‘Sorry if I didn’t make that clear.’ Padgett coughed. ‘I am passionate about my work and I do have my own small collection of vintage designer garments. As I explained earlier, I would hate to think of the items being discarded– hence my offer. It’s a good outcome for both of us and the sketchbook.’
‘Well, thank you for the offer,’ said Darcie. Padgett’s admission under pressure was unsettling. ‘Like I said, I need time to think about it.’
‘Very well,’ replied Padgett tersely. ‘My offer only stands for twenty-four hours.’
‘OK, thank you,’ said Darcie, although not entirely sure why she was thanking him. ‘I have your number. I’ll be in touch this time tomorrow.’
She ended the call and blew out a long breath. A waiter appeared and took their order for drinks, before leaving them alone again.
‘Wow,’ said Matt, in that understated way of his. ‘So, Padgett wants the dress for his private collection.’
‘I don’t think he wanted to tell me that bit,’ said Darcie. ‘He was happy for me to believe he was acting on behalf of Chanel.’
‘All a bit weird,’ said Matt.
‘Definitely. I’m not sure what to make of it.’
‘He was very dismissive of Nathalie Leroux,’ said Matt. ‘Like he didn’t want to talk about her.’
‘I noticed that too,’ said Darcie. She fiddled with the teaspoon on her saucer. ‘I can’t help feeling there’s more to Nathalie Leroux than just this book and dress, but I don’t know what. I’m sure Padgett knows more.’
‘I get that feeling too,’ said Matt. ‘He almost seemed more interested in the sketchbook than the dress.’ Before they could continue the conversation, Matt’s phone rang. He looked at the screen. ‘It’s Madame Vachon.’
‘Ahh! I hope it’s good news.’ Darcie waited patiently while Matt spoke with Elaine Vachon, but couldn’t tell from his poker face how the conversation was going.
Finally, he ended the call. He looked up at her. ‘It’s good and bad news.’
Chapter 22
Nathalie
The room was cold and the air felt damp. They had stripped me of my uniform and left me in just my underwear before tying me to a wooden kitchen chair. I was blindfolded and had no idea what sort of room I was in, but I could sense the vastness.
Once Kranz had bundled me into the car and blindfolded me, he spoke in German to the driver, obviously not realising I could understand him, and instructed the driver to take us the long way around the city to the centre. I did not know what the centre was, but guessed it was some sort of interrogation facility as opposed to the centre of Paris. We certainly weren’t sightseeing.
Once we had stopped, I had been dragged along by Kranz and I felt sure we were passing other people, but no one said a word. I wondered if that was a tactic they used to prevent anyone arrested having any perception of where they were. It added to the fear of the unknown.
I sensed I was alone in the room, but time had no meaning. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours.
Finally, I heard the door open and the sound of boots on the stone floor.
The blindfold was snatched from my head and I blinked at the brightness of the single overhead lightbulb above me. I squinted at the person in the room. It was Kranz.
‘Water?’ he asked, gesturing to the table in front of me. He lifted the jug and poured some into a glass.
I shook my head. Not because I wasn’t thirsty– I was– but because I didn’t trust him not to have put something in the water.
He chuckled as if reading my mind before lifting the glass and swigging down the entire contents. ‘You should trust me. Shall we try that again?’
Out of stubbornness, I shook my head. Kranz tutted and let out a sigh. ‘Nathalie, I’m not in the business of hurting women, and I don’t want to start now.’
I looked warily at him, not understanding the implications of the statement. If he didn’t want to hurt me, what on earth was I doing there?
Kranz continued, ‘I need to know that I can trust you. I can’t have you working at the hotel, for Coco Chanel, near me or any of my comrades if I think you are untrustworthy. Going on your brother’s past record, I have to be especially careful around you.’
‘What do you want from me?’ I asked, finding my voice.
‘You need to prove to me you can be trusted. That you do not have any connections with the Resistance or, if you do, what those connections are. If you want to go back to work, to go home to your parents, then you need to give me something.’
