The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [111]
The next morning before light, Claire pulled on her dress, tucked the paper inside the lining and, shoes in hand, headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Von Richter sat up in bed, his mouth petulant.
Claire went back and kissed him long and hard on the lips. “Miss me already?”
He wrenched her to him and jerked the dress over her head. Claire palmed the paper as it slipped free. Her free hand reached down beneath the covers, grasping him tight, as she slid the note between the mattresses.
He smacked her on her buttocks then threw her on her back on the pillows. “I didn’t say you could leave yet.” He reached between her legs.
His roughness made it easy to shut down, to arrange her body as she would a doll. Her goading whispers in his ear hurried him. She had a delivery to make.
Afterward, von Richter smoked a cigarette from bed as he watched her dress. “I know your type, Claire. Your French husband may have left you a few centimes, but a woman like you doesn’t stay alone.”
She gave her best enigmatic smile, body tensing for his next words.
“He is married isn’t he? He keeps you on the side, an apartment near a Métro station. He comes by in the afternoon on his way home from work.”
Claire sat on the bed, bent over to slip on her shoes and slide the paper back into her dress. He had Claire Harris Stone pegged alright. Once upon a time that man might have been Laurent, the Comte, anyone. “You got a better offer, Alby darling? What would your Führer say?” She turned toward the door. “We had a night. A very, very good one. That’s all it can be.”
Von Richter caught up with her in the foyer. He pulled her against him, spoke into her hair. “I am a Sturmbannführer. I can have whatever or whoever I want. Don’t forget that.” He pressed his lips hard against hers until she softened in his arms. “Bring your things this afternoon. Lieutenant Schneider will take you to your room—on the Cambon side.” He reached for the phone. “The lieutenant will escort you to the door.”
The sky was scrubbed to a clear blue and the air smelled fresh, with just a hint of last night’s storm. Claire forced herself to take a leisurely route to the dentist’s office to drop off the note, keeping an eye behind her and doubling back twice. She made a show of considering the play in the theater next door before she slipped the note in the dentist’s box without stopping.
In her mind, she was cataloguing what she’d seen in von Richter’s study the night before. She knew she’d be able to find something of value. Grey’s voice, wry and low, came from the recesses of her mind. Don’t get greedy, my little spy.
Her heart ached. She paused in front of a store window. Her reflection stared back at her. Haunted was what she would call that face. She willed her features to smooth, her eyes turned to glass. They see weakness and you’re dead, she told herself. And so is Grey. She took one last look behind her and boarded the Métro for her hotel. It was time to move up.
Lieutenant Schneider met her at the Ritz concierge desk off rue Cambon, his face impassive, eyes cold. Without a word, he took her bag and led her down the corridor. An elevator to the third floor, at the end of a hallway. He opened the door, set her bag inside and handed her the key. “The Sturmbannführer asked you to notify me should you need anything.” He turned on his heel and left.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped inside her room. Ceiling-to-floor windows overlooked the gardens below with leafy trees shading a long grass alleé. A delicate chandelier hung over the bed, a gilded mirror rested over a white vanity. Claire dropped her bag and slid onto the four-poster bed that seemed to welcome her. Suddenly feeling her lack of sleep, she examined the pale butter walls through half-closed eyes. Blue curtains were gathered with silk rope; the floor was carpeted in flowers the color of sky. Her eyes closed and her head sank into the pillow. She couldn’t help