Defy the World Tomatoes (31 page)

“Where’s Jordan?” he shouted. “I was invited here, but I won’t tolerate the shocking lack of respect you’ve shown me thus far.”

He reached back into the rear seat to help Darcy out beside him. He laced his fingers in hers and pulled her close.

Antoine appeared to be unconcerned by Griffin’s reproach, while his companion, a big, bear-like man in a matching uniform, came around the front of the car and fixed them with a malevolent stare.

They were parked in front of an enormous chateau whose huge central structure was flanked by generous wings. It was well-lit, and the soft, dove-gray exterior had been freshly painted. The flowerbeds on either side of the driveway contained a splendid array of roses in a variety of hues.

The magnificent estate had the pristine beauty of a movie set, but when the front door opened and a man came toward them, Darcy recognized him instantly from Griffin’s description of Lyman Vaughn. Only rather than affect the confident swagger she’d expected, he moved slowly, as though he hadn’t slept in days. He was dressed in a white silk shirt and gray slacks rather than a suit, and his preoccupied frown failed to lift as he greeted them.

“Please forgive my impatience, Mr. Moore. It was so good of you to accept my invitation, and I apologize for whatever inconvenience I may have caused you.” His hushed voice contained a slight lilt, as though he might possess Scandinavian roots. “My only child is desperately ill. She has been attended by the world’s finest physicians, but they can do nothing more. While she cannot escape the inevitable, her fondest wish is to meet you.”

Griffin nodded slightly. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you even had a daughter. I wish Miss LeMer had spoken of her illness when we met in Chicago.”

“Yes, I should have directed her to do so, but none of us realized how little time Astrid had left.”

When he included Darcy in his glance, Griffin provided the introductions, and she extended her hand. “I hadn’t expected to be here tonight, Mr. Jordan. I hope I won’t be in the way.”

“Of course not, my dear. I wish there were time for you both to rest after your long flight, but it would be best if you were to warm up a bit on our piano, Griffin, and play for us before we shared a late supper.”

“Is Astrid strong enough to make requests?” Griffin inquired. “I’ll tailor my performance to suit her tastes.”

“Chopin is one of her favorites,” Jordan replied. “But come, let me introduce you to her. She’d hoped to one day be a concert pianist herself, but sadly, that is not to be.”

Griffin kept hold of Darcy’s hand as they followed Jordan up the walk. He had only enough time to shoot her a dark glance, but the defiant tilt to his chin warned her far more was required than a tender show of sympathy.

She pressed his fingers quickly. They might be unable to confer for hours, but she understood this was Lyman Vaughn. That a man who dealt in death on such a vast scale should lose his daughter in so tragic a manner was a form of justice, but she prayed they would be safely back in Paris before he unleashed the full force of his grief.

Chapter Seventeen

If she got her way Astrid’s hospital bed was placed in the center of the cavernous living room. Her head was swathed in bandages, her skin as pale as her crisp white sheets and her eyes as clear a green as her father’s. Fluid from an IV bottle dripped into the needle in her left hand. She raised her right gracefully in greeting.

“Griffin, this is such a thrill.” Her hushed voice held only a faint trace of a French accent.

Griffin introduced Darcy, then took Astrid’s hand and brought it to his lips. “The pleasure is mine, mademoiselle. What may I play for you tonight?”

Darcy stood back as Astrid requested several favorites, and then just as quickly changed her mind and mentioned others. She had a great many favorites it seemed, and Griffin approved of each one.

The exquisitely furnished room was decorated in shades of misty blue. There was a concert grand at the end of the room, but the focal point was a large painting of dancing nudes which Darcy thought was probably an original Matisse. She wasn’t surprised Lyman Vaughn lived in such splendor, but she doubted he’d done more than hand over a suitcase filled with his ill-gotten gains to an interior designer.

In contrast, Astrid was touchingly innocent, and also completely unable to make up her mind as to what she wished to hear. She looked no more than sixteen and was so terribly thin, her eyes were huge and now glistened with a sheen of tears.

“I’ve made so many lists,” she apologized, “but then Papa brought me your latest CD, and I love it so, that became the music I wanted to hear you perform. But then, there are all my former favorites as well. How does anyone choose?”

“Perhaps Astrid would enjoy one of your own compositions,” Darcy suggested softly. “Why don’t you begin with the one you debuted in Seattle?”

“You’re writing your own music?” Astrid gasped in surprise. “Why didn’t anyone tell me, Papa?”

“If I knew, I must simply have forgotten, dearest,” he replied.

Darcy thought it was more likely that Astrid had been one to forget, and she left the girl’s bedside to take a seat closer to the piano. She’d seen a housekeeper near the door as they’d entered, and a petite blonde in a nurse’s pale peach smock and matching pants now approached Astrid’s bed. She checked her IV, and then, with a nod to her father, left the room. Lyman Vaughn remained at the foot of his daughter’s bed, his hands tightly clasped on the metal frame.

They’d seen only two men, Antoine and his heavily muscled companion. If Vaughn had no other bodyguards about, then Darcy thought she and Griffin should be able to get away without encountering much in the way of resistance. If her way, they’d split as soon as he’d played his final note, even if they had to steal the limousine to make their getaway.

“I’ll play all evening if you like,” Griffin promised, “but let’s begin with the piece Darcy mentioned. Listen closely, because I’ll ask your opinion afterward.”

“I’m sure it will be marvelous,” Astrid replied, clearly adoring him.

“That is my hope,” Griffin assured her. He walked to the piano, pulled out the bench and sat. He played several scales, and then paused. “You had the piano tuned for me?”

“Of course,” Vaughn stated. “If it isn’t tuned to perfection, I’ll send for the technician immediately.”

“No, it’s fine for the most part, but the bass needs a bit of work. I have a tuning hammer with me. Would you mind if I used it?”

“No, not at all,” Vaughn exclaimed. “Do whatever you must to be satisfied with the sound. Your things have already been taken up to your rooms.”

“It won’t take me long,” Griffin replied. “Darcy, come with me so you’ll know where everything is.”

The housekeeper came forward to show them the way. She was a tall, slender woman with close-clipped gray hair. Her black dress was as severely tailored as a military uniform, and her black oxfords made an audible thump as she climbed the carpeted stairs. She did not once smile, nor make any welcoming gestures. Darcy kept still until they’d been shown to adjoining rooms in the east wing. In San Francisco, Griffin had had to explain the use of the tuning hammer, which was actually a small wrench, to security, so she’d known he’d packed it. She was just amazed that he wanted to tune the blasted piano when she was so desperate to leave.

As soon as the solemn housekeeper excused herself, Griffin crossed his room and opened the doors overlooking the garden at the rear. “It’s a lovely night. Come on outside with me,” he called as he stepped out on the balcony.

When Darcy followed, he pulled her into a fierce embrace and whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry everything’s gone wrong. The whole house is probably bugged, so be very careful what you say even when we’re alone. I’ll get us out of here as quickly as I possibly can.”

Darcy reached up on her tiptoes to kiss him, but his response was no more than a quick peck. Disappointed, she stepped away and followed him back into the room.

Griffin unzipped his garment bag. “As long as I’m up here, I might as well change into my tux.” He tossed her his shirt and a box containing diamond studs. “Put those in, will you please?”

He stepped into the bathroom to changes his trousers and shoes, but she was shaking so hard she still had one stud left to place when he returned. “These are beautiful. Did they come from an adoring fan?”

“Yes, but he wasn’t my type.” Griffin quickly pulled on the shirt and fastened the pleated front and cuffs with the sparkling studs. “What? Do you think I should have returned them?”

“Well, I suppose that all depends on what this generous fan expected in return.” Darcy almost hoped someone was listening in to this exchange.

“He claimed his intention was to reward my genius, which made it difficult to object.” He stepped back into the bathroom to use the mirror to tie his bowtie.

When he was ready, Darcy held his jacket. Once he’d slipped it on, he grabbed the tuning hammer, and they hurried back down the stairs.

Astrid’s eyes lit up when she saw him. “You look almost too handsome,” she complimented.

“Thank you, but I believe I play better when I’m properly dressed.”

Darcy had thought his music spectacular when he’d been dressed in no more than a towel. She kept that delicious memory to herself and paced in front of the fireplace while Griffin made what to her untrained ear were nearly imperceptible adjustments in the pitch of the bass keys. Then when he sat and repeated the scales, she was amazed the piano actually had a richer tone.

“Even I can tell that’s better,” she exclaimed without thinking.

“You’re not a music lover, Miss MacLeod?”

Lyman Vaughn had come up behind her so silently she hadn’t noted his approach over the thick oriental carpet, and a horribly uncomfortable sensation crept up the back of her neck. It was all she could do to stifle an obvious shudder.

“I do love music,” she assured him, “and most especially Griffin’s, but no one would describe me as an expert.”

“Then you should concentrate on simply planting beautiful gardens,” Vaughn remarked casually, and he moved away to place a silver-tinted side chair with a blue-and-silver striped seat closer to his daughter’s bedside.

“I’ve no name for this yet,” Griffin announced, “and it may yet prove to be part of a longer work.”

As he began to play, Darcy hastily retook her seat, but she could scarcely breathe. Griffin hadn’t mentioned her profession when he’d introduced her, and yet Lyman Vaughn had commented on her area of expertise as though he were intimately acquainted with her background. She doubted that he’d stumbled upon the information about her in his effort to contact Griffin either.

If he knew so much about her, was he also aware of Griffin’s link to Interpol? If he were, then this wasn’t simply a risky performance for a man who wouldn’t blink at murder. It was a carefully laid trap.

She struck a more relaxed pose as though her only concern was to fully appreciate the brilliance of Griffin’s artistry, but she hadn’t truly drawn a relaxed breath since they’d left home. The setting was elegant and Griffin’s performance bold perfection, but their host sickened her. She didn’t understand how Griffin could lose himself so completely in his music that the danger surrounding them simply faded away.

She envied him his detachment and glanced toward Astrid. Her heart ached for the frail girl. She didn’t appear to be in any pain, but even without any specific details, Darcy imagined her suffering from the fright of an original diagnosis, through delicate brain surgery, and perhaps several bouts of excruciating chemotherapy. Apparently all to no avail.

By the time Griffin reached the melancholy strain which signaled the close of the magnificent piece, Darcy deeply regretted requesting such a moving selection. She reached for the tissue in her pocket. Astrid was blotting away her tears on a lace handkerchief, while her father’s expression remained unchanged.

Griffin held the final note, and Lyman Vaughn began to applaud enthusiastically. “I’m not surprised you’ve begun to compose, but I had no idea you’d be so extraordinarily gifted in that regard. Have you recorded that piece?”

“No, I plan to wait until I’ve enough original music to fill a CD. What did you think, Astrid?”

“It’s lovely, but so poignant. Not that music shouldn’t evoke sorrow, but I can’t help but be curious as to your thoughts when you wrote it. Were you nursing a broken heart?”

Griffin glanced toward Darcy. “No, I was inspired by the changing seasons and the rhythms of life.”

Astrid considered his comment a long moment. “Then perhaps it isn’t sad at all, but merely flows like the tides.”

“Yes, but I need a title which won’t be confused with Debussy’s ‘Le Mer’. Now, you mentioned Chopin.”

Astrid murmured her delight as Griffin continued with his usual effortless grace. He looked up frequently to smile at her, and her face filled with a pretty blush. When he completed the piece, she made a request, and he continued without pause.

He played for an hour before Vaughn rose. “I can’t thank you enough for coming here, but you must be hungry. Perhaps you could play for us again after supper.”

“It’s always a pleasure to play for such an appreciative audience.” Griffin stood and came forward. “May we dine here so Astrid and I may continue to discuss her favorite music?”

“I can’t eat real food,” she explained regretfully. “But I would love your company.”

“Of course,” her father exclaimed. “We’ll dine right here. Excuse me while I inform my staff of our change in plan.”

Astrid was such a charming girl, and clearly infatuated with Griffin. Darcy got up to walk around but stayed clear of the hospital bed so as not to intrude on their conversation. She tried to appear interested rather than simply snoop when she approached the dancing nudes, but Matisse’s bold signature could be read from several feet away.

She kept her eye on the doorway to prevent Lyman Vaughn from sneaking up on her again. Other than the remark on her profession, he’d done nothing untoward, but she didn’t expect him to show his true colors until he’d gotten everything he wanted. Still, she felt as though she were calling upon an executioner who just hadn’t bothered to don his black hood.

Regardless of how talented a cook Vaughn might employ, she doubted she would be able to chew a single bite. She decided to cut up the food and slide it around her plate to rearrange it, then scolded herself silently for worrying about hurting the feelings of an arms dealer or his cook.

A tall gray-haired man in a dark suit, who could have been the housekeeper’s twin, carried in a set of decoratively painted gold stacking tables. Lyman Vaughn followed and directed him to place them around Astrid’s bed. The servant made several trips to set their places, then returned carrying side chairs with pale blue tapestry seats which appeared to be from the dining room.

Darcy chose a chair on the opposite side of the bed from Griffin and Lyman Vaughn. When both concentrated on Astrid, she was grateful to be forgotten. She’d been well-aware that wives and girlfriends of celebrities were often pushed aside by adoring fans, but this was her first experience with anything even remotely approaching that predicament.

Prior to their arrival, Griffin had wisely insisted she occupy herself elsewhere, but despite the tragedy of Astrid’s situation, this was still a valuable preview of what traveling with him would be. People would be courteous
—
even master criminals had manners, apparently
—
but in any gathering of Griffin’s fans, she would be shunted aside.

To think of her own comfort while Griffin charmed a terminally ill fan was more self-centered than she cared to be. But what were her choices? She could sit there like a lump and hope the time passed quickly. She might pretend they were at the home of some legitimate businessman, where eventually her presence might be noticed. Or she could concentrate on plotting their escape from this well-decorated chamber of horrors. The third option held the most appeal.

Their first course was served by a young man in a white chef’s jacket. He mumbled something in French to Vaughn, then served them bowls of lobster bisque. Darcy meant to take only a polite sip, not that anyone would have noticed had she lapped it up like a cat, but the soup was so creamy and delicious she left only a spoonful pooling at the bottom of her bowl.

The china had a gold rim and a pale blue band. Their utensils were heavy sterling silver, and the crystal was delicate perfection. That they each had their own small table was unavoidable that night, but Darcy imagined Vaughn’s dining table must be at least twenty feet long and lit with highly polished antique candelabra.