There's Something About St. Tropez (50 page)

“I'm gonna tell you kids, I think you've been very clever, putting two and two together. And Monsieur Reynaud appreciates that. He understands about the reward, but now he insists that you leave this alone. No more talking about robbers, no more guessing how it was done, or why, or who done it. Monsieur Reynaud does not want to put you in danger. And neither does Mac.”

The two stared blankly at Billy. They were old enough to understand heartbreak but too young to know danger.

“Promise me,” Billy said solemnly.

“Promise,” they muttered in unison.

“Hand on heart,” Billy insisted. And hands on hearts they promised again.

“Unless something exciting happens and we can get the reward,” Laureen whispered to Bertrand as they followed her father out into the courtyard.

Bertrand walked proudly with Laureen to the long table in the courtyard where the Misfits were already seated, bottles of rosé—a new choice, Château St. Martin, peachy pink and crisp on the tongue—were already being poured and the menu's nightly specials being considered with the waiter, who now knew everyone by name and smiled as he saw the children.

Belinda made room for them between herself and Billy, and gave a gloomy hello to Mac and Sunny. Nate was in deep conversation with Sara about his new house and Laureen was telling Sunny excitedly about Bertrand's new dog.

“But where is he?” Sunny knew dogs were welcome in the dining room, as they were in most restaurants in France, and where they always seemed to behave like angels, half-hidden under their owners' chairs or under the tablecloth. Unlike Tesoro who always made her presence known, while Pirate, who never left Mac's side, behaved like a guard dog and as though he did not understand he was disabled.

“They wouldn't let me bring my dog in.” Bertrand's face was long as he told them, shyly, that the manager had said the dog was a stray, that it was dirty, it must have fleas and could not possibly be allowed in, otherwise all the other dogs would be infested.

“I guess he's right, Bertrand,” Billy said. “Tell you what though, tomorrow
you and me and Little Laureen will find a dog beauty parlor and get Yellow Dog cleaned up.”

“Can we really, Daddy?” Laureen was thrilled.

“And then maybe we'll all go for a drive somewhere, take your dog for a long walk, have lunch together.”

It seemed to Sunny to be a perfect solution. In the meantime, she handed Tesoro to Laureen, who clutched the Chihuahua gratefully. Then Sunny ordered a plate of chopped steak and some kibble for Bertrand's dog. When it came Bertrand carried it out to the parking lot where Yellow Dog was tied to a tree under the wary gaze of Lev's duty guard. Bertrand waited while the dog ate, fast as a starving wolf. He watched it drink some water, patted it, arranged a beach towel for it to sleep on, patted it some more and returned to the table in the courtyard.

Lev's guard watched him go. He had never had a duty like this before; children were not in his orbit, though kidnappers were. It was peaceful here, at the Hôtel des Rêves. Too peaceful. He was bored out of his skull. He went back to the newspaper and tomorrow's racing form.

“I don't know what I'm going to do,” Belinda said to Billy, talking across the bent heads of Laureen and Bertrand, who were busy with their fries, while she only toyed with a delicate fillet of sole, grilled simply with a brown butter sauce. It was delicious but she had no appetite.

Billy's eyes were filled with longing as he looked at her. It was the first time he'd felt anything for a woman since Betsy died, that stirring of the heart, and the belly. The new emotion was foreign to him. He didn't quite know how to deal with it. After all, he hadn't dated in years. All he was was a simple lonely Texan rancher with a young daughter. This exotic St. Tropez world was foreign to him, though he did admit to a liking for it. And after all, where else would he have met a woman like Belinda?

“You ride a horse?” he asked.

Belinda gave him a long appraising look. “Not yet,” she said with a grin.

Billy knew she had understood what he meant; that he had horses on his ranch and she was welcome. No more needed to be said; they were on the same page.

He said, “You should eat that fish, it's wonderful.”

Then Sara said, “Only two more days, then I have to go home.”

“Sara! But you
can't
leave me,” Belinda objected.

“So—stay,” Sunny told her.

“I have to get back to work.”

Nate said, “What if there were an alternative?”

“But there isn't. There has never been any alternative. I worked in high school, worked in college, worked all my life.”

“You're twenty-seven,” Nate said. “Old enough to know what work is all about, and young enough to change. And I might have just the thing for you. If you're willing to take a chance, that is.” He looked at her closed face. “What d'you say, Sara? Are you a gambler?”

Sara's jaw set in a firm line. She had never gambled in her life, how could she start now? “No,” she said.

“Then you don't want to know what I have in mind?”

The others were listening interestedly, eyes going back and forth between them, like spectators at a tennis match.

“At least listen to him,” Belinda prompted.

“Okay, so I'm listening.”

“I was at the Moulin de Hubert today,” Nate said. “And Malcolm was running round with an apron on, serving the customers. Their waitress has quit.”

Sara stared blankly at him. Was he seriously suggesting she become a waitress again?

“They're thinking of expanding, adding a few rooms, turning the place into a small auberge. But they have no business experience. Basically, Roger's a chef, and Malcolm fills in the gaps, but neither of them really knows what they're doing. What they need is someone with a business head.”

Sara gaped. “You mean
me
?”

“You have the know-how, you told me you run your admissions office like a general, you studied business, and I believe you're not lacking ambition. The problem is Sara, you are bored.”

“That's why you end up with the wrong men,” Belinda added shrewdly. “Boredom's a killer.”

“Of course you'd have to start out as a waitress,” Nate added. “And of course you could live in my new house.”

“Oh my God.” Sara could not quite believe what she was hearing.

“Do not take the name of the Lord in vain,” Little Laureen said, giving her a frown.

“Sorry.” Sara stared down at her plate, lower lip caught in her teeth, long chestnut hair swinging over her face, hiding her. As it always did.

Mac's phone buzzed and he said “hi.” He listened for a second, then leapt to his feet.

“Get the kids out of here,” he said to Billy. Sunny felt trouble coming as Billy hauled them out of their chairs.

Mac said, “And Sunny, get Belinda out of here. Go through the parking lot.” His voice was tense. “
Now
.” Sunny and Belinda held hands, edging quickly round the table.

Just as Jasper Lord strode into the dining room.

 

72.

 

 

Everyone at the table froze.

All around them conversation went on as normal; dinner was being served, wine drunk.

Belinda had described her husband correctly: a burly fireplug in a cream Italian silk suit and black silk shirt. Dark glasses of course. And a mouth that smiled even though he was not smiling.

Behind him stood a couple of thugs, smart in South of France pastels. And behind them, was Lev.

Lev had been outside the hotel seconds ago when the long black Mercedes had drawn up, the biggest and most expensive Mercedes made. Certainly not the kind of car guests at the modest Hôtel des Rêves would own. But certainly a car he knew Belinda's husband did.

He'd called to warn Mac, but it was too late to get Belinda out of there. Now all Lev could do was protect her. His men were already in the courtyard, though he did not anticipate violence, not in the crowded dining room. What he did anticipate was that Lord would somehow try to get Belinda out and into the car.

“Well, good evening everybody.” Jasper Lord was looking at Belinda. “Good to see you've made some new friends, sweetheart,” he said, pulling up a chair and taking a seat.

Billy watched him, torn between staying to protect Belinda and removing the children from danger. The children won. He would have to trust Belinda to Mac. He edged them to the exit.

“So where you're goin'?” Lord demanded. “Sit back down, take it easy. Nice couple of kids you've got there.”

Laureen clutched Tesoro to her chest, staring wide-eyed at the stranger. The dog bared her teeth in a growl.

Sunny had always known Tesoro understood men.

Mac was still standing next to his chair. Pirate was up now, and wary. So far Belinda had not said a word, just stared horrified at her husband.

“So, why do we have the doubtful honor of your presence, Mr. Lord?” Mac moved closer to him. Like Lev he knew there could be no violence, no guns in this crowded setting, and he kept his voice low so as not to attract attention.

Behind the two thugs, he saw Lev was on the phone. He also spotted Lev's guards standing at the perimeter of the courtyard.

Jasper Lord knew he was surrounded but felt no personal danger. He knew what the scene was.

“Belinda, sweetheart.” The word
sweetheart
grated, making Sara flinch. Billy stood, still holding the children's hands, it was too risky to try to make a getaway and upset Lord. Nate and Sara got up though, and went to stand behind Belinda.

Belinda's face had lost its color but when she finally spoke her voice was clear and full of contempt. “I expected you to show up in a sleeveless undershirt. The kind they call ‘wife-beaters,' ” she said.

Lord eyed her silently from behind the dark glasses. He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Belinda, Belinda, why can't we just sort this out alone? You know how much I care about you. Let bygones be bygones, the past is the past. My love for you can overcome everything.”

Looking at him, the funny thing was, that Belinda could almost believe him. She realized she was like Sara, after all. What is it with us women, she thought looking at the man who had courted her, married her, kept her a virtual prisoner and beaten her. What is it with us women, that we don't know how to let go of the dream? But Sara had. And now so did she.

“Get out of here, you bastard,” she said, and heard Laureen's shocked gasp. “Put your hands over her ears, Billy,” she warned. “She's not gonna want to hear what I have to say to this louse.

“I know you have a gun under that jacket,” Belinda said in a low voice. “And I know you would not hesitate to use it on me. You'll do whatever it takes to get me back. Not because you care. Never that. But because you think I belong to you, and nobody—not anybody, ever—dumps Jasper Lord. Well, baby, I want you to know you are well and truly dumped.”

Mac saw Lord's face flush purple with rage. He knew it was a hair-trigger moment.

“Reach for that gun and you'll regret it,” he said, praying he would not have to do anything about it.

From outside came the wail of a police siren. Lord glanced round, startled, saw Lev standing in back of his own guards, knew there was nothing he could do.

“Let's go,” he said to his guards. He pushed back his chair, leaned over the table, his face in Belinda's. “I'll get you back,” he whispered. “You know that, don't you?” And then he turned and walked out of the dining room.

Around them, conversation and dinner went on as usual. No one had even noticed. Sunny found she was gripping the arms of her chair so tightly her hands hurt. She thought back to just a few hours ago, making love with Mac, and the tranquillity of those after-moments. The lull before the storm. Billy was clutching the children to him. Sara's face was white. Nate's eyes followed Mac and Lev as they stalked Lord through the dining room.

The police car was waiting outside, but even before he spoke to them, Mac knew there was nothing the cops could do for Belinda. The fact was her estranged husband had come to visit, to try to get her back. Nothing wrong with that. As far as anyone knew. Except intimidation was not a tactic the cops approved of. But it turned out they had more on their minds than Belinda.

There was a second police car now, and then a third. “Monsieur Lord?” The detective flashed his badge. “We have orders to escort you from these premises.”

“Oh, and who gave those orders?”

“It is not my position to say,
monsieur
. But I am to escort you back to your helicopter. I think you will find that you are no longer welcome in this country.”

Stiff with anger, railing silently against his situation, Jasper Lord got back into his magnificent car. He'd left the red Bell helicopter parked on top of a building in Cannes where he owned, but never used, a smart office. It would be a long ride back, even in such a luxurious vehicle, and Mac could hear him yelling at his guards as the chauffeur slammed the door and got into the driver's seat. The car purred away with its police escort.