PART 61 (NC - 17)
Some time later – Nikita had no sense of how long – she became aware of fingertips lightly skimming over the curve of her hip and down her thigh. The fingers danced their way back up and snaked around to her lower abdomen, continuing up to her navel, making lazy circles around it. Goosebumps broke out on her skin. Smiling, she remembered a time, in the not so distant past, when she snapped at Michel for touching her hip.
Her eyes still closed, Nikita captured the hand and brought it up to her lips, kissing the palm. "Michel," she sighed against it.
"So, you're awake?" he teased.
"Hmm," Nikita sighed dreamily. Warm breath tickled her ear. His free hand moved the hair off her neck and bestowed feather-light kisses there and on her shoulders and upper back. His lips were soft and each kiss was slow and deliberately placed. Nikita turned her head, hoping he would meet her lips.
He did and gave her a lingering kiss, full of promise. Eyes open now, Nikita turned on her back and touched Michel's stubbly chin. "Yes, I'm awake," she said as she traced the line of his jaw.
Michel took her hand and kissed each finger in turn. Already a warm sensation was starting to build in her lower abdomen. Nikita reached up and tucked a strand of wayward hair behind Michel's ear. She loved his hair with its long auburn curls.
As Michel eased his weight on top of her, Nikita inhaled sharply at the exquisite feeling of their bare skin touching again. Her nipples grew hard as he rubbed his chest against them. More surprising was his engorged member teasing her with its urgency.
Feeling emboldened, Nikita moved her hand between their bodies and whispered, "I want to touch you, Michel." She watched, fascinated, as Michel's eyes closed and he struggled to control his breathing. "Ki-ta. . .ah!"
This totally unexpected and intimate gesture was almost Michel's undoing. Nikita's warm embrace of him was something about which he had only fantasized. Like everything else this night, the reality was so much better than the dream.
Nikita marveled at the size and strength of Michel. She lightly massaged him, enjoying the fact that she was the cause of his murmurs of pleasure. He suddenly grabbed her hands and held them on either side of her head. "You are very wicked, Ni-ki-ta. You know that, don't you?"
She feigned ignorance. "Am I? What are you going to do about it?"
He growled in response and crashed his mouth to hers in a fierce, demanding kiss. His tongue forced its way into her mouth and tangled with her tongue. Nikita moved restlessly under him, her own body becoming more agitated by the minute.
Breaking the union of their mouths, Michel slid down to take one hard nipple into his mouth. As he released one of her hands, she began running it through his tangled curls. With his free hand he softly palpated her other breast.
"Michel, oh please, Michel!" she panted.
Sensing she was ready, Michel plunged deep into her without further delay. Again, her warm, perfect body welcomed him. "AH, MICHEL!" gasped Nikita, this time from pleasure, not pain. Her back arched up to meet him.
He thrust in and out of her rapidly, sensation mounting upon sensation, until she screamed his name. The powerful waves rippled throughout her body, causing her to twist and struggle beneath him. The sound and feel of his beloved triggered his own fall into ecstasy.
"Ki-ta . . . Ki-ta . . . you are mine. Never forget," he whispered against her lips when he found breath enough to speak.
"Michel . . . I love you!" The passionate declaration tumbled out of her mouth without a second thought.
Physically and emotionally spent, Michel lay on his back and pulled Nikita across his chest. He closed his eyes while his mind tried to grasp the full implication of those three words. I love you. No doubt, that was one of the most highly charged statements in any language.
He ran his fingers through the long blonde strands that spilled across his chest. Nikita had already succumbed to a peaceful slumber and thus did not hear when Michel finally spoke.
"Je t'aime, Ni-ki-ta."
Nikita slowly awoke as a shaft of sunlight fell across her eyes. The storms of the previous night had given way to a brilliant day. She began to stretch her arms and legs under the covers, but quickly realized something was missing – the comforting warmth of Michel's body behind her.
All night long she had slept soundly, cocooned within his loving embrace. Rolling onto her side, she reached for the other pillow and hugged it to her body. Michel's scent lingered on it. She closed her eyes and dozed contently for a few more minutes.
Voices passing in the corridor finally roused her some minutes later. It occurred to her that perhaps it was time she got up and got dressed. She sat up with the covers clutched to her breasts, but she was quite alone in the small room. Michel was not there, but her eyes fell on a note propped up on the table. In addition, she saw their valises sitting just inside the door.
Memories of how she and Michel had passed the night came flooding back to her. His hands roaming over her inexperienced body, teasing and exciting her while his mouth assailed her with hot kisses. She felt herself blushing. Did all those things really happen? Maybe it was only a dream.
Gingerly, she touched her lips. They were, indeed, a bit bruised and swollen. Throwing back the covers, she swung her feet off the bed and stood up. A bright red spot of blood on the sheet snared her attention as well as a slight tenderness in her nether regions. She gasped as she realized that it was not a dream.
Michel and I made love last night!
After the initial shock wore off, she decided that it was better to lose her virginity to Michel than in an arranged marriage with Mick, a man she thoroughly loathed. I did it willingly; he did not force me. On the contrary, he was very patient and gentle.
But this was a new day. The fact remained that he was still a teacher and she, his student. Should the Sanibelle administration learn about their liaison, he would be sacked, maybe even ordered to return to France. Then there was her family. Well, it's not like I'll be bursting to share this with Aunt Adrian or Penelope.
She poured some water from the pitcher on the washstand and tidied herself up. She opened her valise and pulled out some fresh clothes and quickly dressed. Only then did she read Michel's concise note:
I am checking about the train schedule. Your breakfast has been ordered.
Nikita stared at the paper. Here was another contradiction about Michel. His handwriting always looked like a man in a hurry while his personal appearance was so neat and precise. Just like his controlled demeanor in the classroom masked his very passionate and emotional soul. Smiling to herself, she put the note in her purse and went downstairs.
With the enthusiasm and optimism of youth she thought, Whatever happens in the future, at least I had one unforgettable night with the man I love!
Michel drank the strong, black coffee and read the telegram a second time. It looked like he was going to have a very busy weekend. First, he had to deliver Nikita safely to her relatives. Next, it was on to the language teachers conference and finally, meet with his superiors to prep for the mission on Saturday night.
His thoughts were interrupted by the innkeeper's wife as she proceeded to refill his cup. "How's Mrs. Samuelle this morning?" she inquired sweetly.
"Fine, thank you. She'll be down shortly."
"I trust you . . .slept well?" The innuendo was unmistakable in her voice.
"Quite well," replied Michel. For one idle moment, he wondered if their passionate outbursts had been heard by other guests. It did not matter, for supposedly they were husband and wife.
The woman winked and moved on as another patron was complaining about his sausages. Michel glanced up as Nikita entered the dining room. Their eyes connected and his heart clenched at the sight of his lovely "wife." Oh, how he had hated separating from her this morning! He stood as she approached and took both her hands in his. Nikita was clearly surprised when he brushed his lips briefly across hers. However, she realized that it was for the benefit of their audience.
"Are you hungry, ma chérie? I took the liberty of ordering for you," he said cheerfully. He was portraying the part of an attentive husband extremely well.
"Here you go, Mrs. Samuelle," said the innkeeper's wife as she set a plate of hot food before Nikita.
Nikita regarded the full plate with an amused expression. "Well, it would seem that my, uh, husband overestimated my appetite this morning."
The woman cackled. "Yes, husbands think they know everything, don't they?!"
"How's about some more coffee over here?" called a heavy-set man from the other side of the room.
"Hold yer horses, Silas. You're not the only person in here, you know," the woman answered.
"Aren't you eating?" Nikita asked when the woman moved away.
Michel shook his head. "I only take coffee in the mornings."
But then a wife would already know that, thought Nikita.
She began eating while Michel slowly sipped his coffee. He said nothing more, yet Nikita sensed a distinct change in his mood. He stared out the window as some merchants began opening their shops for the day's business. Occasionally, his piercing eyes would dart back to Nikita. Once it seemed he was about to say something, then changed his mind.
Everything was different now; the line had been crossed. Last night was the consummation of their innermost desires. Even now, what he really wanted to do was carry her back upstairs, press her down into the mattress and feel her satiny skin beneath him. He found it difficult, painful even, to look at her now.
Michel knew he had been reckless, allowing himself to be carried away by the powerful emotions of the moment. Silently, he cursed himself. What if their vigorous nocturnal activities resulted in an anomaly?
The innkeeper poked his head through the doorway of the dining room. "Folks, for those of you going up to London today, the train will be boarding in 20 minutes."
Michel looked at Nikita. "While you finish up, I'll get the bags and check us out." As he passed into the hall, Michel saw the couple from last night with their three small children.
Anomaly. Michel shook his head ruefully. It was too late to worry about that now. Should that situation arise, he knew what must be done.
PART 62
The train was exceptionally crowded that morning. Michel finally located seats for them in a compartment already occupied by two women and one man. As fate would have it, the three of them turned out to be language teachers going to the same conference as Michel.
He introduced himself, but only referred to his blonde companion as "Nikita," thus leaving them to draw their own conclusions about the relationship. Naturally, the conversation centered on the upcoming meeting and became animated when the gentleman mentioned that a certain speaker would be there.
"I don't agree with any of his theories," he said pompously. The women joined in and even Michel seemed to know of the maligned speaker and added his opinion. Nikita was faintly annoyed because she wanted to have some quiet time with Michel before they reached London and were forced to separate.
"Well," huffed one of the women. "I was not even planning to attend, but my Headmistress insisted upon it. My youngest daughter is about to have her first baby and, naturally, I need to be with her."
The others murmured sympathetically. The woman looked to Nikita. "Do you have children, my dear?"
Nikita hesitated. Until that moment, she had not stopped to consider the consequences of their previous night's activities. I could be carrying Michel's child and not even know it.
Michel saw the confusion in her eyes. "Not yet," he answered smoothly as he touched her hand. "You see, we're newlyweds."
This seemed to please the woman immensely. "Oh, how delightful! You're young so there's no need to rush things, is there?" she chuckled.
Nikita smiled sweetly, but said nothing. She was grateful for Michel's quick intervention and the reassuring feel of his hand on hers.
The other woman joined in. "Then you must take advantage of the situation to do some shopping while your husband is at the meeting."
Michel kept his hand over Nikita's and gave it a little squeeze. He sensed that the woman's innocent question had disturbed her. He, too, regretted that they could not be alone on this final leg of the trip. There had been no time for them to express their thoughts and emotions in the aftermath of their amazing night of passion.
"I do hope there is time to pop in at my tailor's," added the pompous man, tugging his waistcoat in a vain attempt to cover his ample belly. "Either that or give up the Yorkshire pudding!"
Nikita at last found her voice. "As a matter of fact, I will be spending time with my cousin and aunt while Michel is tied up. I'm sure he won't mind if I do a little shopping." She shot him a mischievous look.
The conversation turned to the merits of various London dress shops and haberdasheries. In no time, the train had chugged and belched its way into Victoria Station. "I'll look you up at the conference, Samuelle," said the pompous man in parting.
Michel hailed a hansom cab and helped Nikita get settled. "The Regency Hotel," he said to the driver before he took his place beside her. The streets were crowded and noisy and dusty. The driver maneuvered his way as best he could, hurling insults at anyone who dashed in front of him or tried to block his way.
Usually, Nikita liked taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling capital, but today she absorbed none of it. Her thoughts were decidedly more personal. As much as I wanted to be with Michel, why did I not stop and think about what I was getting into? I'm not totally stupid; I know where babies come from. I might wind up one of those disgraced daughters that everyone whispers about.
As she turned over these unpleasant thoughts in her mind, the driver shouted, "The Regency Hotel." He drew up in front of the impressive stone edifice. Michel gave Nikita a sympathetic look and said softly, "Everything will be fine." She desperately wanted to believe his words, but said nothing. Instead, she stared numbly at him. He got out of the cab, then extended his hand to her. The driver set the bags down and Michel paid him off.
Nikita knew she had to broach the subject before Michel departed. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Michel, what if. . ."
The front doors of the hotel opened and out rushed Aunt Adrian and Penelope. "My dear girl! Are you all right?" inquired Aunt Adrian breathlessly. She hugged Nikita tightly, then held her at arm's length to get a good look at her.
"Yes, I'm fine," replied Nikita with a forced cheerfulness. A statement Michel made in self-defense class suddenly came back to her: No matter what state of mind you're in, you have to be able to perform. (Season 1 – "Nikita")
"My goodness, this must be Mr. Samuelle!" said Aunt Adrian with a glance at the tall man standing beside her niece. "We received your telegram and I cannot tell you how relieved I was to learn that Nikita was not stranded there alone! I appreciate you taking care of her."
"It was my pleasure," Michel answered.
And mine, thought Nikita sadly. But will the price for it be too high?
"I know you have your meeting to attend, Mr. Samuelle, but would you be able to join us for dinner tonight?" asked Aunt Adrian. "It's the least we can do."
Michel was about to decline, but the forlorn look on Nikita's face made him change his mind. "Certainly. I'll look forward to it," he said politely.
Aunt Adrian beamed. "Excellent! Shall we say half past seven at The Golden Palm? It's just around the corner."
"Of course."
"Then good day to you, Mr. Samuelle!" They moved on when they recognized an old friend coming out of a nearby shop.
Nikita was left standing with Michel. Both were feeling rather awkward about their impending separation. They stood gazing at each other while people passed around them in pursuit of their daily business. Finally, Michel said, "What were you going to ask me earlier?"
Nikita felt her cheeks burning. "Nothing. It wasn't important." Another disturbing thought had crept into her mind, almost as troubling as the baby issue – the ease with which Michel was able to distort the truth to fit the situation. He had no problem slipping into the role of a married man. He had all the right words and gestures and everyone believed him.
I really don't know him at all, she thought with dismay. Are all men so deceptive? What is he not telling me?
"Very well. I'll see you tonight, Ni-ki-ta." Michel had a fairly good idea of what was bothering her, but this was not the time nor the place to discuss it.
PART 63
It was not far to the building where the conference was being held, so Michel decided to walk. Besides, he needed the time to think. He wasn't sure what he could say to Nikita to reassure her, but hopefully the right words would come to him later. He had taken no precautions because last night was not supposed to happen. At least, not last night.
When Michel was awakened from a light sleep and saw Nikita standing before him, every fiber of his being was aroused, every nerve ending alive. Nikita had not expected to be caught in such a state of undress. The picture she presented, with her long tresses tumbling over her shoulders and her soft curves outlined through the thin material, was highly erotic. He knew then that he was powerless to resist her. He did not even want to try anymore.
But this morning he saw the situation from a vastly different perspective. He had an important job to do and whatever his feelings for Nikita, he could not afford for her to become his liability.
What happened last night cannot happen again, he thought with steely determination. The danger is too great . . . for both of us.
Turning the corner, Michel came upon a small stand that sold fruit. A man in a horse-drawn cart was unloading the latest edition of The Express. A throng of people rushed forward to snatch up the copies.
Mayfair Mob Strikes Again! Woman Brutally Slashed in Attack! proclaimed the headline. Michel fished in his pocket for a coin and bought a copy. Beside him a man muttered, "You'd think those men at Scotland Yard could put an end to such lawlessness! That's the second time in as many weeks."
The man went back into his shop, shaking his head. As Michel read the front page, he understood the urgency of tomorrow night's mission.
When the telegram slid across the desk of The Big Man late the previous evening, he was not amused. He smacked his fist down and cursed under his breath. Fisher, his personal assistant, heard and stuck his head through the door separating their offices.
"Sir, is there a problem?"
"Yes! Blasted train derailed and Samuelle won't arrive until tomorrow."
However, The Big Man realized almost immediately that the situation presented a unique opportunity for him to observe this Michel Samuelle. Although the young man came highly recommended by The Big Man's long-time friend in Paris, he wanted to evaluate him with his own eyes.
"Fisher, let Inspector Vartan know that his team is not needed in the morning. I will meet the train myself."
"Very good, sir. Which disguise will you require?"
The Big Man thought for a moment. "None this time. I will pose as a fellow teacher at the conference. However, I will need a registration form."
"Yes, sir. I'll get right on it."
The Big Man easily picked Michel out of the crowd that disembarked from the train. Tall, athletic, moves with an easy confidence. That was how one report had described the Frenchman. The Big Man liked the way he scanned the crowds for any possible threats. It was understood, on both sides of the Channel, that Samuelle was being utilized for this one mission only and that he was expendable.
But now there appeared to be another complication – a young woman with whom he had apparently traveled to London. She could have been someone he met by chance on the train, but his gut reaction told him otherwise. The way they looked at each other spoke volumes.
The Big Man felt a headache coming on and rubbed his forehead wearily. It was always bad form when innocents got in the way of a mission. It was dangerous for them and a distraction for the operative. For the present, he would have to let it play out. When they entered a hansom cab, The Big Man dashed across the street and hailed the next cab, instructing the driver to follow the one in front.
When they reached The Regency Hotel, The Big Man managed to conceal himself behind a pillar of the bank building next door. He saw the two women who greeted them and overheard their arrangements for dinner that night.
If he has any sense, he'll avoid any further entanglements with these people, thought The Big Man. Once the women went inside the hotel, The Big Man followed Michel on foot. The crowded streets made it easy enough to avoid detection.
After Michel went into the building for the conference, The Big Man stopped to buy a paper. He fumed inwardly at the lurid headlines. They did more than just inform the public; they catered to people's blood lust. Who writes this claptrap anyway? It's a pity I cannot have these so-called journalists thrown in jail.
Aunt Adrian went upstairs to get her purse while Nikita and Penelope waited in the hotel lobby. "You know, your French teacher is rather good-looking," remarked Penelope.
"Do you think so?" replied Nikita. She tried to keep a neutral tone in her voice.
"Yes, in a sort of mysterious, foreign way, I suppose. Of course, he cannot hold a candle to my Richard!" Penelope laughed.
Nikita laughed, too. "Certainly not. And how is Richard?"
"Very well. He stays so busy at the bank and now he's in the process of training an assistant manager."
Aunt Adrian returned and the three of them set off for the shops. Nikita was glad for the distractions of shopping and gossiping. It kept her from thinking too much about that other issue. She heard all the latest news about friends and neighbors, including Mick.
"He said if he was in town, he might join us at dinner!" said Aunt Adrian brightly. His charm seemed to outweigh his boorish behaviour in her eyes.
Nikita could hardly believe her ears. "How . . .interesting," was all she could say.
The day passed quickly. They shopped for everything from material to make new drawing room curtains to cravats for the men at Christmas. "Do you think your father would like this one, Penelope?"
Penelope and Nikita looked at each other doubtfully. "I think this one looks more like Uncle George," said Nikita as she picked up a cravat with a different pattern. Adrian considered it for a moment. "Yes, I believe you're right, my dear."
At the various shops, Nikita half-heartedly searched for a gown for the Founder's Day Ball. She was ready to buy the second one she saw, but let her aunt and cousin talk her into looking some more. When they returned to the hotel late in the afternoon, Nikita found herself the owner of a burgundy taffeta gown. She had to admit that it was a beautiful creation, even though she didn't have any enthusiasm for the Founder's Day Ball at the moment.
She decided to take a brief nap before it was time to change for dinner. Somehow, she had to figure out a way to speak privately to Michel tonight. However, she had no idea how she was going to manage that.
PART 64
Nikita splashed some cold water on her face and combed her hair. Penelope came through the connecting door and remarked, "That apricot color is quite becoming. Did you have Mick in mind when you chose it?"
Nikita's nerves were already on edge and the words came out more tersely than she intended. "Penelope, let me make this perfectly clear – even if Mick was the last living, breathing man on the face of the earth, I would not deign to marry him! I would sooner enter a convent than have him touch me!"
Her cousin was surprised, to say the least. "But I thought it was understood . . ." She paused as something clicked in her mind. Her lips curved into a small smile, but before she could say anything further, Adrian stuck her head in. "Girls, are you about ready? We don't want to keep that nice Mr. Samuelle waiting!" she said brightly.
"Yes, we're ready," answered Nikita flatly.
Under her breath, Penelope muttered, "Now I understand. It's Mr. Samuelle who has caught your fancy!"
Nikita just stood there, neither confirming nor denying the statement.
"Oh, you don't have to say anything. It's written all over your face," replied Penelope with satisfaction.
Finally, Nikita had to admit defeat. "Yes, I fancy him," she said softly.
"Ah, I remember how all the girls in my class, myself included, simply adored Mr. Honeycutt, the mathematics teacher," sighed Penelope. For a brief moment, she was back in her days in the classroom.
"What happened?" asked Nikita.
"Nothing, of course. We figured out that he was more interested in the music teacher, Mr. Palmer."
"That must have been shocking," said Nikita.
"Indeed," agreed Penelope.
"Come along, girls!" called Aunt Adrian.
"I'm quite sure Mr. Samuelle prefers women," said Nikita thoughtfully as they went out the door.
As Michel walked toward The Golden Palm restaurant, he had the odd sensation that he was being tailed. Once, he stopped and pretended to examine a display of shirts in a shop window. In fact, he was using the reflection of the glass to observe people in the street behind him. One man in particular seemed familiar, but he quickly disappeared into a store on the opposite side.
Perhaps it was only a coincidence. After all, there were several shops that carried men's clothing in this street. Michel lingered a few minutes, but did not see the man again. He continued on to the restaurant, arriving just as Nikita and her family walked up.
Pleasantries were exchanged and soon they were seated at their table, surrounded by pristine white linens and gleaming crystal and china. The restaurant was about half full, but more patrons were streaming in by the minute. The vases of fresh flowers on each table and the flickering candlelight gave the place a romantic air. Nikita suddenly wished that she and Michel were dining here alone.
Michel was his usual charming self, conversing on a wide range of subjects. He soon had Adrian and Penelope laughing with humorous little stories about his family, most of which Nikita had not even heard. She was becoming upset because he would not meet her eyes directly.
Inevitably, the conversation came around to the Founder's Day Ball. A man wearing small spectacles approached the table. "Adrian! I thought that was you."
"Why, Jurgen! How nice to see you again. It's been a long time," gushed Adrian.
"Far too long. And Penelope, I understand you and Richard are the proud parents of a baby boy."
Penelope smiled broadly. "Yes, and he's quite a handful."
"Jurgen, allow me to introduce my niece, Nikita. And this is Mr. Samuelle. He has recently joined the faculty at Sanibelle."
"How do you do?" said Nikita politely. She could feel his eyes sliding over her in an appreciative manner.
Michel stood and shook Jurgen's hand. "Michel Samuelle. It's a pleasure."
"Won't you join us?" implored Adrian. "We were just discussing the upcoming Ball."
"Thank you." Jurgen pulled up a chair. "Ah yes, the Founder's Day Ball! I will be there myself, escorting my mother and aunt. They were students back in the '30s. I don't imagine they will be doing any dancing, but they always like to go and catch up with their classmates."
From his end of the table, Michel also noticed how Jurgen scrutinized Nikita. She was now laughing at some remark he had made. Michel did not like it, but there was hardly anything he could do about it. There was something about this man that he did not trust – his eyes. While Jurgen seemed affable enough on the surface, Michel suspected that he could turn cold and sinister in a heartbeat.
After about ten minutes Jurgen rose and said, "This has been lovely. However, I do have a previous engagement this evening." To Nikita he said, "You must save a dance for me when next we meet, my dear!"
"Of course, " she blushed. She knew Michel was looking at her, but when she turned her head, it was the 'blank stare' she got. It occurred to her then that he was jealous of this Jurgen. The thought amused her greatly.
Dinner was a success and now they were preparing to leave the restaurant. As they neared the door, Michel noticed a man dining alone with his back to the rest of the room. An evening paper was folded and lying on the table. The ladies were in front and talking and thus did not see anything unusual.
The man turned his head and looked directly at Michel. In that instant, his suspicions were confirmed. This same man was at the conference this morning and had tracked him to the restaurant tonight. The man did not speak, but nodded briefly as Michel passed by. It was a gentleman's agreement.
Michel escorted the ladies back to the hotel. "Nikita, didn't you say you wanted to ask Mr. Samuelle something about conjugations?" prompted Penelope.
Nikita was confused. "What? Oh yes, on our last assignment." She was grateful to her cousin for giving her some private time with Michel.
"We'll see you upstairs then. Goodnight, Mr. Samuelle!"
When Adrian and Penelope were gone, Nikita pulled Michel over into an alcove and away from the main part of the lobby. Neither one said anything. It was as if each one was waiting for the other to make the first move. Nikita's heart was racing, but she knew she had to do this.
"We need to talk about last night," she ventured.
"It's a bad time right now," Michel said flatly. (The seven lines of dialogue from here to the end of the chapter are from Season 2, "Off Profile." It's actually a conversation between Michael and Andrea.)
"What do you mean?" Nikita could not fathom his strange mood tonight.
"Just what I said."
"Did I do something wrong?"
"It's nobody's fault. Some things are not meant to be." He said it in that tone of voice that Nikita had come to know and hate.
Her eyes widened. "Let's at least talk about it."
Michel stared at her for a long moment. Finally, he looked past her to where people were coming and going through the lobby.
"We have." He then turned and went out into the dark street, not even bothering to say goodnight. Nikita's jaw dropped as she stared after him. She felt as if one of Uncle George's stallions had kicked her in the stomach. She groped behind her for the arm of the chair and collapsed onto the velvet cushion. She sat there for a long time, staring at nothing.
PART 65
"Okay, let's review the profile one last time." It was Saturday, mid-morning, and Inspector Vartan was standing in front of a blackboard filled with names and details.
Michel took a sip of his strong black coffee and tried to concentrate. He had not slept well last night after abruptly leaving Nikita in the hotel lobby. He had sorely missed not having her warm, supple body nestled close to him.
He knew it was all for the "greater good," but right now that was a bit hard to swallow. No doubt Nikita hated him at this moment and was wondering why she ever got involved with him in the first place. Michel only hoped that she didn't let this Jurgen turn her head with his smooth talk.
"We are mounting this mission tonight," began Vartan, "because the fake burglary at Gray Wellman's townhouse two weeks ago failed to turn up any new evidence. Lionel and Leona have learned that Wellman is secretly financing Stéphanie Rousseau's upcoming singing tour of the continent. In the last few days, he quietly liquidated some assets and we believe, although we cannot yet prove, that he has underworld connections to the "Mayfair Mob," as the press has dubbed this gang of thieves."
"Furthermore, it is highly likely that Wellman and Rousseau may be planning to vanish once they reach the continent. Lionel, tell us what you have uncovered about this."
"Wellman had me make inquiries about steamship schedules to America and also to South Africa. He also hinted that he may not be needing my services as a valet much longer."
Leona spoke up. "Only yesterday Rousseau was all aflutter after reading an article about the San Francisco Opera. She remarked that she wanted to sing there and that it would be much better than South Africa. Apparently, she is afraid of wild animals." Leona snorted with laughter. "Personally, I wouldn't care if some tiger or lion made a meal of her!"
The others tried to suppress their smiles, but Vartan only sighed. "Yes, Leona, we're quite aware of your opinion of Miss Rousseau."
"Sorry, I know I get carried away sometimes," admitted Leona.
"Very well, back to tonight then. Wellman is hosting a charity benefit for the orphanage he sponsors in the East End. His townhouse isn't large enough to accommodate all the guests he has invited, including the Prince and Princess of Wales. Since he is a part owner of the Excelsior Hotel, he has arranged to hold the party in its grand ballroom. Sources tell us that he maintains an office on one of the upper floors which contains a large safe."
"With the royals in attendance, that means security will be extra tight," mused Lionel.
"Precisely," nodded Vartan. "It will be Michel's job to gain access to that safe and discover its contents. We know that Wellman has dealings with foreign banks and Michel's knowledge of languages may come in handy. His cover will be Mr. Jacques Dupuis, a well-connected French businessman with a flashy young wife, who will distract Wellman. Since Leona is the only woman on the team, it was decided to bring in Kate Quinn, one of our newer operatives to play this role." Vartan glanced to Leona. "No offense, Leona."
"None taken, Boss." Leona was quite happy to play any role assigned to her.
"Leona will pose as a maid employed by the hotel while Lionel and Weiss pose as waiters. They will also serve as backup for Michel and prepare egress for the team." Vartan paused and looked over each one of his operatives. "If anyone has any concerns, now is the time to voice them. Let me emphasize that the Prime Minister is extremely worried about this crime wave perpetrated by the "Mayfair Mob" and is putting pressure on Scotland Yard to end it."
The room was silent. "Very well. Be back here at 5 p.m. This briefing is over."
Kate Quinn, the newest team member, was thrilled to be going on her first big mission. She was even more pleased when she met her partner, the mysterious Frenchman. Until a few months ago, she served as Inspector Vartan's secretary, opening his mail, typing letters and memos, and maintaining the files. She was also secretly in love with him.
One day Weiss let it slip that Vartan had rekindled his romance with a country schoolmarm. Quinn was quietly devastated, but determined to show him that she could do more than just type. Since there was a personnel shortage, she kept pestering him to let her train as an operative.
Finally, Vartan had given in and now things were looking up for Kate Quinn. Here she was, a full-fledged participant in an important mission! The butterflies were already gathering in her stomach and her palms were sweating. This would be her night to prove herself.
At twelve-thirty that Saturday afternoon, Nikita, Penelope, and Adrian met up with Carla, the Brazilian Babes, and Lady Huntington at a small tea shop. They had a light luncheon before setting off on another round of shopping.
"Are you okay?" Carla asked Nikita. "You didn't eat much and frankly, you look rather pale."
"Uh, I think it was that fish from dinner last night. Maybe it wasn't cooked enough," offered Nikita. It was as good an excuse as any. She simply couldn't bear to discuss Michel's apparent rejection right now.
Carla seemed to accept that. "Yes, you do have to be careful with fish. They say it's 'brain food.' Maybe I should eat more of it!"
Nikita managed a smile for her friend. "There's nothing wrong with your brain."
Carla grabbed Nikita's arm. "Oh look, there's that store I was telling you about – Vanessa's Secret. Isabelita said they sell some rather interesting lingerie in there. Shall we take a peek?"
"Christina, please!" sighed Mrs. Glanzman. "Could you possibly stand still for five minutes so I can finish pinning this hem?"
"What? Oh, I'm sorry, Mummy. Of course, I'll be still," said Miss Glanzman. She was standing on a small stool reading a letter from her fiancé, Inspector Vartan, while her mother squatted down to work on her gown for the Founder's Day Ball.
"It's just that Mark may not be able to come down for the Ball. He says work is very busy and he's under a lot of pressure right now."
Mrs. Glanzman paused and put her pin cushion down. "Oh dear, that would be a shame. I do hope he is eating properly and getting enough rest. He has to keep up his strength in order to catch those horrid criminals I've been reading about."
Christina laughed. "Oh Mummy, he's grown man. I'm sure he can take care of himself!"
Frowning, Mrs. Glanzman said, "Well, dear, I certainly hope you're right." Then a more pleasant thought occurred to her. "While you're here, we might as well look at some patterns for your wedding dress. Have you and Mark decided on a date?" she asked hopefully.
"We were thinking about sometime in the spring," said Christina, still clutching the letter.
Leona stood before a small mirror in the ready room at Scotland Yard, securing the ratty-looking wig with bobby pins. Lionel strolled up and frowned at her appearance. "You look perfectly awful in that thing, old girl. I barely recognized you."
Leona's hands paused in mid-air. "I would say that's the general idea," she replied dryly.
"From what you've said, once Stéphanie Rousseau gets a couple of glasses of champagne down, she won't know you from Adam!"
"That has been her usual pattern. Let's hope she doesn't deviate tonight."
"Say, what do you think of my get-up?" Lionel puffed out his chest with an air of importance. Leona surveyed his waiter's uniform critically and brushed some lint from one shoulder.
"Not bad . . .for an old geezer," she smirked.
"Old geezer?" Lionel said incredulously. "I think I look pretty spiffy!"
Leona felt her eyes roll back. "If you don't stop flapping your lips, we're going to be late."
PART 66
Inside the elegant Vanessa's Secret emporium, Nikita and Carla encountered all types of female shoppers – old, young, tall, short, thick, thin. There were three or four well-to-do gentlemen bold enough to enter this primarily feminine sanctuary. The hum of activity was considerable as clerks dashed to and fro, assisting customers in the dressing rooms and ringing up sales.
The girls wandered among displays of sheer, lacy undergarments and négligées. Some of the items gracing the mannequins were downright scandalous. Carla and Nikita looked at each other with wide eyes. "Who wears this sort of thing?" whispered Nikita. "Apparently someone like, oh my word! Don't look now, but it's Miss Moriarty!" hissed Carla. She quickly shoved Nikita behind a row of mannequins, nearly upsetting them.
"Are you sure?" asked Nikita, trying to peer around the display. Before Carla could respond, the querulous voice of Miss Moriarty was heard nearby.
"But I really wanted that in red," she whined.
"Let me check over here, Madam," said the clerk soothingly.
"Uh oh, they're headed this way! Quick, in here!" urged Carla. The girls ducked behind a curtain leading into the changing rooms.
"That was close," sighed Nikita.
"Oh, yes!" agreed Carla.
Turning around, they noticed a tall, slim girl with dark hair analyzing her appearance in a cheval mirror. She was modeling an expensive black bustier. An anxious saleswoman hovered at her side. After turning this way and that, the young lady declared with satisfaction, "I'll take it. I have an important function this evening and this should help catch a certain gentleman's eye!"
The saleswoman clasped her hands with glee. "Excellent choice, Madam! Would you like me to wrap that for you?"
The young lady stepped behind a screen and in a moment handed the garment around to the clerk.
Nikita cautiously pulled back the curtain and peered into the main part of the store. She motioned to Carla. "You-know-who seems to be gone."
Giggling, Carla said, "Imagine seeing a Sanibelle teacher in here! Most of them are too prim and proper for this sort of stuff! But life is strange, isn't it?"
Nikita was thoughtful for a moment, remembering all the events of the last forty-eight hours. "Yes . . . it certainly is."
"Here you are, Miss Quinn!" said the clerk as she returned to the dressing room.
"Thank you so much!" she said as she accepted the small pink package. Glancing at Nikita and Carla Miss Quinn gushed, "Don't you just adore this place?"
"Oh yes, we shop here all the time when we're in town!" lied Carla. Nikita shot her an incredulous look and just shook her head. Her friend never failed to astound her.
Later, Nikita and Carla met Penelope and Aunt Adrian for tea. However, there was a bit of bad news. A telegram had arrived saying that both Richard and the baby were sick. "I must get home as soon as possible," said Penelope, nervously playing with her napkin.
"Indeed, you should," agreed Carla. "And Nikita can stay at my house tonight. Mummy is always asking about her."
"I wouldn't want to impose," said Nikita.
"Don't be silly! Then you can go to the ballet with us tonight. I don't think Father really wanted to go, so you can have his ticket!" said Carla brightly.
"If you're sure it isn't any trouble . . ." said Adrian.
"No trouble at all," Carla assured her. She picked up a plate. "Now, would anyone care for another cream puff?"
The operatives assembled at Scotland Yard at five o'clock. Inspector Vartan made a few last minute comments, then dismissed them. Leona, Lionel, and Weiss left first to take up their positions as serving staff at the party.
Inspector Vartan and The Big Man would be positioned directly across the street from the hotel with a small contingent of officers, should they be needed. Vartan had recently injured his shoulder in a scuffle with a prisoner, a fact he had not disclosed in his recent letter to his fiancée. He lifted the shoulder now and felt a twinge of pain.
Michel and Quinn would leave a little later in a carriage driven by a Scotland Yard man. Michel went over to the large desk where a floor plan of the hotel was spread out. Quinn came and stood beside him as he studied it again. He had already memorized every detail, but there was nothing else to do at the moment and he was not inclined to make small talk with Quinn.
"I hope I will be able to keep Wellman occupied," she commented. She let her fur wrap slip off her shoulders.
Michel's eyes were still on the floor plan. He had the distinct impression that she was not wearing that extremely low-cut gown only for the target's benefit.
"If that doesn't distract Wellman, nothing will," Michel said in an undertone.
Quinn looked up at him suddenly, but his handsome face was void of any emotion.