Page 50 of A Noble Affair
“Pierre.” Etienne shook his head. “The old gardener I worked for. I liked him well enough, but he caught on to what I was doing. He was there, and he wasn’t going to let me go without calling for help.”
“Where is he now?” Jean lit his last cigarette and pretended not to care about the answer.
“Don’t worry about that. But it was enough of a delay. If I had left then, they would have found me right away. The smartest thing to do was to slip the painting through the hole in the alcove and act like I’d been standing guard at the door. In any case, it worked long enough for me to throw dust in their eyes, but not long enough for me to go back and get the painting.”
“Okay, so this Cyril guy you were working for. Why does he still care so much about this painting? Nobody’s gonna buy it since they could go to jail just for possessing it. Why does he want it so bad?”
Etienne blew out smoke as he shook his head. “It’s not an ordinary buyer. It’s a Russian who wanted to give it to his Dad, probably to get in good with him since he runs the mob. Anyway, the Russian guy had his agent contact the old viscount, but he wouldn’t sell, so he decided to use Cyril. He always had a reputation for delivering, and when he failed, the Russian guy didn’t let him forget it. Cyril is dangerous, but Vlad is worse.”
Etienne had told him about the job once before but Jean hadn’t yet committed to anything. Now that he had all the details, he wasn’t sure he wanted in. “I’m just not sure I’m your guy,” Jean had said. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn down half a mil’ that easily. But this doesn’t seem easy. I’m almost out of here. I want to get on with my life.”
Etienne stared across the yard as if he hadn’t heard what Jean said. “Cyril found me, even if it took him twenty years to do so. He’s got so many connections, I’d probably be dead already if I hadn’t let him know I could help him steal the painting and get back his reputation.” He looked straight at Jean. “I already told him you’d do it.”
“What? But I never—”
“You need to try. Now that he knows I gave you the information, he’s going to be after you no matter what you think you’ve decided. If you succeed, he’s good for the money, and you can settle down to something respectable. Or you may find you have a taste for the more sophisticated stuff since you’re not likely to get a job above minimum wage with your record. If you refuse, you may not have long to live and see what minimum wage is like. Cyril has no other way of figuring out how to get the painting except by using someone on the inside. He’s determined.”
“What if I just hand the map over to him when I get out and let him do it?” Jean’s urgency was beginning to attract the attention of the guards, and Etienne leaned away from him.
“If you’re that stupid, you don’t deserve to live. Cyril hires other people to do the dirty work and he hires people to make sure it gets done. Even if you give him the map, you’re the only one who can get the key to the gate. He doesn’t like involving too many people, and he doesn’t like loose ends. He’s gonna make sure you complete the project, or you’ll be the loose end.” Etienne stood, and Jean followed suit, his eyes fixed on Etienne’s face.
“And if I fail?”
“Don’t.” Etienne joined the line of convicts waiting to have handcuffs put back on. Jean stared after him for a minute before heading to take his place in line. Etienne was in for life, and Jean would do anything to make sure he had one.
He replayedthis conversation in his head over and over in the weeks he spent scraping away at the mortar in the dark tunnel. He still hadn’t fully committed when he first met Cyril, but he soon accepted his role in the theft as the only way out of a life of crime—and with his life intact.
He was now working away at the stones close to his waist. He would be able to climb over them noiselessly after this night’s session, and the next step was to go unlock the gate and figure out how to retrieve the painting without waking up the household. He wasn’t going to attempt it tonight; his mind wasn’t in the game. However, the clock was running out. He had less than three weeks before Cyril had arranged to meet with the Russian buyer, and he needed to have that painting before then. Not so early that he was worried about someone finding it, but not so late that he missed the deadline. He would have to think this through more carefully.
24
It was all over the headlines, and Charles loathed to see his name attached to it. He had stopped off at a café while meeting his lawyer in Paris, and it was the cover photo that caught his eye. When he was finished reading, he threw the paper down in disgust. Thankfully he was in this anonymous city and not in Maisons-Laffitte where everyone knew who he was. As soon as he got home, he called her, anxious to put an end to things.
“Charles, Charles—” sobbed a distraught Manon. “It’s not what you think. You have to give me a chance to explain. I can’t believe I did such a stupid thing. We’re so good together—let’s give us another chance.”
“Manon, please don’t. It’s over.” Charles was walking briskly to inspect theCabinet des Mirroirsin the château, whose multitude of tiny windowpanes he had ordered to be cleaned.
She gave a small sob over the telephone. “But we’re so happy together.” At this, he stopped short, and sighed.
“Manon, we’re not happy together. If we were, you wouldn’t be having an affair.” He exhaled. “The truth is, it’s not just you. I’ve known for some time that this wouldn’t work out, and I should have told you sooner. I just…didn’t want to hurt you.” He cringed at the cliché.
She took an audible breath and let it out. When she spoke, her voice dripped acid. “I suppose there’s no reason to beg.” She waited to see if he would respond, and when he didn’t, ended with a simple, “Goodbye, Charles.” The line went dead.
He started walking again, his shoes clicking on the parquet in the echoing rooms. He wished he had time to process this before the students came over to his house later—with Chastity. But he was glad he had ended it with Manon and found his steps were lighter.
“Paltier,” he called out, having spotted the balding head of his faithful servant as he headed downstairs out of sight. The butler walked back up a couple of steps and peered up. “The wine list you handed me is good. I assume you’ve already placed the order with your brother? I’m sorry it took me so long to approve it, but you know I trust your taste implicitly.”
“Yes, monsieur. The orders have been placed, and the cases will arrive by next weekend.”
“What would I do without you?” Since it was clear his employer didn’t expect an answer, Paltier didn’t give one.
When the doorbell rang, indicating that the dancing teacher had arrived, Charles asked Paltier to show him to the gallery and offer him refreshments while he went in search of his son. He found him coming out of his room, scrubbed clean. “I was just coming to get you.”
“I’m ready.” His son’s face was brighter than his father had seen in some time.
“I’m glad you’re up for this,” his father said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be too keen on learning to dance the waltz.”
“I don’t want to be the only one who can’t.” His son led the way down the stairs.
