A poor artist who wore a Rolex watch and used a Lalique dove figurine for a paperweight, Caitlin noticed. She glanced around the office at the wine-colored carpet and beige drapes that formed a soothing background for the starkly modeled pine furniture. An Erte painting in tones of black, gold, and rose occupied the west wall. Situated against the wall facing her was a six-foot lighted glass collector’s case containing row upon row of antique scent bottles. She had tried to get a closer look at the case when she had come into the office, but LeClerc had seated them immediately.
Alex smiled and leaned forward in his chair. “We’re here to convince you how practical it would be to put off your other commissions and take on ours.” Alex smiled. “If the money is insufficient, we—”
“The money is extraordinary,” LeClerc interrupted. “But I have no time for new projects. I’m working on a package for Coty and after that I’ve promised to consider a project for Guerlain. After all, I can’t create a design out of thin air. It requires inspiration. I believe we’re both wasting our time.”
For once, Alex wasn’t reaching his goal. LeClerc was going to refuse them. Even though the result of the interview had been evident for some minutes, Caitlin still felt a sharp pang of disappointment. LeClerc was truly the best.
Her desperate glance went again to the scent bottles in the display case across the room. If only she could examine the bottles at closer range.
Alex was saying, “I’m not asking you to give up Coty. Just let us have—”
“Monsieur LeClerc,” Caitlin interrupted Alex. She gestured to the case across the room. “Please, may I take a closer look?”
Both men turned to her in surprise.
“I’m sorry.” Caitlin rose to her feet, her gaze on the case across the room. “You go on with your discussion. I’ll only . . .” She trailed off as she moved across the office to stand before the lighted case. There it was! Shimmering under the lights with blue fire.
“I apologize for the interruption, Monsieur LeClerc. I’m afraid my partner is mad about antiques.” Caitlin could tell Alex wasn’t pleased with her, and for an instant she felt a twinge of guilt before she dismissed it. LeClerc wasn’t buying the deal, and she had to do something.
“I’m flattered she considers my collection so fascinating. I’m very proud of it.” LeClerc rose and followed Caitlin to the case. “I’ve been acquiring those pieces since I was a boy. Not many people realize what artistry is required to create a scent bottle.” He pointed to a ceramic castle complete with embattlements and chimneys. “That’s an incense burner, the scent drifts up from the chimneys.” He pointed to a small pottery vase. “And that ointment jar was found in the tomb of an Egyptian queen.”
“And this one?” Caitlin pointed to the silver container resting on the third shelf of the case whose stopper was a large pear-shaped sapphire.
LeClerc smiled. “You have good taste. I finally managed to acquire that beauty two years ago at an auction.” He made a face. “I would have been glad to have your money then. It cost me over a year’s work. It belonged to—”
“Marie Antoinette,” Caitlin finished for him, still staring at the bottle. “But there was another scent bottle with a ruby stopper in the set, wasn’t there?”
LeClerc went still. “It was lost, undoubtedly stolen, when the National Guard took the queen from Versailles to Paris. How did you know of the other scent bottle? You’re a collector, mademoiselle?”
Caitlin shook her head. “I read about your acquisition in a magazine and I have a personal interest in this particular bottle.”
Alex was suddenly standing by them at the case. “Jean Marc Andreas, Caitlin?”
She should have known Alex would remember every detail of what she had related to him of the contents of Catherine’s journal. “I think so. It exactly fits the description in the journal.”
LeClerc said, “The scent bottles were supposed to have been given to Marie Antoinette by her brother Joseph.”
Caitlin grinned as she shook her head. “And no doubt the double royalty gave the bottle an extra cachet that sent the price soaring.”
“You seem very certain.” LeClerc looked intrigued. “I’m sure you are aware that one of the joys of collecting is knowing every historical detail pertaining to one’s treasures.”
“I’m not absolutely sure it’s the same bottle. How can I be?” Caitlin asked quietly. “But it fits the description of my scent bottle.”
“And you knew there were two bottles.” LeClerc studied her thoughtfully. “You truly know the history of this bottle?”
“Oh, yes. It was filled with rose perfume from Vasaro.” She smiled. “And though it wasn’t given to the queen by Joseph, I believe you’d find the real story much more fascinating.”
“The auctioneer said rosewater was the queen’s favorite perfume,” LeClerc murmured.
Caitlin nodded. “Though she did like violet almost as well.”
LeClerc smiled. “I think we must talk. Will you and Monsieur Karazov join me for lunch?”
His thin face was alive with eagerness, and Caitlin felt hope springing again. Due to luck or coincidence or some wild quirk of destiny, they were going to get another chance with LeClerc.
Find out what they want and give it to them.
But not before you get what you want for yourself.
Caitlin glanced at Alex to find him gazing at her with a faint, speculative smile.
She turned back to LeClerc. “I really believe we’d better complete our discussion regarding the packaging of Vasaro first.” Caitlin smiled sweetly. “I believe you will like the scent.”
Three hours later LeClerc had agreed to do all possible to furnish them with a preliminary prototype for the packaging of Vasaro within thirty days.
Two weeks later Caitlin swept into the study where Alex was studying Peter’s photographs of the Wind Dancer that had arrived the day before. He glanced up in mock alarm and made a big show of hastily covering the photographs with his arms. “Don’t kill me. I was only looking.”
“You won’t find anything. I checked those pictures yesterday when they came in the mail. They’re even worse than the holograph.” She frowned. “I called Peter yesterday and told him that it was ridiculous he hasn’t sent me the translation of the journal yet.”
“Again?”
She looked sheepish. “It’s only the third time I phoned.” When he continued to look at her with raised brows, she muttered, “Well, maybe the fourth.” She rushed on. “But half the time I only got to talk to the answering machine. If Peter isn’t stalling, then the person who’s doing the translation is taking his money and not giving him an honest day’s work. We wouldn’t tolerate that at Vasaro. A day’s wages earns a day’s work.”
“And did you tell Peter your work ethic?”
“I told him to get that translator off his ass and into gear.”
Alex chuckled. “And Peter replied?”
“He made soothing noises at me.” She made a face at him. “I can’t help it if I’m a little overeager. I’ve studied the Wind Dancer so long, he’s become a part of my life.” She shrugged. “That’s not what I came to talk about. I’ve canceled your arrangements to have the party for Chelsea at the Ritz,” she announced. “I’ve found a better place.”
Alex frowned as he pushed the photographs aside. “Are you crazy? Dammit, there is no better place. The Ritz is the place to give a party in Paris.”
“I found a better place.” Caitlin dropped down in the chair across the desk and grinned at him. “Guess where?”
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and she was so disarmingly childlike he found his annoyance ebbing away. “The Eiffel Tower?”
“Definitely déclassé. Anyone can have a party at the Eiffel Tower.”
“A bateau-mouche on the Seine.”
She shook her head. “Even worse.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Versailles.”
He shook his head. “It’s impossible. The palace is
a historical monument.”
“It’s possible. I did it.” Her gray-green eyes were shimmering with excitement. “I asked myself, what place would draw the most important people to a party?”
He carefully kept his smile from appearing indulgent. “And you answered?”
“The Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.” Her slim, nervous hands linked together on her lap. “So I checked into it and I found that though it was rare, permission was occasionally given to use the hall for a diplomatic party or—”
“You really got it?”
She nodded. “I called Jonathan and asked him to twist a few arms with some high-level types in the government and then I went to see the historical preservation people and offered them a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bond to guarantee nothing would happen to any of the antiques. Naturally, we’ll have to take out the candelabras and put down carpets over the wood floors, but I think—why are you laughing?”
“I was thinking how nice it was of you to consult me before offering five hundred thousand dollars of my money.”
Her eyes widened in distress. “You’re not angry. It’s only a bond and it’s Versailles, Alex.”
He shook his head, a smile still lingering on his lips. “I’m not angry. I’m very proud of you.”
The pink deepened in her cheeks. “I’m proud of myself. I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. A month ago I don’t think I would have even tried.” She unfolded her hands and smoothed her skirt. “I’ve always been . . . I’m not good at this kind of thing.”
“You keep saying that. Have you ever thought the reason that you haven’t been good is that you haven’t tried? The way to gain confidence at anything is to do it and then do it again until you get it right. Another two months and you’ll probably be—”
“With the grace of le bon Dieu in another two months I’ll be back at Vasaro, where I belong.” Then she nodded thoughtfully. “But you may be right. Lately, I’ve felt—” She hesitated, searching for words. “Like I’m exploding inside, as if every day I’m learning—” She broke off and shook her head. “I don’t know.” She jumped to her feet and moved toward the door. “I’ve got to start making lists and you must call a lawyer and make sure we get the proper signatures guaranteeing the rental.”
“Oui, mademoiselle.”
She stopped at the door and smiled cheekily at him. “I have found out one thing. I learn very fast, Alex.”
A moment later the door closed behind her, but Alex didn’t immediately pick up the telephone to call the attorney. Caitlin did learn fast, and he knew what she meant about the changes she was experiencing. For the past two weeks he had watched her evolve, grow. She had gained confidence, lost inhibitions, become bolder. He didn’t flatter himself it had anything to do with their personal relationship. Hope aided growth in wonderful and miraculous ways, and Caitlin was glowing, blossoming in its sunlight. He had found himself watching, anticipating, waiting for the next change to occur.
He suddenly pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. To hell with the lawyer and Caitlin’s lists. The sun was bright and this was Paris. He and Caitlin would go for a walk by the Seine and he would see if he could coax another mischievous smile from her like the one she had tossed at him before she walked out of the study.
Caitlin was gone again.
And Alex knew exactly where she could be found.
He shook his head resignedly as he gazed at the empty pillow before he threw back the covers and got out of bed. He shrugged into his robe in passing and padded barefoot from the room.
A moment later he was walking swiftly down the stairs toward the foyer. For God’s sake, it was four o’clock in the morning. It wasn’t enough that Caitlin had been driving herself from dawn to dusk completing plans for the party at Versailles the following week. She had to creep down to the study in the middle of the night to stare at those damn pictures like a besotted groupie ogling a Mick Jagger poster. He strode across the foyer and threw open the door of the study.
Caitlin looked up, startled. She wore her full white pique robe, and with her face scrubbed to glowing cleanliness, she looked like a guilty child.
“Bed,” he ordered. “Now.” He crossed the study in three strides, took the magnifying glass from her hand, and tossed it on the desk. “You told me yourself you had an appointment with the caterers at ten this morning.”
“I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t tired enough. I’m used to more physical labor than this.”
And the nervous energy always electrifying Caitlin had needed an outlet. “I can see that working in the fields would exercise a few more muscles than scavenging in those decorator rental houses all over Paris.” His lips twisted. “So you decided to creep down here and stare at those pictures of the Wind Dancer again. This is the third time this week.”
She blinked. “I didn’t think you knew I was gone.”
“I knew.” He looked down at the dozen eight-by-ten glossies of the statue on the blotter. “You said these were less than useless.”
“They aren’t the same ones. This batch arrived two days ago.”
“Any value?”
“They’re better than nothing. I thought they might spark something.”
“Exhaustion?”
“I told you I wasn’t tired.”
“Perhaps not physically, but your nerves are drawn taut as violin strings.”
“Maybe.” She wearily rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t know. I’m probably just tired of waiting. I need the journal.”
He came around the desk and half sat, half leaned against it as he looked down at her. “You keep saying that. What’s so important about the journal?”
He expected her to evade the question as she usually did any queries about the Wind Dancer, but after a moment’s hesitation she said, “The Andreas family has always been fanatically careful about not revealing the contents of Caterina’s journal to outsiders. The closest they came was the book by Lily Andreas, and even that was very general.”
“Yet you did a paper titled ‘The Wind Dancer in History.’ ”
“Rumors, legends, a few documented accounts from German officers who served in the regiment that protected the Wind Dancer for Hitler. But I wasn’t able to unearth any details about the origin.” She nibbled at her lower lip. “As far as public record is concerned, the first mention of the Wind Dancer is at Troy, when Andros fled the city by a secret tunnel with the statue and a woman believed to be Helen.”
“Andros?”
“The first Andreas. He was supposed to have been a sea raider who had been captured by the Trojans and was being held prisoner when the war broke out between Troy and Greece.”
“A Greek?”
“I don’t know. If he was, I would have thought he would have been put to death during the siege. Paradignes, the king’s brother, gave Andros the statue and showed him the way to escape the city.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” She couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice. “There are so many questions that are unanswered.”
“They may not be answered in the journal either, Caitlin,” Alex said gently.
“But I’ll have a chance.”
“You’re acting as if it’s a matter of life or death. And you say I’m curious.”
She shook her head. “It’s not curiosity. It’s—” She broke off and lowered her gaze. Then she said in a rush, “He’s trying to tell me something.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She grimaced. “Now you think I’m mad.”
“Completely folle.”
“That’s why I don’t talk about it.” She kept her gaze fastened on the photographs. “I first saw a picture of the Wind Dancer when I was eight years old. It was in that Lily Andreas book you saw on my shelf in the perfumery. For a while I carried that book around everywhere with me. I didn’t want it out of my sight. It meant something to me, Alex.”
“A Pegasus is a fairy-tale creature. It would have c
aptured the imagination of any child.” Particularly a child as neglected by her parents as Caitlin had obviously been. “A flying horse that could take you away to the stars.”
“No, that wasn’t it. It was . . . it was as if we had a secret no one else knew.” She shook her head helplessly. “Only I don’t know it yet either.” She lifted her gaze to meet his own. “But he wants me to know his secret. He wants me to be the one to find out—” She stopped, searching for words.
“What?”
“Don’t you see? The Wind Dancer has been regarded as an object of power by some of the most brilliant leaders in history. There had to be a reason for them to feel like that.”
“It’s very valuable. Priceless objects are often looked upon with reverence and almost religious awe.”
“No, it’s more—” Her eyes were suddenly shining brilliantly in the lamplight. “Oh, I’m not saying it was put on earth by aliens from outer space or that it’s some sort of religious symbol. But it exists, someone created it, and there has to be a reason for it to have such an effect on all of us. The inscription means something.”
“A recipe for chopped—” He stopped the flippant response in midsentence as he saw her expression. After months of silence on the subject she was at last talking to him and deserved better. “Time for bed.” He straightened away from the desk and pulled her to her feet. “You can sneak down here to study those pictures another time. The Wind Dancer has been around for thousands of years. I think we can assume it will be around tomorrow.”
She sighed. “You do think I’m crazy.”
“No.” He feathered a kiss on her temple as he propelled her toward the door of the study. “I believe you have an idiosyncrasy I have trouble accepting. But since Alexander the Great reputedly had the same quirk about the Wind Dancer, I can hardly criticize you.”
“You don’t believe it’s possible. I didn’t think you would.”
“I can’t believe what you believe. I didn’t grow up bedazzled by a statue or running through fields of flowers. My world has always been founded on hard, cold logic.” He stopped at the foot of the curving staircase and touched the side of her throat with two gentle fingers. “But I want to believe you. Prove it to me. Show me, Caitlin.”
Reap the Wind Page 17
