‘Good! He won’t let you anywhere near it. Not after last time. Stay back. Hopefully the story will be all wrapped up in a nice big bow for you.’
‘Unlikely.’
‘Highly unlikely!’ George snorted. ‘Where’s this supposed ransom drop happening again?’
‘Luxembourg Gardens.’
‘How much?’
‘Five thousand francs.’
‘A pittance for one of the richest families in the world. Either Maisy Bell’s been abducted by an absolute idiot or you could be right and there’s something fishy with the aunt. Strange the brother Mason should turn up to support Clementine, not the mother and father of the missing child.’
‘The father seems incapacitated, unable to travel. Perhaps the mother stayed to nurse him if he is unwell? Seems a reasonable assumption.’
‘Maybe. Rich families are pools of murky business. Keep your wits about you. And, James?’
‘Yes, George?’
‘Get the story from a safe spot. I hate hospitals.’
Chapter 7
LUXEMBOURG GARDENS, PARIS
Charlie stood inside the eastern gate of Luxembourg Gardens and surveyed the park. Long paths weaved their way through green islands of lawn. Lines of mature plane and oak trees bordered every path, casting a dancing patina of light and shadows. Pairs of tanned young lovers were sprawled out on the grass, messy hair, lying on a lap or resting on an elbow as they took turns reading from the tatty copies of Baudelaire or Rimbaud the students had no doubt just picked up from one of the many second-hand bookshops dotted along the adjacent streets.
Older men in linen jackets walked with canes, while women in splendid modern suits and sun frocks walked with an elbow threaded through their beaus’ arms and often carried a small parasol to keep off the hot August sun. Sun chairs were arranged in strategic spots—moved every day so they did not mark theprecious lawn—and people dozed or chatted, their faces turned to the light like sunflowers.
Close to the centre of the park lay a huge, octagonal lake with a fountain. Boys and girls screeched and splashed one another as they pushed tiny sailboats about with long sticks while their weary mothers looked on and yelled occasionally for a child to not fall in. Or to stop poking their little sister with a stick.
It was a typical summer’s day for these park-goers, none of whom had any idea that a young American woman’s life was about to be exchanged for a paltry amount. Strange how a monumental moment was taking place among the humdrum of ordinary Parisian life. Charlie shivered, trying not to remember how her own life had almost been sliced from her mere weeks ago on a balmy evening in a beautiful park not unlike this one.
She pushed her bad memories to one side and started to walk to the heart of the garden near the pond. On her left a police officer blew a whistle and she froze. The ransom note had specified no police, but Charlie quickly realised that this policeman was only instructing wayward visitors to move their canvas chairs from the cordoned-off area where the grass was regrowing. The French took their green grass very seriously and it would be evenmoresuspicious to have no uniformed officers in the gardens, bossing about hapless tourists and cheeky locals who did not pay attention to the strict lawn management regime. A Parisian park with no grass police was like a boulangerie with no baguettes.
She walked another few steps before a suit-clad arm threaded through her own, took her hand in a firm hold and twisted her about to walk back in the opposite direction.
‘I knew you’d come, but that doesn’t mean I think your presence is a good idea,’ hissed Inspecteur Bernard through his teeth as he smiled and pretended Charlie was a lover he was taking for an ice cream.
‘You owe me. This was my lead. I gave you the letter.’ She could feel the tension in his bicep pressed against her shoulder. His hand was slightly clammy, though not unpleasantly so.
The inspecteur chuckled and said, ‘I am not doing this again, Mademoiselle James. If this is a kidnapping—’
‘Which you still don’t believe?’
He clutched her hand even tighter and she caught the scent of cedarwood at the collar of his pressed white shirt, which he wore beneath a slim-fitting navy suit. Even for a hostage exchange, Bernard looked like he had stepped from the men’s pages with his shiny, polished shoes and neat-clipped hair. The inspecteur turned to face her. They were standing in the shade of a tree with a thick trunk and Charlie realised that between the tree and his body, she could not see the rendezvous point by the lake and that this was his intention.
‘We have people in plain clothes—’
‘I can see. You dressed up!’ she teased and saw a slight flush creep into his cheeks.
Then Bernard sighed and relented. ‘You stay here. Get yourself an ice cream, seem to be doing something else. This is a public park, but if I see you take even one step from behind this tree, I will have that officer arrest you.’ He pointed to the officer still trying to shoo a pair of kissing teenagers with entangled limbs off a bald patch of grass.
‘Iknewhe was one of yours. Looks like he’s got a real job on his hands.’ She chuckled as the teenagers sat up and howled protests at the officer. ‘Oh, the French youth and their declarations of love,libertéandégalité.’
The corners of the inspecteur’s lips rose with the hint of a smile as he watched the protesting teenagers for a beat before turning again to Charlie. ‘Please.’ His voice had softened now and he gazed at her with his brown eyes. ‘Stay here and do as I ask. There will be nothing to tell you at all if we make a mistake. Now, I must report to my station. We have twenty minutes. I hear the lemon sorbet isbien. Have one, enjoy the sun and we shall see.’
Charlie searched the inspecteur’s dark eyes and tried to ascertain if he was being glib or overly cautious. His lips looked soft but were unsmiling.