The Paris Game (4 page)

“Ma chère, you were lovely as always,” Marc continued, the low tenor of his voice husky with intimacy. “If I wasn’t away so often, I’d be here every night.”

Sera lifted her face as Marc bent and kissed her cheeks, lingering far longer than strictly necessary. She inhaled the subtle scent of his cologne before he straightened.

“Merci, Marc. Won’t you join us?”

He appropriated an empty chair from a nearby table, settling between her and Sophie. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” His gaze rested on Sophie, who shifted in her chair under the unexpected attention.

“Of course.” She felt a sharp pang of jealousy and gave Marc a terse look. “Sophie, this is my friend Marc Perron. Marc, Sophie.”

“Enchantée, mademoiselle Sophie.” Marc held out his hand. Sophie hesitated, but finally placed her hand in his. Sera watched him lift Sophie’s hand to his lips. Sophie blushed furiously and as soon as she could, she took her hand back, clasping it under the table.

“Bonsoir, monsieur,” she replied politely.

“Where have you been?” Sera drew his attention away from Sophie, who glanced towards the bar again.

“Here and there. I was in Amsterdam last week and Florence the week before. And I had a quick jaunt to London for a few meetings. One of my clients was desperate for an altarpiece.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Sophie asked, her eyes wide.

Marc smiled at her. “He saw sense and paid me to go looking for replicas for him, or for an artist who could paint in the old style.”

“Marc deals in art and antiques,” Sera remarked to Sophie. “His family’s firm has been around for a long time.”

“A hundred years or thereabouts.” Marc lit a cigarette, offering the slim case to Sophie, and perfunctorily to Sera, giving her a wink as he held it out. He knew she didn’t smoke, but he had noticed her response to his attention to Sophie.

“No thank you,” Sophie replied. Marc slipped the case back into his jacket pocket.

“Amsterdam wasn’t as worthwhile,” he remarked. “The items at auction were poor; much worse than I’d expected.”

“So it was a wasted trip?” Sera sipped her water.

“Not entirely.” He gave her a look that left no doubts as to what he was referring. Of course he’d entertain one or several women during his stay. Sophie’s attention had drifted again and she was glad Sophie had missed Marc’s lewd look.

“Have you traveled much, mademoiselle?” Marc inquired, bringing Sophie’s gaze back to the table.

“I wish.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I barely could afford to come here.”

“And what has brought you to our lovely city?”

Sera watched Marc shift closer to Sophie, intent on his new conquest. This was not what she had intended when she’d invited Sophie tonight. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned.

“It’s time.” It was Benoît. Patrice and Serge were already waiting on stage. As she rose, she knew how to interrupt Marc’s flirtation. It would serve him right and give Sophie a chance to go see Edouard. And, though Sera didn’t want to admit it, he would spend more time with her instead.

“Would you play a song with me, Marc?” She turned to Benoît. “If Patrice doesn’t mind lending his cello, of course.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine with it.” Benoît ambled back to the stage where he had a word with Patrice.

“You play the cello?” Sophie asked.

“Not professionally.” Marc stubbed out his cigarette. “Bien sûr, ma chère; I would love to. Save my seat, Sophie.”

Patrice gave up his seat for Marc, who settled the cello between his knees. He played a few experimental chords and then tightened two strings minutely. “What shall we play?

Sera already knew. She had thought of it when she’d first seen him.

“Do you remember ‘
Ma Chanteuse
’?” She saw a reaction in his eyes, the slight tenseness of his form, but it disappeared before she could be certain.

“I wrote it for you. How could I forget, ma chère?”

The first few notes slid into the club and the crowd quieted. He played through the haunting introduction and Sera stepped up to the microphone.

You walked in and captured the impossible smile...

She hadn’t sung the song in years, but she hadn’t forgotten the words. She glanced back at Marc. His head lifted and he seemed to see right into her. Her chest felt tight and tears pricked the back of her eyes. She looked away, trying to focus on the music. Her voice rose and fell with the melody of the cello. The audience faded from her awareness and she and the music were in a world all their own.

As she sang the last line, she turned to watch Marc draw his bow across the strings for the final bar. The notes carried in the silent crowd. When he finished, they were immersed in applause. She barely registered Patrice returning to his spot, but suddenly Marc was beside her, giving a brief bow to the audience.

“Beautiful as always, ma chère,” he told her, giving her an affectionate smile before stepping down from the stage. She watched him resume his position next to Sophie, who looked at him with some of the same awe she had given to Sera. She glanced at Edouard, but he was busy behind the bar. She’d done what she’d tried to avoid—Marc had Sophie’s full attention.

Benoît’s piano resonated with the final dramatic chords of '
La Vie En Rose'
and then he and the rest of the band rose to take their bows. Sera joined them, coming back to earth from her musical highs. She spotted Jeremy Gordon patiently nursing a bourbon near the bar, but a glance at Sophie decided her. Jeremy could wait. Sophie laughed at something Marc had said, and he leaned closer.

“You didn’t save me any wine,” Sera remarked as she pulled out her chair and sat across from Sophie. The carafe on the table was empty and only Sophie’s glass held any liquor.

“That’s easily remedied, ma chère.”

Before Marc could gesture for a waiter, Sera looked directly at Sophie. “Could you go ask Edouard for another carafe, and a glass?” She gave Sophie a conspiratorial wink and Sophie grinned.

“Of course.”

Marc watched her go. “Was that really necessary?”

“I didn’t invite her here so you could seduce her.”

“That would have been a fortunate side effect.” He lit a cigarette. “Why does it matter?”

“She’s already interested in someone else.” At the bar, Sophie smiled up at Edouard, standing on her tiptoes to be heard over the crowd.

“Is that all?”

Sera couldn’t say more. Sophie came back to the table, Edouard in tow, carrying a fresh carafe of wine and a glass.

“You outdid yourself tonight, Sera.” Edouard set the glass in front of her and poured from the carafe. “And you also, Monsieur Perron. Jean told me that he wished you would play more often.”

Marc chuckled. “I’m sure he does, but he couldn’t afford my rates.” Sophie laughed, but her attention was still focused on Edouard.

“Didn’t I tell you she was fantastic?” Sera wasn’t sure that Edouard’s grin could get any wider.

“You were right,” Sophie replied, her cheeks flushed. Not from shyness, Sera thought. The pair seemed to have forgotten that anyone else was in the room. “I never doubted you.”

“And now that you know, you’ll have to come back again,” Edouard replied, gazing down at her. He finished filling Marc’s glass and set the carafe on the table, removing the empty one. He seemed reluctant to leave, but finally stepped away. “I have to get back. See you later?”

“Of course,” Sophie told him.

Sera glanced at Marc and found him watching her instead of Sophie and Edouard. He gave her a wicked grin as Edouard departed and turned his attention back to Sophie. “Did you know, mademoiselle, that Picasso and Dora Marr used to drink in this very club?”

“Really?” Sophie looked around the club with a new curiosity.

“It’s been an artists’ favourite for decades. Everyone who was anyone has been here.”

“Even Canadian artists?”

Marc shrugged. “Very likely. Is that your area of study?”

“I’m focusing on Canadian artists that came to Paris to study, especially Paul Peel.”

“I’m familiar with his work,” Marc said. “At an auction in Montreal one of his studies for After the Bath was in a lot up for bid.”

“Did you buy it?” Sophie leaned forward, resting her arms on the table.

“My clients were looking for other works. That one went to a museum, if I recall.”

“You have a good memory,” Sera remarked. The corner of Marc’s mouth quirked up in a smile.

“I do.”

Sophie looked dreamy. “I’d love to own The Venetian Bather. It’s my favourite.”

“I’ve seen it at the National Gallery.”

Sophie smiled at Marc. “Me too. I went all the time when I was at home.”

Sera listened to their conversation, becoming increasingly irritated and bored. Marc took every new woman as a challenge, and though she liked Sophie, she was jealous. She made her tone sound amused as she rebuked them. “You two aren’t being very kind to someone who has no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The Venetian Bather is a painting of a young girl standing nude before a mirror. She has a towel, and it’s done in almost a Pre-Raphaelite style.”

“And there’s a small kitten chasing the frayed hem of the towel,” Sophie added. “I love that little detail.”

“You’re fortunate to be able to see it so often,” Sera said.

“I’d love to own it so I could see it every day, but that’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible.” Marc said, his lips curving into an amused smile.

“That is.” She thought for a moment. “Unless I won the lottery, I guess.”

“If you were really wealthy you could just pay someone to steal it for you.” Marc lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. “Money opens a lot of doors.”

“Only to become a criminal,” Sera interjected.

“As if that ever happens,” Sophie said to Marc. “Theft-to-order? Really?”

“I have heard of it. There are more than a few stories that circulate the auction houses.” He glanced at Sera. “Another drink?”

Sera shrugged. Sophie looked at her watch. “Just a cab home for me, I’m afraid.”

“You need to give me your number before you go,” Sera told her. “Marc, do you have a pen?”

He pulled a pen from his inner jacket pocket. Sera took a napkin from the table and wrote her phone number. Sophie wrote hers, and Sera tore the napkin in half.

“Maybe we could meet for coffee next week?” Sophie suggested. She rose.

“Of course. Just call.” Sera gave Sophie a hug. “Bonne nuit.”

“A shame you have to leave so early.” Marc rose and bent to kiss Sophie’s cheeks. She became flustered and stepped back. “Bonne nuit, mademoiselle.” Sera raised a brow. He certainly hadn’t held back.

Sophie walked up the steps, turned to give them a wave and then disappeared into the crowd. Sera hoped that Sophie would stop to say goodnight to Edouard on her way out. She had a feeling she would. It would serve Marc right if Sophie completely dismissed his advances.

Marc turned to her as they seated themselves again. “She’s such an innocent,” he said. Sera gave him a sharp look.

“She’s not your type.”

“Of course she is. They all are.” He took one last drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out. “It wouldn’t take much.”

“Just leave her be, Marc.” Sera glanced towards the bar and saw Sophie and Edouard talking. “She’s interested in someone else.”

Marc followed her gaze. “She could do better than Edouard. Someone with more experience.”

“There’s such a thing as too much experience. And besides, weren’t you seeing Jeanne?”

“Not for weeks now. Too dull.” He leaned closer. “You would have loved the girl I met in London. She wasn’t as innocent as Sophie, but very close. And so beautifully willing.” He grinned.

“But only worth a night?”

“She was worth a second night, and I’d be tempted to see her on my next trip as well.”

“That’s quite unlike you.”

He gave her a knowing look. “I doubt it’ll be anything serious.”

Sera took a sip of her wine.

“So tell me,” Marc continued, “Where did you find our Sophie?”

“Our Sophie?” She shook her head, wanting to kick him for his possessiveness. Sophie wasn’t his, or hers. “I came out of St.-Germain-des-près and she was sketching the Deux Magots.”

“What a shame I didn’t meet her first.” Marc poured them more wine, emptying the carafe.

“You’d have scared her away.”

“I didn’t scare you away when we first met.”

“That was then. She’s smarter than I was. And I don’t think you’d be able to seduce her.”

“That sounds like a challenge, ma chère.”

“It wasn’t meant to be one.”

She’d seen how Sophie had looked at Edouard, and she recognized the stirrings of first love. She had felt them herself once, and as she looked at Marc, lighting another cigarette, she had never managed to get over them.

He leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out, his jacket fallen open. Sera knew he was teasing her, giving her something to look at. His trousers clung in all the right spots, highlighting the muscled line of his leg. Her eyes followed it upward, but he interrupted her perusal.