Was our relationship just about sex to you?
Wait—what?“I never begged you for sex!”
The group at the table next to ours turn to look at me. My ears, cheeks, and neck catch fire. I jump to my feet and bolt from the bar. Audrey joins me in the parking lot a few seconds later. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask any questions. I can only hope she didn’t hear my outburst, but her silence suggests she did.
Three minutes later, Henri emerges from the bar, poker-faced. He hands the car keys over to Audrey. Everybody gets in the SUV. No one utters a word during the ten-minute drive back to the château.
Gazing into the darkness outside the car’s window, I tell myself I’m not mad at Henri. I’m just not in the mood for talking. Well, I’m a little upset that he goaded me on to that embarrassing public outburst.
All right, fine—I’m apoplectic with rage.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My birthday arrives with a soft patter of rain. Audrey is the only person on the estate who knows. Her whispered “happy birthday” was the only live wish I’ll receive today. My phone is on Silent and sends all calls to voice mail. There’s a string of text messages to which I reply to in batches, as unobtrusively as I can.
Because of the rain, Odile served breakfast in the sunroom. As Audrey and I sit down, I notice the extra presence at Henri’s table. It’s his older brother, Antoine.
What is he doing here?
Antoine gives me a nod. I greet him back.
Has he brought a message from MESS?
When discussing anything related to my mission with the home base, I use either a secure line or a burner phone. But Kurt Ozzi’s unlimited resources sometimes allow him to get around our safeguards and intercept our exchanges. A trusted messenger, like in the good old days, has become Adam’s preferred method of communication.
Well, I guess I’ll find out after breakfast.
As we eat, Audrey chats with Virginie and Emily. Everybody around the table is excited about today’s excursion. Henri’sassociate Jocelyn and his buddy Yann are taking us to Sarlat, a gorgeous and remarkably well-preserved medieval town an hour’s drive from here. A bus with a driver is already waiting in the parking area outside the château.
I pretend to listen to Emily raving about Yann, but it’s the de Bellay brothers that command my attention. I can’t hear their exact words. Their body language, however, is evocative enough. Antoine’s posture and face are relaxed. The viscount speaks to his younger brother in a tone that’s rather amiable. Henri, on the other hand, seems on edge. His responses are curt, his posture rigid. He looks like a feline bristling at an unwelcome presence.
After breakfast, everyone gets on the bus. I don’t.
Audrey hovers by my side. “Are you sure you don’t want to go, Your Highness? Sarlat is the jewel of Dordogne, even more amazing than Rocamadour. It’s totally worth a visit.”
“You go,” I say. “I need to talk to Antoine. Besides, rainy days always turn me into a homebody.”
She shakes her head. “I’ve seen Sarlat. Visited it with my parents five or six years ago.”
Once the bus is out the gate, Audrey stays downstairs, while Antoine, Henri and I retreat to what I expect to be Henri’s office. But the room he takes us to is something else. Lining the walls are paperbacks from the 70s and 80s if their typeface and cover design are any indication. Comfy armchairs are strategically placed around the coffee table, inviting a moment of relaxation with a good book. The next thing I notice is an elegant old Singer sewing machine complete with a cast iron base and a dark wood table. Next to it stands a dressmaker’s dummy draped with a half-finished garment.
“This was our grandmother’s favorite room,” Henri says. “She loved to read and sew here. It was her sanctuary.”
The warmth in his voice paints a picture of a woman I never knew, but who seems to have meant a lot to him. It’s beenfour years since she passed, and Henri became the master and commander of the estate, but he’s left this room untouched.
As we settle into the armchairs, I turn to Antoine. “What news? Do you have a message from Adam?”
“No news and no message, I’m afraid, Your Highness,” Antoine replies. “My visit is purely impromptu.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t pretend he had business in the area.
“Antoine has a talent for unexpected appearances,” Henri says, defiance flaring in his guarded eyes.
Quintessential Henri!
I narrow my eyes at Antoine. “Admit it, your parents sent you here to ferret and report back to them.”
In the absence of a message from Adam, my new hypothesis is that Agathe and Thibault de Bellay sent Antoine to Dordogne on a fact-finding mission. Having observed the dynamics between Henri and his parents in Pombrio, I doubt he’s been keeping them abreast of developments here.
