The Paris Spy (Maggie Hope Mystery #7)(36)

Hugh studied her face, bewildered, then nodded, reaching for the dance bag. As the two approached the Reichsminister, he struggled to his feet and bent to kiss Sarah’s hand. “Mes artistes!” he exclaimed. “You were dazzling tonight. Come, sit with me! Waiter—more Champagne!”

—

Maggie was on her way back to Chanel’s table when she realized she was being observed. She scanned the room. Jacques was sitting in a corner banquette, engaged in conversation with another well-dressed Frenchman. Although he nodded to his companion, his eyes followed her.

When he saw her looking, he grinned. It was bad enough she and Sarah and Hugh were all in the same place, now Jacques, too? And what’s his excuse? She felt a sense of deep disquiet, as if a black cat had crossed her path. And yet, she had to admit she was happy to see him.

As his companion rose and left, Jacques beckoned her over. Against her better judgment, she went. “Sit with me, mademoiselle,” he urged. “S’il vous pla?t.”

“Who was that?” she asked.

“A shady businessman, whom I use as part of my disguise. You’re not the only one with a cover. I’m a black-market racketeer in my spare time.”

Maggie sat with trepidation, realizing Chanel was watching. “You look so different,” she remarked, noting his gold cuff links, embossed with Janus heads. “Aristocratic, even.”

“I’ve found that the more you look like a collaborator, the less you’re questioned. Speaking of which, if anyone asks why we’re speaking, tell them I’m getting you a good price for Champagne for your wedding reception. Oyster?” He gestured to an icy heap topped by slices of lemon.

“I only eat oysters in months that end in r.”

“As one should.” He opened a tarnished silver cigarette case, holding it out to her.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Then you must join me in some Champagne.” The bottle read DOM PERIGNON GRAND CRU 1935. “A happier moment in time, between wars, bottled and preserved.”

“No. Thank you.”

He shifted toward her, his face suddenly earnest. “I called you over because I want to let you know…” He stopped speaking.

Maggie felt a rush of impatience. “Know what?”

He looked around to make sure they could not be overheard. “I’ve only just found out—and I’m terribly sorry to tell you, but—Agent Calvert is dead.”

“No.” She was unable to absorb the news. “No, it can’t be true.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“How do you know? How do you know it was really her?”

“I have a friend…at the morgue. He gave me a heads-up and I went to look myself. It was definitely her.”

“How…?”

“A fall. The death certificate said accident.”

“Where did she fall?”

“From the top floor of 84 Avenue Foch.” Maggie and Jacques locked eyes, both thinking the same thing: Gestapo.

“She must have killed herself rather than…” Maggie shuddered, knowing all too well what young women on morgue slabs looked like.

“Yes,” he agreed simply, sliding over the leather seat of the banquette and putting his mouth close to her ear. “Bar Lorraine is still the place to send and receive messages. The best way to contact me now is to go there.”

“Understood. Now that our…she is…gone…there’s only my sister left for me to find. How much time do we have? When’s the next scheduled plane out?”

“The next full moon’s June twenty-eighth—a week from tomorrow. Wait for the signal on the BBC—it will be ‘the night has a thousand eyes’—and be at the airfield where you were dropped. Just give word at the Bar Lorraine that you’ll be there. We won’t leave without you.”

She stood. “Thank you. For letting me know.”

He, too, rose, then seized her hand and bent to kiss it. “Try that again and I’ll smack you,” Maggie warned, pulling her hand away.

“We need a reason to meet. Our cover can be that we’re lovers.”

“Are you insane? I’m supposed to be engaged, here to shop for my trousseau.”

“This is Paris, Mademoiselle Kelly. All sorts of things happen here.” He winked.

“Do you have something in your eye, monsieur?”

The cocky grin was back. “I could be your ‘Parisian dalliance.’?”

Maggie leaned close and raised herself on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Do you know how many ways I know to kill a man? With or without my sister, I will see you on the twenty-eighth. Now, unless you have anything else relevant to say, good night.”

“Is this man annoying you, Mademoiselle Kelly?” It was Ruesdorf; the sudden appearance of the German officer nearly made her gasp.

“No,” she said, recovering quickly. “Not at all. But I’m ready to go back to my table now.”

“Of course,” he replied, offering his arm. As they walked, he remarked, “You look very beautiful tonight, if I may.”

“Thank you, Generaloberst. But I must remind you—I’m engaged.”

He nodded. “I am a gentleman. And your fiancé is a very lucky man, whom I respect. But please—call me Christian.” He observed Maggie closely. “Are you ill? You’re quite pale.”