After meeting up with the women, they all walked over to Place Massena. When she caught sight of the Christmas market there, Kat’s jaw dropped.
From a distance she had spotted the large Ferris wheel, but the big surprise was the extent of the market. There was row upon row of wooden huts with peaked roofs, all decorated individually and offering an enormous selection of wares and food.
The women had no problem spending the entire morning choosing gifts and sampling crepes, gingerbread, and other treats, but the photo ops kept Katherine busier than the shopping, although she did pick up a few items to take along to Joy’s at Christmas.
When they stopped for a break in a small café, their conversation soon turned to Kat’s decision to remain in France. She appreciated their interest and the openness with which they talked about the obstacles they had discovered as they attempted to assimilate and build their lives here. Absorbing their words, Katherine was reminded there would be challenges ahead.
When it was time for lunch, there was consensus that they had nibbled on so many treats, they could not eat another morsel. Before wishing each other Joyeux Noël, they planned their next meet-up in January, and Kat eagerly noted the date in her calendar.
Strolling up to the Musée Chagall, Kat considered how fortunate she was to be part of such a diverse and welcoming group of women. She had never contemplated joining such a group when she was caught in the narrow valley of her life with James, and now she was aware of what she had missed for so many years.
The afternoon passed quickly at the gallery, even though she lingered at each piece of art. The impact of the large-scale paintings in the main salon was enhanced by the beauty of the building’s simple design.
She was particularly struck by Chagall’s homage to love, painted in bursts of passionate reds and pinks in his Song of Songs pieces. Looking at them was a spiritual experience for her now that her heart had been awakened. She had not visited the gallery since she had fallen in love with Philippe.
She wiped away tears more than once as she was drawn into Chagall’s celebration of love. The text that accompanied the art, along with the stirring Bach selections on the audio guide, enhanced the magic of the small hexagonal room where the paintings were hung. The evocative images and rich colors were a passionate marriage of the sacred and the sensual. His playful imagery praised the beauty of love and expressed his joie de vivre. Katherine sat there for some time, overwhelmed.
As she made her way back down through the lower part of the Cimiez district, heading toward Place Massena, she felt like she was floating on a cloud—until she became aware that someone was following her.
There had been a constant stream of pedestrians at first, so she had not noticed anything. Now, as she approached the busier streets under an overpass, she definitely had a sense of being shadowed. She had been looking around carefully before she crossed busy streets, and twice she caught a glimpse of someone ducking into a doorway or stopping to examine something on the ground. As much as she wanted to blame her imagination, she suddenly felt frightened.
On Avenue Jean Médecin, the main shopping street, a longer sideways glance when she paused to look in a store window told her she was being followed by Idelle’s loathsome companion.
Her pulse quickened. Something that felt like panic played with her thoughts for a moment as she considered what to do. Then she pulled out her phone, attempting to appear nonchalant.
Philippe was alarmed when she told him. “I will come to meet you right now,” he said. “Was he around all morning?”
“He wasn’t in the musée, because it was very quiet there today. I would have noticed him. How did he find me? Why is he doing this? What should I do?”
“Keep walking. I am already on my way. Try not to worry. I’ll call Thibideau to alert him about this.”
“Well, if the police are doing their job, he should already know.”
The street was busy now with pedestrians, and Kat began to feel calmer each time she looked around. She decided to play a game with her stalker by speeding up, then slowing down and stopping to look at window displays. She was determined to make his task as annoying as possible.
Her imagination raced as she considered turning into the enormous Nice Étoile shopping center and seeing if she could ditch him. Then she wondered if the undercover team watching her was watching him now too.
Philippe called back after a few minutes.
“They are on it, Kat. They’re watching him—and you. Thibideau said not to worry but he wants me to just wait at the bar, as we first planned. He suspects they are following you to find me, so I’m turning around now. You’ll be here soon. Reste calme.”
Kat described the game she was playing as she walked, and laughed a little nervously. Philippe failed to see the humor, and his voice echoed his concern. “Minou, just be careful. It’s not a game.”
“Well, now that I know he’s being watched, it almost feels like one. I’m not going to make it easy for him.”
Philippe asked her about the rest of her day and, happily engaged in conversation with him, Kat barely noticed when she turned onto one side street and then another. Still, she let out a sigh of relief as she shut her phone and stepped into Les Brasseries Georges, where Philippe was waiting.
He kissed Kat’s cheeks gently before her hands went to his face, and her lips delivered a passionate kiss that took him by surprise.
“That kind of kiss does not happen in public very often,” he laughed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She pulled him close and whispered that the kiss was thanks to Marc Chagall’s art. Then she added that Idelle’s repugnant companion had still been behind her as she turned down the street to the bar. “Hold me close and look over my shoulder. Can you spot him?”
He looked through the front window and saw the man she had described being frisked by police. “Mon Dieu! He does look vile. They have caught him already and have him up against a car. It must be an unmarked police car.”
Philippe held on to her tightly, reporting what he was seeing, until his cell phone rang. As he answered it, he pulled out a chair for Kat at the bar. She sat down and took a long swig of his pastis.
“That was Thibideau,” he said when he joined her. “We are to stay in Nice tonight and not go back to Antibes.”
Kat was feeling relieved to be with Philippe, but she still thought that this was a wise precaution. A minute later, after a nod from Philippe, a waiter led them to a quiet corner of the bar, where they settled on a soft leather banquette and tried to collect themselves. Philippe ordered her a pastis and then called the Hôtel Beau Rivage, a quick walk from there on La Prom, to make a reservation.
“This is turning into quite a date night,” he said. “I’ll call Gilles right now to let him know he’ll be opening the shop tomorrow.”
Now she was safe, the scare she’d had caught up with her and her hand shook as she picked up her glass. She said, “You know, part of me wanted to confront that sleazy guy and give him a swift kick! I really felt I could do it.”
Philippe was angry that Kat had been targeted once again. He fumed for several minutes before she convinced him she was fine and thankful the police were doing their job. “Maybe this means the situation will be all over with soon,” she said.
“Every time I think about this, I have to shake my head. I still find it hard to believe that we are involved with drug dealers. There are moments when it’s frightening and others when it seems like we are dealing with petty thieves. It’s quite a roller coaster.”
After some conjecture as to what the police were doing, Kat changed the topic completely. Placing her fingers lightly on Philippe’s cheek, she described her emotional response at the museum.
“It was magical, truly magical, thanks to the love you have brought into my life.”
“The next time we will go together—and
not have it spoiled like today.”
At seven p.m., they rang the bell to Véronique and David’s pied-à-terre in the Old Town and then climbed the steep stairs to the second floor. They still felt somewhat shaken about everything, but were looking forward to the evening.
“It will be just the diversion we need,” Kat said.
“I’m not certain I’m looking forward to the skating,” Philippe said, shooting her an accusatory look. “Whose bright idea was that?”
Kat said nothing. She was too busy looking around the ancient stairwell. “What character! It’s just like their place in Entrevaux—mysterious and intriguing.”
Philippe laughed“To me it’s just another old building in need of repair, but to you it’s magical. I like that.”
Véronique greeted them, with her husband close behind. David extended his hand to Philippe and bised Katherine.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you both,” he said, his friendly voice booming as he took their coats. “Welcome to our humble abode.”
They were in a large drawing room with fifteen-foot ceilings, elaborate crown moldings and three sets of French doors in one wall that lead out to a terrace. The room functioned as a livingdining area, and there was an elegantly screened alcove to one side, which Véronique told them was the sleeping area. Kat could see no sign of a kitchen.
Standing at an ornately carved bar tucked in one corner, David filled champagne flutes that Katherine recognized as the distinctive Biot glassware she was collecting. He set them on a tray beside bite-size toasts topped with foie gras, and added a small bowl of Niçoise olives.
“How does this sound?” he asked in a voice that still betrayed his Boston roots. “We’ll go skating first and then come back for dinner.”
“Speaking of dinner,” Kat said, “where on earth do you cook here?”
Véronique was clear in her response. “I don’t.”
David laughed and nodded. “She’s not allowed to cook! It’s a family rule . . . although she certainly pitched in when the children were young, make no mistake! But really, it’s my domain. Look.”
He led them to a panel on the far side of the room, that turned out to be a pocket door. He opened the door to reveal the smallest yet best-equipped galley kitchen imaginable.
“I just keep the panel open when we’re here alone and . . . voilà . . . as good a kitchen as anywhere. When we have company, it simply disappears.”
Kat gasped in amazement at the versatility of design used in transforming the centuries-old spaces. “There are always surprises!” She hoped the day would come soon when she and Philippe would have their chance and refused to believe the dream would die.
They chatted easily for a while before heading out. Philippe gently squeezed Kat’s hand when he noticed her looking around nervously.
“I’m sure everything is fine now, chérie. We are in good hands.”
Kat found it hard to quell her anxiety as they walked to Place Massena. But they were soon lacing up skates under the twinkling fairy lights strung around the ice rink, and her mood lightened. The squeals of delight from skaters and spectators of all ages filled the air.
Kat and Philippe rented their skates, while Véronique and David had their own.
“Skating is something we have done as a family since David first taught me in America,” Véronique explained. “He still plays hockey once a week with ‘the guys’ in an expat league where you have to be over sixty years old.”
“We started playing together when we were all in our thirties,” David said. “We’ve lost a few along the way, but most have hung in. It’s an addictive sport.”
“When they began playing hockey, they called themselves the Yankee Clippers—”
David interrupted, with a loud chuckle, “And now we are the Yankee Old Farts.”
Philippe looked puzzled, and Véronique told David he would have to do the explaining, which he did, accompanied by much laughter from the others.
“I have a confession,” Philippe told them. “I have never been on skates before.”
Kat was surprised “You didn’t say ‘never’ before.”
Flashing her a grin, he confidently stepped onto the ice. He had barely finished saying “On y va!” when his feet slipped in different directions and, arms flailing, he fell on his butt.
Kat burst into laughter. Unable to stop, she barely made it to the railing around the rink and came perilously close to falling herself. After David helped him up, Philippe steadied himself beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she gulped between snorts. “Are you okay? I should have warned you . . . and I shouldn’t be laughing . . . but . . .”
Philippe was laughing too.
Brushing off his jeans, he said. “I thought I could just step out on the ice and glide off. Mon Dieu! My feet were completely out of control.”
David gave him a few tips about how to stay vertical, then the two women each took one of his arms, and they slowly began again.
The threesome came close to collapsing in a heap a few times as Philippe’s slipping and sliding threw them all off balance, but gradually he began to get the feel of it.
They skated for an hour in the festive ambiance of the area. The large Ferris wheel glowed like an enormous Christmas decoration, and the lineup to ride on it was steadily lengthened by people who had finished sauntering through the market area. The now familiar aromas of mulled wine and roasting chestnuts filled the air. The air was crisp, but the temperature was above freezing and skating kept them warm.
Kat and Philippe soon were able to skate together, with just the odd wobble. David and Véronique glided around arm in arm, their affection obvious as they paused from time to time under a mistletoe bunch.
The two couples stopped at an espresso bar before strolling back to the apartment for an appetizing coq au vin, which Véronique wholly credited to her husband.
Over dinner, David entertained them with tales of Véronique’s early days in the States, when they were first dating, and then followed up with stories about his transition to living in France.
“Katherine, you need to know that starting over in a new country with a foreign language to master isn’t always going to be easy. No matter how much in love you are with Philippe and France, be prepared for some challenges—and always, I repeat, always maintain your sense of humor.”
“I had the same issues to deal with during the years I spent in America,” Véronique said. “That’s the price we pay for these amorous adventures—but look at the rewards.”
On that note David and Philippe high-fived, and they all decided it was time to call it a night.
The pleasure of the evening began to fade even as Kat and Philippe strolled the few blocks to the hotel. The distraction had been welcome, but now their thoughts turned back to the menace they were facing, and their mood became somber as they speculated about what might be happening.
“Let’s hope it all ends soon,” Kat said. Philippe was grimly silent.
20
At seven o’clock the next morning, Philippe’s cell phone rang. It was Inspecteur Thibideau. From Kat’s perspective, the call consisted of Philippe nodding his head and saying only a few words.
When he hung up, he said, “Ça marche—there’s been some progress. Arresting the guy you refer to as ‘the slimeball’ paid off. He’s a little minnow in a large pond, and to save his own skin he confirmed what the police already suspected. As you say, he sang like un oiseau—a bird, oui? They could not have asked for better luck. Now they can proceed with the plan they have been working on for a while.”
“I can’t believe it,” Kat said. “I just can’t believe we are involved in this. But what would they charge him with when he was just following me?”
“Apparently they discovered he had drugs on his person. I have an idea the police had something to do with pu
tting them there, but that’s just a guess.”
Kat shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
“Curiously,” Philippe said, “someone on the Cap is helping them with the surveillance of the cove. That would mean someone is on or near our property. Imagine! Thibideau wants to see us to talk about it, and a driver is waiting outside now. I’m sorry.”
He had been pacing the room as he spoke but now sat beside her on the bed and took her hand. “You will have to identify Monsieur Slimy in a parade d’identificaton. Is that upsetting?”
Kat flopped back on the pillows. “You mean a lineup? Unbelievable! Incroyable!”
Philippe pulled her up and hugged her tightly. “We will have our lives back before too long.”
Kat left his arms and moved over to the window, threw open the shutters, and hollered to the world, “We will have our lives back again! Philippe promised!”
Turning to Philippe, she said, “I needed to do that just to believe what you said is true. I can’t help feeling we’re in a movie.”
Philippe nodded. “It’s only been six weeks since they left the note, but it seems like forever. What we didn’t know is that this investigation has been going on for years. They just couldn’t get a fix on Dimitri after he and Idelle left their home in the north, until we got in on the act. It’s going to be interesting to hear what the inspecteur has to tell us.”
“I keep wondering how this kind of drama—and danger—can happen to people who have what we think of as normal lives. But I know it does, only too well. Molly’s brother was involved with drugs and a lot of very sketchy characters for years.”
Philippe nodded. “You told me all about that and Molly’s futile commitment to helping him.”
“And do you remember me mentioning Lucy, a friend in Toronto from my former job?”
Philippe nodded again.
“One time she was off work for a few days. When she returned, she told us that one of her cousins had been involved in a drug gang—there are a few of them in Toronto—and ended up being shot to death. Her entire family was under investigation for weeks and it was, for her, simply surreal. He had seemed to be a quiet university student. No one knew he was a major player in the gang.”
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