by Lyn Stone
Chari had taken the actress's hand and raised it almost to his lips. "You were magnificent in Siege of Malabar. I have seen it many times since. Such nuances in your performance. One must view it repeatedly to catch them all."
"High praise indeed," she said in the silky voice that had made her famous. "Thank you, Ahmed. Tell me, have you anything in progress now?"
Solange was certain she could have slipped away right then and Chari would never notice she was gone. But if he should, she was not ready to face the consequences. She stayed where she was to see what would happen next. She felt certain that was what Jacques would have her do.
Holly nudged Solange's elbow, got her attention then looked pointedly at the man standing next to Bev Martin. "This rascal is Eric Vinland. He keeps us all smiling, especially Bev. Watch out for him." She punched him playfully on the arm with her impossibly long, pearl-colored fingernail and left them to mingle.
The man called Eric smiled directly at her and lifted his glass in a salute. She remembered hearing Jacques ask about an Eric's whereabouts the night they had stopped here.
"Hi, Solange. You shouldn't mind Holly. She likes to tease her old friends," he said as if he had read her thoughts. He pointed at Chari and the actress with his drink. "Would you like to go to the bar with me while these two talk shop? That fellow they've hired makes a mean martini."
This was it! He was the one. He was making contact with her.
Chari's hand tightened on her arm. She glanced down at it. "Uh, no thank you." She pasted on a wide smile. "Maybe later."
He nodded knowingly and moved away from the little group toward the bar set up on the other side of the salon. Solange's heart skipped with panic. Holly was nowhere to be seen, now the one called Eric had deserted her, too.
Chari was oozing charm all over the gorgeous actress, intimating that he would love to work with her one day if she were available. He was sugarcoating his vague offer with lavish compliments that made Solange want to gag. Couldn't the poor woman see how false he was? How evil?
However, the woman was eating the praise with a spoon. It amazed Solange that anyone would be nice to this man. True, he was handsome enough. It was just when he opened his mouth and spoke, one got the full effect of Chari.
She glared at his back. Pretentious, chauvinistic pig that he was, she would love to take a cleaver and make him into pork chops.
A burst of laughter at the bar caught her attention. The man named Eric was propped there, looking at her. He winked and laughed again. She smiled back, simply because she was so happy to see a friendly face.
God, she wished Jacques were here. What would he do? How would he get the message to his people?
She opened her purse and took out the folded handkerchief. The next time one of them came near her, she would drop it. They would surely be watching for something like that. Wouldn't they?
She looked again toward the bar. The handsome Eric nodded, toasted her with his drink and turned away.
In addition to the actress, she and Chari met several other people in the film world whom Solange knew by name. Pierre Trident, an award-winning director, spoke quite fervently about Chari's last film. How had they managed this guest list? Solange wondered.
And there was Guy Marque, the tall, dark and moody actor who had won last year's Oscar at the American awards ceremony. His personal antics around the world made the news quite regularly. He looked much smaller in person. It was a stellar gathering, and Chari seemed nervous and eager. Trying too hard to fit in.
The pianist who had been playing softly in the background suddenly struck several loud chords to get attention. Conversation ceased. In the doorway of the salon stood a gorgeous older woman, a vision in lace and chiffon. Her silvery hair was styled to perfection.
"Good evening, everyone!" she said, waving one hand. "I apologize for arriving late to my own party, but it takes longer these days to create the mask."
She laughed along with her guests and motioned for the music to resume. As it did she made her way from group to group, accepting accolades on her latest publication and offering teasing comments to each person.
Solange watched her and realized Chari was doing the same. "She looks nothing like I thought she would," Solange said. "I expected her to be much younger."
"What would you know?" he growled.
"You can release my arm," she told him. "People will think you are too possessive. I promise I am not going anywhere. Besides, you will need both hands for the buffet."
She tried very hard to sound merely practical and not sarcastic. It would not do to anger him. He might decide to leave before she had a chance to speak to anyone else.
To her surprise he let go of her, but pinned her with a look of warning that said she had better stay close. He saw to it that she did.
The rest of the evening flew by for Solange as she watched desperately for a chance to pass her information to either Holly or Eric. She carried the handkerchief in her hand, waiting. Neither came anywhere near her.
Sophia D'Amato beckoned Chari to join her on the damask divan. He almost tripped over Solange in his hurry to respond. He took his seat next to the author, and Solange sat on his other side, as ordered.
The woman wasted no time. "I have purchased the film rights to Descent of Fools."
"By Sim Gordoni? My, what an undertaking!" Chari exclaimed, his dark eyes rounding with awe. "Will you do the screenplay yourself?"
"With Gordoni's input, yes."
"But this is so exciting!" Chari gushed. "It is certain to win acclaim on all fronts!"
She accepted the idea with a confident nod. "We will need a coproducer. Do you know anyone who might be interested?" She quirked one sharply arched eyebrow, but it seemed to be an effort for her.
The woman wore such thick makeup, she looked as if she dared not smile, but her eyes were surprisingly clear. Blue as a lagoon with the sun shining through it.
Chari almost gasped the word, "Yes! I would be most interested myself! This would be a great honor for me, Madame D'Amato. I cannot tell you how—"
"Yes, yes. Good enough. We will talk particulars later," she said, pushing her slender body up from the divan. She looked down at him. "I shall have my people call you. Now if you will excuse me, please."
Without waiting for an answer, she walked away, shuffling as if her hips ached. That cane she carried was not an affectation as Solange had thought when she'd first seen it.
Perhaps she could use a prescription for something to alleviate her pain. Solange had expected the agent portraying D'Amato to be a much younger woman. Though she had not met Martine Corda, Jacques and Holly had spoken of her assuming this role. The woman was recently wed to one of the agents, Joseph Corda, they had said. And yet, Solange saw no older man who might be the husband.
The bartender seemed too adept at his job to be one of them. He handled the bottles and glasses as if born to do what he was doing instead of being an undercover agent. The mysterious one called Will who had met them at the car that night was nowhere to be seen.
She gave up trying to figure all of that out and returned to looking for an opportunity to deliver her message without being caught.
At last, just as they were leaving, Eric joined them at the door, ostensibly waiting for his driver to pull his car around as soon as theirs arrived and departed.
"Mr. Chari, Solange, great to meet you. You know, I almost missed coming tonight? My father had a small accident and is in hospital, but he was doing so incredibly well, I decided to come after all."
"Oh, I'm so glad," Solange said fervently.
She knew, just knew, he was imparting a message to her about her own father. He was well. Incredibly well. She laughed softly and shrugged.
Chari shifted impatiently, not bothering to speak to someone he would consider an underling, maybe even a plaything for the great actress, Bev Martin. "Here is our driver now," he snapped.
Solange smiled at Eric, feeling enormous relief that he
had presented himself before it was too late.
"It was nice meeting you, too, Eric," she said with heartfelt honesty. With her hand at her side, concealed by the folds of her dress, she dropped the handkerchief at his feet and turned away.
She sensed him crouch behind her as she followed Chari through the open door.
"Oh, Solange! Wait a minute!"
Chari turned with her and glared at Eric. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.
"The lady lost her hanky," Eric said, holding it out to her. "Too pretty to lose," he said with a grin.
Chari grabbed it from Eric, hustled her out the door and into the waiting car.
Solange's heart sank to her knees. All was lost.
Chapter 11
"Stupid cow!" Chari shouted. As soon as they were well away from the house, he switched on the dome light, fumbling and cursing as he did so.
Solange closed her eyes and waited for the death threats. Or possibly the reality of death itself.
He need not wait until they were back at the chateau to strangle her. And he would. Chari's violent nature shone from his eyes like the evil light that it was. Jacques would suffer for this, too. She had failed miserably.
"Trying to seduce Bev Martin's lover? What were you thinking? You women are all the same!" he shouted.
Seduce? He was shouting at her for flirting!
Solange risked looking over at him. Oh, God, he was examining the handkerchief. Any minute now he would see the writing...
Suddenly he flung the scrap of lace and fabric at her face and slammed himself angrily back against the car seat. "You could have cost me my star!"
Solange wondered if she could even speak. Quickly she stuffed the handkerchief back into the beaded purse and heaved out a breath of relief. He had not seen the writing on it. How had he not seen that? Even if it had smudged to illegibility, he would have questioned it. She clenched her eyes shut and offered up a prayer of thanks.
Chari had already forgotten the handkerchief. "She will agree to work with me. I know she will," he muttered. "She looked at me with respect. That one liked what she saw in Cannes! For a woman, she has remarkable taste. Except for that boy she keeps."
He cursed foully and slammed a fist in his palm. "You with your sluttish attempt to seduce him could have spoiled everything, do you hear? Everything, damn you!"
He ranted all the way back to the chateau. By the time they arrived, her tower prison was almost looking good to her. Anything to get away from this head case.
It made her sick to think of the verbal abuse René and his poor mother must have suffered during their years with this man.
The minute the car stopped, she climbed out and reached the house first. Piers was ahead of both of them and opened the door.
Chari shoved her inside, straight into Jacques's arms. For the few seconds allowed, she gave in to her need, crowded close to his body and absorbed some of his strength. He held her, saying nothing.
"Take the bitch to your room since she is in heat!" Chari thundered as he stormed inside, pointing down the hallway. "See that she stays there. I do not wish to see her again."
Before Jacques could follow his order, Chari halted him. "Wait! It is not even ten o'clock. Why are you not standing guard?"
"I exchanged shifts with Victor. Your son was not feeling well this evening, and I thought someone should stay with him."
Then Jacques headed quickly in the direction of their rooms, keeping her in front of him. She managed to hold back her tears until they reached the room where René was waiting.
The second the door closed, she broke down. Furious with herself, with Chari and the world, she tried to stop, but the tears only came faster. She beat her fists against the nearest solid object, which happened to be Jacques's chest. He held her loosely and absorbed the blows until she tired.
When she finally regained control, René was there, offering her a wet hand towel.
She smiled grimly as she accepted it and began to wash her face. "I am sorry," she whispered. "This is not like me. Not at all."
The boy brushed a hand along her arm and gave her a pat of comfort. Jacques drew her more firmly against him until she pushed away. She looked up at him and repeated, "I am sorry, Jacques. I tried to—"
He raised a finger to her lips to warn her not to say anything. She had been about to do just that. Too long in that tower, she had forgotten about the hidden microphones in this room.
René, questioning with his eyes, jerked his thumb toward the bathroom as he backed toward it. She and Jacques followed.
"What happened?" René whispered, his dark eyes wide with worry.
Solange sighed as she leaned back against the sink and raised the purse to open it and show them what she had attempted to do.
She pulled out the lacy handkerchief. Only it was not the handkerchief at all. It appeared to be a square of someone's lingerie. Lace ran along two sides of it and the other two were simply sheared off.
She began to laugh, clutching the scrap of fabric to her. "He saw it in my hand. He knew," she cried. "Somehow he knew what it was. Your Eric knew."
Jacques and René looked at each other in confusion.
"She is not well," René declared. "I think you should give her one of those pills she brought for me and put her straight to bed."
Solange laughed even harder, shaking her head as Jacques clasped an arm around her shoulders and guided her into his bedroom. He touched a finger to her lips again to signal her the microphone was active again.
René followed, hovering close, obviously unsure what to do with a hysterical female who had lost her senses. She made an effort to appear sane, but she wasn't certain she really was at the moment. She leaned on Jacques until he placed her gently on the bed. He inclined his head, a silent order for René to leave them alone.
Solange reached out quickly and grasped René's hand. "Thank you for caring, René," she said to him and smiled. "It is simply the relief of having the evening over. I was very nervous, but now I will be fine. How are you?"
He shrugged uncertainly. "Good." Then he cast another glance at Jacques and backed out of the room.
"Here, lie down," Jacques said to her. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow is time enough to talk. I cannot believe you angered him on purpose," he scolded, his voice a bit too loud. Solange knew it was for the benefit of anyone listening through the microphone.
"I did nothing but act pleasantly to people!" she argued, sniffling for effect. "He thought I was making a bid for some actress's lover! I would never, never betray you in such a way. You have to believe me."
"Why should I?" he grumbled.
"Jacques, please do not be angry. All I did was smile. I accidentally dropped something, and the man picked it up for me. Chari thought I did it on purpose to get attention, but it was not intentional. That was all that happened, I promise."
"Go to sleep. I do not want to hear it!" he almost shouted the words.
All the while he was busy disconnecting the microphone in the base of the lamp. As soon as he had done that, he took her in his arms again. "Now tell me. What have you done?"
"I wrote everything I knew about the project on a handkerchief. I thought perhaps your people would follow if we left the chateau and try to make contact if they could. If nothing else, they would want to know how you were faring."
"Solange!"
She ignored his protest. It was done, right or wrong, and nothing she could do now would change that. "To my surprise, we went right into their midst, to the house in Tournade. Chari kept me close. I had no chance to speak with them about anything here. But the man called Eric was there. He saw the handkerchief and must have guessed it might be important. When he picked it up for me, he had another ready, a quickly found substitute, but it served the purpose."
"Thank God."
She laughed again, a tinny sound, high pitched and bordering on hysteria. "One of your friends has a piece of her slip missing, I believe." She took a deep breath and tried to regain her e
quilibrium. Her nerves were still jangling like sleigh bells.
Jacques pressed his fingertips on the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He blew out his breath slowly as if trying to marshal his emotions. Then he spoke clearly, concisely and with a firmness she had not witnessed since he took her from the prison by force. "You will never, never try anything so risky again, Solange. Give me your word."
She nodded eagerly, then slipped her arms around him. "Oh, Jacques, I have missed you so."
He groaned as he found her lips with his and kissed her breath away. No further words passed between them as he slipped the loose-fitting silk dress over her head and covered her skin with kisses. He touched her everywhere, pausing only to unsnap her bra and slide the rest of her clothing away.
As eager as he, Solange unbuttoned his trousers and slid down the zipper. He pushed his clothing down past his hips and fit their bodies together as if speed were critical.
She sighed as he sank deep within her, imbuing her with his strength and driving every thought from her mind but the pleasure of having him.
He moved slowly, the effort drawing gasps from him and pleas from her as they loved. Solange welcomed the glorious tension that built with each thrust, forcing the fear and worry out of her like magic.
He silenced her cry of completion with his mouth, a kiss that rivaled the act of love itself.
When he tensed and gave a final thrust, she watched his face, loved the way he gave of everything he was in that instant when time stood still for them.
If only they could hold this moment forever, she thought sadly. If only she could hold him.
It was not to be, but the wish was there, and she stopped denying it to herself. If he would have her, she would have him, no matter who he was or what he did or why.
She realized that she loved Jacques Mercier. And she was not even certain that was really his name.
A tear leaked out of her eye and she felt it trail slowly down her cheek, a hot reminder of where they were and what they were supposed to be doing.
