Parisian Affair (34 page)

Cameron turned and flashed a smile, his
perfect white teeth exposed. 'What are you thinking about?'

'Oh, nothing,' Jason replied sheepishly.

'Don't lie to me, boy toy,' Cameron said,
ruffling his hair affectionately. 'I can always tell, you
know.'

'Well ... I ... I was just thinking about how
lucky I am,' Jason admitted.

'And why's that?' Cameron asked, although he
knew the answer to his question.

'Because you . . . you . . . love me,' Jason
said, looking up into his eyes.

Cameron, his legs spread wide in front of the
chair where Jason sat, leaned over and placed his hands on his
shoulders, then lowered his lips to Jason's and kissed him. It was
a long, tender kiss, and Jason felt himself falling under the spell
that Cameron had cast over him.

Cameron stroked his face with one long
finger, then drew back. 'You're going over to the atelier this
morning, aren't you,' he said. It wasn't a question but a
command.

Jason nodded. 'I'm ready to leave.'

'Then you'll come straight back here?'

'Yes,' Jason said, 'but it'll take me a
while. At least a couple of hours. Maybe more. There're tons of
designs.'

'Just make sure you photocopy everything,'
Cameron said. 'And I do mean everything. Whether it's in a bound
drawing book, a notepad ... in the safe, on the wall. I don't care.
Just photocopy them all.'

'Don't worry,' Jason replied. 'I will.'

'And while you're at it,' Cameron added, 'why
not take a few loose stones?'

Jason suddenly went pale and felt his stomach
knot. 'Cameron, wait a minute,' he said nervously. 'That wasn't
part of the deal. You didn't say anything about taking any
stones.'

Cameron ruffled Jason's hair again. 'Aw, come
on,' he said teasingly. 'She's not going to miss a few stones. A
little diamond here, a little ruby there.' He made little picking
motions with his hands.

'She might,' Jason said.

'Don't give me that,' Cameron said. 'Not even
Allegra Sheridan has a count of every single stone she's got in
stock.' He stroked Jason under the chin. 'I've been there with you,
baby,' he said. 'I know what the place is like. And believe me, she
isn't going to miss a few carats of this and that. So just slip a
few in your pocket.' He leaned down and kissed his lips again. 'For
me, baby,' he said, looking into his eyes. 'For me.'

Jason was both repulsed by and inescapably
drawn to Cameron, his monumental ambitions, his rapacious desires,
his insatiable body, and he knew that he would do whatever Cameron
asked of him, even if it meant alienating the best friend he'd ever
had. He knew Allegra would never forgive him once she found out
that he copied her designs.

'I'd better get going,' he said, getting to
his feet.

'Good boy,' Cameron said, playfully patting
his ass. 'I'll be here when you get back, and we'll have a little
celebration. So put a smile on your face.'

'Okay.'

Thirty minutes later, he was in the atelier,
rapidly stuffing drawing pads and notebooks into his backpack and a
large duffel bag he'd brought with him for the purpose. He'd taken
several drawings out of their frames and would have to replace them
after he'd finished. This was going to take longer than he'd
thought.

It seemed Allegra saved every design she ever
came up with. Many of them he recognized, of course, but he was
surprised to discover that there were dozens and dozens she'd never
shown him.

Jason quickly filled the backpack and then
stuffed the duffel bag as fast as possible. He was going to
Brooklyn to photocopy everything. He didn't want to risk the
possibility that any of the places in the neighborhood would know
that he was copying Allegra's work.

When he was finished, he went to the safe and
opened it. From various pouches, he took a small handful of
precious and semiprecious stones. Only three or four from each
suede pouch. He knew that the only way she could substantiate the
theft would be to go through all of her invoices, then count
stones, subtracting those that had been used in pieces they'd
created since the purchases had been made. It would be an arduous
task, enormously time-consuming and tedious.

His cell phone rang, and he quickly grabbed
it from its holder on his belt. But as he always did nowadays, he
checked caller ID before answering. Jason felt a sudden prickle of
heat about his neck and face when he saw the number. It was the
same overseas one that he'd seen displayed innumerable times in the
last two or three days.
Allegra
. He stared down at the
number for a moment, then slipped the cell phone back in its
holder.

He began to work faster, shoving the stones
in the left-hand pocket of his Levi's. It had been empty, and the
stones wouldn't get mixed up with the cash in his right-hand
pocket. He closed and locked the safe, then shouldered his backpack
and picked up the duffel bag.

Thank God Cameron had given him the cash to
take a taxi to the wilds of Brooklyn. Now if he'd just get lucky
catching one back without having to wait forever. Oh, well, he
thought, Cameron had taken care of that, too. If taxis were scarce,
all he had to do was call a limo service and give them Cameron's
account number, and he'd be picked up and delivered back to
Manhattan in a matter of minutes.

Jason considered himself one lucky guy as he
let himself out of the loft. He hurried, anxious to get to Brooklyn
and back. Back to the lover who was beyond his wildest dreams.

'Excuse me, Marcus,' Princess Karima said,
'but I must take this call.'

Marcus nodded, but he didn't fail to notice
the gravity in Karima's voice as she got up from the table and left
the dining room. Like everyone who knew her, he was fascinated by
the press releases concerning her selling off assets and the new
spiritual path she claimed to be following, and like those who knew
her best, he hadn't believed a word of them. Gossip had been rife,
of course, and speculation among the international set had reached
epidemic proportions.

When she'd asked him to accompany her to the
auction and to the country afterward, he'd been thrilled. Anybody
who was anybody would be asking him out. The invitations would pour
in because, of course, everyone would want to pump him for
information.
If Princess Margaret were still alive,
he
thought
, she'd already have been burning up my phone
line.

But as he lit a cigarette and took a sip of
the extremely fine wine they were having with lunch, he was more
puzzled than ever over the whole affair. Karima, who had always
seemed easy to read as far as he was concerned, had suddenly become
something of an enigma. She was more high strung than usual, and a
bit less forthcoming. When he'd broached the subject of her
charitable foundation last evening, she'd given him the brush-off.
Merely told him that her 'men in Geneva' were taking care of
everything. Then when he'd asked about this new spiritual path,
she'd replied in a most mysterious fashion. 'I've reached an age,'
she'd said, 'at which inner peace is important to me, Marcus,
darling, and I'm consulting various advisers, testing the waters,
seeing what's best for me.'

Had she not stared directly into his eyes
with such fiery intensity, he would've laughed aloud. But he hadn't
dared. Karima had seemed deadly serious, and the last thing he
wanted to do was incur her wrath, for her tantrums were
legendary.

He got to his feet and wandered into the
salon, cigarette and wineglass in hand. And all these phone calls
that she had to take in private, he thought, taking a drag off his
cigarette. She'd never been like this before.

He took the last sip of wine in his glass,
put his cigarette out in an ashtray, then went back to the dining
table to pour another splash into his glass. The crystal carafe was
empty. He pushed past the swinging doors that led into the butler's
pantry and looked on the shelves and in the cabinets there.
Nothing. He shoved on the door that led into the kitchen to look
for Mimi, but she was nowhere about.

Then he heard Karima's voice, raised in
anger, and saw that the door leading out to a porch was ajar. He
stood still and listened, wondering what she was upset about. After
a moment, he could hardly believe his ears. Princess Karima was
speaking Arabic! He knew for certain because he'd known princes
from various Arab states while he was a student at Eton and then at
Oxford. But he had never in the thirty-odd years he'd known Karima
ever heard her speak in her native tongue.

He continued to listen, not understanding
what she was saying, but hearing her repeat 'Yamal' any number of
times. Marcus abruptly felt very uncomfortable, and he turned and
went back through the door as quietly as possible. Eavesdropping
was one thing, but this was another, he decided. Something very odd
indeed was going on, and he didn't want to be caught overhearing
whatever it was.

In the dining room he set his wineglass on
the table, then went out into the entrance foyer and took his
quilted Barbour jacket off its hook. He put it on and slipped
quietly out the front door. He strode across the stone terrace,
down the steps, and out onto the pea gravel drive, then headed
around the right-hand side of the house toward the service
entrance. The gardens in the rear of the estate were a closer walk
that way, and although it was too early for much activity in the
way of blooms, he could admire their beautiful layout, the statuary
and pool, and the well-kept forests that surrounded them.

He stopped to light a cigarette, then
followed the drive, gazing at the magnificent conifers that lined
it. Rounding the end of the house, he thought he heard voices, and
saw the tail end of an unfamiliar car parked at the end of the
drive. As he got closer, he saw that the car was a Ferrari. On he
walked, smoking, enjoying the cool outdoor air despite the overcast
skies.

As he approached the car, he heard the voices
again, and he saw a tall, muscular young man with pitch-black hair
and a dark complexion. Marcus stopped in his tracks. As the young
man spoke, he turned and drew on a cigarette, so that Marcus could
see his profile, his high, prominent cheekbones and aquiline nose,
his square jaw and sensuous lips. Marcus marveled over the
best-looking man he'd ever seen. Then it dawned on him that he must
be the young man Karima had told him about. The extraordinarily
expensive hustler. Who was obviously doing well for himself
considering he was driving a Ferrari.

He and Princess Karima were engrossed in
conversation, but Marcus couldn't hear what they were saying. She
stood at the door to the enclosed porch as the young man stood in
front of the car. Realizing that once again he was intruding upon
the princess's privacy, Marcus slowly backed up, willing the gravel
not to crunch beneath his shoes—an impossibility, of course.
However, they were so preoccupied that they didn't hear him, and as
luck would have it, neither of them had seen him. When he was
safely out of earshot and sight, he sped up his pace and returned
to the terrace at the front entry.

Christ!
he thought for the hundredth
time.
What is she up to? She wasn't on the telephone at all, but
talking to this staggeringly handsome young man.

He let himself into the foyer, took his
jacket off and put it on its peg, then went back to the dining room
and sat down. He almost jumped when Mimi came into the room.

She stared at him with her wrinkled up little
eyes, then said, 'You have been out, monsieur?'

'Out?' Marcus echoed. Then he forced a laugh.
'Oh, just smoking a cigarette on the terrace.'

'Do you need anything, monsieur?' she asked,
her eyes still trained on him harshly.

'I would like some more of that divine wine
we were having with luncheon,' Marcus said.

'Very well,' Mimi said, coming to the table
and picking up the carafe.

'Will Princess Karima be returning to table?'
he asked. 'I hope nothing is . . . amiss?'

'My mistress will be back shortly,' the old
woman said. 'I will bring your wine.'

'
Merci
, Mimi.'

Marcus wished he felt at liberty to ask
Karima what was going on. But that was out of the question. He
would have to discover an answer to this mystery another way. Of
one thing he was certain. The young man he saw talking to her was
anything but a spiritual adviser, although he had to admit that he
would gladly worship what he'd seen of him.

He mustn't let on that he had seen or heard
anything. The better to hear and see more. And he hoped that Mimi
hadn't seen him out near the service entrance.

What a coup it would be to be able to go back
to Paris, then on to London and New York, with his tales of the
latest in the princess's life. The world was dying to know—the
world that counted, at any rate—and if he played his cards right,
he'd be able to dine out on this weekend with the princess for
years to come.

'What was his name, Jacqueline?' Ram
demanded.

The older woman's forehead, though
practically incapable of wrinkling from the Botox injections, did
so now. 'I've told you,' she replied in exasperation. 'I do not
know.' She wondered how many times he was going to ask her and of
what possible importance it could be. The stranger was a very
handsome young man in love, looking for an emerald ring. Harmless,
very polite, too—a rarity for an American.

'Tell me everything again,' Ram said,
pointing a finger at her. He was in a furious state, like nothing
Madame de la Montarron had ever seen before.

She slowly repeated everything, and when she
was finished, she could swear that she saw smoke pouring out of
Ramtane Tadjer's nostrils. He had been in a rage ever since he'd
come into the shop. He'd made several cell phone calls in his
office, then come charging after her as if she were some sort of
common thief.