“Oui, monsieur.”
Marc slipped his phone back in his pocket, a pleased smile on his face. Mentioning auction houses and internships the other night had been a stroke of genius. Of course he’d be happy to spend more time with Sophie, under the guise of evaluating her knowledge of art. Sera didn’t have a chance of winning.
“So who is this young woman?” the baroness called from her seat. Marc chuckled.
“An art history student I met last week,” he replied. “Were you eavesdropping?”
He heard the baroness laugh and he came around a draped mirror to face her.
“Of course I was. It gets rather dull here, with just Cyril and the staff.” She smiled. “Is this young thing your girlfriend? I’m assuming not. Actually, I’m rather surprised that you’re still unmarried, Mr. Perron. Don’t these Parisian girls know what a catch you are?”
“I haven’t let myself be caught.” He winked at her.
“Then I do have a chance,” the baroness teased. “I always wanted a young boy toy. Will you let this young lady catch you?”
Marc laughed. “Perhaps I’ll catch her instead.”
The baroness seemed satisfied with his answer. “Good.”
“I have time to look at a couple more items and then I’ll have to get a taxi back to St. Pancras,” Marc said as he stepped around the mirror. He moved over to a large piece looming to one side and pulled the dust cloths off a beautiful old wardrobe that still maintained a sense of grace in its old age, much like the baroness herself. He opened one door and then the other. Aside from the faint smell of mothballs, the piece was intact. He pulled out his phone and took several photos for reference. The wardrobe might not fetch much at auction, but he knew that several of his clients had an eye for such pieces.
As he backed up to frame his last photo, he bumped against the hard edge of a table under a drop cloth. He took the last photo of the wardrobe’s exterior, slipping the phone back into the pocket of his blazer. He tugged the cloth off the table. Mahogany wood glimmered in the dim light, but his gaze was drawn by the Phrygian marble tabletop, purple with greyish crystalline streaks. He took out his phone again. It wasn’t a large table—it may have been one of a pair once upon a time—but it was over two hundred years old with no discernible flaws. He returned to the baroness after taking photos from every angle.
“Madame, you have some treasures up here you’ve kept hidden away.” He smiled. “Do you know the provenance of the marble-topped side table?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I could dig out the old records. I think it was purchased at auction some time ago. Why, is it valuable?”
“With more information to verify its age and origins, you could expect ₤60,000 at auction.”
“That’s incredible.” The baroness clapped her hands together. “And to think that it’s been up here all this time.”
“I can’t guarantee the price until I know its history,” Marc told her, helping her to her feet. “With your permission, I’d like to send a local colleague of mine to look into it further.”
“Have your man call and we shall arrange a suitable time.” The baroness clung to his arm as they walked and it was apparent she was tiring. “We’ll just make a turn here,” she indicated a hallway stretching along the second floor, “as I should rest. It’s hard for me to go up all those steps.”
“Of course, Madame.” Marc escorted the baroness to her door. “Should I send up anyone to assist you?”
“No, thank you. But do let Cyril know I’ll be resting, will you?”
Marc gave her a nod that was very nearly a bow. “It has been a pleasure, Madame.”
She gave him an indulgent smile. “Oh to be young again,” she said wistfully. “Good afternoon, Mr. Perron.”
Marc waited until her door had closed before he strode swiftly down the hallway and back to the main floor. He found Cyril clearing the remainder of their tea from the parlor. When Cyril saw the baroness was absent, he nodded to himself.
“She’s resting?” he inquired.
“Yes, and she asked me to let you know. Also, my local consultant will be calling in the next few days to arrange a full appraisal of a table in the attic and to catalogue anything else that could be of value at auction. I expect the baroness will have the table put up for sale, though we’ll need to know its history.”
“She’ll want to look at the old records later then,” Cyril remarked. “I’ll make sure to lay them out in the study for her.” He set down the tray he’d been polishing. “Shall I show you out, sir?”
“No thank you, Cyril. I’ll show myself out.”
Marc left the manse and flagged down a taxi. He checked his watch. He had just over an hour before he had to be at the train but he was eager to return to Paris. Sophie waited, as did Sera. He leaned forward.
“St. Pancras,” he told the driver. It would be an easier journey home, not having to worry about the chance of security discovering the Degas. He tapped his fingers against the seat of the black cab. Something had to be done about Bates. The man wasn’t nearly as trustworthy as Royale had made him out to be.
His phone buzzed again with a call from Bates, but he ignored it.
Mechanical problems with the train delayed Marc’s return to Paris, so he entered Le Chat Rouge only an hour or two before closing. While he’d been waiting, he thought about seeing Sera again, hearing her sing. Even if she didn’t want him, he could listen to her, pretend she was still his. Except it was too late; her set would have finished over an hour earlier.
No one manned the door and he slipped in unnoticed until he reached the bar.
“What can I get you?” Edouard braced his hands on the bar. His tie was slightly crooked and his black waistcoat had a dusty smudge along one edge.
“Whiskey, neat.”
“You missed the music,” Edouard remarked, reaching for a tumbler on the shelf behind him. “Sera was fantastic.”
“Is she here?” Marc leaned on the bar, one foot on the low brass rail that ran the length at the bottom. Edouard set his drink on the bar and Marc pulled out his wallet, laying a bill on the polished wood.
“She’s sitting down near the stage.”
Marc started away, but then stopped when Edouard continued.
“But she’s not alone.”
“Anyone I know?” he asked casually.
“He’s not a regular. I’ve only seen him come round in the last couple of weeks.” Edouard took his time putting away the clean glasses. “I think they’re a couple.”
“Really?” Marc took a sip of his whiskey, watching Edouard shift on his feet. The alcohol didn’t take the edge off and he had to concentrate on keeping his body relaxed, his fingers loose around the glass. “Now I’m curious.”
Taking his drink, he walked over to the rail, stopping next to a couple having an animated conversation. At first he didn’t see her, but she turned her head and the flash of her pale cheek caught his attention. The man accompanying her sat mostly in shadow, but he seemed familiar. Marc leaned forward and so did the man, catching Sera’s hand in a casual, intimate gesture that had Marc gritting his teeth in frustration. It should be him sitting there, not—was that Royale’s hit man?
Marc nearly dropped his drink over the rail. Fury coursed through him. She would pick Jeremy Gordon over him? He focused on her. She looked relaxed, sipping her champagne, conversing. He watched Jeremy bend his head closer to Sera, to whisper something in her ear. She turned in her seat and looked up. At him.
Marc held her gaze, watching as her smile faded. So that’s how she felt about him. He glanced at Jeremy and found the man smirking, almost laughing. The bastard. Marc let a pleasant expression linger on his face. He wouldn’t give Jeremy the satisfaction of reacting, or Sera the knowledge that she’d hurt him. But before he left, he met Sera’s gaze. All amusement had fled her features and she looked at him with sad, shamed eyes. He didn’t want to feel any sympathy for her, but it twanged in the back of his mind. Marc retur
ned to the bar, pausing to down the rest of his whiskey. He wouldn’t stay, but he couldn’t leave without making certain of her safety.
“Keep an eye on her,” he told Edouard, who nodded. He left his empty glass on the bar and walked out.
Thirteen days remained.
Chapter 11
Sera wished she had cancelled on Colette and Sophie this afternoon. Meeting Sophie for coffee had seemed like such a good idea yesterday, but now she wanted to curl up in bed and ignore the entire world until she was forced to go to work. Her body ached under the clothes she wore; her black shirt hid the marks from Jeremy’s belt where he’d struck her. Unlike with Marc, the pain had hardly aroused her. Not that Jeremy had seemed to notice.
Her steps slowed. Marc. She hadn’t expected him last night; he should have been in London. But instead, he’d seen her with Jeremy. She paused on the corner at the Place des Abbesses, waiting for the light to change. Both men were a means to an end, but it hurt more to see Marc there, disgusted with her. She didn’t want him to matter.
“Sera!”
She lifted her head. Colette crossed the street towards her and she was enfolded in her perfumed arms.
“Are you all right?” Colette pulled back and looked closely at her, gently touching her pale face.
“Fine, just tired,” she fibbed. Colette gave her a skeptical glance but didn’t press further.
“We’re going to be late meeting Sophie if we don’t hurry,” she said, hooking Sera’s arm in hers and shepherding them down the street.
“How was your audition?” Sera asked as they turned onto the Rue des Abbesses.
“They’ll call me.” Colette sighed. “But it is Huis Clos—I’d love to be in it. Victoire would be happy, and so would Lise. It’s better than working at a bar.” They turned the next corner and hurried down the street. Sera glimpsed Sophie just ahead at the café on the corner of Rue Audran, pulling out a chair. She waved.
“You made it.” Sophie gave them a big smile. For a moment Sera felt a twinge of guilt for making her the target of her wager with Marc.
“Of course,” Colette replied.
“Have you been working on your thesis?” Sera asked. Before Sophie could answer, a waiter came to take their order. Sophie and Colette ordered café crèmes, but Sera didn’t feel like coffee. “Tea, with milk.”
“Today’s my day off. I’ve been working all week.” Sophie stretched. “I needed to get away from the computer and out into the sun.”
“You’ve been holed up all this time? What a shame.” Colette shook her head.
“Not quite all week. I went out yesterday for awhile and Edouard and I went to a few museums on Thursday.” The waiter brought their drinks and Sophie took a cautious sip of the hot coffee. “I’m sure he’s going to get sick of going with me.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“And anyway, better that you’re with Edouard instead of Marc,” Colette added. Sophie looked perplexed.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Sera sat back in her chair. She hadn’t even had to ask Colette to bring up the subject. It was perfect. She glanced at her watch. Soon it would be better still.
“I noticed he was flirting with you at dinner,” Colette continued, pausing only to dump two cubes of sugar into her coffee and stir. “He’ll be after you for a week or two, but as soon as you’ve given in, he’ll drop you and move onto the next woman that catches his attention.”
“But he seemed so sincere.”
“He is sincere,” Sera replied. “But it won’t last.” Marc just wasn’t the type.
“And Sera would know.” Colette looked ready to start on a long rant. Sophie sat forward, curious yet horrified. “He dropped her to sleep with some floozy, and this after they’d been together for ages. How long was it, Sera? You’d already been with him when I met you.”
“Five years.” She didn’t want to think about it, but the memory was almost as vivid as if it had been yesterday. After his mother’s death, Marc had become distant, not like himself. That he slept with someone else…it was only the last gasp of what they had.
“Five. Years. And he threw it all away,” Colette emphasized.
“What happened? You and he seem friendly now.” Sophie turned her coffee cup in its saucer.
“We are,” Sera told her. More than friends, but less than lovers. She never knew how to explain it, so she didn’t try. “But it wasn’t always like that.”
“You’re more forgiving than I’d ever be,” Colette remarked. “I still can’t believe you invited him to dinner.”
“Why not?”
“You hadn’t seen him in ages.” Colette looked at Sophie. “I hoped that he would have vanished off the face of the earth.”
“He came to the club. I couldn’t not invite him.”
“Edouard told me that he hardly ever performs,” Sophie said. “I thought he’d be a professional musician instead of an art dealer.”
“He loves his money too much,” Colette said.
“It was so romantic. You should have been there,” Sophie told Colette. “Sera sang and he played, and the song was like nothing I’ve ever heard.”
“It sounds like he’s pursuing you again, Sera,” Colette said. “I hope you told him where to go.”
“More politely than that,” Sera said, “but yes, I did.”
“And I bet he was disappointed. He’s so used to getting his way.”
Sera sighed. “He’s not all bad,” she couldn’t help saying. Colette snorted. Sera turned her head, looking down the street. A familiar figure caught her eye and she looked at her watch surreptitiously. When he came nearer, Sophie grinned and Colette threw Sera a knowing glance.
“Might I join you ladies?” Edouard asked cheerily, settling into the chair next to Sophie before they could say a word.
“Of course you can,” Colette replied. “Maybe we should leave you and Sophie alone.”
Edouard chuckled and leaned in to kiss Sophie. She squeezed his hand. “Don’t leave on my account,” he said.
“I thought you were working today,” Sophie said, a soft smile on her face.
“I am, but not until a bit later. I only have the short shift. Do you want to come to the club? We could do something afterwards.”
“I should do some work tonight,” Sophie replied reluctantly. Edouard’s grin faltered. “But why don’t you come by my place when you’re done? We could watch a movie.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come by the club?” he asked. “You could hear Sera and the band, and have a drink. Maybe Marc would play again.”
“I thought he was in London,” Sophie replied.
“He was back last night,” Sera remarked, “but I doubt he’ll be there. Did he tell you about his trip?”
“His assistant mentioned it.”
“You met Fournier?” It seemed Sophie was more involved than Sera had first thought. Had Marc brought her to his office? How far had he gone?
“He was awfully flamboyant. You should have seen what he was wearing!” Sophie giggled again.
“Knowing Fournier, it was probably a glittery cravat,” Sera replied.
“Worse. He had that and his suit had shiny gold pinstripes. I’ve never seen such a thing.”
“Did Marc ask you to stop in?” Colette inquired. She always got to the heart of the matter.
“I had his card and I was nearby. I wanted to ask him about some museums, and if he could recommend a few places to apply for a job.”
“He probably knows more than most,” Edouard remarked with a grin. “Too bad he wasn’t around.”
Sera noticed Sophie relax as soon as she’d seen Edouard unworried by her actions. That didn’t bode well. Marc had had an effect on her.
“I’ll have to ask him when I see him next, I suppose.” Sophie shrugged. “It can wait.”
“We could go see a museum before I have to work,” Edouard offered, clasping Sophie’s hand. Sera noticed Sophie give him an answering squeez
e. He glanced at Sera and Colette. “If you two don’t mind, of course.”
“Don’t worry about us.” Colette waved her hand, making her bracelets jingle. “You two young lovers go have some fun.”
Sophie blushed.
“Some tact, Colette,” Sera said, though she thrilled inside at seeing their blossoming relationship. Marc’s chances were fading fast.
“You’re asking too much,” Colette replied. Edouard laughed. Sophie put down some money for her drink and accepted Edouard’s hand as she rose. The pair said their goodbyes and Sera watched as they made their way down the street.
Marc used to do that with her, she recalled. When they were together, she’d felt like Marc was an extension of herself, and she of him. The end of their love affair had been a shocking amputation.
“They’re so sweet together,” Colette remarked. “It makes me wonder why Marc even bothers.”
“They are,” Sera agreed. She left the comment about Marc alone.
“What’s he doing, anyway?” Colette persisted. “Pursuing her, playing with you—no, pursuing you too.” She gave Sera a pointed stare.
“He isn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
The temptation to confide in Colette had her wavering for just a moment. Marc just wanted sex; he’d said as much when he named her forfeit. That was all.
“He doesn’t need to pursue me—he has all those other women. I don’t love him any more, and he knows it,” Sera reassured her. Was it a lie if what she’d said was only partly true? Maybe if she repeated the lie to herself long enough, she’d believe it.
Colette pushed her empty cup aside. “I don’t know how you can manage to still be friends with him,” she said. “I don’t even know what any of my past lovers are doing, much less having one over for dinner.”
“I can’t remember the name of your last girlfriend before Lise,” Sera teased.
“That’s because you never met her. And consider yourself fortunate. I wish Lise were back in town, though. She’s loving Berlin, and the gallery, but still...”
The Paris Game Page 14
