstick?” he murmured.
“Mmm . . .” I muttered noncommittally, in as low a voice as possible.
“Tina knows you’re here,” he said, running his hands over my bare shoulders. “She went and hired a private dick. He saw your car and plates. Very foolish of you, my sweet. I guess you just couldn’t wait for daddy any longer?”
Now I really wanted to throw up. But of course I said nothing, banking on the dim lighting and my mask to keep up the charade. I managed to put my hand to his chest and push him away, and he assumed I was alarmed about his wife, because he said teasingly, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from Tina. Even if she does want to strangle you with her bare hands.”
Just then, the Chinese gong downstairs sounded again. It made that sonorous Bwoong! that reverberated throughout the whole chalet. As if in echo, a ship’s clock in the corner of the room began to count the hours with small pinging sounds. It was midnight.
“Ah,” Drake said in an inviting tone. “Time for all good guests to unmask . . .”
He reached around to the back of my dress, searching for the zipper. I was still backing away, but not getting very far. And then I heard a voice, which, all things considered, sounded like an angel.
“Parker?” Tina’s annoyed tone drifted from the main staircase and had an unexpected effect on Drake. For all his previous bravado, he suddenly straightened up, changed his relaxed tune and, very roughly, grabbed my arm and pushed me toward the door of the secret staircase, which he opened, shoving me down into it.
“Go!” he barked, as if accustomed to having his orders immediately obeyed. “Outside! Stay away from here tonight.” Then he softened his tone and said insinuatingly, “I’ll come to your place later.”
Well, I didn’t need an engraved invitation at this point. I was already scurrying down those steps as fast as my little feet could patter in those silly shoes with buckles. At the bottom of the staircase was a door that led straight outside, where the wind was whipping up off the lake. The night had become chilly, and as I stumbled across the lawn, my powdered wig kept getting caught on the darned shrubs and topiary, as if their brittle fingers were trying to pull off my disguise and expose me for the imposter I
was. Breathlessly, I returned to the front door, went inside and hurried to the main staircase.
Honorine was waiting loyally at the foot of the stairs, peering out hopefully for any sign of me. Other guests were coming out of the ballroom and taking off their masks. Clearly the party was breaking up now. When Honorine spotted me she said, “Psst! Let’s go into the ladies’ room where we can talk!”
We ducked into the large powder room, tucked into an alcove just beyond the stairs. It was empty, but I knew it wouldn’t be for long, with all those other guests milling around. We were still wearing our masks, for fear that Tina would walk in and discover us as not-Amelia and her not-daughter.
“Mon dieu, where have you been?” Honorine demanded. “Do you know how many of these masked beasts tried to pick me up all night? I am a sitting—how do you say—canard here—”
“Duck,” I said automatically.
“Oui,” she said, “and let me tell you, these disguises make the guests think they can do anything. A woman came over and kissed me on the lips . . . and she didn’t even say hello first!”
“Never mind,” I said hastily. “We’ve got to find Jeremy and get out of here, because everyone’s taking off their masks.”
“In those back rooms they’re taking off plenty of other things, too,” she informed me. I couldn’t help smiling at her, recalling my student days when an alumna warned me that, after you graduate and join the wider world in your first job, the immediate, disillusioned question that occurs to you is, Is this how grown-ups behave? Then what were all my studies and hard work and exams for? Honorine had just that look of disillusioned disbelief on her face right now.
Since the ladies’ room wasn’t far from the stairs, we could hear the thundering herd of card-playing men as they came pounding down the steps. We tiptoed out cautiously. Jeremy spotted us immediately, and had already sized up that it was time to go. He wasn’t wearing his mask, but carrying it, very calmly. When he saw us he warned, “You look more conspicuous with it on. The card game broke up before midnight, so Drake wasn’t even in the room when the masks came off.”
A Rather Charming Invitation Page 24