The Cherbourg Jewels (5 page)

But Sébastien’s ancestors hadn’t gotten where they were by being kind and loving.  They’d been hard men, slow to trust and quick to anger.  It had served them well in a world rocked by wars, revolutions and depressions. 
I have to be more like them
, he reminded himself. 
I will guide this family the way they did—starting now.

He strode back into the vault and pointed at Ella.  “Get your coat,” he said.  “We’re going for a ride.”

“Where are we going?” Ella asked as she picked up her coat from the floor. The dust it had gathered failed to dim the bright vermilion wool.  She shook it twice to fling off the worst of the dust and slipped it back on. 

Sébastien grimaced.  “You can’t wear that.”

“Oh, come on.”  Ella stopped dead in her tracks and looked from corner to corner of the vault in an exaggerated fashion.  “Do you see a women’s coat rack in here?  I’m all out of options, buddy.”  His patronizing look set her blood boiling. 
“
I’m not a millionaire like you
. 
I don’t have a fur coat or a brocade opera cloak just hanging on a hook in my kitchen.
”

He took her by the arm, like a mother with a misbehaving child.  “Come with me,” he said, practically dragging her out into the long, dark hallway outside the vault.  She knew better than to struggle against his vise-like grip
.  She’d had no luck finding a bathroom earlier, so if she wanted out of here, it was best to let him show her the way. 
She bit her lip and did the best she could to match his long stride.

Sébastien pulled her through the hallway, never stopping once to turn on a light or find his way.  She was surprised by how steady his gait remained throughout their trek.  He seemed to know every inch of this belowground maze.  It didn’t seem to fit with the image she’d constructed for him in her mind.  Why would a spoiled, self-centered rich man’s son spend so much time underground, passing between a vault, a wine cellar
,
and the kitchens?  She knew that was where the passage emerged on the ground level
.  I
t was the starting point from which Yves had guided her earlier.  Before she could stop herself, she blurted out the question.  “How do you know where you’re going in the dark?”

“It’s my house,” he said quickly.  “Why wouldn’t I know every step of it?” 

“Where are you taking me?”

“Upstairs.”

“
I
was hoping for a bit more specificity.”

“Hope for less.  You won’t be so disappointed.”

“You’re not very cheerful.  Or kind.  Or welcoming.”

“Ms. Wilcox, I’ve just been robbed.  How
do you think I should feel?”

“Angry,” she said softly, remembering her father’s harsh words for the intruders to his workshop.  “You should feel angry.”

But she didn’t have time to continue feeling sorry for herself.  Soon they reached a flight of wooden stairs and he thrust her up ahead of him.  She ascended as quickly as she could, heading for the door that would lead her back to daylight, or at least the artificial light of the kitchen and pantry.  She cast her arms out in front of her, fumbling for the doorknob.  When she felt it, she grasped it tightly and turned, stepping gratefully out of the cellar passageway.

Ella emerged into the kitchen, an enormous room filled with gleaming stainless steel appliances and windows that looked out onto the gardens.  The countertops were tiled with blue and yellow designs that reminded her of her Aunt Molly’s French country kitchen.  Above her, a ceiling rack held dozens of copper pots and kettles.  The place looked like a magazine spread, right down to the bowl of lemons sitting on the kitchen island.

Behind her, Sébastien stepped quickly to a built-in cabinet and pulled two leather jackets from padded hangers.  “Here,” he said, handing one to her.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It belongs to Frau Müller, but you’ll borrow it while we’re out.  Take off that red thing.”

Ella shook her head.  She was determined not to give in, not to be ordered around.  “No way.”

Sébasti
e
n’s green eyes flashed with anger.  “Do it!”

She stomped her foot and staked her ground.  “Why?”

“Because I asked you to,” he snarled, baring his teeth.

“You didn’t
ask
me to do anything.  If you have a good reason for it, just tell me.”

He stepped closer to her, near enough for her to feel his breath on her face.  He curled his lip and glared at her. 

Ella gulped and locked her knees in place to keep from stepping backward. 
So this is what it feels like to work for Sébastien Cherbourg
, she thought.  You take your life in your hands every time you disagree with him.  Inside, she was terrified he’d accuse her of the robbery and have her arrested.  She was even more terrified that she’d never find out why
Sébastien’s
family collection included a stone obviously stolen from her father. 

Every instinct in her body warned her to run, to get away from this man towering over her.  He was at least half a foot taller than her and almost a hundred pounds heavier.  If he wanted, he could do some serious damage to her. 

But then she remembered what her father had taught her.  “Never let them see how they’ve hurt you,” he’d said.  “Never let them know you’re scared.”  He’d given her this lesson after a client balked at paying his bill and left Frederick with no choice but to insist on payment or a call to the police.  After a tense stand-off in the workshop during which the man had threatened her father’s life, the client had finally agreed to pay in installments, thanks to a generous compromise on her father’s part. 
I’m trying, Dad
, she thought.

Ella stood up straight and met Sébastien’s fiery gaze head-on.  “If you want me to wear a different coat, you have to tell me why.  And the answer can’t be because you don’t like red.”

He clenched his fists.  It took all of her physical control not to wince or step backward.  “Are you always like this?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“A pain in the rear.”

“I’m always me,” she said.  “Take it or leave it.” 

Ella felt her knees quiver once but kept her stance tall and straight.  “
Just t
ell me what’s going on.”

She saw him clench his jaw as he fought back an angry reply.  The muscles in his cheek stood out against his jawbone as he ground his teeth.  The strain it took for him to control himself was both frightening and amusing.  It was frightening because if he ever released his pent-up anger, he’d be like a hurricane—so powerful he could destroy just about anything in his path.  But it was also amusing because the fact that he controlled it meant she was winning. 

Ella felt a thrill of pride that she was able to make this big bully back down.  “Tell me what’s going on,” she repeated.

“Fine,” he retorted, backing away.  He ran a hand through his tousled black hair.  “If someone has just gotten out of here with a handful of my family’s jewels, they’re going to want to sell them.  They’ll either have to do it right away, before the cops get involved, or they’ll have to wait for months, until the investigation settles down or they’re caught.  I’m guessing they’ll want the money as soon as possible, which means we need to pay a visit to the first people a thief would turn to.”

“What does that have to do with my red coat?”

He curled his lip.  “I’d prefer not to be spotted eight blocks away while I’m talking to a fence at three in the morning.”  He held up Frau Müller’s jacket again.  “Consider it camouflage.”

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation.  Why, she wondered, couldn’t he have just said that in the first place?  Ella took the jacket, slipping off her dusty red wool and replacing it with the butter-soft brown leather.  “There,” she said.  “Was that so hard?  But now I have another question.”

He sighed.  “Why am I not surprised?”

“Make that two questions.  Why aren’t you calling the cops?  And where is everyone?  Why hasn’t anyone from your security team checked in?  Why didn’t the alarm raise anyone else?”

“That,” Sébastien said, “is far more than two questions.”

Ella shrugged.  “They’re all good ones.  You should answer them.”  She was afraid to push him much farther.  After all, she was bound to be suspect number one when he did call the cops and report the robbery.  She knew she wasn’t guilty and that no sane cop would link her to the robbery, but she wasn’t in a hurry to be dragged down to the police station and tossed in an interrogation room. 

Sébastien narrowed his eyes.  “You’re awfully curious about my security team for someone who is simply here to sign a few forms.”

“I do much more than that and you know it,” she retorted.  “But it seems strange to me that millions of dollars of jewels have gone missing and you’re standing here, not worried about calling the police.  Why?”

“The police,” he repeated, laughing dryly.  “You want me to call the police.”

“Yes!  Is that really so unusual?”

He shook his head, still laughing in a dry, humorless way.  He held his hands to his forehead and closed his eyes.  “What I want is for this exhibition to go off without a hitch.  I don’t care about anything else.”

“Figures,” Ella said.

Sébastien’s head snapped up and his still-violent eyes fixed themselves on her face.  “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re only thinking of yourself.  You haven’t even thought about how much harder you’re making it for the cops by delaying calling them.  Or about how your mother will feel when she realizes some of her prized possessions are gone.”

“That’s it,” he said, snapping to action.  He crossed the kitchen, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her out the back door. 

“Where are we going?” she cried.

“To solve a crime.”

Ella left her arm in his grasp, wondering why he thought this was the preferred mode of transportation for her.  They crossed a swath of carefully manicured gardens, filled with box-row hedges and beds of roses.  He pulled her to a separate building behind the gardens, a long and narrow rectangle without any windows.  From his pocket, he pulled out a smart phone and pressed a few buttons.  The roll-up door began to lift itself. 

“Is this your garage?” she asked.

“It’s not a petting zoo.” 

Funny
, she thought, realizing he responded to pressure-filled situations the same way she did: using black humor as a defense mechanism.  The thought frightened her. 
I’m not like him at all
, she argued with herself. 
Am I?

Sébastien pulled her towards a black European sedan with tinted windows.  He came around to the passenger door and unlocked it, then held onto her arm while she slipped into the leather bucket seat.  He waited until she was settled and then tucked in the edge of the brown leather coat, ensuring it wouldn’t get shut in the door. 

Ella almost gasped in surprise.  She hadn’t expected such a chivalric gesture from a man who was basically holding her hostage.  She waited for him to round the car and settle himself in the driver’s seat before she turned her head to look at him once more.

In the shadows of the garage, his profile looked like what she imagined Roman emperors would have looked like—strong and determined, with square, angular faces that belied generations of breeding.  She’d seen a few of their profiles on ancient coins in the museum’s Greek and Roman wing.  They always comforted her, far more than the faces she saw on billboards or brochures.  

Those
ancient
faces always seemed so capable, so sure of their destinies.  They never doubted their birthright or their right to take over other territories.  They built temples, aqueducts and amphitheaters because they wanted to or because it would make their people happy. 

In many ways, Sébastien seemed similar.  He ordered people around and wouldn’t take no for an answer, without ever seeming to doubt his choices.  But did he do it because he saw himself as an emperor, in charge of his family’s destiny?  Or did he do it because he was an insensitive jerk who never learned how to take other people’s feelings into consideration?

It made her think.  And thinking about Sébastien Cherbourg wasn’t what she wanted to do.  She wanted to find those stones and figure out what it all meant: to her, to her father, to her shattered life.

Sébastien backed the car out of the garage and closed it behind them.  He maneuvered in reverse down a narrow driveway to street level and waited for a set of iron gates to open outward.  When they’d opened, he flung the car into gear and sped off into the night. 

Ella held onto the armrest with a sinking feeling.  She wasn’t thrilled about the fact that he hadn’t called the police, but what could she do?  She was a virtual prisoner. 
Maybe
, she thought,
I should find out just how “virtual” a prisoner I am.

“Take me home,” she said.  “Please.”

Sébastien didn’t even turn his head to look at her.

Okay
, she thought. 
No go.  Let’s try something else.