Time for Eternity (42 page)

She watched his face as he eased the Beamer into the parking space. He was tired. He’d just flown in from Somalia the night before. He’d had to get his team out of that hellhole before it all collapsed and their risked lives turned into lives lost. Doctors Without Borders was Henri’s current effort to make the world a better place. She loved him for that.

ROSANO’S RARE BOOKS was painted in gilt over the window of the little shop. Under those words a single pedestal stand displayed a great book that looked like one of those old dictionaries a foot thick. Light glowed from within, but Frankie couldn ’t see anyone inside.

Henri reached over and took her hand. “You’re holding your breath.”

She let it out. “Okay, let’s go.” She didn’t wait for him to open her door. But he made it to the door of the shop ahead of her and pushed it open. A bell tinkled as they entered.

The familiar head of red hair poked out from a door in the back. “Be right with you.”

Frankie scanned the shop frantically but she didn’t see Leonardo’s book. Henri took her hand. She breathed.

Of course not. No one would keep something so valuable on display. The bookshop was crammed from floor to ceiling with leather-spined books of every shape and size. Comfortable chairs and a sofa sat on an oriental carpet in cones of soft light cast by several reading lamps.

The woman she remembered hurried out from the back, looking distraught. She was a lovely thing, well upholstered like her chairs with winsome curves and a perfect translucent complexion that went with the wavy mass of red hair. She stopped dead when she saw Frankie. “It’s you!”

“Uh, yes.” Suddenly, Frankie didn’t know what to say. At least the woman recognized her. That meant that she had been in the shop. And she had left the book here.

“I’ve been looking for you for the last week. ” Suddenly she peered at Frankie. Her eyes slid to Henri. She looked a little stunned. Frankie was used to it. Women always looked stunned when they first met Henri. She tore her eyes away and back to Frankie. “You look … different.”

Frankie patted her hair self-consciously. She no longer had the original Frankie ’s spikes. “Where are my manners? Lucy Rossano, this is Henri Foucault.”

Ms. Rossano nodded to Henri. “A pleasure, Mr. Foucault. Am I to credit you for the change I see in Ms. Suchet?” She glanced back to Frankie. “She looks so much … softer.”

“I like to think so,” Henri murmured. It was left to Frankie to blush.

“Never mind that,” Frankie said. “I’ve come about the book. You have it?”

“That’s why I’ve been trying to find you. No one had heard of you at the address you gave.”

“I’ve been … away. Do-you-have-the-book?” Frankie spoke each syllable slowly.

Lucy Rosanno ran her hands through the thick mass of her hair. “Yes. Yes, of course. But someone has made an offer on it. And

… and I don’t know what to do.”

“You haven’t sold it?” Frankie and Henri both said it at once.

“No, no. At least not yet. But … but they offered … they offered a million dollars.”

Frankie and Henri glanced at each other. The book was easily worth that. And more. An original by Leonardo da Vinci? A million was low if she sold it at auction.

“We’d be willing to match whatever you’re offered,” Henri said calmly.

Ms. Rosanno looked at him like he’d grown another eye. Her mouth worked but she didn’t manage to bring forth any sound. If anything, Henri’s offer seemed to leave her even more distressed. Her pale complexion alternately flushed and went dead white.

Frankie began to get the oddest feeling; a tingling right at the edge of her mind. “Why … why were you looking for me?”

Ms. Rosanno’s clear green eyes searched her face. “At first I just thought I should share the price with you. You just left it here, you know. You didn’t ask anything for it. I thought it wasn’t right that I should get a million dollars and you get nothing at all.”

“And after … ?” Frankie asked, because there was definitely something else going on here. Frankie could feel it.

“I started to dream about the book. And I couldn’t bear the thought of selling it at all. I started thinking about it every waking moment. And I wondered … how you could give it up like that … just leave it here and not look back?”

Because for me, it had already done its work.
Now where had those thoughts come from?

“Is … is it cursed or something?” the young woman asked. “I mean, were you trying to pass it on to get rid of it?”

And it all became clear to Frankie. She knew what she must do. She smiled, and she knew the smile was reassuring because it felt true and right. “No. No, I had already used it to make me happy, and I was finished with it.”

Ms. Rossano’s eyes got big. “You do look happy,” she whispered.

Frankie stepped forward and took the girl’s hands in her own. “Don’t sell the book. You don’t want to sell it, do you?”

The girl’s eyes filled. She shook her head.

“Do you need money?” Henri asked. “A million dollars is a lot of money.”

The girl gave a jerky laugh. “Who doesn’t need a million dollars? The shop …” She looked around. “It’s hard.”

Henri looked to Frankie. “We’re meeting Donna and Jergan at Ozone tonight after the opera. They know everyone who is anybody in the arts in this city. I’m sure they know collectors who would like to browse your collection.”

“Keep the book,” Frankie said, looking into those clear green eyes. “You’re meant to have it, just as I was.” She turned to Henri.

“Time to go?” he asked her. She nodded. Henri took one of his cards from the inside breast pocket of his Armani, and handed it to the little bookseller. “If ever I can be of service, don’t hesitate to call.”

And they left. Frankie relaxed. She needn’t worry now.

“What happened to all the anxiety?” Henri clicked the key fob and the car chirped as it unlocked itself and turned on the lights.

The fog was coming in and the air felt thick and damp.

“The book isn’t dangerous, at least in her hands.”

“True. She can’t power the machine. She’s human.” He opened the door for her. She watched him walk around the front of the car. He opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. “She doesn’t even know the machine is under the Baptistery in Florence.

She’d need a crane to lift the stone that leads to the crypts.”

“It doesn’t matter. She’ll use it. The book’s meant to be hers. I felt it.”

Henri smiled and turned the key. The engine caught with a purr. “So … you’re thinking this book is a supernatural object?”

Frankie laughed. “Leonardo was artist and scientist together and that made him half magician. That book describes a machine half science and half art. Maybe the book itself has been transformed into a sacred object. Sacred objects have a will of their own, you know.”

“You’re making this up, aren’t you? Just so I’ll think you know what you’re doing?”

She chuckled. He always knew. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he echoed. She didn’t know whether he was talking about her making things up, or the truth of what she’d said. She didn’t know herself. She leaned across the armrest between them. She missed bench seats in cars. Henri put his arm around her.

“Let’s go have a drink at Ozone,” she said. “That’s where all this started.”

“And it’s been quite an adventure. Living with you is always an adventure.”

She pulled her head from his shoulder. “This from a man who led the Resistance in Marseilles? Dodging the Nazis every day?

Captured and tortured and I couldn’t find you for weeks? And I won’t even mention risking your life to save the Dalai Lama, or that time—”

“See what I put up with?” Henri raised his eyes to the roof of the car. “This is what comes of living with one woman for two hundred-plus years. They know everything.” He lowered his eyes, though, and they were soft—the look she’d come to treasure.

He kissed her forehead silently, letting his lips linger there. Then he glanced at the clock.

“We have hours before we have to meet Donna and Jergan. And we have that lovely penthouse suite at the Fairmont with that huge bed.”

“With clean sheets.”

“Might have put chocolates on the pillows.”

“You could order champagne.”

“Done.”

Time for Eternity

© 2009 Susan Squires

ISBN: 9780312943530

ST. MARTIN’S PRESS

Ed
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Table of Contents

Epilogue

Epilogue