Invitation to Provence(52)

“Bien, un grand café,” he said, his Proven?al accent making bien sound like bieng.

“I’m Clare Marks, a friend of the Marten family,” she said. She wasn’t sure he understood, but she liked him, she liked his black eyes and his black hair, his solidity. She patted the seat next to her. “Why not join me? I could do to learn some French.”

Jarré stared at her. Already under her spell, he sat down. “Eh bien,” he said, beaming, “we will begin our lesson. I am Jarré.”

“Glad to meet you,” Clare said, smiling. She was beginning to enjoy Provence.





41





JAKE HAD NOT SLEPT, but he was used to that. There came a point when you were over the fatigue boundary and into second, then third wind, when the body just kept on moving and the mind ticked even faster. Thank god his bluff to Alain had worked. Of course he could have tried to make a run for it, but France was a small country and not an easy place to disappear in, especially when you were on the wanted list. He’d banked on the fact that Alain would seize the opportunity to get out of the country and not face prosecution, and he’d been right.

The plane was fueled and the crew ready and waiting, as was Oscar, the biggest and toughest bodyguard out of Marseille, ready for any trouble Alain might give him.

Oscar had called from the plane to say they were en route to Ho Chi Minh City, and that the “prisoner” was angry because they wouldn’t give him alcohol or food and was threatening all kinds of trouble, but not to worry, he had it under control. Jake doubted Alain would ever risk returning to France.

Early this morning he’d taken a long walk, trying to figure out what he could say to Franny to try redeem himself, and now he wondered hopefully if Clare might put in a good word for him. He also wondered if Franny was up yet, what she was doing, what she thought of him? He guessed he knew the answer to that one. Franny had made it only too clear last night that she’d put him in the same cheat-and-liar category as Marcus Marks.

He thought of how she’d looked last night, sitting demurely at the dinner table in her prim white shirt and flowered skirt. He remembered the swing of her sleek blond curtain of hair as she turned away from him, as well as the wariness in her eyes. He knew she was right—she didn’t know who he was or what he was, she only knew he’d made up a story about Criminal, and that they’d ended up in bed together.

He sighed, thinking about what to do. He decided the first trick was to get her to listen to him. The second was to tell her the truth. The third was to explain that he could not have betrayed Rafaella’s trust, and the fourth was simply to throw himself on her mercy. Remembering that steely core under the soft blond exterior, he didn’t think he stood much of a chance. Unless, of course, she still felt the same electric pull between them that he did.

He walked past the fountain and sat on the front steps. Leaning back against the stone lion, he waited for Criminal to catch up to him. At least the dog was enjoying himself, keeping aloof from the yapping Pomeranians and the snooty Mimi and Louis. “Street dogs rule. Okay, Criminal,” he said, grinning as the dog came shooting up the drive. He trotted toward Jake, panted to a halt and dropped a bloodied rabbit at his feet, then he sat on his haunches and gazed triumphantly at him. Jake didn’t know whether to say “bad dog” or “good dog.” He finally settled for “clever dog,” then took the morning newspaper he’d picked up in the village, wrapped the poor rabbit in it, and took it to the kitchen.

Haigh frowned when he saw the bloody parcel. “Damned dogs,” he muttered, then added, “You’ll never see Mimi or Louis do that. That pair couldn’t catch a fly.” He permitted himself a small laugh. He stopped and looked up at Jake. “Thanks for last night,” he said. “Only you could have got rid of that bastard.”

Jake shrugged. “By now he’s back where he belongs.”

“Never to darken the chateau’s doors again,” Haigh said with a grin. “I always knew he was the one who pushed the girl over the cliff, despite the alibi. Alain always had an alibi for everything. He was a rotten kid and he grew up to be an evil man. Thank god Rafaella has finally faced up to it.”

Jake nodded. He was thinking about Felix. He believed he knew what had happened but he couldn’t say because he had no proof yet, though he was working on it.

“Anyone else up yet?” He helped himself to a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, sounding as casual as he could.

Haigh gave him a sideways look. He knew who he meant. “Madame took breakfast in her room. And Madame Juliette has not yet emerged, though god knows those bloody little Poms must be bursting to pee, I only hope not on my Aubus-son. And Mademoiselle Clare took off for the village, I believe.”

“The bloody Pomeranians came with me for a walk so you needn’t worry.” Jake waited for him to tell him where Franny was, but Haigh was fussing over his trays of canapés for the “cocktail” that evening, humming an off-key little tune to himself that Jake recognized as the old classic “As Time Goes By.” He heaved a sigh. “Okay, Haigh, so tell me where she is,” he said at last.

Haigh lifted his head momentarily. “And who would that be, Mr. Jake?” His face was so studiedly innocent Jake had to laugh.

“Okay, I confess,” he said. “I’m looking for Franny.”