Darrel opens the rear door on the right, and I hop in.
The frosty gray on this windy morning dissolves into a world of warmth, luxury, and comfort. There isn’t a piece of cheap plastic visible to the naked eye. No smell of it, either. The cream leather seats designed to cradle a passenger throughout the journey welcome me like a long-lost friend.
Theodor greets me from the other end of the roomy back seat. Darrel takes the front passenger seat.
My driver turns around. “My name is Jordan. I’m Monsieur Delaroche’s private chauffer. Pleasure to meet you, Madame Pontet!”
“Very pleased to meet you,” I reply, studying the three men in the car.
They are all tall and toned. Jordan and Darrel look a little younger than Theodor. They must be my age. Both are undeniably handsome, each in his own way. Jordan is dark with black hair, while Darrel has gray eyes with sandy hair. And Darrel’s high, broad cheekbones must have something to do with the Slavic roots reflected in his family name, Vlovsky.
Both Jordan and Darrel are very smartly dressed, but Theodor’s shirt, suit and coat are in another league. He wears them well, too, his posture relaxed and regal at the same time. The bearing of a man who was born into money and power. What a contrast to Doc’s giddy signaling! After making the deal with Gilles, he sent me pictures of himself wearing branded clothes and posing between a grotesquely long black limo and a flashy red Audi. He even went so far as to have his minions lined behind him in the pictures. He had no idea how cheap it came across.
I feel Theodor’s gaze on me, but I’m loath to look at his disfigured face, especially what used to be his right eye.
Why can’t he wear an eye patch?!And a mask, while he’s at it. Does he take pleasure in displaying his deformity and watching people cringe? Why do that to himself and others?
He opens a compartment and offers me a cooled bottle of water. Darrel turns some dials on the wooden dashboard. Soft classical music pours out of the sound system. The acoustics are top-notch.
Jordan puts the car in gear while I belt up. We glide toward the highway.
I can’t hear the engine, but I can feel the restrained power of this mighty human creation. The moment Jordan steps on it, the engine revs, and the car leaps forward with no discernable effort, like gorgeous Arabian horses galloping across the wilderness in men’s fragrance commercials.
“I am delighted your grandfather agreed to let you copy his parents’ letters,” Theodor says.
I study the bottle in my hands. “He said no at first… but he changed his mind after I told him what you’d done for our family.”
“How did you broach the subject of my intervention?”
“I told him you’re a friend.”
He gives my statement some thought. “How did we become friends?
“Er…” I screw up my face. “No idea. Does it matter?”
“Elise, when one chooses to lie, one must do it with minimal competency, if one hopes the lie to be credible.”
Yes,Dad! I understand,Dad!The temptation to roll my eyes at his sermonizing is great. But I fight it valiantly and call on my common sense. It sides with Theodor, whispering in my ear that he’s right.
“You’re right,” I mutter. “So, let’s see… I could tell him you adopted a pup at the shelter, and we bonded over that.”
“I don’t currently own a dog. If we go with that, we’d have to compose a story for that fictional dog. We’d also have to take great care not to give your grandfather diverging answers if he asks about the dog’s age, name, color, or breed.”
I bite my nails. “Damn!”
“You don’t lie often, do you?”
“Only if there’s no other choice.” I make a face. “I suck at it.”
“You’re right, you do.”
There’s a hint of levity in his voice, like he finds this conversation, and me, entertaining.
Such an honor!I don’t fight the eyeroll this time.
He half turns toward me. “How’s this. I love glass and collect glass art. I bought several statuettes from you—”
“Glass sculptures,” I correct him.
