Assault and Beret Page 8

“I apologize for leaving you during the meal,” he said. “I received a call from a client, and when I told him I was at dinner, he informed me that he was just down the street. I figured it was best to meet him directly.”

  “Forgive me for being rude,” I said, “but I’m going to be anyway.”

  Viv gave me a look but I ignored her.

  Will nodded for me to continue while he sliced off a bit of the fresh bread and helped himself to the cheese.

  “You did not seem to be happy to be talking to the man in the car,” I said.

  “I wasn’t,” he agreed. “He is a very powerful art buyer, and he thinks that by threatening me, he can get whatever he wants. I disagree.”

  “What does he want?” Viv asked.

  Her eyes were wide and she looked at him in alarm. I could understand it. She had just found him; it probably didn’t make her feel easy to know that someone was threatening him.

  “If you two aren’t in a hurry to get home after dinner, I’d like to show you something,” he said.

  We both nodded. Curiosity clearly runs in the family.

  Chapter 9

  It was a romantic walk, albeit freezing, down the famed Avenue des Champs-Élysées. I was sorry that we had missed the Christmas lights that illuminated the famous street during the holiday season, but it was still festive and full of activity as we strolled past the exclusive shops, restaurants and nightclubs. The sidewalk was full of tourists, and occasionally I had to dodge to the left or the right as Will and Viv were too involved in each other to notice the pedestrians around us.

  He had taken Viv’s hand and put it on his arm and they put their heads together in a whispered conversation as we walked. I couldn’t hear what was being said over the city noises around us, so I was left to follow like an uninvited guest.

  It occurred to me that I should have had Viv change outfits with me before we left the restaurant, because clearly I was the dowdy dowager in this threesome. I was trying not to let it pound my self-esteem into the dirt. It was a struggle.

  Although my lay of the land for Paris is a bit sketchy, I knew we were moving away from the Arc de Triomphe and back in the direction of the Musée du Louvre, which was where Will’s office was located. I wondered if he lived in the vicinity as well. I opened my mouth to ask him, but saw that he and Viv were too busy staring into each other’s eyes to give me their proper attention. Fine.

  I heaved a sigh and trudged on, trying not to get distracted by the shops, Louis Vuitton and L’Institut Guerlain being particular weaknesses for me. I mean, handbags and perfume, what’s not to love?

  Just as my dogs were beginning to bark—I hadn’t really worn shoes appropriate for strolling—William turned back and waved me forward.

  “Viv looks chilled,” he said. “I’m having a car pick us up. Is that all right with you?”

  I wanted to throw myself at him and hug him in relief; instead I gave him a small smile and a shrug.

  “Sure,” I said. I supposed I should just be glad that they didn’t ditch me, since that was clearly their modus operandi. Okay, that was mean, but I was cold and tired and very, very single.

  The car that arrived within minutes was large and spacious. The driver was in a suit. Classy. He held the door open and Viv gestured for me to go first. I gave her a quick look. I knew she was arranging the seating so that she would end up next to Will. All right, then, I figured I had better get her alone so I could ask her if she wanted me to leave the two of them to figure things out on their own.

  Clearly, this had gone beyond a “just signing annulment papers” situation. I wondered what Harrison would make of all this and I realized I missed him terribly and not just because I was in the most romantic city in the world, dateless, but because I really valued his input on everything that was happening, and over the telephone was just not cutting it for me.

  The warmth of the car enfolded me like a hug. I slid all the way across the bench seat in the back and Viv climbed in after me.

  “Do you want me to go?” I asked in a half whisper.

  “Go where?” Viv asked.

  “You know, away,” I said. “To leave you two alone.”

  Viv looked startled and then Will climbed into the car, preventing her from answering. She did, however, shake her head at me so I took that as a no.

  A part of me was dreading the drive to William’s office. I mean, being stuck with two lovebirds in a car could make anyone want to fly the coop, but it seemed both Viv and Will were aware of the awkwardness of my situation as they neither held hands nor whispered together in that annoying way couples have when they’re besotted with each other. I made a promise right then and there that if, no when, Harrison and I were a couple, I would not be that annoying.

  “This class that you are teaching at the Paris School of Art,” Will said to Viv, “when is it over?”

  “The last class is on Friday, and then we have a fashion show on Saturday where my students will show off their creations.” She looked wistful. “Scarlett and I will go back to London on Sunday.”

  William nodded. Then he grinned. “So, what you’re saying is I have some time to change your mind.”

  Viv opened her mouth to protest but he shook his head and she closed her mouth.

  “Let’s just see what happens, all right?” he asked.

  I was trying not to watch their interaction; okay, that’s a total lie. I was leaning on Viv, trying to gauge her reaction to his words. To my surprise, she simply nodded.

  Okay, then, this was going to be an interesting week. Was Will going to romance Viv back into his life? What about Viv’s complaint that the relationship had all been too easy with no struggle, no counterpoint to the good? Was that just her crazy artistic temperament ruining a perfectly good thing or was her point valid? Now that she had caused strife between them, did they have the balance she had been looking for?

  That made me think about my relationship with Harrison. Was it too easy? Was it effortless with no struggle?

  Ah, no, he and I tussled quite a bit, mostly about my inability not to mind my own business but also he had no appreciation for my very punny way with language.

  Then, of course, there was my issue with his owning the controlling interest in our business. That one was on Viv and her weakness for Swarovski crystals, when she had let Harrison bail her out of debt without telling me, before I came back to London to take up my share of the shop.

  Harry and I had obstacles, not huge ones and certainly no trust issues, just more of the “cap on, seat down” stuff, which I thought added spice to the whole trying to love someone in spite of his inability to decorate his apartment or maintain any food in his refrigerator.

  I was pulled out of my reverie as the car drew to a stop in front of William’s building. The driver held the door open for us and Will instructed him to wait as we wouldn’t be very long.

  “Oui, Monsieur,” the driver said with a nod.

  Instead of going in the front door as I had that morning, Will led us to a side door that I hadn’t noticed before.

  At my questioning glance, he said, “Staff only.”

  The door opened into a coatroom. Several lonely jackets and one umbrella hung on pegs along the wall. William paused to punch in a code and then we moved through another door into what appeared to be a staff lounge.

  “This is very high security for an insurance agency,” Viv said. “I’m impressed.”

  Will looked at her and his straw-colored hair flopped over his forehead. “Oh, my dear, this is nothing.”

  We followed him down a hallway. It was dark and I noticed he didn’t switch on the lights as we went, which I thought was odd but then figured he probably knew his way around here and didn’t think about it too much.

  A narrow door at the end of the hall had a scanner beside it. As I watched, Will scanned his entire hand. Af
ter a moment the light on top of the scanner turned green and I heard the sound of a lock click.

  Will glanced at us over his shoulder and wagged his eyebrows at us. “This is all very hush-hush.”

  Viv and I exchanged a glance. I noticed we both stood up straighter as if taking this more seriously now.

  Will pushed the door open and led the way into the room. It was a plush waiting room with a large table in the center and a couple of armchairs off to the side. I was relieved that he switched on the overhead light as the track lighting around the room didn’t really illuminate the space.

  At the far end of the room was a huge vault door just like the sort you’d see in a bank. William gestured to the two plush armchairs off to the side.

  “Wait here, if you don’t mind,” he said.

  Viv and I sat down. The chairs were squashy and comfortable although the room was very chilly. We watched silently as he opened the vault and disappeared inside.

  “Do you know what he’s doing?” I asked.

  Viv shrugged. “I can’t imagine what he wants to show us. Can you?”

  I shook my head. I thought back to our conversation earlier in the day about his work and how it was his job to investigate claims for both pieces that went missing and to prove the provenance of others. I wondered if he’d been tasked with researching something like the Hope Diamond. That made my heart pound in my chest for, while I liked art and all, a big dazzling sparkler was really more my jam.

  “Here we are,” Will said. He was carrying a large wooden crate, the sort used to box and ship paintings. He laid it on the wide table and Viv and I rose from our seats to join him.

  The wooden top wasn’t fastened, so William simply pried it off with his fingers and set it aside. Inside in a nest of cardboard, bubble wrap and brown paper was a small painting about one foot high and two feet wide.

  To me it looked old and very dreary with a predominantly green cast to it and, frankly, it was boring. A landscape. Bleh.

  Viv, on the other hand, staggered back a bit. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand as if it was, well, the Hope Diamond or something equally impressive.

  “Is that . . . could it be?” she cried.

  William beamed at her. They really were a match made in heaven if they both found that painting so exciting.

  “I remember studying this piece in art school. I thought it was lost,” she said. “Wherever did you find it? It is authentic, isn’t it?”

  “I think so,” he said. “Of course, we need to bring in an expert on it, but we are fairly certain and the initial forensic testing holds up.”

  “Okay, I give,” I said. “Why is the drab little painting so exciting?”

  Viv gave me a disappointed look. “With all the time that Mim dragged us to museums, you can’t recognize a Renoir when you see it?”

  “Oh, is that the artist?” I asked.

  “Really, Scarlett,” Viv huffed.

  “Art major.” I pointed to her then I pointed to myself. “Hospitality major. There is a difference.”

  “Still it’s a Renoir,” Viv said. As if this should make a difference to me. It did not.

  I shrugged. I saw William glancing between us and figured it was a good time to get this discussion back on track.

  “So, what’s the story here?” I asked. “How did you come across this painting?”

  William clapped his hands together. He looked delighted to be asked.

  “This piece was bought with a box of throwaway books that a junk shop owner bought at one of the bouquinistes along the Seine for twenty euros,” he said. “Can you believe it?”

  “You mean someone bought this from one of the book stalls?” I asked. I loved the bouquinistes. They were a Paris treasure, and one of the reasons that the Seine was called the only river in the world that runs through two bookshelves.

  Viv goggled at him and then she slapped his arm. “Stop it. You’re teasing us.”

  “I’m serious,” he said. “And it gets even better. The junkshop owner then sold the painting for ten euros to a woman who just happened to stop in his shop.”

  Viv yelped. “Ah! I can’t stand it.”

  “What’s it worth?” I asked.

  “If authenticated, this painting could be worth several million,” William said.

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “But wait, how did you get it?”

  “The woman who bought it suspected it might have value, so she brought it to us to appraise and insure if need be, but, and here’s where it gets whacky, O’Toole Insurance already insured this painting for the museum it was bequeathed to over sixty years ago.”

  I blinked at him. “But if the museum lost it or it was stolen, then O’Toole probably already paid it out so O’Toole owns the painting?”

  “If it is indeed the original painting,” he said. “I have to do some research, but if it is the painting that Estelle Brouillard bequeathed to the Musée de l’Or, who then insured it with O’Toole Insurance, then it has been missing for a very long time.”

  “That is incredible,” Viv said.

  “And now you know why that man, Emile St. James, was harassing me,” he said. “He’s an art collector who wants this painting very badly for his personal collection.”

  “Would O’Toole sell it to him?” I asked.

  William shrugged. “It has to be authenticated first.”

  “How?” Viv asked. “Do you have an expert on Renoir who can verify it?”

  “We’re flying one in,” he said. “But I also have to provide a paper trail, showing that O’Toole did actually pay the insurance claim to the Musée de l’Or when the painting was reported missing in nineteen seventy-four.”

  “Do you have the records for that?” I asked.

  “Yes, in musty old file cabinets in our storage facility,” he said.

  He looked delighted while I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do less. I’m a people person and paperwork really isn’t my thing.

  “You could always ask the museum to turn over their financials for that time period,” I said. “Wouldn’t it show a deposit from the insurance payout?”

  “Yeah, shockingly, they don’t really want to help me with this and instead want the painting back,” he said.

  “That’s a bloody mess then, isn’t it?” Viv asked.

  “Even worse, the junkshop owner wants the painting back as does the woman who bought it from him and brought it to us. I’m just waiting for the owner of the bouquiniste to weigh in, too,” he said. He glanced back at the piece. “Just think, this landscape has been missing for decades. We’re the first ones to see it in forever.”

  Viv was duly awed. I was less so. Now don’t mistake me, I thought it was totally cool, I just wasn’t as ga-ga over art as the two of them, firmly establishing my place as the third wheel.

  “Arretez!” a voice shouted from the door. “Arretez!”

  Chapter 10

  “Yah!” I shrieked and jumped.

  “C’est bon, Frederick,” Will said. He held up one hand at the security guard who charged into the room. “C’est moi.”

  I sagged against the tabletop and noticed that Viv did as well. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest, I missed most of the conversation between Will and the guard. It was clear, however, that the guard was unhappy at finding the three of us in the vault room.

  William moved to stand beside the guard and his voice dropped an octave. He gestured back at Viv and I saw the guard glance around William to check her out. I did not need to translate the French they were speaking in my head. It was quite clear that William was explaining to the man that he was trying to make time with the blond babe.

  “Oui, oui,” the guard said. He bobbed his head and gave a chuckle. Obviously, guy commiseration for picking up chicks was a universal condition.

 
I glanced at Viv and caught her watching Will. She looked impressed by him and I wondered if it was the painting, his knowledge of the painting or his ability to speak French.

  I felt the need to play devil’s advocate. Shocker, I know.

  I leaned close and said, “I’m pretty sure Alistair Turner can speak French, and probably German, too.”

  She turned to look at me on a slow roll that I knew gave her time to think about her answer before our gazes actually met.

  “I’m married to Will,” she said.

  “For now,” I said.

  Yes, I was needling her. Back home in London, I knew our friend Alistair waited to see what the outcome was of this adventure. He was a rugby mate of Harrison’s and spectacularly good-looking with chin-length dark hair and a wicked smile. He was also an excellent attorney, which we knew firsthand as he had helped Harrison out of a jam recently, not to mention another of our clients when she was wrongly jailed for murder.

  Alistair had been very direct about his interest in Viv, and Fiona Felton, our intern at the hat shop, and I had been mystified by Viv’s reaction and her ability to keep him at arm’s length. Of course, now I understood why but at the time it had boggled.

  Viv gave me a quelling look as Will joined us. I liked Will, I did, and if the marriage between them worked out, that was great, but I didn’t want Viv to forget that she had options. Plus, she had left him for a reason, whether I understood it completely or not.

  The security guard left us with a smile and a wave. Will began to repackage the painting. He took great care with it and I thought that spoke well of him.

  I had dated men who didn’t take care of their things, and I always thought it was indicative of how they would treat their relationships. I’m not talking about being super fussy or annoyingly fastidious, just conscientious. If a man treats his things poorly, like not taking the time to change the oil in his car regularly or letting his refrigerator get funky, then it’s likely he won’t want to put in the time to maintain his relationships either, leaving all of the heavy lifting and maintenance to his partner. Who needs a man like that?