Page 37 of A Noble Affair
“Where were you last night?” Charles had frowned then, and realizing the chef, who was new, was listening to the conversation with undue interest, dropped the subject. “Never mind. We’ll talk about it later. Don’t forget to call Grand-mère. You missed last week and she was upset.”
“I won’t,” muttered his offspring.
And that was it. Charles had not spoken to, or even seen, Louis since. It had been some time now that they had fallen into the habit of living completely separate lives, brought on, perhaps, by the troubles in the estate management, which eventually forced Charles to take the longest sabbatical the hospital would allow.
Before he could notice the shift soon enough to remedy it, his son stopped asking for him and kept to himself. Even now, itdidn’t help that Manon had only just returned to England the day before, after having extended her stay. Since she showed no interest in getting to know Louis, he hadn’t tried to throw them together.
Ah. That was complicated. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain things could not continue with Manon. It was ill-timed that she was in too fragile a state for him to end things with her now.
He put that out of his mind and punchedone of the saved numbers into his phone, putting it on speaker. After a few rings, he heard the laughter in the deep voice.
“Charles. So soon?”
“It’s been a few months already, Jef,” Charles rallied. “When are we going to have our drink?”
“At your place, as soon as you can find time for me,” Jef shot back, adding, “as long as your sister will be there.”
“What, still have a crush on her after all these years? She’ll never have you, you know. She said you’re too much of a babe.” He couldn’t resist adding, “even though you look like you’re fifty with all the smoking you do.”
“Now that I’m a gray-beard, maybe you’ll start heeding my advice.” Jef chuckled.
“Whatever you say,” Charles said. “Listen, we need to meet. Why not joinme for the art gallery opening in two-weeks’ time. I want to talk to you about the spring ball.”
“Charles—” Jef protested, disapprovingly. “You’re not going to open up your home again to the public after what happened last time.”
“Let’s just say I was persuaded too," returned Charles cryptically.“There is little risk a second theft could occur, and even so, there will be heavy security. Iwantto run a few ideas by you.”
“Okay.” His friend was thoughtful. “I see why you want my help. You want to have someone you can trust.”
“Exactly. My own security detail, if you will. So can I count onyou forthe opening?”
“Send me the details.” Then just before hanging up, his friend quizzed, “And see that Adelaide is there tooso I can get her to accompany me to this ball.”
* * *
André Robin pulledhis gardening coat over his shoulders and stretched on the makeshift bed that protected his body from the cold stone floor. It was five in the morning, and he didn’t have the luxuryof stayinghere much longer before the old man was going to be awake and bustling about. In the year that André had been employed at the château, he never knew a day to go by when he didn’t spot Paltier walking about by six o’clock at the latest.
It was nearing the end of January, and unseasonably cold outside, and he wasn’t looking forward to going out there. He knew of a café a few streets over that opened early enough to receive him for breakfast, and by now they knew his face. He could stake out a tablethere until it was time to report to work.
Hiding out in the basement with its cavernous rooms was the only solution that presented itself to André when he lost everything in disastrous gambling debts. He could no longer afford to pay his rent and had to give up his apartment. With no family in the vicinity, and none he could confide his troubles to—and agirlfriend who had recently discovered a preference for a trainer at the gym where she worked—there was no option left to him. He crept in close to midnight each night, washed himself in the kitchen basin that was downstairs, and huddled in one of the dark passages close to the wine cellar. Each morning, he crept out the same way, only to return for work.
André stretched. The sounds had stopped some hours since—noisesthat had begun a few weeks earlier, and which started to take on a familiar rhythm. The first time he heard them was at two in the morning, and there was a scraping sound coming from inside the wall on the far room of the basement. It wasn't the scraping that drew him towards the noise because that—he had assumed—was rats. It was only when he heard a soft banging, as if someone were hitting the stone with a chisel from the inside, that he went to investigate. He located the spot next to an old, locked gate set into a tunnel that it seemed no one had a key to. At least he had never seen anyone open it. When he was assured that no one was around, he put his ear close to the wall and listened more carefully. He was, by no means, certain of what he was hearing, but he understood enough to nod once in satisfaction and move off quietly to where he was sleeping.
Ever since that first time, he heard the muted noises almost every night, which ceased long before dawn. He got up decisively and rolled his bedding into a bundle, which he stowed, along with a few of his essentials, in a long-unused cupboard. He had had a close call with his previous hiding place when he heard talk of dismantling the old furnace, but this spot was not likely to be discovered. He stretched, and tied his boots, before putting on his coat and beret.
The door there led to the lower grounds, and he slipped outsilently, locking the door behind him. He walked off to the side of the property where there was a copse of trees that would lead him to the gate and the warmth of the café. As soon as the trees obscured his profile, he lit a cigarette and crunched on the snow in meditative rhythm. AndréRobinhad an idea about these noises, and he considered how he might turn the situation to his advantage.
18
Louis spotted Eloise through the school doors, and raced outside after her. “Eloise, hi.”
She turned to face him, poised and with a pleasant smile. “Hi, Louis.” When he stared at her without speaking, her smile grew broader and her eyes twinkled. “Did you want to say something?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I was, uh, wondering how late you stayed at that party.”
“Oh, so you remember that, do you? I wasn’t sure you had any memory of meeting me because by the time I came back downstairs, you were sitting on the steps, passed out.”
“Yeah. Someone woke me up before Christoph’s parents came home, and everyone was gone. To tell you the truth, I don’t know why I passed out. It’s the second time it’s happened to me after only drinking a little bit. And—” he added conscientiously, “after smoking some pot.”
