“Givenchy? That little nothing cost you four thousand euros, at least.”
“Actually it was complimentary.”
“Ingrid...”
“I know, I know,” she said with a theatrical sigh. “But it was just hanging there.”
“I thought you’d managed to get a handle on your little problem.”
“So did I. But it seems the spell that crazy Corsican witch doctor cast on me has finally worn off.”
The Corsican in question was not a witch doctor. She was asignadora, a healer of those afflicted with theocchju, the evil eye.
“Perhaps we should pay her another visit,” suggested Gabriel.
“I still haven’t recovered from my last one. Besides, I’ve always enjoyed my little affliction. It’s made me rather well off, which in turn has allowed me to contribute greatly to those in need.”
Ingrid was like one of those characters one saw in films or read about in novels. She stole from the rich and gave to the poor, keeping only what she needed to finance her comfortable lifestyle. She was a true gentleman thief.
Gabriel nudged her along the pavement. “Is that why you were in Luxembourg?” he asked. “To raise funds for your charitable endeavors?”
“I told you, I was visiting a friend.”
“What kind of friend?”
“You’re not attempting to pry into my personal affairs, are you?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
It occurred to Gabriel, not for the first time, that he knew next to nothing about Ingrid’s private life, or the extent to which she even had one. She lived alone in a cottage overlooking the North Sea in Denmark and owned a large villa on the Greek island of Mykonos. The Danish government had rewarded her heroics in Russia by granting her official absolution for her past misdeeds—and by turning a blind eye to the substantial fortune she had stashed away at Banca Privada d’Andorra. She led a charmed though somewhat solitary existence. With the exception of Gabriel and his wife and children, Ingrid preferred the pleasure of her own company.
She paused next outside the Montblanc boutique. “Can I get you something? A nice fountain pen, perhaps?”
“Thank you, no.”
“What about a lovely leather documents case?”
“I have one.”
“How about another? After all, variety is the spice of life.”
“My life is spicy enough as it is.”
She checked the time on her wristwatch. It was a beautiful Cartier tank with a shiny black crocodile band. She noticed the cold glint of suspicion in Gabriel’s eye.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mr. Allon.Really.”
It was approaching seven o’clock. They ducked into the bar at Claridge’s for a drink, then walked down Davies Street to Berkeley Square. Liam Higgins was standing on the pavement outside the Knight Group’s building, talking to a young woman wearing jeans and a King’s College hoodie. She was gone before Gabriel and Ingrid arrived.
“A friend of yours?” asked Gabriel.
“A visitor to our fair city. She was looking for Hyde Park.”
“She doesn’t know how to use Google?”
“Apparently not.” Higgins glanced at Ingrid. “Your cyber consultant?”
Gabriel smiled but said nothing.
