“Well, I told her the floriste two streets over would be open until eight since she would probably miss out on the grocery store. I suppose she went there. April should be back any minute though. She told me she wanted to have time to change before you came to get her.”
Victor started for the door. “Mishou, I have to go. I’m guessing she didn’t tell you, but she might be in danger. We think Lucas—the one who hurt her—is following her. She wasn’t supposed to leave the apartment until I came to get her.” He yanked the door open. “I’ll be back.”
Victor took the steps two at a time, and only his grip on the railing kept him from falling down the stairs. April was in trouble. He could feel it in his bones.
Chapter 22
It was supposed to be a quick outing. She and Victor couldn’t show up empty-handed at Penelope’s house, and the florist might close by the time Victor arrived. In any case, they were in Châtelet-les-Halles, which was teeming with people. Nothing could happen.
April stepped outside the apartment and walked across the intersection of cobblestone roads toward the main street. A smell of grease assaulted her from one of the gyro shops on the way, and it mingled with the scent of cigarettes, and some other unidentifiable smoke from a group of teens who appeared to have nothing better to do. She left the cobblestones and crossed at the light to reach Marcel Floriste.
A tinkling bell heralded her arrival, and she was enveloped in the warm humidity of plant life as soon as the door closed behind her. Calla lilies were perched in long buckets of water to her right, and the roses, hydrangeas, daffodils, and narcissuses flanked her on all sides. The florist was wrapping a large, mixed bouquet with deft fingers—first the green tissue paper, then the clear plastic to create a well for the water on the bottom. A ribbon to tie it, another to loop and seal in place with a sticker, and the bouquet was ready. He turned his attention to her.
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle. How may I help you?”
“Bonsoir, monsieur.” She struggled to remember how to say potted plant in French. “Fleurs dans un pot, s’il vous plaît.”
A potted plant was better, she’d decided. It would last longer. She pointed to the pastel blue hydrangeas, which were such a cheerful blossom, and Guillaume had just the spot to put them. There was empty floor space to the right of his window, and he could replant them in a bigger pot if necessary.
“Les hortensia,” the florist said, as he set the hydrangea on the counter with a flourish. So that was how to say them in French. Then she made out something along the lines of “just the thing” as she watched him wrap them in the same tissue and plastic and put them in a shiny black paper bag with the logo. It would be a beautiful gift to offer Guillaume—and Penelope, eventually, if her hunch about them ending up together proved correct. At forty euros, it didn’t come cheap, but Guillaume always opened his home to everyone, and he’d been so welcoming to her in particular. She thanked God for the day she and Penelope became friends and suspected it would be for life.
April left the florist with her purchase and decided to cut through a park that would lead back to the cobblestone streets of Châtelet-les-Halles. The weather was balmy, and the fenced-in pockets of flowers that seemed to be in profusion all over Paris sent wafts of fragrance into the dirt path. She had not yet walked halfway through the garden when she began to feel ill at ease. It was more deserted than she’d thought it would be, and she began to remember Victor’s warning, and Penelope’s request that she not go anywhere unless accompanied by other people. April paused, wondering if she should turn back and go through the main street, or whether it would be faster and safer to continue through to the other side.
Three youths angled toward her, eyeing her in a way that made her nervous. All three wore hooded sweatshirts, and they were smoking and laughing. One was drinking a beer. The group fell silent as they drew near and she tensed, wondering if she screamed whether anyone would hear. It had been a stupid split-second decision to enter the park when she knew she was at risk of Lucas following her. It never occurred to her that she might meet danger from someone else on the street.
“Oye, la miss! You shouldn’t be here alone, you know. It’s not a good place to be.”
“Ah. Okay, merci,” she answered with a trembling smile. If I treat them with respect, they won’t know I’m afraid of them.
“T’es Américaine,” the same one said in surprise.
“Allô,” another one said.
They began laughing and elbowing each other, and the third one swaggered toward her. “Do you ’ave New York?”
They didn’t make sense at all, but she smiled more naturally now, nearly certain these three meant no harm. “I’m from Seattle,” she said in English just to give them something to puzzle over. They laughed again and shifted into some street slang she had no hope of deciphering. April relaxed as they lost interest and continued on their path. The other end of the park was only a few meters away.
A movement from the hedges on the right, which hid a parallel path, caught her eye and she jumped, suddenly alert. Her eyes scanned the opening to the street, but there was no one there. She looked again at the hedges as her worst fear materialized. Lucas.
“They were right, those scum,” Lucas said, advancing upon her. To her mounting terror, she saw a knife in his hand. April calculated the distance to the street, but she wouldn’t have time to run there without him doing her some serious damage first. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”
“Lucas. They will find you,” April said, and finding her voice steady, risked more words. “Don’t add to the list of things they’ll take you in for.”
“I haven’t decided yet what I’m going to do,” he said, and sucked air in through his nostrils. “All I know is that you’ve ruined my life, and you’re going to pay for it.”
She didn’t try to reason with him. This creep was beyond reason. But anger grew inside of her. She ruined his life? What about her father’s paintings? What about her own stolen painting? What about walking around in fear for the last couple of weeks?
“What did you do with my painting?” she asked.
“Your father’s paintings, you mean?” Lucas gave an ugly laugh. “Not worth much now, are they? You should’ve let me sell them. Then you would’ve still gotten a good price for them, and I would’ve left them alone.”
“Yes, my father’s paintings. But what about mine? You went into my art school and stole it. Where is it?”
“Your painting? What painting? That thing you were working on in the courtyard? That one’s not worth the trouble.”
April didn’t have time to think about what his words might mean. Whether Lucas was lying or not. She had distracted him with her questions, but now she craned behind him to see if the three teenagers were still there—or if anyone was there—and he whirled to look. When he saw nothing but the empty passageway, he turned back.
She saw when he was about to act. The look in his eyes changed. In three strides he was upon her, and she swung her arm back to gain momentum. Just as he lunged forward to grab her with his free hand, she struck out at him with the flowerpot to block his movement. It was an ineffective swing, and the pot only banged his head, but didn’t stop him. Furious, Lucas closed the distance and grabbed her, raising the knife.
“Help!” she shrieked.
The sound of shouts came from the entrance ahead. She couldn’t see who it was, but Lucas dropped her arm and turned to face them. Whoever it was posed enough of a threat to him to let her go.
The same three teenagers materialized at the park entrance. They’d simply done a full circle and had come back into the park a second time. This time their laughter held some menace, but it was not for her.
“Picking on girls, are you?” the leader said.
Lucas shifted the knife from hand to hand, looking nervous now. “I don’t have a problem with you.”
“Yes, but we like this American.”
“And it’s been a while since we’ve had a
good fight.” The one who said this took the last swig of his beer, then shattered the bottom of the bottle on the cement gatepost. April gasped at the noise.
The largest of the teenagers shifted to the right where Lucas held the knife, and the one with the broken beer bottle came on his left. Lucas made a desperate lunge with his right hand, but the teenager on his right grabbed his arm with ease and held the knife captive. The leader of the group punched Lucas in the stomach with a sickening thud and when Lucas doubled over, he gave him an uppercut. Lucas dropped the knife.
The teenager picked up the knife and deposited it in his pocket, then looked at April and jerked his head toward the exit. “Vas-y.”
April didn’t waste any time in obeying. She hurried to the exit, trembling, and rushed into the street. In a half jog, she hurried down the sidewalk toward her apartment, choking back sobs. Rushing forward, April came up against something solid, and two arms wrapped around her, cutting off her vision. She screamed.
“April.”
Blinded by tears and terrified, she nearly screamed again when the familiar scent of Victor pervaded her senses. She looked up, panting. “Victor. How did you find me?”
Victor didn’t answer right away, he just pulled her into another hug. “You’re safe,” he whispered into her hair. “I was so worried. Mishou said you went out to get flowers, but by the time I got to the store, it was closed. I didn’t know where you were. I was afraid Lucas had gotten to you.”
“He did.” Her voice was muffled from leaning into Victor’s shirt. She didn’t want him to let go.
“What did you say?”
She pulled back this time and said, “He did reach me. He found me. He came at me with a knife in the garden there.” April pointed to the entrance to the park. “But there were some teenagers who helped me. I think they’re still with him.” She hesitated. “They were beating him pretty badly.”
“Good,” Victor said, fiercely, between clenched teeth. He was shaking, she noticed, and she thought it might be from anger. He stared at her, his thumbs on her cheeks and his fingers in her hair, and she thought…she thought he was going to kiss her. For a crazy instant, her mind fled the situation and she mused that it would be her first kiss, if you didn’t count Michael Grant’s fumbling attempt in the ninth grade. Forgetting about whether Victor was free or whether it would be the right thing to do, April waited.
Victor pulled her back into a hug and let go just as quickly. “I need to call the police. I should also check on what those boys are doing to Lucas. As much as I could kill him myself for everything he did to you, I don’t want them to get caught for murder. And I suppose I don’t really want anyone to die.”
April gave a trembling smile at that. “No.” Her belly was hollow, her heart an echoing chamber. She accompanied Victor to the entrance of the park, but they couldn’t see the fight from there. There weren’t any sounds either.
“Stay here at the entrance where I can see you. I’m going in further to look.” Victor didn’t wait for an answer but turned and walked toward the place where she’d been accosted.
She took a couple more steps into the park so she could see him and waited for his report. In any case, it was clear the boys weren’t coming back. After a minute, Victor called out. “He’s here, and he’s unconscious. I’m going to call the police, and I want you to stay right there. I want to be able to see you, but I don’t want you to get too close.” Victor pulled his phone out of his pocket, waited while it rang then spoke, explaining the situation and giving directions to where he was.
April leaned against the short fence, her back on the round bronze knob of the gate. To her left, she saw a green, painted park bench and she walked over and sank down into it, waiting for Victor to finish up the conversation. From here, she could see Lucas’s form on the ground. There was blood, and she shuddered. That could have been hers.
“That’s good,” Victor said, when he saw where she was sitting. “Stay there and rest. I’m not leaving him. And this time I have my shoes on, so he’s not getting away.” He looked down again, adding, “Not that he could. He’s going to need the hospital.”
By the time the police arrived, Lucas was still unconscious. April got a glimpse of his purple, swollen face that had a jagged cut down the side. He was still breathing, however, and when the police asked her for a description of the teenagers who saved her, she couldn’t remember too many details. “They had hoods,” she said. “One was tall and one was short and stocky. The other didn’t leave much of an impression.” The truth was, she didn’t want to try too hard to identify them. The lieutenant seemed to sense that, studying her as she answered, and didn’t push her for more.
She still had to go in to the police station and give a statement. By the time they were done, it was too late to go to Guillaume’s apartment, and April thought to check her telephone. There were four messages.
“Penelope, it’s me,” April said when her friend picked up. “Everything is okay. Lucas found me, but it’s all over. He’s in custody. I’ll tell you all about it next time we see each other. No, no. I’m too tired to tell you everything now. Victor is with me.” She handed the phone to him. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Oui, allô.” Victor listened. “She’s exhausted. She’d gone out on her own to get some flowers—”
April clapped her hand to her head. “The flowers!”
“—and he followed her. Some teenagers beat him up and I found April as she was coming out of the park where it happened. We can fill you in on the rest when we see you.” He listened some more, his eyes on April, and he finished with, “Ça marche,” before hanging up. “She wants us to come tomorrow. She also wanted to know if the police found your painting where Lucas was staying.”
April shook her head. “He said he didn’t have it. Of course, we can’t believe anything he says. But the police didn’t see it when they went to the friend’s house where he was staying, did they?” Victor shook his head.
“I don’t know. I sort of believe him,” April said. “He seemed surprised when I asked him about it. He said it wasn’t good enough for him to go after it.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?” Victor looked sideways at her. They’d begun walking toward the apartment, but slowly. April felt too shaky to take big steps.
“No. Mr. Chambourd thought it was good, and he knows more about art than Lucas does.” April gave a weak grin. “But honestly. If he doesn’t have it, where the heck could it be?”
Victor put an arm around her waist. “I don’t know, but I’ll help you find it, no matter what it takes.”
“Well,” she said, accepting his arm, even leaning into him, though she knew it was wrong. “In the end, I’ll go home in a month. If we find it, we find it. If we don’t, we don’t. Either way, all my dreams—everything my father wanted me to do—it’s all come to nothing. And I’m going to need to figure out how to rebuild all that and get a new dream.”
Victor held her for a little longer as they walked, then pulled his arm away. Perhaps he, too, felt it was wrong. Or perhaps he was steeling himself like she was. With him marrying Margaux, she didn’t see how their friendship could last.
Chapter 23
The studio was empty except for Ben. April wove her way around the easels to where he was bent over his work. “Ben, you’re here. I haven’t seen you around lately. Congratulations on getting your artwork accepted.” Her smile fell when he turned to her with a haggard look on his face. His gaze shifted back to his painting.
“What is it?”
When he didn’t answer, April sat beside him and stared at his profile, willing him to turn. “All right, Ben. We know each other pretty well, so I think you can tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, I can handle it. Perhaps I can even help.”
“It’s nothing,” he said. “How’s your roommate situation going?” His voice sounded bitter.
April leaned back, puzzled. “Good. I’m grateful to be able to live there. Misho
u is great. She’s teaching me how to cook, and my French is definitely improving.”
“You must see Victor all the time now,” he said.
Suddenly his bad attitude became a little clearer, and April’s voice grew wary. “Yes, a little more. Is that what this is about? Come on, Ben. You knew there was never going to be anything between us.”
He shrugged but remained silent. Perhaps he hadn’t known. Or hadn’t wanted to know. April tried a different tack. “I have good news. Lucas was taken into custody.”
“Who?” Ben flicked a glance her way between heavy brows.
“Lucas. The guy who attacked me. Honestly. It’s no wonder nothing was ever going to happen between us. You’re only concerned about yourself.” April shot up and turned to leave. Two students entered the room, and when they saw Ben, they whispered to each other. Of course he would be getting lots of attention now that his painting was selected. So what in the world did he have to be all grouchy about?
April had taken two steps when Ben spoke in a low voice. “I took your painting.”
Did I just hear him correctly? Turning slowly, April’s gaze settled on the crimson flush on his neck. “What?”
“I took your painting. I knew yours was going to get selected, and I wanted my own to have a chance. You didn’t want anything more to do with me anyway. So I took the painting from the studio and hid it in my apartment. It’s still there.” Ben slumped forward, a combination of defiance and misery, waiting for her reaction.
What…a…jerk. These and other words whirled through her mind, but she didn’t voice them. She opened and closed her mouth twice before knowing how to respond. Her words came out through gritted teeth. “Ben, give the painting back, please. As soon as you can.”
April turned and left the studio, walking with long strides down the corridor to the street. When she exited, she squinted into the sun, attempting to push down her anger in the warmth of its rays. The brown buildings were dappled with the shadows of leaves, and the street was almost void of pedestrians. A few cars drove by quietly, leaving her to wrestle with her thoughts.
A Friend in Paris Page 18
