“You must be joking,” I said, eyes wide and fingers covering my mouth to hide my smile. “Her skirt was really tucked into the back of her stockings all night?”
Hadley laughed so hard at the memory that she gasped to catch her breath. “Genevieve was so embarrassed. She didn’t show her face in town for weeks.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell her?” I asked, giggling right along with my companion.
Hadley waved her hand dismissively and sipped her drink through the tiny cocktail straw.
“Oh, because Genevieve DuMount thinks she is something special. Her father is some minor duke or lord or something silly like that. She insists that people call her Lady Genevieve during formal greetings.” Hadley sighed dramatically. “Her time here is supposed to be making her more cultured. Wait until daddy dearest learns she has spent most of her stay on her back. No dowry is large enough to make a man overlook the reputation she’s earned.”
The waitress arrived with another round of drinks, which we hadn’t ordered.
“Compliments of the gentleman sitting by the window.” Audrienne gestured to a man sitting alone at the corner of the bar.
Both Hadley and I turned to look at him, only his profile in view from our vantage point.
The generous man wore an expensive suit in charcoal gray. He was attractive in the male model sort of way that would become popular a century later, though his pale complexion was a little too vampire-esque for my taste.
Hadley raised her glass to our benefactor, and I followed her lead. The man reciprocated with his own tumbler of amber liquid. Though I would’ve expected him to stand and join us, as was customary, he made no indication that he wanted any further interaction.
It was decidedly odd, but I was grateful he didn’t expect polite conversation with us in return for the drinks. Since I had yet to broach the topic of the manuscript with Hadley, I didn’t need any distractions.
“It seems you have an admirer,” Hadley teased.
“How do you know it’s me that he’s after? Maybe it’s you,” I countered.
Though Ernest’s wife had a very pretty face, she had a matronly air about her that wasn’t helped by her masculine style of dress. Between her short, wide-legged gaucho trousers, the blouse buttoned to her neck, and face unadorned by makeup, Hadley Richardson certainly didn’t seem concerned with attracting the attention of men.
“Be serious, Stassi.” Hadley patted her short, unruly hair. “Of the two of us, you are the more likely candidate. You should go talk to him.”
I laughed uneasily. One man in my life was more than enough trouble.
“I am having too much fun with you,” I said decisively, raising my glass to clink it against hers.
“Me too,” she declared. “Speaking of fun, have you been to Monte Carlo?”
I shook my head.
“Shame you didn’t arrive sooner, we could’ve run away for a few nights down there. There’s such excitement, you would just love it.”
“I’m sure I would,” I agreed.
“Ernest and I leave for Germany at the end of the weekend, otherwise I’d steal you away.” The light in Hadley’s eyes dimmed slightly, and her smile wasn’t quite as wide. The change was so minor that someone less perceptive might have missed it. She drank deeply from her glass. When she set the tumbler back onto the table, the bubbly attitude was firmly back in place. “Everyone simply must experience Monte. Perhaps when I return?”
“Germany? How long will you be gone?” I asked nonchalantly.
My own glass was cupped between my palms, the contents untouched. After the amount of gin I’d consumed already, I resolved to pace myself for the rest of our lunch.
“Three months. Ernest wants to finish his notes on Andre’s novel, then get started on his own new one.” She took another healthy swig from her glass.
“Is Mr. Rosenthal going with you?” I asked, furrowing my brow.
“Heavens, no. He’s not much for traveling. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I was just curious. I don’t know much about the processes of writers, but three months seems like an awfully long time for them to be separated when Ernest is helping him with his novel.”
I swapped the cocktail for my water glass, taking several gulps.
“It would be, but the first draft of Blue’s Canyon is complete,” Hadley told me. The next words out of her mouth were music to my ears. “Ernest is taking it along with him, and plans to revise over the coming months.” She laughed humorlessly. “It seems I’ll be spending a lot of time alone in the German countryside, and I don’t speak a lick of the language. But Ernest says the quiet is necessary for his work.”
Hadley drained her glass.
“When exactly do you leave?” I asked.
“We are taking an early train on Sunday,” she told me, sadness radiating from her eyes.
Just under five days.
“We simply must get together again before you leave, I’ve had such fun today,” I declared. Seeing her so obviously unhappy with her husband’s plans, my heart felt heavy.
“Maybe we could do another lunch?” she asked, looking excited. “Oh! I know—there is a wonderful show we could see. An Italian dance company, the Flying Codonas, puts on an aerial performance. I’ve heard nothing but rave reviews and have been just dying to go. Say you’ll go with me.”
Her voice was pleading, her eyes hopeful.
Despite the fact the tasks on my to-do list were reproducing with one another faster than bunnies in springtime, I agreed to attend the show with her.
“Assuming, of course, it remains open,” she added. “The Night Gentleman has put a wet blanket over the nightlife.”
I smiled thinly, the respite from my problems coming to an end.
Right, that guy. Nombre deux on my list.
“Ring me and we’ll make plans,” I said. “If not that, we will do something else before you leave.”
Hadley grinned, relieved. She had the tumbler to her lips before remembering it was empty.
“Are you going to drink that?” Hadley asked, pointing to the untouched glass on my side of the table.
With a giggle, I pushed it over to her. Hadley resumed her idle chatter as she sipped the cocktail. I downed two cups of very strong coffee. Tiny as she was, it would be a miracle if I didn’t need a wheelchair to get her from the bar to the street when we were ready to leave.
“Would you be interested in a walk around the Tuileries Gardens?” she asked when we finally asked Audrienne to fetch the check. “They’re right around the corner and absolutely beautiful—a must-see in Paris.”
“Definitely,” I agreed. “I could use a bit of fresh air.”
Once we’d settled the bill, we retraced our steps through the lobby. Hadley looked slightly unsteady on her feet, so I looped my arm companionably through hers.
The sun was still shining brightly as we exited the Ritz, and I slid large black shades over my eyes. I felt a tug on my arm as Hadley swayed.
“Is it remarkably hot?” she asked. “I didn’t realize the temperature had grown so warm.”
Though it was a beautiful spring afternoon with just the right amount of warmth in the air, I suggested postponing our walk until the weather was more agreeable. As drunk as she was, Hadley was in no shape to be wandering the streets.
There was a single cab idling at the curb, and I insisted that Hadley take it. Despite her protests, I won out in the end.
“I want to walk a bit anyway,” I reassured her. “See the sights. That is why I’m here, after all.”
A bellhop scurried over from the front of the hotel and held the car door open for Hadley.
“Well, there is a sight right there,” she said, pointing conspicuously to a petite woman in black pants and a white blouse that was a feminine version of a man’s suit shirt.
I recognized her immediately.
“Coco Chanel,” Hadley confirmed my thoughts. “Brilliant designer. She lives here at the Ritz, you know? Has ke
pt a suite for some time. She’s going to be somebody one day. Someone big.” My new friend waggled her fingers at me. “Toodles. We’ll talk soon.”
“Toodles,” I echoed belatedly, my gaze following the future fashion icon.
Oh, Hadley, you have no idea. Coco Chanel won’t just be someone big. She will be a legend.
The coffee had done wonders to counteract the alcohol, and I was once again sober after wandering for an hour in the cool afternoon air. I used the time to consider all the ways we might get our hands on the third part of the manuscript. Learning that Hemingway was in possession of a section was big. It drastically narrowed down the possibilities of the physical location, so the only thing left was to actually find it. Since Ernest wasn’t paranoid or neurotic like Rosenthal, the pages would likely be found in his home.
I considered inviting myself over to Hadley’s house for cocktails. Once I plied her with a few drinks, I could ask to see the manuscript, and then find a reason for her to leave the room. While she was gone, I could quickly scan the pages.
After considering all of the different angles, I decided that the only potential pitfall in the plan was Ernest. If her husband was home, Hadley was less likely to show me the manuscript. And if Hadley preferred going out to dining in, I would have to make sure we dined at a time when her husband was out writing or beating up my partner. Having Cyrus with us was a huge boon, since it meant there was a third man in the equation. He could search the Hemingway home while Gaige and I distracted the occupants, if necessary.
All in all, it was a sound plan. My lunch with Hadley had proven even more fortuitous than I’d hoped. I gave myself a pat on the back for finding out that Ernest had the target. I couldn’t wait to get back to the townhouse and share my news with the guys.
“HEMINGWAY HAS it,” Gaige announced, before I had both feet inside the townhouse.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked incredulously, glaring at my partner.
“Nope, no, Ernest definitely has it,” he replied quickly, not picking up on my sarcasm.
I sighed heavily and closed the door behind me.
“That was my line.”
With his face sweaty and swollen in spots, my partner was pacing the living room. Gaige’s blackened hair stuck out in every direction, as if he’d been running his hand through the strands compulsively. The energy surrounding him was intense, practically crackling with pent-up excitement.
He stopped and stared at me in confusion. “What?”
“Hadley confirmed her husband has the third piece,” I said.
Gaige propped his hands on his hips. “Well, did she tell you why he has it? Huh? Did you wheedle that detail out of her?”
“Because he is taking it to Germany with him.”
Gaige threw his hands in the air, in an overly dramatic gesture of exasperation.
“Okay, she told you, whatever. But do you know what this means?” he demanded, doing a weird little dance that looked like a child in need of a bathroom. Without waiting for me to reply, Gaige answered his own question. “It means we only have five days to finish the run. Unless, of course, you think I’d look hot in lederhosen.”
“We’re not chasing them to Germany,” I replied. “But I have some ideas for getting our hands on the rest of the manuscript.”
“Me too!” my partner exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “So many ideas.”
Gaige was so amped over our mutual discovery, he couldn’t sit still while we discussed strategies. One minute he was sitting next to me on the couch, the next he was reprising his ridiculous dance around the coffee table.
“I like where your head’s at,” declared Gaige, after I’d outlined the plan I came up with on the walk, including the contingency with Cyrus.
“I’m not sure I can say the same about you,” I decided, peering closely at him. His face was a startling shade of red, with sweat running down in rivulets. “How much caffeine have you had today?”
“None since breakfast.” He put up his fists, assuming a fighter’s stance. With a quick one-two combination, he took down an invisible opponent. “Boxing is amazing, Stass. I have so much energy right now, it’s crazy. Crazy. I think I’m going to keep at it when we get home.”
“Yeah, you do that. Once we’re safely back on the island, you can hit all the stuff you like. Right now, though, I need you to focus.”
“I am focused. So focused. Like mega-focused. Let’s do this. Call Hadley and set up dinner, let’s do this tonight!”
“We just had lunch, I can’t ask her for tonight,” I said, eyeing Gaige suspiciously. “She’s probably sleeping off the alcohol right now. I’ll call her this evening, see if she can do tomorrow night.”
I was definitely excited about this new development. But Gaige was I-just-won-the-Superbowl-and-lottery-in-the-same-day excited. It was sort of freaking me out.
He started doing jumping jacks, and my suspicion turned to concern.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.
“Gravy, Stass. I gonna go for a run. Want to come? Never mind, your chicken legs won’t be able to keep pace.”
I rolled my eyes. Gaige was able to do many things better than me. He was a better rock climber. He was a stronger swimmer. He was the better bullshanter. And, hands down, Gaige was the more annoying of the two of us. But we both knew my chicken legs could run much faster than his hairy man thighs any day of the week.
Abruptly, Gaige dropped to the floor. The coffee table blocked him from view. Alarmed, I jumped to my feet.
“Gaige!” I exclaimed, worried he’d fainted.
My partner grunted as he pushed his body off of the floor, clapped his hands in front of his chest, and let gravity carry him back down.
I let out a relieved sigh. The idiot was doing push-ups.
Gaige continued his manic exercise routine, performing twenty military-style push-ups before rocketing to his feet.
“Time for that run!” he declared, jogging off towards the door.
“Um, no,” I decided. “I think you need to chill.”
“Chill? I’m crazy chill, like I just came out of the freezer. A run is just the thing to warm me up. Get it? I just owned that metaphor.”
“Gaige, seriously, I don’t think that’s a great idea. I’m going to get you some water, just sit on the couch.”
He swayed on his feet. I rushed around the coffee table to help him.
Turning in my direction, Gaige muttered, “Stass, I don’t feel so hot….”
My partner’s complexion was bone-white, his eyes darting erratically from side to side. It was definitely worth calling the alchemist doctors to have him checked out.
I was just about to march him next door when, without warning, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he fell backwards. I was too slow to catch him. Gaige’s head hit the door, bounced once, and his eyelids dropped shut.
I screamed as he slowly slid to the floor.
“HE JUST NEEDS some rest, I am sure of it. Our dear Gaige will be right as rain come morning,” Ines declared, waving her cigarette holder over his bed.
She clicked her lighter, producing a small flame.
Like a viper darting out to attack his prey, Cyrus snatched the cigarette holder from her hand. He eyed the startled alchemist levelly. Then, still pinning her with his don’t-screw-with-me stare, Cyrus snapped the cigarette holder in two and let the pieces fall to the floor. Mouth agape, Ines began to sputter weak, belated protests.
“Consider this a non-smoking residence,” Cyrus told her. He glanced pointedly down at the broken cigarette holder. “Now you won’t be tempted.”
Dr. Merriweather, the local alchemist physician, cleared his throat awkwardly. “I will run some tests on his blood, but his vitals are stable. His heartrate is still elevated, though it appears to be coming down. I will continue to monitor him throughout the night.”
On the bed, Gaige’s closed lids twitched rapidly as his eyeballs pinged and ponged underneath.
<
br /> “Is that normal?” I asked Dr. Merriweather doubtfully. My partner still hadn’t regained consciousness, so it certainly didn’t seem normal to me.
“It may be,” he replied slowly. “Until I run a DOG scan, I cannot be positive.”
“Wait, you know what a DOG scan is?” I asked, surprised. This was the first time we’d ever needed a doctor during a run, and I had no idea how it all worked. “How can you possibly do one now? Those giant machines don’t even exist yet, let alone the handheld scanners.”
The doctor patted me on the shoulder in a grandfatherly gesture.
“I am an alchemist, dear,” he said, as if that explained everything.
Dr. Merriweather left to go run his tests without another word. Thankfully, Ines trailed after him, her head down and proverbial tail tucked between her legs like a scolded puppy. Once they were gone, it was just Cyrus and me with the unconscious Gaige.
“You said he was acting manic before the fall?” asked Cyrus, arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Yeah, I think that’s the right term. He was bouncing off the walls, doing calisthenics, wanting to go for a run.” I shook my head. “At first I thought it was too much caffeine, but Gaige said he didn’t drink coffee after breakfast.”
“How has he been acting in general? Since you arrived in Paris?”
“Like Gaige,” I replied with a shrug. “I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, but ordinary is relative with him.”
Cyrus cracked a small smile.
“Why?” I asked, confused.
“Your run to Florence and then to Paris were very close together. In fact, your last several runs have been very close together.”
“You don’t think he has time sickness, do you?” I asked.
My boss gave a little headshake. “The thought crossed my mind. The slow onset form is rare, and gradually builds up. In some cases, the inflicted is able to mask the symptoms, so that those around him don’t realize he’s sick. Has he been loading up on sugar?”
“No more than usual.”
“How have you been feeling?”
The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) Page 32