The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [108]
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed von Richter’s approach. She slid closer to the captain, one hip pressed against his muscled thigh.
“Madame Stone,” a voice said behind her shoulder.
Claire didn’t respond. After a moment, the soldier’s story trailed off into silence. She watched the scowl grow on his face before she turned around.
Von Richter faced her. “A long way from home, aren’t you?” he said in English.
Claire responded in French. “I’m sorry, Monsieur, but you have mistaken me for someone else.”
Von Richter replied in smooth French. “There are some things I don’t forget.”
“I am flattered to be considered so memorable, but I am not who you think I am.”
The soldier looked between them. He frowned but didn’t speak, his eyes on von Richter’s rank and SD insignia. A blonde, no more than sixteen, stumbled up behind von Richter.
She giggled as she slung an arm over his shoulder. “Venez, mon beau gosse.”
“Your little friend is lonely,” Claire said.
The girl glared at Claire and burrowed against von Richter’s back.
Claire traced the line of the captain’s biceps, her eyes on von Richter. “We were just on our way out, weren’t we, Kapitän? Someplace a little more . . . confidential.”
Von Richter’s eyes hardened as he glanced at the soldier.
“They’re going inside without us.” The girl tugged on von Richter’s arm as the party filed down the hallway.
He shrugged, a small intrigued smile. “Forgive my mistake, Madame.” He turned on his heel.
Claire watched him disappear behind a heavy wooden door, disappointment flaring inside her. Her mind worked as she finished her drink. Had she overestimated his interest in New York? No, she decided, remembering the hardness she felt dancing next to him that night.
The captain finished his third bottle in a swig and straightened up to his full height. He motioned toward the door and spoke. It didn’t sound like a question, but she got the idea. She forced a smile and walked toward the exit.
A pale, hard-faced SD Lieutenant stopped them in the lobby. He spoke a few words to the soldier then turned to Claire. “Would the lady accompany me to the back room?”
The Wehrmacht captain spit out a curse and stomped into the darkness.
The lieutenant smirked and turned to Claire. He leads you to a room full of snakes, she thought, her palms sweating. She gave him a smile and walked, hips swaying, before him down the hallway.
The smoke-filled back room was swinging. A waiter with an armful of bottles ducked between drunken couples entwined on chairs, tables and the floor. Three women had shucked their coats and stood on a table, diamond-patterned panties glittering in the faint light. They clicked a rhythm with their dancing shoes while an officer sitting in a chair below stared up at them, his eyes half slits.
Von Richter inspected Claire from across the room. The blonde sat on his lap, wearing only ruffled pink panties and a garter belt, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers in his hair.
Claire walked up to face him. “I feel overdressed,” she said, her eyes on the girl.
“Then take off your clothes,” he said with a smirk.
She didn’t reply.
“What is the point of this game, Claire? You play with fire. I thought you were smarter.” He absentmindedly stroked the girl’s leg. She nuzzled his neck.
Claire inspected him. First she needed to get rid of that damn girl. She shrugged. “Ah, Alby darling, if you insist on pulling skeletons out of closets, at least pour me something.”
He shoved the girl off his lap and stood. “Champagne, then,” he shouted to the waiter. “And a private table.”
A table against the wall was cleared; two chairs placed side by side. Claire and von Richter sat as the waiter placed a bottle and two glasses between them. Von Richter turned his chair to face hers, his eyes on her as he played with an unlit cigar.
Claire ran her hand over his insignia on his uniform sleeve. “My, Alby darling, haven’t you become important.”
He smiled and pulled the cork.