“I’d say so.”
“Please, before we meet with Durand, ask me anything you wish.”
I shifted in my chair, then did it again, as if it had become impossible for me to find a comfortable position. Which it had. “Forgive me, Monsieur de la Houssay, but we’ve never met before tonight. I never even knew you existed until a few days ago. I came to France to ask you some questions and, frankly, I’m more confused now than when I boarded the plane.”
He waited.
“I showed you my father’s letter. You’ve shared some wonderful memories about the end of the war. But—and please try and understand, I don’t mean to be insulting—but I don’t have any way of knowing if you’re really who you say you are.”
I expected him to start giving me a list of things that might prove who he was, evidence of his background, all of that. Instead, he remained silent so I could continue.
“Now you want me to meet someone from Interpol. What if you’re from Interpol? What if this is all some elaborate setup?” I realized how ridiculous I sounded and turned to Donna, who appeared even more bewildered than I was. Worse than that, I still wondered who she was.
For an instant I thought about the grumpy driver who brought us from Antibes to the restaurant. If I could have located him right then, I might have happily jumped in the back of his sedan, returned to the hotel, grabbed my passport and gone home. I remembered the ad campaign I needed to write for that car dealership in Long Island, and how Harry was going to be all over me when I came back without ever having opened the file. It occurred to me I might use a Monet sunset with a car superimposed in the foreground. The copy would read, “For that continental feeling with the assurance of American quality,” or something like that.
Gilles interrupted my silent but growing sense of anxiety. “May I say something?” he asked politely.
“Please. Please do.”
“I think you would agree that I have asked you for nothing. Not one thing. You, of course, have asked questions of me, and I have done my best to respond.”
I nodded dumbly.
“Then let me explain something more.” He glanced at Donna. At this point she was not about to go anywhere, and I was not about to ask her to. “This situation has made me something of a local celebrity over the years. The legend we discussed is old, but still very much alive. At first, I was thought a scoundrel, but the reputation of a scoundrel ages well, and in the end has a certain charm. Other than this one episode I have lived an exemplary life. I have been a moderate success in business. I held public office, as an elected official in Roquebrune. Your father found that very amusing.” He lit another cigarette and exhaled a small cloud of smoke. “I have enjoyed this little cat and mouse game over these many years, always knowing I would never have the pleasure of owning the item myself.” He was obviously taking care not to mention the painting in front of Donna. “Your father was the dreamer who believed it would bring us riches. I understood the truth. Once we were suspected, I could never be involved again. It was the same advice I gave to your father over the years.” He paused, his bright, hazel colored eyes looking directly into mine. “That is why Benny advised you to forget this entire affair. Which you have not mentioned to me.”
That got my attention, since I had never told him what Benny said. As I already said, I also never told him about my discussion with Selma a couple of days ago.
“Ah yes, you failed to mention what Benny advised you, but I know because he shared that when he called me with the news that you would be coming.”
I looked at Donna, whose was fixed on Gilles. Turning back to him, I said, “I’m sorry, I feel like a jackass. Benny gave me your name and I—”
He responded with another tolerant smile. “Your upset and confusion are understandable.” He took a moment before going on. “I have mentioned that in some ways I have outlived my years. Unfortunately, the doctors now agree. So I am happy, if my time is short, to have this chance to meet you.” He carefully tapped the ashes of his cigarette into the crystal ashtray. “And understand, I take no offense at your questions. If anything, I am fascinated to have this opportunity to see your father again, in you.”
I began to say something, but Gilles held up his hand.
“My condition affords a certain freedom,” he said, “since there is nothing left for me to fear. My only concern is that my friend’s son does not suffer for the mistake of our youth.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. About your health, I mean.”
He offered a melancholy tilt of his head in response. “Sorrow should be reserved for the death of the young, eh?” His heavily accented English made his sadness in speaking these words all the more poignant. “I lost many friends in the war. They never had the chance to live beyond their youth, to enjoy the full life I have had. Please, do not waste your pity on me.”
I managed a wan smile. “I’ll try to remember that philosophy.”
He took another long and grateful pull at his cigarette. “Now you must decide if you really want to find it, yes?”
“And do what with it? Turn it over to the authorities?”
“Ah, no.” He smiled. “I could never suggest such a thing. It would not be a fitting end to all these years of intrigue. No, if you find it, it is yours to do with as you please.”
Donna was looking at me. She didn’t speak, she just nodded slightly.
“Sorry if I’m confused about this, but why do you feel we should meet this Interpol inspector?”
“To assure him that you are here for one reason only, which is to visit an old friend of your father. We can say, if it is necessary, that you learned of my illness and decided to come and have dinner with me during your brief vacation in France.”
“And my father’s letter?”
The smile returned to his thin lips. “What letter?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Frederique Durand was indeed the man in gray I spotted at the airport and the beach.
We joined him in the lounge, where we he was seated at a small cocktail table. When we approached he stood, gave Donna a brief nod, then shook my hand as Gilles made the introductions. With a slight smile, Gilles asked the Inspector to show us his identification. Durand seemed puzzled by the request, but politely obliged with another slight tilt from the waist. He assured us, as he displayed his credentials, that he had not come in any official capacity. To the contrary, he explained, his old friend Monsieur de la Houssay had told him of our visit, and he was therefore a bit worried about Gilles and, by association, Donna and me. I was anxious to hear what, precisely, he was worried about.
Durand was younger than Monsieur de la Houssay, somewhere around sixty. Up close he didn’t appear so gray, although he was wearing the same suit I’d seen him in that morning, the one that matched the color of his hair. His eyes were dark brown and his complexion, contrary to how it appeared from a distance, was robust. He looked quite fit, and had a calm, formal manner.
He invited us to be seated and asked if we might like dessert. Following our enormous dinner, for which Monsieur de la Houssay insisted on paying despite my repeated protests, we all agreed that even one additional morsel of food was simply out of the question. Since my stomach had become more a barometer of nerves than a depository for nourishment, I was happy to be done with the eating portion of the program. Inspector Durand said that he had already taken his dinner at home, so we all sat in the lounge, ordered coffee and shared a bottle of Sauterne.
By now, I decided there was no reason to exclude Donna from the proceedings. I figured I would learn more from her presence than her absence.
“Frederique,” Gilles announced with a glance in his friend’s direction, “is, how you say, an anomaly. Although he is a great detective, he is not by nature a suspicious man. He is, you would say, réaliste. Am I correct, mon ami?”
The Inspector responded wit
h a bemused look. “Our host refers, of course, to the legend of the Monet.”
Earlier, I might have fallen off my chair at the casual reference by a police officer to the puzzle I was trying to unravel, but by now I was beyond surprise, and more than happy to get to the matter at hand. Donna was either confused by the reference to a Monet or a terrifically subtle actress.
“Ah, yes, the legend,” Gilles replied cheerfully. “You see, my young friends, how quickly the Inspector reveals his true beliefs.”
I turned to Durand. “May I ask what those beliefs are, Inspector?”
He nodded slowly. “Gilles is a shrewd man. For years, the fable of this mysterious painting has permitted him the opportunity to play a part based on an incident which I understand he has just shared with you. Or, as we say in my profession, the alleged incident.” Durand’s English was flawless, his accent far lighter than Monsieur de la Houssay’s. “You recall the Hitchcock film that was set here, on the Riviera?”
“To Catch a Thief. Cary Grant.”
“Just so. That provides the perfect pose, so to speak. Some around here even felt that character was based in part on Gilles.”
“Nonsense,” Monsieur de la Houssay said with a brief laugh.
“Whether or not that is true,” the Inspector went on, “the legend exists.”
I studied Durand carefully now. “You keep referring to this as a legend—”
“Indeed,” Gilles interrupted. “The Inspector never believed, does not believe and will not believe that there really is a missing Monet. Am I stating this correctly?”
The Inspector gave another of his stiff nods. I figured he would have been great in the Court of Versailles, with all the bowing they did in those days. “Gilles is correct. No one has ever admitted to seeing this painting. There is no record of its ownership. The principal players, which I am led to understand include your late father, denied any involvement from the outset. The only proof of its existence, if it can be called proof, is the claim of the late Jean Paul Quoniam, a most despicable man. My friend Giles has allowed the legend to go on, and he may do as he wishes, with this I have no quarrel. He romanticizes this escapade”—he pronounced it in the original French—“and if he is amused by the rumors of his participation, I have no quarrel with that either. My only concern has always been that the wrong people might believe the painting exists. As time has gone by, such a painting would have become increasingly valuable, making it more of a lure for others to claim this prize for themselves. Is my English clear?”
It was Donna who said, “Oh yes, Inspector. Very. You speak beautifully.”
Durand smiled, then took her hand and gave it a little kiss. “You are too kind, mademoiselle.”
Those Frenchmen, I’m telling you.
“No doubt there are many possessions that were stolen by the Nazis and their co-conspirators,” Durand went on, “items that remain unclaimed, even to this day. The Jeu de Paume in Paris was filled with plunder taken from Jewish families, as well as others considered enemies of the Third Reich. Notorious collaborators, like Hans Wendland, created false documents in an effort to authenticate the provenance of many of these stolen artifacts. You understand?”
I told the Inspector I was learning. “What about Monet’s record of his own work?” I asked. Monsieur de la Houssay had answered the question, but I wanted to hear it from Durand.
“Ah yes,” the Inspector admitted. “There are certainly works from Monet’s ouvre whose whereabouts cannot be accounted for. This is the only reason my friend retains his crédibilité.”
I nodded. “So, you’ve been keeping an eye on us, not because you’re looking for this painting, and not because you thought we were any sort of threat to Monsieur de la Houssay—”
“But because you might have attracted the attention of others who could be,” Durand finished my thought.
“Which I don’t think we have” I said, shooting a quick glance at Donna.
“Ah, but you may be incorrect I that belief,” the Inspector disagreed.
“We have?”
“Did you not notice the man sitting on the beach this morning? The same man who took a taxi outside your hotel and followed you here tonight?”
“You’re joking.”
“I am not joking,” the Inspector replied in a serious tone.
“I can vouch for that,” Gilles said. “Frederique is a charming dinner companion, but he has absolutely no sense of humor when it comes to his profession.”
Durand nodded his agreement.
I asked what the man looked like, and the Inspector described someone in his thirties, not tall but well built, with an olive complexion and, despite Italian features, unmistakably an American.
“Don’t tell me. He had on plaid shorts and a camera around his neck.”
Durand smiled. “I began watching you upon your arrival at the airport. I believe you noticed me there, this is true?”
“Yes.”
“That was well done. Unfortunately, your powers of observation did not extend to this other man. You see, I was doing nothing to disguise my interest in you. He was. I am convinced there are people who know you are here.”
I leaned back in my chair, trying to wrap my mind around all this. “He followed me from the States?”
“With all respect to my old friend, I do not think there is anyone left in our community who believes Gilles has this painting.”
“I am forced to admit,” Gilles conceded with a wry smile, “this is true.”
“However,” the Inspector continued, “there may be others who believe you have come here to get it. And, whether you do or not is beside the point. If they believe it, then there is reason for concern.”
Monsieur de la Houssay shrugged his shoulders. “I told you, Frederique does not believe the legend, but he is a good friend.”
“Thank you,” the Inspector said.
I stood up. “I know this may be an imposition, but would you gentlemen mind if Donna and I took a short walk? I need to clear my head, and there are a couple of things she and I need to discuss privately.”
“Please,” Monsieur de la Houssay protested. “Frederique and I need the exercise more than either of you. And mademoiselle has strolled through the village quite enough for one evening, I am sure.” He got to his feet slowly, the Inspector offering a hand. “We will stretch our legs for a few minutes and then return.”
“Thank you,” I said, then watched the two old friends saunter off together. When they were out of earshot I turned to Donna and asked, “Is there something you want to tell me?”
She shook her head slightly, but offered no response.
“You’re sure?”
She stared at me, her eyes welling up as she said, “What do you want me to say?”
I took a deep breath. “You must realize I have questions.”
She hesitated before saying, “So do I.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, I don’t know what the Inspector is talking about, and I don’t know about anyone following us. Except him.”
“What about us?”
“Us?”
“You must realize by now, we met at a very unusual moment in my life.”
“I know.”
“Which is making me suspicious of everything and everyone.”
“Including me?”
“You have to admit, it’s a bit strange that you just happened to meet me on that flight from Vegas, just happened to be on your way to Europe, and just happened to jump on a plane to France on my half-assed expedition.”
After another pause, she said, “You’re wrong.”
“Which part do I have wrong?”
“Most of it. All of it.” She looked away.
“Come on, Donna,” I said, reaching for her arm and gently turning her toward me.
&nb
sp; “Trust me,” she said. “That’s all I can say right now.”
“That I should trust you?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m asking,” she told me, then got up from her seat. “If you need to hear me say it, I’m with you because I want to be, which is all you really need to know. Now I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she said and walked off.
When Gilles and Inspector Durand returned, they found me sitting alone.
“Ah, my young friend,” said Monsieur de la Houssay, “have we said something to disturb your beautiful companion?”
“Oh no,” I said with a shake of my muddled head. “I took care of that myself.”
Before they could offer any advice, Donna came back.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied, looking directly into my eyes. “You?”
“I hope so,” I said, and we all sat down.
“You have come a long way to meet your father’s friend,” the Inspector said.
“Yes, I have.”
“There is much to be said for that,” he told us, “the respect you have shown.” Before I could respond, he steered our discussion to the elegance and charm of the Riviera, the reasons for its cachet, the types of foreigners who come to visit, and how some things have changed over the years while other things have remained the same. When Durand began to give us restaurant recommendations, I knew it was time to say good night.
The four of us left the restaurant together and made for the large gates of this storybook village where, to my amazement, our driver was parked not far from the stone entrance.
I asked the Inspector if there was any reason for us to be concerned about the man he thought had followed us.
“Not at all,” he assured me, but when he offered no explanation I wasn’t feeling all that assured.
“I’ve never been followed before. Is there something I should know?”
“You should know the importance of friendship,” the Inspector replied. I waited for more, but it did not appear to be forthcoming, so I turned to Gilles.
“The Inspector is a wise man,” Gilles said warmly. “Do not be concerned. Take this beautiful young lady to see the Riviera at night.”
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