Allegra remembered her recent view through the restaurant's windows and the resplendent room with its glorious murals. She knew that it was one of the most expensive restaurants in Paris, if not the world, and his invitation was tempting.
'Come,' he said, 'you must say yes.'
'I—I can't,' she said. 'I really appreciate your offer, but it's impossible. I—I have engagements I have to keep today.'
'I thought you were simply sightseeing,' he persisted.
'Yes, but. .. but I have to make some telephone calls,' she said, hearing the lame excuse for what it was. 'And I have to see a couple of friends before they leave town,' she added.
'That's too bad,' he said. 'Perhaps another time, then.'
'That would be wonderful,' she replied. 'I'd really better get going now.'
'So soon?'
'Yes,' she said, pointedly looking at her watch. 'I'm going to be late as it is.'
The man extended his hand across the showcase. 'I am Ramtane Tadjer,' he said, 'and it is a pleasure to have met you.'
'I'm Allegra Sheridan.' She laughed and shook his hand. 'It was wonderful to meet you and have the opportunity to try on some of your beautiful creations.'
He shrugged his shoulders. 'It was nothing,' he said. 'All my pleasure, I assure you. Getting to see my jewels on such a beautiful young lady who is worthy of their perfection was a treat for me. I usually see them on the arthritic, age-spotted fingers of the very old ladies who can more often afford my merchandise.'
'Well, thank you very much,' Allegra said.
'Please take my card,' the man said, slipping a gold card case from the inside breast pocket of his suit. He flipped it open and took out a heavy cream-colored vellum card with his name, address, and telephone number engraved—not cheaply embossed—on it. 'This is my personal card,' he added, 'and you must feel free to use it at any time.'
Allegra took the card from him as she searched through her shoulder bag for her own case. When her fingers finally touched upon it, she pulled it out, opened it, and handed him one of her cards. 'This is my business card,' she said. 'I'm afraid that's the only one I have.'
He took it and looked down at it. 'Atelier Sheridan.' He recited the
address and telephone number. 'You may be surprised to hear from me one day.'
'It would be a pleasure,' she said. 'I could show you around town if you're in New York.'
'I'm in New York often,' he said, 'so I may take you up on the offer. In the meantime, if you have a free moment in Paris, don't hesitate to phone me. We could have dinner, perhaps. Or just a drink.'
'Thank you, Mr. Tadjer,' Allegra said.
'Ram, please,' he replied. 'My friends call me Ram.'
'Oh, that's a wonderful name,' she said. 'My friends call me Ally.'
He nodded. 'Ally,' he said, trying the name on his tongue. 'I think I will call you Allegra, if you don't mind. I think it befits you more.'
Allegra smiled. That was the first time she'd ever heard that. 'Whatever you prefer,' she said. 'Now I really must get going.' She turned toward the door.
'Don't hesitate to call,' he said.
'I won't,' she said.
He came from behind the counter and walked toward the door with her, opened it, and bowed slightly as she stepped out onto the walk. 'Ciao, Allegra,' he said.
'Ciao, Ram.' She sketched a wave in the air, then walked purposefully toward the nearest exit from the Palais Royal's arcade.
Her boot heels beat a loud staccato on the stone walk, resonated about the plaster and brick walls, ceilings, and arches. When she had gone through a passage and back out onto the street, she stopped and leaned back against the building for a moment.
Oh, my God, she thought, breathing deeply, as if she had been deprived of oxygen. He's so charming and handsome. But I've pledged myself to Todd. The former philandering Todd. Or so he says.
Allegra straightened up and started walking down the street, not knowing where she was going, but determined to quit thinking about the very sexy Ramtane Tadjer and the man she was fairly certain she was in love with, Todd Hall.
Wandering aimlessly, she finally decided that she would return to the apartment to change clothes, have something to eat, and try to get hold of Jason and Todd.
Allegra slammed down the telephone in a mixture of anger, curiosity, and worry. Jason had answered at none of his numbers, and he should have been in the atelier by this time. In any case, he was once again incommunicado, wherever he happened to be, and Allegra was disturbed by this new behavior of his.
Pacing the small studio, she fretted, but came to the conclusion that it was a waste of her time. She decided to try to get hold of Sylvie.
She picked up the telephone and dialed the New York number.
'Hilton Whitehead's residence,' Sylvie said.
'Sylvie, it's Allegra.'
'Ah! I'm so glad you called,' Sylvie exclaimed, her accent more pronounced than usual.
'What—?'
'It's Todd,' Sylvie growled. 'When I came in this morning, he had left a message on the answering machine. Which I ignored, of course. But he's already called again.'
'Todd! But how—?'
'You tell me,' Sylvie said. 'How did he get this telephone number? Surely, Allegra, you did not give it to him.'
'No, of course not,' Allegra replied defensively. She was seeing a side of Sylvie that she'd never seen before. 'How could you even think such a thing? I haven't told—'
'Never mind,' Sylvie said. 'However he got it, he did, and he's going to drive me crazy.'
'What the hell is going on?' Allegra asked.
'Dear Todd is worried about you,' Sylvie responded. 'He doesn't seem to believe your story about going to Paris for a photo shoot, and he thinks I know something.'
'You didn't tell him anything, did you?' Allegra said.
'Of course not,' Sylvie said. 'I played completely dumb. Anyway, he is very persistent, and I finally told him not to ever call me here again.'
'Good,' Allegra said. 'I can't imagine why he called there. He's bugging me about changing my ticket, so that he and I can spend the weekend in Paris together, then fly back together Monday.'
'Mon Dieu,' Sylvie swore. 'What did you tell him?'
'I told him I would see about it,' Allegra said, 'but that I didn't think it was possible.'
'Do you want to do that?' Sylvie asked.
'No,' Allegra quickly replied. 'Well ... I mean, it would be nice to spend the weekend in Paris with him, but if I have the ring ...'
Sylvie paused a moment, thinking the situation over. 'The ring will be in the bank?'
'Yes, but—'
'But nothing,' Sylvie said. 'I can talk to Hilton and unless he has plans for the weekend, I'm sure he won't mind your staying until Monday. I'll just have to alert the pilot. You and Todd can have a fun weekend together.'
'Are you sure about this?'
'I'll talk to Hilton right now,' Sylvie said.
'Oh, God,' Allegra said.
'What?'
'Then I'll have to explain to Todd why we can't fly back together,' she said. 'If he wants to try to get tickets on the same flight. I mean, I can't tell him I'm flying on a private jet.'
'Before you worry about that,' Sylvie said, 'let me talk to Hilton. I'll call you back in a few minutes.'
'Sylvie, you're so great,' Allegra said.
'Just doing my job, cherie,' she said. 'Besides, Todd sounds very much like a young man who's madly in love. How can I resist trying to help?'
Allegra replaced the receiver in its cradle and stared into space, a puzzled expression on her face. Sylvie seemed to have accepted the delay awfully quick. Allegra wondered what Hilton Whitehead would have to say. The ring was certainly a major purchase after all, and one he would probably want brought back to New York immediately. She would have to wait to see. In the meantime, it occurred to her that she would be responsible for the ring all weekend if Whitehead agreed to a change in plans.
Oh, wel
l, she told herself, it's going to be in the safe-deposit box. What could possibly go wrong with it in the bank?
Her reverie was interrupted by the telephone's shrill ring, and she picked up the receiver. 'Hello.'
'It's Sylvie, cherie.'
'Already?' Allegra replied, surprised.
'Yes, and I've got good news for you,' Sylvie said. 'I just hung up from talking to Hilton, and he says that it's fine to return next week. He'll send the plane on a little errand, so you and Todd can have a romantic weekend.'
'Oh, thank you so much, Sylvie,' Allegra said. 'That's wonderful. Now I have to figure out how to explain us not being able to fly back together.'
'One step at a time, cherie,' Sylvie replied. 'I must run. The two of you have fun.'
'Thanks,' Allegra said. 'I'm sure we will.'
She disconnected with Sylvie, then dialed Todd's cell phone number. He picked up on the first ring. 'It's me,' she said.
She heard the unmistakable sound of him kissing into the receiver. 'Hello, you,' he finally said.
Allegra laughed. 'You're silly.'
'I'm in love,' he replied.
'Are you packed?'
'Are you serious?'
'Yes.'
'I'm nearly there with bells on my—'
'Forget about the bells,' she said. 'Just come.'
'I'll do that, too,' he said. 'I'm so excited, Ally.'
'I am, too,' she said, 'and I'll see you soon. I'd better go now.'
'I love you.'
'And I love you.' She hung up the receiver and hugged her arms against her chest. I do love him, she thought, and it feels so .. . good and so . . . right.
CHAPTER 11
What. . . ? Where . . . ? Abruptly Allegra sat up in bed, momentarily disoriented by where she was. A frisson of fear, brief as a flash of light, ran up her spine. As she fully awoke, she smiled at the reassuring sunshine pouring through the window shutters.
Drawn by the sun's first appearance since she'd been in Paris, she relinquished the comfort of the bed and went to the window. She pulled the shutters apart and looked over the nearby rooftops, observing that almost all of them were a uniform gray metal in the mansard style. Directly opposite her, beyond the small ironwork balcony and the French doors that led to it, she could see a woman running a vacuum cleaner in a large apartment with avant-garde furniture and large abstract canvases on the walls. Below, the sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians, and the street was a steady stream of motorbikes, scooters, and cars.
She wondered about the time, suddenly aware that the sun was high in the sky and the street life was too hectic for the early morning. She turned and glanced at the alarm clock on the little African stool at the bedside. The clock read ten-thirty, and Allegra wondered how she could have slept for so long.
Worried about time, she dashed into the bathroom, put on her face, and fixed her hair with record speed, then quickly dressed. Hurrying down to the street, she went straight to the cafe where she'd breakfasted the day before. As she waited for her food, she glanced through a copy of Le Monde that lay on an empty chair next to hers.
On the front page, prominently positioned, was a photograph of Princess Karima on the arm of Stefano Donati, her former lover. The picture was a few years old, Allegra guessed, and the woman was stunningly beautiful. Donati, while not handsome in a traditional sense, exuded breeding, money, power, and polish even in this newsprint photograph. The couple was dressed in formal attire as if going to or leaving a ball. Allegra could see that the princess was wearing a necklace of many large stones, a bracelet to match, and several rings, the emerald the most easily identifiable among them.
The article reported the upcoming auction, of course, but its thrust was the new spiritual path that the princess had taken. She was moving to a small millhouse in the countryside outside Paris, it said, and selling all of her other properties.
Sipping her coffee as she read, Allegra was impressed by the article, but was curious as to what could have led such a worldly woman to make such an about-face in the way she chose to live her life. Fear? Allegra wondered. Fear, as a believer, that she wouldn't receive a reward in the afterlife unless she changed her ways? Or was it something as simple as boredom? The woman had seen and done nearly everything humanly possible in her lifetime. Perhaps this path would provide a diversion for a jaded woman.
It was after noontime when Allegra left the cafe and hailed a cab. She told the driver to drop her off at the Madeleine, realizing that she would have time to slow down and walk to Dufour from there, sightseeing along the way. After she had paid the fare and walked for several blocks, she felt calm and relaxed, distracted by the sunlit boulevards. However, when she reached the intimidating gray stone facade of the auction house, she felt her pulse begin to race.
What have I gotten myself into? she asked herself. What is a simple jewelry designer with hardly a dime to her name—let alone the pedigrees of the bidders that will be in the auction room today—doing here? How could I have had the audacity to tell Hilton Whitehead that I could do this?
She walked up the limestone steps to the grand entrance, and strode into the building. She ignored the guards and the well-dressed people standing in small gaggles, chatting in soft voices, as if in a church. She went to the registration desk, where she picked up her paddle for bidding. Even the young lady behind the desk spoke in hushed tones. Vingt-neuf. Twenty-nine. The sibilant sounds of whispers followed her as she went to the elevator. Well, this was sort of a church, Allegra reminded herself, as she ascended to the auction room. A temple, if not to God, then to mammon. And this temple offered the closest thing to heaven that could be found on earth as far as its customers were concerned.
When she reached the auction room, she went straight in and walked down to the second row of folding seats that had been set up. She took a seat on the aisle. She was not going to allow the auctioneer to ignore her bids. She would be front and center, where she and her paddle couldn't be missed. There would be no excuse for overlooking her. Certainly not in front of a room full of curious people. And there would be a lot of curiosity. About everybody that bid today, of that she was certain. She shrugged out of her overcoat, leaving it on her shoulders, then loosened her scarf and removed her gloves. Glancing at her watch, she saw that the auction would begin in about five minutes.
God help me, she silently prayed. I've got to be successful. For Hilton Whitehead. For my business. And for myself.
Allegra's head was swimming, and her heart was beating rapidly. She felt her body stiffen with anxiety and made an effort to relax, but it was all she could do to maintain the carefully composed picture of cool reserve that she had adopted for the auction. Appearing to be a nonthreatening observer as opposed to a serious bidder was more difficult than she'd imagined. The auction audience, buyers and onlookers alike, was in an extremely excited state, loudly oohing, aahing, and gasping as prices climbed, and clapping enthusiastically when individual lots of the princess's jewelry were sold.
And sell they did. Lot after lot was auctioned off at a rapid-fire pace, usually taking no more than a minute to achieve an astronomical price and bring the suave auctioneer's hammer swinging down for a dramatic pound on the lectern. Not a single lot had gone unsold thus far, an auction world rarity, and Allegra was stunned by the prices that people were paying for jewels that were not necessarily very valuable.
Lot number sixteen, for example, was approximately fifteen tiny unset diamonds, worth no more than fifty dollars each, Allegra surmised, for a total value of approximately seven hundred fifty dollars. Dufour, clever salespeople that they were, had arranged the tiny stones on a piece of black velvet in the shape of a K, obviously for Princess Karima, and Allegra had watched in amazement as the bidding for them reached seventeen thousand dollars before the auctioneer swung his hammer high in the air and brought it down.
As lot number twenty-four, the emerald ring, approached, Allegra looked down at her watch. Not twenty minutes had yet passe
d, and she wished now that the ring had been later in the auction. Oh, well, she thought, it's better to get the suspense over with. She was practically sitting on the edge of her seat when the auctioneer announced lot twenty-four.
In French, he quickly informed the audience that the thirty-four-and-a- half-carat emerald had been a gift to the princess from her companion of many years, Stefano Donati. It was therefore, he summarized, one of the most important pieces of jewelry in the princess's collection. The bidding started at one million euros and, before Allegra knew what was happening in the lightninglike pace of bidding, had reached twenty million.
Suddenly she felt a cold sweat break out on her face and neck, and she realized that she'd better get in the game before it was over. She raised her black paddle with its white number twenty-nine high in the air and left it there unwavering. The auctioneer's eyes briefly made contact with hers before surveying the rest of the room in one swift appraisal. Allegra didn't follow his gaze, but kept her eyes glued to him, her paddle still unmoving. She couldn't see who else was bidding, or whether there were several bidders or a handful, but over the beating of her heart and the adrenaline that shot through every vein, she heard the auctioneer say, 'Trente. Do I have trente-cinq? Trente-cinq. Quarante. Quarante.'
For an instant his gaze caught hers, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.
'Quarante-cinq. Quarante-cinq.'
His eyes swept the room, and she saw him nod toward the tables of young ladies and gentlemen who were manning the telephones set up for call-in bidders. Gasps filled the room. Obviously someone had phoned in a bid of forty-five million euros.
Allegra nervously clenched her jaw and held her paddle with knuckles white and tight. It's got to end, she thought. It's got to. I can't stand the tension. Oh, God, help me.
The bidding abruptly slowed, and the auctioneer began to cajole the audience, using his considerable charm, accusing them of being too poor or too cheap to bid any higher. There was laughter around the room.
Then she heard, 'Quarante-six.' Soon followed by 'Quarante-sept.'
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