French Silk(43)

But the evidence that the detective had turned up that afternoon might be the missing clue that would change his mind about the owner of French Silk. "That little twerp over at the hotel has been lying through his teeth," he'd told Cassidy.

"Looks like. Want me to take it?" He was itching to.

"Be my guest. If I get near him, I might throttle the little shit. Never did trust a guy with a flower on his lapel."

Cassidy hadn't spared a second racing to the Fairmont in time to intercept Andre Philippi.

Cassidy spotted him briskly approaching the registration desk. He tossed a couple of bills on the table to cover his coffee, picked up his trench coat, and crossed the lobby in long, purposeful strides.

Andre wasn't pleased to see him. His face crinkled with distaste. "What is it, Mr. Cassidy? I'm very busy."

"I appreciate that, but so am I."

"Perhaps you could call tomorrow and set up an appointment."

"I'm sorry, but I really need to see you now. I apologize for the inconvenience and promise it won't take but a minute. Do you have an audio cassette player handy?"

"A cassette player?" Andre regarded him suspiciously. "There's one in my office. Why?"

"May I?"

Cassidy didn't wait for compliance. He headed toward Andre's office, trusting the little man to follow, which he did—rapidly. Upon entering the office, Cassidy went straight to the machine, turned it on, and inserted the cassette. "This is highly improper, Mr. Cassidy. If you wanted to see me—"

Andre fell silent when he heard a telephone ring on the tape. He heard his own voice answer, then the start of a conversation that began with, "Bonsoir, Andre."

He recognized the voice, all right. Apparently he remembered the conversation, too. As Cassidy watched, he seemed to wilt inside his impeccable black suit. Beads of perspiration popped out on his shiny forehead. His pursed lips went slack. He backed up to his desk, groping for the corner of it before plopping down.

"Mon Dieu," he whispered as the tape continued to play. He removed a handkerchief from his hip pocket and blotted his forehead. "Please, please, Mr. Cassidy, turn it off."

He didn't turn if off, but he reduced the volume. He'd expected a reaction, but not one so drastic. Obviously he had more here than he'd originally thought. His impulse was to grab the man by the lapels and shake the information out of him. It took some effort to play it cool.

"Why don't you tell me about this, Andre? I'm giving you the opportunity to explain."

Andre wet his lips and nervously picked at the monogram on his handkerchief. If he'd just been sentenced to death row, he couldn't have looked more distressed. "Does she know that you have this?"

Cassidy's heart was drumming. He was on the brink of learning the identity of the woman on the tape. Philippi assumed he already knew who she was. Don't blow it! Cassidy gave a noncommittal shrug. "It's her voice, isn't it?"

"Oh, dear. Oh, my," Andre moaned, crumpling even more. "Poor, poor Claire."

* * *

Claire had been talking to Yasmine via long distance for almost an hour. Yasmine was depressed. Claire suspected that she'd had more than a couple of drinks.

"He's always in a rush," she whined.

Selfishly, Claire wished that Yasmine had kept her lover a secret. Since the night she had acknowledged him to Claire, most of their conversations revolved around him and the star-crossed affair.

"He's dividing his time between his family and you, Yasmine. You don't have him all to yourself. That's just one of the consequences of being involved with a married man. You must accept that or end the affair."

"I accept it. It's just that … well, in the beginning, our time together seemed more leisurely."

"Now it's slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am."

Claire expected that crack to annoy her volatile friend. Instead, she gave one of her throaty laughs that called to mind jungle felines. "Hardly. This past weekend, he worked me over so good…"

"Then I don't understand what you're complaining about."

There was a tearful catch in Yasmine's voice. Claire had never known her to cry over anything, even when the cosmetics line chose another model to replace her. That had been the beginning of Yasmine's financial troubles. Yasmine wasn't aware that Claire knew about her present difficulties. She'd debated broaching the subject with her and offering assistance in the form of a loan. But knowing Yasmine's temper and pride as she did, she'd refrained. She hoped Yasmine would come to her of her own accord before her situation became desperate.

"Sometimes I wonder if that's the only reason he wants me," Yasmine said in a small voice. "You know, what we do in bed."

Claire saw the wisdom of holding her silence.

"I know it's not that way," Yasmine hastened to say. "There's much more to our relationship than the physical part. The shitty circumstances have me upset, that's all."

"What happened?"

"He was in Washington on business this week and told me he could pad the trip to include two days in New York. But his business went longer than expected and he got held up. We were only together for one day.

"When he got ready to leave this afternoon, I thought I was going to die, Claire. I did what I know better than to do. I begged him not to go. He got angry. Now, I can't even call him and apologize. I have to wait for him to call me."