The Pleasures of Autumn (15 page)

The shoe boxes were another revelation. She whistled when she saw the label on a pair of black heels. Even Lottie would have hesitated before spending that amount of money on a pair of shoes, but they were beautiful. She kicked off the borrowed woollen socks and slipped the shoes onto her feet.

It had been a while since she had worn heels. She wore sensible shoes at the museum. She hadn’t had a date since she had moved to Geneva, so there didn’t seem to be any point in dressing up. Heels really did something for a girl.

She pivoted on one foot and struck a Lottie pose. She had missed her so much. Standing before the mirror, a thought struck her. She had never gone on a date as her glamorous alter ego. Lottie existed only under the spotlight. When the performance was over, she always vanished. Maybe it was time to let her out to play again.

Sinead carefully removed the labels from the wispy pieces of silk and put on the underwear. She drew on the stockings and smoothed them over her legs, glancing in the mirror to make sure that the seams were straight. She fingered the dress. It seemed a shame not to wear it. This time next week she could be in a Swiss prison. She pulled the dress over her head and zipped it up. It flared delightfully around her legs. She almost looked like … Lottie.

Sinead pulled a face at the mirror. Well, not exactly like Lottie. Without the elaborate stage make-up, coloured contacts and raven wig, she looked like a glamorous version of herself – except for the bruise. The bathroom cabinet contained a half-finished tube of concealer. Not her shade but she needed something to cover the bruise on her face. She took a step back. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t as noticeable as before.

Niall’s silence said more than a dozen compliments. She was used to that kind of reaction from fans of Lottie but not for Sinead O’Sullivan. He had changed into a dark suit that looked as if it had been made for him. Given the size of his broad shoulders, it probably had. His shirt was pristine and the tie was an understated grey silk that matched his eyes and had probably cost a packet.

He caught her glance and adjusted the knot again. ‘Damn things, I hate wearing them.’

‘Here, let me.’ She re-tied it, tucked it inside his jacket and rested her hands on the lapels. The heels gave her an added height advantage. She was tall enough to kiss him and she gave in to temptation, brushing her mouth lightly against his. ‘You polish up well.’

‘I was about to say the same to you.’ He rested his hands on her waist and hunger flared in his eyes. If they didn’t get out of here soon, they were never going to make their appointment.

Regretfully, she stepped out of his arms. ‘Come on, we have to go. We can call the hospital about Gabriel on the way.’

Niall parked in a side street around the corner from the antique store. Sinead had been quiet since she heard that Gabriel was out of surgery. The surgeon was confident that he would make a full recovery, but there would be scarring.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Niall asked.

‘Don’t be stupid. Of course I’m going to do it. I’m fine. I’ve known Maurice for years. Stop fussing.’

He kept his hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street and stopped outside the antique shop. Among the replicas and tourist tat were two nice watercolours; overpriced of course, but saleable. She paused at the display of jewellery.

Sinead couldn’t be sure when she had first developed a fascination for jewellery. Her mother hadn’t left any, and Granny O’Sullivan’s collection was pure paste. But there was something about a ruby. The cold purity of the fire within always set her heart racing.

Lottie had a few nice pieces she wore mainly for photo shoots, but they were stored in a safe deposit box in London.

She caught a glimpse of their reflection in the window. They might have been a couple ready to make a very special purchase.

Niall fingered the collar of his shirt. ‘Stop looking
at the engagement rings, Sinead. You’re making me nervous.’

She threw back her head and laughed. ‘You’d be lucky.’

He held the door open and the bell jangled as they stepped into the store. A middle-aged female stepped forwards, dressed entirely in black. A small cameo brooch at her throat was her only embellishment. Her attention focused on Niall, taking in the bespoke suit and polished shoes, measuring his worth.

‘Monsieur.’ She inclined her head in welcome.

The woman had probably already adjusted the prices upwards by 20 per cent. Sinead was tempted to throw him to the wolves but they didn’t have the time. ‘We’re here to see Maurice,’ she announced. ‘I’m Sinead O’Sullivan. He’s expecting us.’

Concealed behind an embroidered screen was a panelled door that led to a narrow staircase. On the second landing the woman rapped on an unmarked door. They heard a key being turned and a bolt being drawn back. Niall shot a dark look at Sinead. He didn’t like this one little bit.

The Frenchman was barely 5'7". A brocade waistcoat covered a belly that was testament to his love of good food. Sinead kissed him on both cheeks and received an enthusiastic hug in return. ‘Maurice, so good to see you.’ She gestured to Niall. ‘This is Niall Moore, my associate.’

‘Come in, come in.’ He motioned them into the room and locked the door after them. ‘I’ve made coffee.’

‘That would be lovely.’

She glanced around the room. The dark mahogany display cases came from another century, as did many of the
pieces contained within. Necklaces, rings and tiaras glittered under the light and Sinead itched for a closer look. Maybe later.

‘How are you?’

‘Terrible.’ Maurice shook his head as he poured three cups of coffee and offered one to her. He gestured to the cases. ‘You see how it is. Since the crash, everybody wants to sell. No one wants to buy.’

She nodded sympathetically as she sipped her coffee. Things were always terrible with Maurice. He hadn’t had a good day for a decade.

‘And the rent.’ He sighed. ‘They must think I’m made of money. You saw the shop downstairs. Full of stock.’

Full of tat more likely. Sinead knew that most of his ‘antiques’ were made by his brother in Lyon. Even sold as replicas, they were vastly overpriced.

‘You might have noticed the nice little pair in the window. I bought them from a dealer in Brittany. No provenance, but they’re a steal at four thousand, don’t you think?’

‘You’d be robbing me if you looked for more than nine hundred.’

‘For both? Impossible. I have a family to feed.’

Sinead laughed. She knew that his son had his own import business and that his daughter was married to a wealthy oil executive. ‘I’m not in the market for a picture, Maurice. I need some information. I’m sure you’ve heard that the Fire of Autumn has been stolen. Could you –’

He set his cup down carefully. ‘Not even for you. We are talking about dangerous men.’

‘She’s already met them.’

It was the first time that Niall had spoken since they entered the room and Maurice turned his head and gave him a shrewd stare. ‘If you have, then you know what you are dealing with.’

He wasn’t going to help them. ‘Those men think I stole the Fire of Autumn. I have to get it back. Please, Maurice.’

He tapped one pudgy finger on the desk and sighed. ‘You are not the only ones seeking the stone. There are at least two others searching Paris for it.’

‘Who?’ Niall asked.

‘I’ve heard rumours that a certain Russian oligarch and a Chinese businessman are interested but it is also possible that the stone has been offered to the Rheinbach.’

‘What? They want to sell them their own stone back?’

Sinead shook her head. ‘It’s not unusual. The museum will claim on their insurance, but for a lot less than the true value of the stone. What else do you know?’

‘Nothing. There are other rumours of course.’

‘Like?’ Niall didn’t bother to hide the impatience in his voice and Sinead flashed him a look telling him to shut up.

‘Perhaps an auction; I really could not say.’ Maurice shrugged.

Could not or would not? She couldn’t be certain which. It was time to apply a little pressure. Sinead rose from her chair and pretended to examine the contents of one display case containing antique rings.

Maurice followed her. ‘Have you seen anything that catches your eye? I will give you a good price.’ He pointed to an emerald ring. ‘That one came in recently.’

‘I hope you didn’t pay much for it.’ The ring might have had an antique setting, but two of the smaller stones gave
the lie. They were machine cut, not cut by hand like the other stones.

‘You are cruel, but correct as usual.’ He turned to Niall. ‘Do you know that they call her the Ice Queen because of her love of stones?’

She hated that nickname. Some men in the business viewed it as a challenge, thinking it referred to her private life and not her passion for jewellery.

‘Ah, I have the most wonderful thing for you. Not diamonds but sapphires – a perfect pair of Sri Lankan stones. Now where did I put them?’

Maurice moved a set of old wooden steps along the floor and climbed them to reach the top shelf. He took a bunch of keys from his belt and opened one drawer. ‘Here.’ He announced with a hint of triumph before descending the steps again.

‘Sit. Sit and try them. They were made for you. They are the same colour as your beautiful eyes.’

Sinead brushed back her hair and allowed Maurice to fix the earrings in place. He handed her a mirror.

He was right. They were perfectly matched and exquisitely beautiful. She couldn’t possibly afford them. Well, Lottie could, but museum curator Sinead O’Sullivan couldn’t. She shook her head regretfully. ‘They’re too expensive.’

‘But you haven’t heard the price yet. Seventy.’

She unclipped one earring. ‘Twenty.’

‘You wouldn’t want to see my children starve. Sixty.’

‘Thirty-eight seven fifty. My final offer and I want to know who’s running the auction for the Fire of Autumn and when it’s taking place.’

Maurice smiled broadly. ‘Done. And may I say it’s always a pleasure doing business with you.’

There was one tiny little problem. She didn’t have a credit card and the police had probably frozen her bank accounts by now. She glanced at Niall. ‘Can you get these for me? I’ll pay you back later.’

She had never noticed the tic on his lower jaw before, but it was jumping madly now.

‘Thousands?’ he croaked.

‘Yes, sir. €38,750. A bargain.’

Niall was still smarting when they left Maurice’s. He’d heard plenty of guys in the Wing complain about women who spent money like water. None of them could hold a candle to Sinead, that was for sure.

‘I’m hungry, can we go for something to eat?’ she asked.

‘As long as you’re prepared to eat table d’hôte. That little visit cost me almost €40,000, on top of your clothes. My credit card is pretty much maxed out.’ He still couldn’t believe how much money he had spent on her in one day.

‘In that case, I’ll have a house salad and glass of water.’

He didn’t believe that demure tone for a moment. There was mischief in her eyes.

‘I think I can run to a meal or two.’

‘Lucky I know a cheap place that does excellent food. We can walk and enjoy the air.’

It was windy, and the clouds were drawing in, making the shadows darker than usual. A few drops of rain fell, threatening more. ‘Enjoying the air?’

She shrugged, for the first time looking uncomfortable. ‘I need to be outside for a while.’

Considering what she had been through, it wasn’t unreasonable. But – ‘Your hair is too noticeable. You’d better wear a hat.’

Hall was under arrest, but no saying how long they would be able to hold him. Niall knew that the bastard was an expert at weaselling through red tape. They stopped at a tourist store and he bought her a dark beret to match her leather jacket.

On her, it looked stylish. But with her hair hidden, there was something familiar about her. He eyed the high-heeled shoes. When he had bought them, he hadn’t realized how high they were. He had been determined to put her in something different. He hadn’t considered strolls along the Seine in shoes that made walking a party trick. Somehow she was coping.

The river was dark and sullen, but she smiled as she walked along. ‘I love Paris. Not just the touristy things like the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, but the river in the rain and the smell of garlic and cologne on the metro and the chatter of people in the markets.’

‘Dublin is my city. Even when I’m living in England, there’s something about Dublin that says home.’ He hadn’t planned to tell her that, it slipped out.

‘Oh look!’ Sinead stopped and leaned over the wall guarding the river. She waved at the bateau bus chugging up the river. A handful of people waved back. She stayed there, leaning a little further as it fought the current on the way to the next stop.

Niall was stunned. That position caused her dress, so
respectable when she was standing, to ride up, showing that she was wearing the stockings he had bought her. The flash of thigh at the top of the smoke-grey stocking was mesmerizing. And she had no idea.

He checked around. No one else within range. He allowed himself to enjoy the sight. She shifted again. ‘Careful,’ he called.

She turned to him, mischief in her eyes. ‘Do you think I’m going to fall in?’

He had trouble operating his tongue. Now he could see the tops of both stockings. ‘Be careful.’

‘It’s okay. I know what I’m doing.’

She hadn’t a clue. Despite himself, his cock swelled. Why hadn’t he noticed the purity of her profile before? Because she always wore glasses, he realized.

‘We’d better walk on before it gets dark. Can you see or do you need to hold my arm?’ It took everything he had to make the offer. Moving on would mean that she hid those enticing thighs.

‘I’m just slightly short-sighted, I’m not blind.’ She sounded a little offended, but straightened up and moved to his side. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed.

They walked along the quay, pointing out sights to each other. Niall wasn’t surprised when she knew about the architecture of the buildings, or that she usually had a story to go with them. A half hour walk through Paris with Sinead was an education. He didn’t tell her that his version of the city usually involved catacombs and sewer systems.

‘Who do you remind me of?’ he asked. It was driving
him mad, an itch he couldn’t scratch, that feeling that he knew her from somewhere.

She broke off her account of the dispute between Matisse and Picasso. ‘I like to think I’m a unique individual, not a cheap copy of someone else.’ She sounded annoyed and he couldn’t blame her.

She shrugged. ‘It’s probably Summer. We are cousins, after all, and there is a family resemblance.’

The hairs on the back of Niall’s neck stood up. There was a lie somewhere in that. But what?