The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [51]
She heard footsteps coming from the path through the trees. Claire slowed. The way Grey always found her on her walks, she’d turn and he would be there, hands in his pockets, coat collar turned up against the chill. He wouldn’t even say hello, just start in conversation, something about the gardens or the day, his voice serious, dark eyes warm.
Claire turned, smiling.
It was Laurent. “You look breathtaking.”
She frowned. “Hello.”
He matched her stride, hands in his pockets, a cigarette in his mouth. “You are surprised to see me. You don’t think I am a patriot like the others?
Claire shrugged, surprised at the depth her spirits had fallen. She hid her disappointment behind a doubtful expression.
“I do more than you know,” Laurent said as if she had replied. He caught her arm, pulled her to a stop. “Don’t be mad with me, ma chérie. You must know by now why Sophie came that day. It isn’t because I wanted her there. I wanted you there.”
Claire looked over at him, wondering at his wounded tone.
His eyes were intent; he pulled the cigarette from his mouth so he could lean in close to her face. “Don’t you remember New York? You are who I wanted.”
She allowed him to pull her off the path onto a secluded bench overlooking the pool and the parterre gardens beyond. He sat facing her, one hand resting on her arm, almost protectively, almost possessively. She stared at his hand until he pulled it away. Even if he was the one who vouched for her with Odette, a long two years had passed since the New York he remembered. “Where is Grey . . . or Odette?”
“Odette is busy. There are important things happening, Claire. Grey is, what can I say—gone.”
Claire sat up straight. “Gone?”
He shrugged, a small frown as though he were disappointed but what could he do? “He left.”
“Where?”
“I cannot say.”
“Tell me, Laurent.”
He studied her, his eyes inscrutable, then looked away and sighed. Finally he spoke as if it pained him. “He went back to England.”
“He what?”
“He had commitments. A woman and a child. A daughter. Grey is a steadfast sort of creature. A responsible man. They are getting hammered right now in London, the bombings.” He shrugged then mimicked a lecturing Grey in his clipped French. “ ‘We all have duties, Laurent.’ ”
Claire looked away from Laurent toward the trees. She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She kept her expression calm, chewed her lip. “I see.”
Two policemen walked by. They eyed the pair on the bench but said nothing.
She stared at the pool, took a deep breath but didn’t speak. Her insides ached. A mistress and child back in London.
“He’s right. We all have our responsibilities. I have never forgotten you came to Paris for me.” Laurent stroked her arm. “I know you, Claire. You’re not made for work.”
Claire’s throat clamped down until it ached. She thought she’d seen something in Grey’s eyes, the way he cocked his head and almost smiled when they walked together through the city. Like he wasn’t just looking at her—he saw her. Had she only been lonely?
And now he was gone and Laurent was offering, what? Did the Comte’s interest suddenly stir his competitive spirit? A surge of anger choked her. “Just advise me about the Comte.”
Laurent scowled and started to say more. Finally, he nodded. “We investigated him after you first wrote. The Comte de Vogüé is a mystery. It seems as though he has always kept his dealings below the surface. The Ritz is the only occupied hotel the Nazis allow civilians to reside. They keep them on the rue Cambon side, but the Comte must be very important to the Nazis’ military or business in order to stay at the Ritz. It could be very helpful for us if you made a good impression on him. I know you can do that. And then listen and look. Do as Odette taught you. We will await a report in the usual place.”
Claire forced herself to listen. It felt as if her insides spilled out onto the