PART 23
After luncheon, Miss Glanzman excused herself from the table. Lady Huntington was still entertaining the girls with humorous anecdotes about the many people she knew in London society.
"Aunt Sophia, tell them about the time the Prime Minister got into the wrong carriage after the opera!" urged Isabelita.
"Ah yes, I had almost forgotten about that particular little faux-pas!" Lady Huntington laughed.
Miss Glanzman paused in front of the large mirror in the foyer and checked her appearance. When she was satisfied that everything was in order, she stepped out into the street. She was gratified to see a bobby patrolling across the street from the townhouse. Things can happen, even here in Belgravia, she reminded herself.
After a brisk 15-minute walk, she reached the street where The Sanibelle Foundation was located. When she was almost to the front door, a well-dressed woman in a fur cape came out. They exchanged glances. "Why, Miss Glanzman! How nice to see you again."
Miss Glanzman immediately recognized the great-granddaughter of the school's founder. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Faust. How are you?"
"Very well, thank you. Especially now that I have finished the onerous task of reviewing the books."
"I trust everything is in order?" Miss Glanzman said. She did not want any financial difficulties to keep her from procuring the Frenchman.
Mrs. Faust waved her hand in an expansive gesture. "Oh certainly! Every last cent is accounted for and the interest just keeps growing."
"That is extremely good news," replied Miss Glanzman. "Because this afternoon I will be hiring a new Professor of Romance Languages."
"Yes, Headmaster Wolfe did mention that in his last letter. In fact, one of the applicants is already here. A rather ominous looking woman," she confided. "I shouldn't like to study under her. I always feel that the romance languages should be taught by some impossibly handsome man! It makes learning those verb conjugations so much easier, wouldn't you agree?"
Before Miss Glanzman could agree or disagree, a carriage drew up. "Here is my dear Henri!" exclaimed Mrs. Faust. "Please excuse me, Miss Glanzman, and good luck with your interviews."
"Thank you." Miss Glanzman stared after the carriage until it was some distance away. The first one already here a full 30 minutes before her scheduled time. This is most annoying. I had hoped for a cup of tea first.
Upon entering the building, she was greeted by the secretary and shown into a large office. "The files are on the desk," announced the girl. "Miss Forbes is already here and Mr. Whitworth is expected at two o'clock. Your last one is Mr. Samuelle. I understand he's from France. You know what they say about Frenchmen!"
Miss Glanzman was afraid the girl was going to start drooling. "No, I am afraid that I do not know or care. I am only interested in determining which person is most suited for teaching Romance Languages," she answered flatly, hoping to put the girl in her place.
The secretary could tell from Miss Glanzman's countenance that she was not going to be drawn into a conversation about the attributes of the French male. "Oh, it was nothing really," she stammered. "Shall I send Miss Forbes in?"
"Give me a few moments to review her file," sighed Miss Glanzman heavily.
"As you wish, Miss Glanzman." The girl went out, closing the door quietly behind her.
Flipping open the folder, Miss Glanzman's eyes slid over the first page. She already knew the relevant facts about Miss Forbes, so why belabor the point?
The sooner I dispense with these first two, the more time I can devote to Mr. Samuelle.
Miss Forbes, a tall, formidable-looking woman, came in and proceeded to tell Miss Glanzman exactly how she thought a girls' school should be run. She was quickly interviewed and sent on her way.
Old battle-axe, thought Miss Glanzman scornfully. She had a nerve, trying to tell me how to do my job. That will never do.
Mr. Whitworth came in next. He was a small, fussy man with a nervous tic. Miss Glanzman found herself wringing her hands before the interview was concluded. Too effeminate, she decided as she saw him out the door. She could imagine the snickering that would go on behind his back if he were hired. He would never to able to control the class, especially my "back row girls." She paused and took a deep breath.
Strange how people are so very different when you meet them in person, she reflected. She sincerely hoped that she would not be disappointed when she finally met Mr. Samuelle.
It would be most distressing if he turned out to be a cad.
The secretary rapped on the door and then stuck her head in. "Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Glanzman? You must be thirsty after all that interviewing," she said cheerfully.
"No, thank you. But perhaps after Mr. Samuelle's interview."
The girl smiled and nodded. She had a feeling Miss Glanzman was more intrigued by the Frenchman than she let on.
PART 24
Now for the main event! thought Miss Glanzman gleefully. She took a small mirror from her reticule and examined her appearance. Not a hair was out of place. She felt a little thrill of something. Nerves, anticipation? She wasn't quite sure what it was.
For all his educational and personal achievements, the Frenchman was probably nothing special to look at. No doubt he is plain or ugly or has bad teeth, she thought in an effort to damp down her enthusiasm.
It was almost time for him to arrive. Miss Glanzman got up and went to the window which looked out on the busy street. Again, she saw a bobby walking the beat. I should write a letter to The Times commending the Metropolitan Police for their very visible presence, she thought idly.
When she glanced the other way, she saw a man in a dark suit approaching. He carried a black leather attaché case. It's him! I can feel it in my bones.
She scurried back behind the desk. It would not do for him to see her gawking at the window like some awe-struck schoolgirl.
Five minutes passed and voices were heard in the corridor. The secretary flung open the door with a flourish and announced, "Mr. Samuelle to see you, Miss Glanzman!"
Miss Glanzman stood up as he advanced toward the desk. For an instant, she was at a loss for words and he spoke first. "Good afternoon, Miss Glanzman. I appreciate this opportunity to meet with you."
What had she been thinking only a few moments ago? Plain, ugly, bad teeth? Nothing could be further from that. Here she was confronted with a tall, trim, impeccably dressed man with penetrating eyes. She was fascinated by the way he tucked an unruly strand of windblown hair behind his ear. Even the secretary was mesmerized for she was loitering in the doorway, studying him from behind.
"Will you be needing anything, Miss Glanzman?" she asked coyly.
At last Miss Glanzman found her voice. "No, that will be all." Reluctantly, the girl closed the door.
"Mr. Samuelle, it is truly a pleasure to meet you. I trust you have enjoyed your visit to London thus far?"
"Yes, thank you. I have played the tourist and met some interesting people." In fact, Michel was thinking of only one person and how quickly he might get away to join her.
"Very good. Now about the position at Sanibelle. . ." Miss Glanzman decided she should get the tedious details out of the way.
After several minutes, all relevant matters had been discussed. An offer was tentatively extended and tentatively accepted. Miss Glanzman closed her file. "Of course, I must present this to Headmaster Wolfe, but I do not foresee any complications. Pending his approval, could we expect you in one month's time?"
"Yes, that would give me time to conclude my affairs in Paris," smiled Michel.
"Excellent!" Miss Glanzman felt like letting out a whoop of laughter, but held herself in check. "May I offer you some tea, Mr. Samuelle?"
"That is most kind. However, I'm afraid that I have a prior engagement."
Hoping that the disappointment did not show on her face, Miss Glanzman said, "I see. Perhaps another time."
"I look forward to hearing from you, Miss Glanzman."
She smiled warmly. "I promise that it will be very soon."
Almost before she knew it, Michel Samuelle was gone. Only the faint scent of his cologne lingered. Miss Glanzman felt especially pleased with herself. She had interviewed all three candidates, as Wolfe had insisted. She also knew that she would have no trouble persuading him that the Frenchman was the best choice.
So far it had been a very interesting day, but now she really did need that cup of tea.
When he left the interview, Michel walked around the corner to a small park he had passed earlier. There was a fountain in the middle where children were playing with toy sailboats while their parents or nannies chatted. He found an empty bench away from the fountain and sat down.
He had been quite shocked when he saw Miss Glanzman was none other than the chaperone from the museum this morning. This is certainly an unforeseen development. An anomaly. What are the odds I would be offered a job at Ni-ki-ta's school?
He watched a few moments as the children laughed and scampered around. Being so close to the lovely young woman could be a blessing , , , or a dangerous complication.
Only time will tell. However, one thing is certain: I must control how the situation unfolds.
Inspector Vartan was shuffling some papers around on his desk when the bobby approached.
Looking up, he asked, "Do you have something from Leona or Lionel?"
"No, sir. It's about that other matter."
"I'm listening."
"She left the home of Lord Winston Huntington in Belgrave Square at half past one and walked to an office building. There she entered the premises of The Sanibelle Foundation, which operates a private girls' school. She stayed there approximately two hours and then left. We had to abandon surveillance when there was a robbery call at Fortnum and Mason."
"I see," said Vartan. "Thank you, Wilson. You were efficient, as always."
"Thank you, sir. Is this related to the Wellman case?"
"No, just an old matter that needed to be followed up."
PART 25
Soon after Miss Glanzman left to go to her interviews, Lady Huntington asked in a bright voice, "Now, who feels like doing some shopping?" This brought a most enthusiastic response. After all, what young lady does not like to go shopping?
"Very good!" she replied as she saw their eager faces. "Go collect your purses and wait in the foyer. I need to give Jeeves some instructions about dinner and then we shall be off!" The girls left the dining room in high spirits and practically ran upstairs.
A few minutes later Miss Roddy was looking over the assembled group. "Everyone seems to be here except Carla and Nikita," she said with a frown.
Meanwhile in their room, Carla and Nikita were going over their plan. It was not unlike a general mapping out strategy for a battle.
"Lady Huntington said that her husband would not be home until tonight," said Carla.
"Yes, which means the servants should be occupied downstairs. I should be able to slip out the front door without being seen," added Nikita.
Carla nodded. "Exactly! But getting back in might be a problem."
"I could always say I was sleepwalking and ring the front bell!" laughed Nikita.
"Go on with you!" snickered Carla. "I was thinking you could toss a pebble against the window and I would sneak down and let you in, creating a diversion if necessary."
Nikita considered this for an instant. "Yes, I suppose that's the best way. You're quite adept at drawing attention to yourself."
Carla picked up a pillow and swatted her. "Then it's settled," she laughed. "You should lie down and take a little nap so you will look your best."
Nikita suddenly looked worried. "Do you really think I'm doing the right thing?"
"Don't be ridiculous. It's only your nerves. Everything will be perfect!"
"You're right, of course." Nikita took some deep breaths. "Go now! Miss Roddy will be wondering about us."
"Don't worry, I'll make your excuses. And remember, I want a full report tonight about that delicious Mr. Samuelle!"
Nikita rolled her eyes. "Will you just go?"
Carla gave her a wink as she went out the door. "A full report!"
"Ah, there you are, Carla. Where is Nikita?" asked Miss Roddy as she pulled on her gloves.
"Oh, Miss Roddy! Nikita has developed an excruciating headache and is lying down," Carla said breathlessly. "I was making sure she was settled."
"Dear me!" cried Lady Huntington. "I'll send Eloise up with some chamomile tea. That always soothes me when my head is bursting. I especially need some after listening to Winston deliver one of his long-winded speeches in the House of Lords."
Carla laid a hand on Lady Huntington's arm to restrain her. "Thank you for your concern. However, Nikita felt if she could just lie quietly with the curtains drawn that she would be restored by dinner."
"Well, if you're sure she'll be all right. . ." Lady Huntington was twisting her lace-edged monogrammed handkerchief into a ball.
"Oh yes, I'm sure she will be fully recovered by this evening!" Carla assured her.
"Then I suppose we should be going."
The group went out the front door. "That's strange," mumbled Miss Roddy to no one in particular. "I've never known Nikita to have a headache before."
"There's a first time for everything, Miss Roddy!" said Carla gaily.
The strange thing was that, by now, Nikita did have a headache, albeit a slight one. She decided it was a combination of excitement, nerves, and feeling somewhat uneasy at deceiving Miss Roddy and Lady Huntington.
So, in fact, she did remove her shoes and recline on the soft bed with the heavy curtains drawn across the windows.
Some time later, Nikita awoke feeling considerably refreshed. There was a little fluttering in her stomach, but she knew it was because she was excited about seeing Mr. Samuelle again. Something about him had captured her fancy, as Carla had so accurately pointed out.
She brushed her hair and studied her reflection in the mirror. She couldn't help noticing the blush that was already in her cheeks from simply thinking about the handsome man she was going to meet.
What is happening to me? I don't even know this man!
Carefully, she dabbed a small amount of rose perfume behind each ear and at the base of her throat. She did not want to overdo it and reek like some cheap dance-hall girl.
Cautiously, she opened the bedroom door and peered into the hall. All was silent. The servants would be preparing their own tea below stairs since the mistress was out for the afternoon.
Her heart pounding, Nikita quickly crept down the stairs. She was almost to the front door when she heard the cultured voice of Jeeves, the head butler, coming from the end of the passage.
"Are you sure you set enough places for dinner?" he demanded of a maidservant who followed in his wake. "It would be most embarrassing if we were one short."
Nikita froze. There wasn't enough time to work the heavy locks on the front door. On the other hand, if she tried to go back up the stairs they would surely see her. She looked around quickly and then scooted into the drawing room opposite and crouched behind a large wing chair. Hopefully, Jeeves and the maid would have no reason to come in here.
After a brief discussion in the dining room, the pair emerged. "Well done, Patsy," droned Jeeves. "You may return to your post."
Jeeves stood in the foyer and wrinkled his nose as he detected a scent of roses. How very strange, he thought when he saw that the flowers on the table were chrysanthemums. Shaking his head, he headed back toward the kitchen.
Once she heard the door at the end of the hall close, Nikita leapt up from behind the brocade wing chair. Hurriedly, she opened the front door and ran down into the street, not bothering to look back.
Her great adventure had begun!
PART 26 – Michel's POV
At five minutes to four Michel was standing under the dark blue awning of Tattinger's, a small and cozy tearoom near Harrods. It was popular with fine ladies and gentlemen who needed a respite from their exhausting shopping expeditions.
Indeed, it was already beginning to fill up, but Michel had been inside and secured a table near a back window. "My guest will be here shortly," he explained to the waiter, who nodded with understanding.
Michel suffered a brief moment of anxiety as he waited. What if she got cold feet? What if her friends talked her out of coming? What if she decided to go shopping instead?
These thoughts ran through his mind as he paced outside the front door. Several times he had to step aside as parcel-laden women with small children in tow sought entry to the relaxed blue-and-gold interior.
The waiter stood inside observing Michel. He is waiting for a young lady and fears she will not come, he thought with amusement. Ah, to be young and in love!
At precisely four o'clock Michel looked up and saw Nikita making her way through the jostling crowds. Her long blonde hair was blowing in the breeze. He exhaled in relief and a slow smile began to curve his lips.
At last, she reached him. He noted again that she was almost his height. With secret satisfaction, he realized that he would only have to incline his head slightly in order to brush his lips across hers.
This is only tea, he reminded himself sternly. There's no point in rushing things.
"Mr. Samuelle, I hope I am not late. I had a bit of trouble getting here," she said in a rush.
A dark shadow crossed Michel's face. "Trouble? Did someone try to molest you?" He reached out and touched her arm solicitously. No man will touch her except me, he vowed.
She caught his quick mood change. "Oh, nothing like that. Actually, it was rather amusing now that I think about it!"
Michel relaxed considerably. "As long as you're all right. Shall we go in?" He kept his hand on her elbow to escort her inside.
Nikita noticed that several women, both young and old, looked up and seemed to regard her with envy as they made their way to their table. It gave her a thrill to be in the company of such a handsome and fascinating man.
Michel pulled out the chair for her. The waiter appeared with the menus and smiled approvingly. "Good afternoon, Miss!"
"Now you must tell me about this 'trouble' that you encountered!" teased Michel after the waiter had gone. I wonder how she escaped from her schoolmates and Miss Glanzman? This should be interesting.
The color rose in her cheeks as she toyed with the napkin. "Mr. Samuelle, you will think me quite naughty, but I let my friend Carla tell a lie on my behalf."
Michel reached over and laid his hand on top of hers. "S'il vous plaît, you must call me Michel, for I know that we are going to be very good friends." He prayed that his eyes expressed what he could not yet say aloud.
She looked into his eyes and saw a depth of feeling there. Again, she felt a fluttering in her stomach and it was not because of the trolley of delicacies being wheeled past their table.
"Very well. . .Michel. And you must call me Nikita."
"Ni-ki-ta. . .such a lovely name. But forgive me for interrupting."
Nikita blushed even more at the compliment. "Carla told our teacher that I had a terrible headache. After everyone left to go shopping, I was trying to slip out of the house and the butler almost caught me. I hid in the drawing room until the coast was clear, then ran out of the house!"
The waiter appeared with their tea and cakes. Michel reluctantly withdrew his hand from hers.
"Do you think me quite shameless now?" she asked earnestly.
Michel laughed. "On the contrary, I would say that you have a talent for improvising."
Nikita plunged her fork into one of the little cakes and laughed, also. "Miss Roddy and Miss Glanzman will have something else to say about it if they find out."
"Then don't let them find out," said Michel in all seriousness.
She took a big risk to meet me. She has cunning and courage.
Nikita smiled and nodded. In an effort to change the subject she said, "You should try one of these raspberry tarts. They're excellent."
Michel accepted one and asked, "Is your school near here?"
"No, it's in the country. My class only came up to London for a couple of days. I wish we could stay longer, but we go back on the train Sunday afternoon," she sighed wistfully.
I must find out where she lives and call on her properly. Otherwise, her family will take umbrage.
"Where does your family live? I should like to call on your father and introduce myself," asked Michel.
"Call on Papa?" laughed Nikita. "You would have to go all the way to Brazil to do that! He's there on business right now. I usually stay with my Uncle George and Aunt Adrian in Kent."
"And how does a young lady amuse herself when she stays in Kent?" Michel laid aside his napkin and focused entirely on his beautiful companion. Her whole face lights up when she laughs.
"I go riding with my cousins, Seymour and Jason, and practice archery and play croquet. Sometimes I even go pheasant hunting and fishing with them!" she said proudly.
"What if it is raining?" prompted Michel. I could sit here all day and listen to her.
Nikita looked down at her plate, somewhat embarrassed. "I suppose I sound like quite a tomboy," she said quietly.
I have hurt her feelings. What an absolute idiot I am.
"I did not mean to imply that at all. You are a very accomplished young woman. This morning you told me your uncle had a large library and that you read a lot."
She immediately brightened. "Yes, I adore reading! I can spend hours and hours in Uncle George's library."
The waiter was hovering over the table with a fresh pot of tea. They were silent for a moment.
"But I want to know about you, Michel," Nikita said when the waiter had vanished. "You must be thoroughly tired of hearing about me."
Michel held her gaze for a long moment. "Not at all," he replied softly.
Where should I begin? There are so many things I cannot reveal . . . yet.
PART 26 B – Nikita's POV
Nikita ran down into the street without bothering to look back. Once she merged with the throngs of people, she felt carefree and exhilarated. Her mind was filled with a myriad of images - trim physique, unruly hair, and mesmerizing green eyes. Or were they grey?
She also remembered his scent as he stood close to her in the museum. And that voice! Soft and hypnotic, but authoritative at the same time. It was so different from the rough, drunken slur of Mick at Aunt Adrian's birthday celebration.
My hair! she thought as the wind whipped through it. It will be a mess. In her haste to escape Lady Huntington's, she couldn't recall if she had put her comb in her purse.
Oh, I don't care! she thought gaily. The most important thing is that I'm going to see him again.
Walking along, she thought of all the questions she wanted to ask Mr. Samuelle. What are your interests? What is your family like? Do you prefer the city or the country? What is your favourite colour?
What if he returns to Paris and I never see him again? Although she declared to Carla that it was of no consequence, in her heart she knew otherwise. Perhaps I could persuade Papa to let me study in Paris for a while.
Almost before she knew it, she had reached the street where Tattinger's was located. She spotted the familiar dark blue awning and noticed a man pacing back and forth.
Either I am late or he is very anxious! she thought as she recognized the man in the dark suit. He saw her now and stopped his pacing. Nikita almost wanted to raise her hand and wave at him, but that would have seemed too schoolgirlish and too eager.
When she reached him, a small smile was playing about his lips. "Mr. Samuelle, I hope I am not late. I had a bit of trouble getting here," she said in a rush. There was a slight flush in her cheeks from the walk.
"Trouble? Did someone try to molest you?" The smile disappeared and a dark shadow crossed his face. He reached out and touched her arm solicitously. Nikita was surprised by his quick mood change, but also gratified by his obvious concern for her welfare.
"Oh, nothing like that. Actually, it was rather amusing now that I think about it." He will think it very silly indeed when I explain.
Michel relaxed considerably. "As long as you're all right. Shall we go in?" He kept his hand on her elbow to escort her inside. This was the first time he had actually touched her and the fluttering in her stomach now increased.
Nikita noticed that several women, both young and old, looked up and seemed to regard her with envy as they made their way to their table. She saw one young society matron nudge her friend, whose mouth literally dropped open at the sight of Michel Samuelle. Nikita was forced to lower her eyes to avoid giggling. Thankfully, Michel seemed oblivious to the effect he had on the gentler sex.
Michel pulled out the chair for her. The waiter appeared with the menus and seemed to bestow his approval upon Nikita. "Good afternoon, Miss!" he said with a hearty smile.
"Now you must tell me about this 'trouble' that you encountered!" teased Michel after the waiter had gone.
The color rose in her cheeks as she toyed with the napkin. First, she had to swallow down the lump in her throat. "Mr. Samuelle, you will think me quite naughty, but I let my friend Carla tell a lie on my behalf."
I wonder what he'll have to say about that, she thought nervously.
To her great surprise, Michel reached over and laid his hand on top of hers. Oh my, that's the second time he has touched me!
"S'il vous plaît, you must call me Michel, for I know that we are going to be very good friends."
Nikita was certain the shock and delight showed plainly on her face. Seymour always said that he could read her like a book. As she looked into his eyes, she saw a depth of feeling there that implied more than just friendship. Then there was that fluttering again! She knew it was not because of the trolley of delicacies being wheeled past their table.
Somehow, she found her voice again. "Very well. . .Michel. And you must call me Nikita."
"Ni-ki-ta. . .such a lovely name. But forgive me for interrupting."
The way he emphasized each syllable made Nikita want to slide down to the floor in a limp heap. Oh, that French accent! She was sure it had been the downfall of many a young lady in Paris.
Nikita blushed even more at the compliment. "Carla told our teacher that I had a terrible headache. After everyone left to go shopping, I was trying to slip out of the house and the butler almost caught me. I hid in the drawing room until the coast was clear, then ran out of the house!"
Now he will wonder whatever possessed him to invite such an unscrupulous girl to tea, she thought with dismay.
The waiter appeared with their tea and cakes. Michel reluctantly withdrew his hand from hers. Inwardly, Nikita flinched at the loss of contact with him.
"Do you think me quite shameless now?" she asked earnestly.
Michel laughed. "On the contrary, I would say that you have a talent for improvising."
Nikita plunged her fork into one of the little cakes and laughed, also. Luck is smiling on me today! "Miss Roddy and Miss Glanzman will have something else to say about it if they find out!"
"Then don't let them find out," said Michel in all seriousness.
Nikita smiled and nodded. He really means that. Perhaps he enjoys the danger of it, as well. In an effort to change the subject she said, "You should try one of these raspberry tarts. They're excellent."
Michel accepted one and asked, "Is your school near here?"
"No, it's in the country. My class only came up to London for a couple of days. I wish we could stay longer, but we go back on the train Sunday afternoon," she sighed wistfully. School seems so dull and ordinary compared to being in the company of this charming man.
"Where does your family live? I should like to call on your father and introduce myself," asked Michel.
As she looked into his green, or maybe grey, eyes she saw that he was completely serious. It was hard to concentrate when one was pulled into those alluring depths.
"Call on Papa?" laughed Nikita. "You would have to go all the way to Brazil to do that. He's there on business right now. I usually stay with my Uncle George and Aunt Adrian in Kent."
He intends to be a proper suitor! she thought happily.
"And how does a young lady amuse herself when she stays in Kent?" Michel laid aside his napkin and focused entirely on her.
He seems to find everything I say fascinating! "I go riding with my cousins, Seymour and Jason, and practice archery and play croquet. Sometimes I even go pheasant hunting and fishing with them," she said proudly.
"What if it is raining?" prompted Michel.
Nikita looked down at her plate, somewhat embarrassed. "I suppose I sound like quite a tomboy," she said quietly. Or more like a roughhousing hooligan, she thought with distress.
She looked up to see a look of alarm on Michel's face. "I did not mean to imply that at all. You are a very accomplished young woman. This morning you told me your uncle has an extensive library and that you read a lot."
She immediately brightened. "Yes, I adore reading! I can spend hours and hours in Uncle George's library."
The waiter was hovering over the table with a fresh pot of tea. They were silent for a moment.
"But I want to know about you, Michel," Nikita said when the waiter had vanished. "You must be thoroughly tired of hearing about me."
Michel held her gaze for a long moment. "Not at all," he replied softly.
Nikita was glad she was sitting down. When he looked at her in that penetrating way, she almost forgot to breathe. I am in love with this man, she thought with confusion.
PART 26 C
Where should I begin? There are so many things I cannot reveal . . .yet. Michel studied the young woman sitting across from him as he marshaled his thoughts. Should I tell her that her image has filled my thoughts and haunted my dreams for the past week? Or that her nearness stirs my body? If only we were alone. . .
"I was born in Marseilles, where my family has lived for generations. My mother is from Provence and teaches music. My grandfather founded a shipping firm, which my father and uncle now run. I am the eldest of three children."
"Do you have two brothers, two sisters, or one of each?" asked Nikita with rapt attention.
"One brother and one sister, both younger, Thierry and Sylvie."
"How wonderful!" exclaimed Nikita.
"You wouldn't say that if you had had to share a room with Thierry and listen to his snoring!" laughed Michel. "But I think you and Sylvie would get on quite well. In fact, she recently had her sixteenth birthday."
"I am fifteen," said Nikita shyly as she tackled another raspberry tart. I am eating like a pig! she thought. No gentleman would dare ask a lady her age, but she wanted him to know. She was already behaving scandalously by meeting him without a chaperone, so what was the harm in telling her age?
Only fifteen? She's very mature for her age. Still, her uncle may not allow her to be courted.
"When I was home between sessions at the Sorbonne, I enjoyed riding and hunting."
"I have my own horse at Uncle George's. His name is Pegasus," Nikita said as she declined any more cakes. I must stop! I act like I haven't eaten all day. I am about to burst out of this suit!
Normally, Nikita would not have such a large tea, but the pastries were divine and the excitement of the whole situation was getting the better of her. Suddenly, a movement outside the window caught her eye.
"Oh, my goodness!" she gasped in horror.
"What's wrong?" asked Michel as he laid his hand over hers and turned to look out the window.
"It's my class and there's Miss Roddy! They're coming this way!" Miss Glanzman will send me back to Uncle George in shame! I'll never live this down.
"I know," said Michel with a twinkle in his eyes. "Perhaps we can leave through the kitchen." He summoned the waiter and whispered a few words to him as he quickly settled the bill.
"Very good, sir. Right this way," he beckoned. He led the way through the kitchen, where a very surprised staff looked up as the handsome gentleman and his lady went out the back door into the alley. Only trademen and staff used this door. The waiter's stern look squelched any questions that might have been forthcoming from the staff.
Once in the alley, Michel burst out laughing. "That was close!"
Nikita exhaled sharply. "Entirely too close," she agreed.
Michel was staring at her in an amused way. "Is something the matter?" she asked, feeling very much like a silly schoolgirl.
"You have a bit of raspberry at the corner of your mouth," he said. I can think of a delicious way to remove it, he thought wickedly.
"Do I?" cried Nikita. She scrabbled in her purse for a handkerchief, but found she had none.
"Allow me," said Michel quietly as he brought out his own handkerchief and delicately touched her mouth. He hoped she did not notice his hand shaking slightly as he did so. That simple act caused Nikita to hold her breath. He quickly pressed the handkerchief into her hand.
This woman has no idea the effect she has on me.
Nikita regained her composure. "I really should go. It's getting late. Thank you for a most delightful tea." I wish this day never had to end!
"Ni-ki-ta, the pleasure was all mine. However, I insist on walking you back."
"But what if. . ." Nikita protested.
Michel looked at her in that penetrating, knee-weakening way. "I insist. No excuses."
Secretly, Nikita was pleased. "Very well," she said as he took her elbow.
"I would love to take you to luncheon tomorrow, but, unfortunately, another business engagement prevents that," said Michel thoughtfully as they walked toward Belgrave Square.
"And my teachers have other activities planned for us," added Nikita. How dreadful that I have just met him and now must leave.
"Lady Huntington's is around the corner. I should go now," she said, but not really wanting to.
"Of course." Michel lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. "May I write to you at your school, Ni-ki-ta?"
"Oh yes, it is always lovely to get something in the post!" she answered enthusiastically. She realized that he was still holding her hand. "It's The Sanibelle School for Young Ladies. I think it's quite well-known."
He released her hand reluctantly. "Sanibelle, you say? I think I can remember that," he said with a forced smile. He was thankful he already knew that. Otherwise, he would be at a distinct disadvantage.
"Thank you again, Michel. It was a lovely afternoon. Au revoir!" she laughed and scurried around the corner.
PART 27
Ni-ki-ta at Sanibelle. So many ways this could go wrong, thought Michel as he watched her turn the corner. She looked back once and smiled shyly at him. This would make the job he was about to enter into doubly hard. It would require considerable skill to make it all work.
He shook his head, turned and began walking in the direction of René's flat. So absorbed was he in his tumultuous thoughts that he did not see the drunken man until the two of them collided on the pavement.
"Can ya spare a quid fer yer feller man. . .Jacques?
Michel tensed and eyed the man sharply. "My pockets are empty, my good man," he answered flatly.
"Then God bless us both," the drunk said as he staggered down the street.
The brief encounter was like a slap in the face to Michel. Any further thoughts of Nikita were pushed to the back of his mind, to be examined later.
So it begins, he thought grimly.
After parting from Michel, Nikita realized that she was still clutching his handkerchief in her right hand. She lifted her hand and brushed it against her cheek, savoring the memory of his kiss on it a short while ago.
She fingered the soft material and noted his monogram on one corner. It was too late to return it to him. Perhaps he wished me to have it, she thought. To remember him by. Not that there was any chance on earth she could ever forget him.
It had been an amazing afternoon. Nikita knew that Carla would be waiting to question her extensively and sigh over the possibilities! She looked up and saw the lit candle in their bedroom window. That meant that Carla was awaiting the signal to sneak down and unlock the front door.
There was a fine carriage and pair of horses standing in front of the residence. The driver and a groom were attending to the horses as they snorted and stamped impatiently. Lord Huntington must be home now, she thought. Fortunately, there was no one else around so Nikita was able to slink along the side of the house without being observed.
She picked up a small pebble from the flowerbed and aimed it at the bedroom window . . .and waited. When there was no response, she lobbed another pebble. Then she heard the window sliding up.
"Nikita?" called Carla softly.
"Yes, it's me! Open the door!"
"This is terrible timing. They're all standing in the foyer talking!" exclaimed Carla as she stuck her head out the window.
"Who's in the foyer?"
"Lord Huntington and his friends. They arrived about 10 minutes ago. I think they're staying for dinner."
Exasperated, Nikita said, "Well, what am I going to do now? Go see if they're still there!"
"Okay, don't go anywhere!" Carla answered.
"Where exactly would I go?" Nikita sighed to herself. Suddenly, she heard voices coming along the street and dropped down behind the shrubbery.
"Nikita! Now they've gone into the drawing room for drinks. What are we going to do?" Carla called out anxiously.
Nikita stood up and had an inspiration. There was a trellis running up beside the window with a profusion of roses on it. Nikita pulled on it. "I can climb this. It seems fairly sturdy."
Carla was wringing her hands. "Oh Nikita, are you certain?"
"It will be a piece of cake!" Nikita assured her as she hiked up her skirt. She was used to climbing trees with Seymour and Jason. Of course, she had been wearing jodhpurs at the time.
Halfway up, Nikita's petticoat became ensnared and she had to rip a section of it. "Darn!" she exclaimed as a lacy ruffle floated to the ground.
At last, she reached the window. "Thank goodness!" cried Carla as she grabbed her arm. In the process of actually getting through the window, one shoe came off Nikita's foot and tumbled into the bushes.
"What else can happen? This is my favorite pair of shoes!" laughed Nikita as both she and Carla collapsed on the rug. They laughed until their sides hurt.
"I saw you and Mr. Samuelle in the window at Tattinger's!" said Carla when she had caught her breath. "Lucky for you, we had already had our tea and were headed back here."
"Yes, I saw you, too! That was a close call," agreed Nikita.
"Now you simply must start at the beginning and tell me everything!" admonished Carla.
Michel reached into his pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper the drunken man had put there when they collided. He memorized the instructions, tore up the note and tossed it into a rubbish bin. He changed directions and soon found himself entering a small, but respectable-looking hotel.
There was no clerk on duty at the front desk, only a man sitting in the lobby reading the evening newspaper. Michel proceeded up the stairs to the second floor. He went down the hall to the last room on the right and knocked twice. He could hear the bolt being drawn back. The door opened and a man said,
"We've been expecting you."
PART 28
Nikita was just beginning to recount her afternoon's adventure when there was a soft rap at the door. "Carla, Nikita, it's time for dinner!" said Miss Glanzman gaily. Miss Glanzman was feeling especially lighthearted after her successful afternoon of interviewing and shopping. After leaving The Sanibelle Foundation offices, she popped into a large millinery emporium and treated herself to a fashionable new hat.
"We'll be right down, Miss Glanzman," said Carla. "Guess your story will have to wait," she sighed to Nikita.
They quickly brushed their hair and Nikita changed into her other pair of shoes. Then they went downstairs to the dining room where the others were assembling. The long mahogany table was laid with snowy-white linens; exquisite china, crystal, and silver; tall candelabra; and arrangements of roses in Waterford vases.
"Girls, I trust you enjoyed yourselves this afternoon. I know I certainly did!" exclaimed Lady Huntington. "Allow me to present my husband, Lord Winston Huntington. And these are some friends of ours, Miss Stéphanie Rousseau, the famous soprano, and Mr. Gray Wellman.
"Dinner is served, my Lady," announced Jeeves in a loud, almost bored, voice.
"Why, thank you, Jeeves! Shall we go in?"
Gray stepped up and offered Lady Huntington his arm while Lord Huntington squired Stephanie in. Miss Glanzman, Miss Roddy, and the Sanibelle girls followed.
Dinner began with a low murmur of polite conversation. At first, Lord Huntington seemed a bit stuffy, but soon warmed to his role as host. He began relating amusing stories, jokes, and even performed some magic tricks. Soon everyone was laughing and talking loudly, thoroughly enjoying themselves.
"Oh, Uncle Winnie, you are a scream!" laughed Isabelita.
After dinner, everyone moved across the foyer into the drawing room where there was a magnificent grand piano.
"I say, Stéphanie, would you favor us with a song?" asked Lord Huntington as he settled into an overstuffed chair.
"It would be my pleasure, Winston!" beamed Miss Rousseau.
Lady Huntington sat down at the piano and Stéphanie leaned over and whispered to her. She nodded and played some chords.
The meeting in the hotel room was coming to a close. The tall, thin man handed Michel a pistol. "I assume you know how to use this?" he asked.
"Of course," Michel checked the chamber and slid it into the back waistband of his trousers.
"We'll be in touch," said the tall man. "Through the usual channels."
Michel looked from one to the other and nodded slightly. After he left, the short, stocky man said, "I'm not sure about this. He's an unknown quantity."
The other man wore a frown of concentration. "I had doubts when Bristow first mentioned it. But now that I've talked to Samuelle, I believe he'll fit in."
"Didn't say much, did he?" persisted the stocky one. "Seems rather . . ." he searched for the right word. ". . . unorthodox to me."
The tall man looked at the door, then back to his associate. "Maybe that's what makes him effective."
When Michel reached the flat, he remembered that René would be back rather late that night. He had gone up to Birmingham yesterday morning on business for the Great Trafalgar Bank.
Michel was glad for the quiet time as he turned he key in the lock and let himself into the darkened flat. It had been a most interesting day – meeting Nikita and spending time with her; the interview with Miss Glanzman with the promise of a job; finally, the unexpected encounter at the hotel.
Soon he would leave London and return to Paris. He would await final confirmation from Miss Glanzman about the teaching job and begin to prepare for the move across the Channel.
Everything happens for a reason, Michel decided. A few months ago, he could never have imagined the twists and turns his life would take. He was still struggling to make sense of it all.
But how does Ni-ki-ta fit into the puzzle of my life?
PART 29
Dinner was over and everyone was going upstairs. "Excuse me, Miss," said Jeeves to Nikita.
"Yes, Jeeves?"
"By chance, have you lost anything?" His bland countenance gave nothing away.
"Lost anything?" she repeated. Only my heart to a certain Frenchman! she thought idly.
From behind his back, Jeeves produced a lady's shoe. Nikita's eyes widened in embarrassment. She had completely forgotten about her shoe lying among the shrubbery.
"I, uh. . .thank you, Jeeves," she stammered.
"Very good, Miss," said Jeeves with a little bow. He was quite used to the antics of young people. A young lady scaling a trellis at dusk hardly raised an eyebrow compared to some of the stunts pulled by the Huntington boys and their rowdy friends over the years.
Jeeves allowed himself a small smile after Nikita turned and ran up the stairs. No doubt she has a secret admirer in town, he thought. Aha! What is this? He ran a finger along the back of the sideboard. Offending dust! Now that was cause for concern! He went below stairs to find the maid.
In her dressing room, Lady Huntington also made a startling discovery – her emerald-and-diamond choker was missing!
"Are you sure you did not misplace it, my dear?" asked Lord Huntington soothingly. He was tired after his long day arguing in the House of Lords and wanted to go to bed.
"I am certain, Winston!" she shrieked. "I saw it tonight when I was dressing for dinner!"
In a matter of minutes, the alarm was raised. Jeeves and the head housekeeper were summoned and the whole house was soon in an uproar. In her charcoal grey dressing gown, Miss Glanzman was going around trying to get her girls settled down. They had come out into the hall and were quite enjoying the excitement.
The bell rang and Jeeves opened the front door to admit two men from Scotland Yard. "Inspector Lestrade," said the first one. "And this is my colleague, Inspector Vartan."
On the upper landing, Miss Glanzman remained stock-still when she heard that name. Inspector Vartan?! I knew that was him this morning in the museum.
For the sake of propriety, she knew she should return to her room as she had instructed the girls to do. However, she could not resist leaning over the railing for a peek.
Yes, that's definitely my Mark, she was even more handsome than the last time she had seen him. More mature, more self-assured. Miss Glanzman felt a pang in her heart. She realized in that instant that she had always loved Mark Vartan, even after all their petty misunderstandings.
He appeared to be taking the lead in the investigation as he questioned Lord Huntington, Jeeves, and the housekeeper. The other Inspector was hurriedly taking notes on a little pad.
"Let's have a look in that dressing room," Vartan was saying at the foot of the staircase. Miss Glanzman was gripped by momentary indecision, something that she rarely experienced.
Should she slip back into her room unseen, or should she face Mark Vartan after two long years?
PART 30
"My dear Miss Glanzman, I apologize for this unfortunate disturbance," said Lord Huntington as he was coming up the stairs.
"Is everything alright?"
Lord Huntington reached the top stair and paused, huffing and puffing. "It appears that we had a theft sometime this evening. Bloody nuisance, it is!"
Miss Glanzman gasped in shock, partly at the news and partly because Inspector Vartan was right behind Lord Huntington. Their eyes met and, for an instant, the world stood still. All thoughts of school, her girls, and thieves flew out the window.
"Miss Glanzman and her students, including my niece Isabelita, came up to see the museum and are staying the weekend with us," said Lord Huntington by way of introduction.
"I may need to have a word with you later, Miss Glanzman," said Vartan in a smooth professional tone. However, his eyes seemed to be saying something different.
"Of course, Inspector," she replied quietly. It was strange to be calling him that.
Inspector Lestrade bounded up the stairs. "I've finished interviewing the staff. One of the maids, Mary Jane Smythe, age seventeen, has gone missing. No one remembers seeing her after they began serving dinner. Apparently, she began working here only two months ago."
"I see," nodded Vartan thoughtfully.
"My wife's dressing room is this way," gestured Lord Huntington. Lestrade followed him and began asking more questions. This left Vartan alone in the hall with Miss Glanzman.
They stared at each other intently, each wrestling with their own thoughts. Sensing suddenly that they were being observed, Vartan looked down the hall to his left. Miss Glanzman followed his glance. Two inquisitive faces were seen peeking out a slightly opened door. Miss Glanzman frowned.
"Nikita, Carla. . .go back to bed. There's nothing to be seen here."
"Yes, ma'am," they answered rather sheepishly and closed the door. "Nothing to be seen here," echoed Carla. "I'd say we saw quite a lot! Did you see the way they were ogling each other?" Nikita nodded and covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud at Carla's hopelessly romantic attitude.
"There was more than a little bit of attraction!" insisted Carla.
"Oh, yes," agreed Nikita. "It was almost as if they already knew each other." Nikita recalled the conversation in the museum. "This morning Miss Glanzman thought she recognized someone from her village. Do you think it could have been the Inspector?"
"I'll bet my new hat that it was!" said Carla, warming to the idea of their teacher as a tragic, romantic heroine. "They probably had a love affair when they were younger, but something happened. He came to London and she lost track of him. Until today, that is!"
"And now they've found each other again!" proclaimed Nikita triumphantly. A shadow crossed her face. "But what if he's already married? He might have two or three babies and a shrewish wife who doesn't appreciate him."
"Then Miss Glanzman would be heartbroken. But she's not too old to find a husband," declared Carla. Now tiring of their teacher's love life, or lack thereof, Carla said, "Oh, forget her! I want to hear the rest of the details of your afternoon with the delectable Michel Samuelle!"
Nikita sighed. "Yes, he certainly is that. Now where did I leave off?"
The girls fell onto their beds, giggling. They would speculate about Miss Glanzman another time.
"Vartan, come look at this," called Inspector Lestrade from around the corner.
"Be right there."
He looked back to the woman in front of him. "Well, Miss Glanzman, if you will excuse me?"
Miss Glanzman's throat was dry, but she managed to say, "By all means. I'll be in my room should you need anything."
He nodded and went to join his partner. Miss Glanzman went in her room and closed the door, leaning heavily against it. What was I thinking? Did I just invite him into my bedroom?
She crossed over to the small table by the bed and poured herself a glass of water. She drank it greedily and sat down on the side of the bed, struggling to make sense of her jumbled thoughts.
After two long years, she had now seen Mark Vartan twice in the space of one day. Of course, she had thought about him often and wished things could have turned out differently.
A knock at the door caused her to start and almost drop the glass she was holding.
"Miss Glanzman, may I have a word with you?"
PART 31
It was a simple enough request, but what did it really mean? Was it only to corroborate Lord Huntington's story, or did the Inspector have an ulterior motive?
With a shaky hand, Miss Glanzman put down her glass and stood up. The beating of her heart seemed to overshadow even the ticking of the clock on the mantel above the fireplace.
"Just a moment," she managed to say. If this had been one of her students dilly-dallying about something, no doubt Miss Glanzman would have admonished that "he who hesitates is lost."
"Christina, I know you're in there," said Inspector Vartan with a bit of impatience. He only had a couple of minutes. His partner, Inspector Lestrade, would be anxious to get back to the Yard and file their report. It was almost midnight and they had been on duty since early that morning.
At last, Miss Glanzman took a deep breath and opened the door a fraction. "Yes, Inspector?"
For a moment, Vartan seemed at a loss for words. He studied her face, reacquainting himself with every feature. A slight flush was stealing up Miss Glanzman's neck as she submitted to his intense scrutiny. Then a slight smile, or perhaps it was a smirk, appeared on Vartan's face.
Suddenly, Miss Glanzman realized that the sash of her dressing gown had come undone, revealing the lacy bodice of her charcoal grey nightgown. With a little gasp of horror, she quickly tugged the dressing gown together. Why did I not bring my good sturdy flannel gown?
"Did you hear that?" Nikita asked Carla abruptly.
"Hear what?" yawned Carla, stretching her arms over her head.
"Someone talking in the corridor," said Nikita. She slid off her bed and crept to the door. Quietly, she turned the handle and opened the door slightly. She gasped and quickly closed the door. When she turned back to Carla, her eyes were wide.
"Inspector Vartan just went into Miss Glanzman's room!" she exclaimed.
"Somehow I don't think they'll be discussing missing jewelry in there!" said Carla.
Nikita laughed and threw a pillow at her roommate. "You have a wicked mind!"
"I saw you at the museum this morning," Vartan said, not beating around the bush.
Miss Glanzman tried to act surprised. "You were at the museum? What did you think of the exhibit?"
"I was tracking a suspect. I didn't have time for sculpture," he said sounding very much like the professional detective he was.
"I see. Did you apprehend your suspect?" asked Miss Glanzman. Somehow this was not the sort of conversation she imagined they would be having after two years.
The clock on the mantel began striking midnight. Miss Glanzman glanced briefly at it before looking back to Vartan. "It's late, Mark. Perhaps you should go. It was good to see you again."
Although her tone was cordial, Vartan detected something else. After all, it was part of his job to read people, to get to the bottom of a situation. What was she really feeling? Sadness, longing, regret?
" 'It was good to see you again'? Is that all you have to say, Christina?" Vartan sighed heavily. "Have you thought about me, about us, at all in the last two years? Because not a day has gone by that I did not think about you!"
"Well, uh, of course I've thought of you and hoped you were happy in your career," stammered Miss Glanzman.
"My career is fine, but I've missed you," he said quietly. Then without warning, he pulled her into his arms and boldly kissed her! Miss Glanzman's knees almost buckled under her from the giddy sensations. But unlike that earlier time, his advance was not rejected. There was no slap to the face and no accusations. He released her only when the voices of Inspector Lestrade and Lord Huntington were heard coming back down the hall.
"I have to go." He noted with masculine pride that Christina was completely stunned by his actions. . .and speechless! It was indeed a sight when a schoolmistress had nothing to say!
He smiled at her. "Goodbye, Christina."
She nodded mutely and he went out the door.
PART 32
Standing in her darkened bedroom, Miss Glanzman gingerly touched her lips. They were still tingling from Mark Vartan's breathtaking kiss!
He still cares for me! she thought excitedly. But what happens now? Could they pick up the threads of their fractured relationship and move forward? A tiny spark of hope began to grow in her heart.
Marriage.
Children.
Did Mark still want these, as she did? The clock was ticking loudly and Miss Glanzman knew she should go to bed. She extinguished the lamp and crawled into bed, pulling the lavender counterpane over her. She smiled to herself in the darkness, but was too excited to sleep.
In a less exclusive area of London several miles away, Mark Vartan sat at his kitchen table. In this small, jumbled flat the table also doubled as a desk. On top of it the Wellman file lay open. Vartan read through it again and made some notations. At last, he closed it and pushed it aside. He rubbed the back of his neck and wearily decided he could do no more tonight.
Rising from the table, he went into the bedroom and stripped off his clothes. He poured water into the basin on the washstand and splashed some on his face and neck. As he reached for the towel, he noticed the carelessly tossed heap of clothes on a nearby chair. A wry thought occurred to him: Christina surely would not approve of that. He knew he would have to change his haphazard bachelor ways if they were to marry.
He lay down on the narrow bed and thought of the stunned look on her face after he had kissed her. It was priceless! For once, someone had gotten the better of the prim and proper Miss Glanzman. He detected a spark that could be fanned into a flame.
Even now he wished she were lying beside him here in the dark. He wanted to kiss her again and again, touch her face, and run his hands through her thick, glossy hair. Indeed, he imagined his hands other places, as well, and Christina sighing and calling out his name.
With a heavy sigh, Vartan pulled his thoughts back to the business at hand and the meeting he was to have tomorrow afternoon. Some encouraging facts were beginning to surface in the Wellman case, but he was not sure how they all fit together. It would be interesting to hear his colleagues' take on the matter.
Sunday Morning
The Sanibelle girls had just returned from services at St. Paul's Cathedral and were awaiting the summons to luncheon. Nikita and Carla were in their room, taking off their hats and gloves, when someone knocked at the door.
"Miss Nikita, a package arrived for you," said Jeeves. The girls looked at each other in surprise.
Nikita opened the door, unable to imagine what this might mean. Jeeves held out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.
"Was there any message?" she asked hopefully. Perhaps it was from her dear Papa.
"I'm afraid not, Miss," the butler answered. "And luncheon will be in 20 minutes."
When he had gone, Nikita plopped down on her bed, with Carla beside her, and tore off the paper.
"Oh my!" she cried. It was a slim volume bound in dark blue leather. An English translation of a famous French poet's work. She opened the front cover and saw an inscription:
When you read this, I hope you will think of me. M. S.
"You made quite an impression on Monsieur Samuelle!" said Carla in a satisfied tone.
Nikita said nothing, but clutched the book to her bosom.