PART 67
Gray Wellman stood just outside the double doors leading into the grand ballroom of the Excelsior Hotel. He appeared quite dapper, not to mention law-abiding, in his expensive Savile Row evening clothes. He greeted his guests with a hearty handshake or a slap on the back as they came up the stairs.
Stéphanie Rousseau was nearby, champagne flute already in hand, chatting with some well-known opera patrons. Gray glanced over at her briefly. She really did look stunning in that cranberry-colored gown with her dark hair arranged on top of her head. The only thing that annoyed him was that diamond-and-ruby bracelet clapped on her right arm.
He had never seen it before and when he questioned her about it earlier, he did not get a satisfactory answer. "This old thing? Why, I believe it's been in my jewellery box for some time. I must have forgotten all about it!" she laughed.
"Indeed. It looks like it cost a pretty penny," he said drily.
She turned her arm over several times, admiring the way the gems sparkled. "Oh darling, I really could not say. You know I have no head for such trifling details."
"Looks like it's going to be a smashing affair, Wellman! Should raise a lot of money for the orphanage."
"What's that?"
Gray's attention was drawn back to the heavy-set man now in front of him. "Oh, good evening, Stuart. Glad you could make it. And Mrs. Stuart, how lovely to see you again." Once again Gray was the charming, effusive host.
The next couple was one that set Gray's teeth on edge – Madeline and Fanning.
"We need to talk," Fanning said quietly. "The sooner, the better."
"You know, this really isn't a good time. I cannot neglect my guests," explained Gray with a wave of his hand.
"Dear Gray, I'm sure you can spare a few minutes later on," said Madeline. She laid her hand on his forearm and smiled. Unfortunately, the smile did not reach her dark eyes, which remained as cold and calculating as ever.
To be perfectly honest, Gray was somewhat intimidated by Madeline. He always had the feeling that she was studying him, analyzing him even, as if he were some museum specimen. He would not have been surprised if she pulled out a magnifying glass.
"I'll see what I can do," Gray said vaguely. "Now if you will excuse me."
The pair moved on and Gray breathed a sigh of relief. He stared after them for a moment, then pulled out his watch. The Prince and Princess should be arriving soon, he thought.
"We're not going to be late, are we?" asked Quinn nervously. She kept fidgeting with the clasp on her small black evening bag in an effort to distract herself. Being alone with Michel in the close confines of the coach was not what she'd imagined. He had barely uttered two words since they left Scotland Yard. Instead, all his attention was directed to the passing scenes as they drove through the crowded, gas-lit streets.
He turned his head and smiled ever so slightly. "Only fashionably late."
Quinn smiled, too, and was struck again by the intensity of his stare. She attributed his mood to the fact that he was mentally preparing for the mission. However, she was only partially correct.
A painful image kept pushing into Michel's mind – Nikita's face last night in the hotel lobby. He was afraid it would haunt him for some time to come. His deliberately cold treatment of her was the only way to distance himself and focus on his job.
But there was no more time to think about it right now. The coach had come to a stop and Moen, the officer posing as the driver, jumped down and was opening the door. He helped Quinn down and said to Michel, "Good luck, sir. I'll be around the corner in the mews should you need anything."
"Of course. Thank you."
There were several carriages discharging their well-dressed occupants in front of the hotel by now. Top hats, opera capes, furs, and jewels were in abundance. There was much talking and laughter as the cream of London society entered the hotel and the theatre next door where the Bolshoi Ballet, fresh from its latest performance in Moscow, was performing.
"Michel, just one question," said Quinn as she linked her arm through his.
"What is it?"
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she whispered, "Have you ever broken into a safe before?" Knowing nothing of his background, she assumed he was some sort of police official over in France.
He considered this for a moment, then with a straight face replied, "I'm a virgin when it comes to safecracking."
Quinn's eyes widened in amazement. "Sorry I asked," she mumbled.
"Now won't this be fun?!" said Carla as they alighted from their coach. "I've been dying to see Natalia what's-her-name dance!"
"Yes, she's billed as the new prima ballerina of the company," said Nikita.
"And Papa will have a much better evening, too. He'll close himself up in the library with the spaniels and catch up on all his correspondence and read those boring old journals and newspapers. No doubt he'll smoke a cigar, although Mummy strictly forbids it in the house! Did you notice that I didn't even have to twist his arm for his ticket?" laughed Carla.
"No, he handed it over quite readily," agreed Nikita. She loved the ballet and hoped that for the next couple of hours she could put Michel and his arrogance out of her mind.
PART 68
While Carla's mother was chatting with some friends, Carla and Nikita admired the beautifully dressed people as they exited their coaches. Suddenly, Carla nudged Nikita. "Oh, my word! There's that woman from Vanessa's Secret. She's certainly putting that bustier to good use."
The words had no sooner left her mouth when the woman's companion turned and Carla saw his face. She gasped, but it was too late. Nikita noticed him at the same time – Michel! He was wearing an expensive tuxedo and was patting the woman's arm as she threaded it through his. They appeared quite chummy.
Apparently, he said something shocking because the woman looked up at him in surprise. Nikita blinked, but there was no mistaking those broad shoulders and unrestrained auburn curls.
"What in the world is he doing with her? Do you think they met at that conference?" wondered Carla.
Nikita was so stunned that she could not utter a word. She stood rooted to the spot, staring with disbelieving eyes. Her beaded evening bag slipped from her fingers and fell onto the cobblestones.
"Come along, girls. It's almost time for the curtain to go up!" called Carla's mother.
Nikita noticed the way Michel kept looking over the crowd, almost as if he expected to see an acquaintance. When he looked to his left, he at first did not see her, but then his riveting emerald gaze found her. In a flash, his countenance changed. He made no attempt to speak to her, but he clearly was surprised to see her there.
"Nikita, let's go!" hissed Carla. She took hold of her arm, ready to literally drag her toward the front door of the theatre, if necessary.
"Oh, your bag!" Carla bent to pick it up for Nikita, who was still staring in Michel's direction.
When Carla straightened up, Michel had turned away and was entering the hotel with the woman on his arm.
"Come on! You can't do anything about him now," urged Carla.
Nikita shook her head numbly. "I can't believe it. Why is he doing this to me?"
Nikita threw herself face down on the bed and beat the pillows with her fists. Loud sobs wracked her body. "I wish I had never met Michel Samuelle! He is a horrible man. Oh Carla, I've been such a bloody fool!"
There was a knock at the door and Carla jumped up and opened it a fraction.
It was her mother, already in her dressing gown. "Dear, would you and Nikita like some tea and biscuits before bed?"
Carla looked over her shoulder at Nikita, who was in sheer agony. "Uh, not tonight, Mummy. We're really tired. We'll be turning in shortly."
"Very well then. Sweet dreams!"
Having gotten rid of her mother, Carla locked the door and pulled a chair up beside the bed and handed Nikita a clean handkerchief. "Now I think you'd better explain what's going on."
"Thank you." Nikita took the handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. "Well, I left out some details about the night the train derailed."
"What sort of details?"
Nikita was still debating whether to tell Carla everything, but who else could she trust with her most personal secret?
"It had started raining and by the time we reached the inn, we were soaked. There was only one room left, so we pretended to be married. It was the only way to avoid an awkward situation."
"You did what?" exclaimed Carla.
"At first, there was no problem – Michel let me have the bed while he slept in a chair."
"How chivalrous of him," Carla said flippantly.
But later, after he kissed me, well, things . . . sort of began to happen." Nikita stared into the distance as the memory of that fantastic night came back to her. She felt her cheeks burning.
"What things?"
"Uh, you know, we, well what I mean is . . ."
One by one, the pieces fell into place for Carla. Her hands flew to her mouth as she gasped, "No! You didn't?!"
Their eyes met and Nikita sighed, "We did."
For the first time in her young life, Carla was absolutely speechless. But that only lasted about five seconds. Her curiosity soon got the better of her.
"What was it like? Did it hurt? I've heard that the first time is painful. Was he gentle?" There seemed to be no end to the questions.
Nikita was running her hands through her hair in an agitated manner. "But you don't understand!" she wailed. "What if I'm . . ." She couldn't even get the words out as she pointed to her abdomen.
Carla inhaled sharply. "Oh, my word! I didn't even think about that! But it was only one time, so you should be okay. Right?"
Nikita looked at her hopelessly. "Two times," she said quietly. Tears began flowing again.
"Twice in one night? I . . .I don't know what to say! Is such a thing possible?"
After a moment, Carla got up and crossed the room to the bureau. She opened one drawer, then another until she found some clean handkerchiefs. She sat down on the bed and put her arm around Nikita's shoulders.
Between loud sniffles and dabbing at her reddened eyes Nikita said, "Now I see what kind of man he really is – pretending to love me while in fact he was only using me. He is certainly not who I thought he was."
"No, it would seem he is a 'wolf in sheep's clothing.' I tell you, he's not worthy of you at all! Why, he's probably had this lady friend here in London all along," replied Carla indignantly. She was quite distressed for her friend and outraged at Michel. Had he been nearby, she would not have hesitated to slap him for being such a cad and hurting her friend.
Sighing heavily Carla said, "I think we might need that cup of tea after all. And a large tray of chocolate biscuits."
When Michel laid eyes on Nikita, his heart seemed to drop to the pit of his stomach. Merde. What is she doing here? This could not have happened at a worse time.
He had to look awaybecause the urge to go to her was too great. It required every ounce of his willpower in order to get his mind back to the mission. He spoke more sharply than he intended to Quinn as they ascended the stairs.
"Yes, I know the profile. I went over it at least a dozen times," she replied with exasperation.
Lionel was stationed behind one of the banquet tables on the opposite side of the ballroom as Michel and Quinn entered. He had followed Leona's lead and slapped a silly-looking hairpiece on top of his head as a disguise. Even so, Michel spotted him and nodded briefly.
A few feet away, Lionel witnessed an inebriated man trying to pinch Leona's derrière as she was serving drinks. She swung around with an evil look on her face and "accidentally" spilled red wine down the front of his tuxedo. Lionel had to chuckle at the little incident. If the man had tried that on the street, Leona would have whacked him several times with her oversized handbag. Lionel knew full well that she could cause real bodily harm with that thing!
All at once, there was a commotion at the entrance. Their Royal Highnesses, The Prince and Princess of Wales had arrived. The Prince had a bored expression on his face and looked around the room. When he saw Stéphanie Rousseau, his mood lightened considerably.
PART 69
While there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth over Nikita's indiscretion and – gasp! – possible pregnancy, Gray Wellman's party was in full swing a few miles away. Champagne was flowing freely and copious amounts of caviar and pastries were being consumed when the many elegant couples were not twirling around the dance floor. It was all Leona, Lionel, and the other servers could do to keep the glasses and plates refilled.
More importantly, wallets were being opened and fat cheques written to The Wellman Foundation.
After a couple of dances, the Princess of Wales complained of fatigue and was content to sit on the sidelines chatting with the well-to-do ladies, of which many were her personal friends. Meanwhile, the Prince, who was quite agile on his feet, danced with Stéphanie Rousseau as many times as was decently possible.
During their second dance he remarked, "My dear, I do hope you're enjoying that little trinket," referring to the diamond-and-ruby bracelet.
"Oh, it's lovely! You really shouldn't have! How can I ever thank you?" gushed Stephanie.
As they swept past his less-than-passionate wife, the Prince murmured, "Well, I can think of a few ways."
Stéphanie giggled like a schoolgirl. "Oh, Your Highness! You really are a naughty, naughty boy!"
As if the shock of seeing Nikita wasn't enough, Michel got a second jolt when he noticed David Fanning going through the line at one of the buffet tables. The attractive dark-haired woman at his side was unknown to Michel. She certainly was not from the village around Sanibelle; he would not have forgotten a glacial beauty like that. Imagine Fanning moving in such lofty circles, thought Michel. Perhaps his companion had money and connections. He had always pegged Fanning as nothing more than a thug in a suit.
Fortunately, the ballroom was sufficiently crowded by this time to allow Michel and Quinn to avoid Fanning. As they danced, Quinn let her mind wander from the mission to the comforting feeling of Michel's right hand on her back His left hand grasped hers lightly. He did not look at her as they waltzed around the polished floor. Instead, he tracked the movement of the principal players in tonight's game.
When the waltz ended, he saw Stéphanie grab another glass of champagne and saunter, rather tipsily, out into the hall. The Prince followed a moment later with a lecherous gleam in his eye. Almost immediately, Wellman disentangled himself from a group of pompous businessmen and started looking around for Stéphanie. He spoke to a man stationed near the door, which Michel assumed was a bodyguard.
"Your turn," Michel said to Quinn. She nodded and adjusted the bodice of her gown to reveal more firm bosom. "Wish me luck," she said flippantly as she set off to snag Wellman for a dance. Michel moved over to where Lionel was standing and took a black pouch from him and slid it inside his jacket. They signaled to Leona and left the ballroom.
"Mr. Wellman, there you are!" said Quinn brightly as she tapped him on the arm. "I've been waiting all evening for our dance!"
Gray spun around and his eyes dropped to her impressive cleavage. "Ah, Madame Dupuis. You're sure your husband won't mind?" he said in a teasing tone.
"Heavens, no! He's off talking business somewhere. That can be so tedious, don't you agree?" She looked up at Wellman and batted her eyes.
"Ah, but I am a businessman, so I enjoy talking about making money. Of course, one should leave time for some pleasure, too."
Quinn laughed. "I wish you would tell my husband that!"
Quinn had no idea how long Michel needed to open the safe so she insisted that they dance a second time. Fortunately, Wellman was perfectly agreeable with that.
The music came to a halt and there was polite applause. The orchestra laid down their instruments and got up to take a well-deserved break. The Princess waved him over. "Mr. Wellman, I understand you have acquired a wonderful new painting. Would you mind showing it to us?" She gestured to the assembled ladies at her side.
He paused. How did they know about that? Stéphanie must have blabbed, he thought irritably. He could hardly refuse royalty, so he inclined his head and said, "Of course, Your Highness. If you don't mind walking up the stairs, it's in my office."
She looked to her friends. "I believe we can manage a few stairs," she said as the others murmured their agreement.
There was still no sign of Stéphanie, but he would track her down later.
Michel spotted Stéphanie and the Prince on one of the balconies, talking and laughing uproariously, as he and Lionel scooted up the stairs. Lionel would monitor the hallway and alert Michel of any unwanted traffic.
Michel located Wellman's office quickly, and as luck would have it, the door was not locked. Major security lapse. He probably thinks no one would imagine looking up here, thought Michel. He withdrew a small candle and match from the black pouch and lit it.
Behind Wellman's imposing desk there hung a large Rembrandt painting. Michel stared at the Old Master for a moment. I have to give him credit for having good taste. Sure enough, the painting swung away from the wall on a hinge, revealing the safe.
Also in the pouch was a stethoscope, which Michel now stuck in his ears. He placed it against the safe and slowly worked the lock, listening for the pattern of the tumblers. Finally, he tried the handle.
Nothing happened.
Taking a deep breath, he repositioned the stethoscope and listened again. Inspector Vartan had arranged for Michel to visit a master safecracker in prison for a couple of quick lessons in this particular brand of thievery. Now he concentrated on remembering everything the grizzled old man had told him. Son, you can't rush this process. You have to have a steady hand and above all, be patient. When Michel proved to be a quick study, the old man chuckled and remarked, "Wish I'd had you in my gang back in the day!"
Trying the handle a second time, there was a click and the door opened. Michel exhaled sharply and moved the candle closer to see the contents. Inside, there were large stacks of money in various European denominations plus several fake passports. In addition, there were some pieces of jewellery that had been reported as stolen by members of the nobility. This confirmed Wellman's connection to the infamous "Mayfair Mob."
Suddenly, Lionel rapped quietly on the door and opened it slightly. "Someone's coming! I have to disappear."
In a flash, Michel closed the safe and gathered up his tools. He heard voices at the far end of the corridor and knew there was no time for him to escape. He pushed aside one of the heavy curtains and tried the window, but it seemed to be jammed. He looked around the office again and wondered what was behind the door in the corner. He crossed to it and grabbed the handle, but it was locked. Cursing under his breath, he took out his lock picking set and in five seconds had the door open. He slipped through and waited to see who came in the office.
Not surprisingly, it was the Prince and Stéphanie. Both had had a little too much to drink and stumbled around until they got the lamps lit. "This is much better," said the Prince. "More private!" They collapsed onto the settee and began pawing at each other.
"Stéphanie, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on!" said the Prince as he ran his hands into her hair. The diamond-encrusted combs fell out and her hair spilled down her back.
In the small storage room where Michel was hiding, he sighed heavily. He had a small bottle of chloroform, but it would not be enough to knock out both of them. Besides, from the sounds coming from the other side of the door, those two might be there a while getting "acquainted" with each other.
Lionel was worried. He had scurried around the corner and pressed himself against the wall behind a large potted plant when he heard the voices. But now there was another problem – Gray Wellman was leading the Princess and a group of ladies up the stairs. Lionel sighed and rubbed his chin. There was no way for him to alert Michel to this new complication.
"How did you say you managed to acquire this Rembrandt?" asked the Princess.
"The last time I was on the continent I attended a private auction and there it was. I snapped it up at a good price."
Wellman was still talking about the auction as he opened the office door for the Princess to enter. They both gasped loudly at the sight before them – Stéphanie and the Prince caught in the midst of hanky-panky and looking rather disheveled.
"Bertie! What is the meaning of this?" shrieked the Princess. She began fanning herself rapidly with her ivory-handled fan. She knew of her husband's numerous little dalliances, but this was the first time she had witnessed one first-hand. Oh, the horror of it all! Tomorrow it would be the only subject of conversation in fashionable London drawing rooms.
"Alex!" The Prince was not so far gone that he didn't realize what a huge faux pas this was. It was one thing for him to have his fun and games on the side, but quite another for his wife to have it thrown in her face. No doubt his mother, The Queen, would have some choice things to say about this. He stood up quickly and attempted to straighten his clothes. "My dear, this is not what it seems."
"Indeed! Would you care to explain exactly what it is?" she demanded icily.
Meanwhile, Wellman yanked Stéphanie up by the arm and pulled her into a corner. "I knew there was something going on with him!" he shouted. "He gave you that bracelet, didn't he?" Without waiting for an answer, he ripped it from her arm and flung it away.
The ladies who had accompanied the Princess were clearly mortified. They had never witnessed such a flagrant breech of protocol before. They began slowly inching their way toward the door when Michel burst from his hiding place, waving a pistol.
He was wearing a black hood that exposed only his eyes. One heavy-set matron immediately passed out while the others began screaming and crying. He sprinted to the door and locked it.
Affecting a heavy German accent he said, "No one needs to get hurt. I only want your jewels!" He waved the pistol around to add to the drama.
Lionel heard the shouts and peeked around the corner. Seeing the door closed, he could only hope and pray that Michel had the situation under control.
"Drop your jewels on the desk and go into that room," instructed Michel. One by one the frightened women did just that. "You, too," he motioned to Wellman.
A black look crossed Wellman's face. "You'll not get away with this!" he shouted as he was herded into the storage room with the women.
"I'll be relieving you of that nice watch now," said Michel as he pointed the gun at Wellman's abdomen. When Gray hesitated, Michel clicked the safety off on the pistol. Gray heard it and reluctantly complied.
"You'll not get away with this!" insisted Wellman again.
"I already did!" said Michel gleefully. "I thank you for your hospitality tonight." With that, he locked the storage room door amid much shouting and protesting.
It had to look like a real robbery, so he scooped the jewels into his black pouch and left the office. He whipped off the hood at the end of the corridor and looked for Lionel.
He tossed him the pouch. "Here, see that the noble ladies of London society get their baubles back."
Lionel could only laugh at Michel's audacity. "Good show, mate!"
"Let's get out of here. There's not a minute to spare!" urged Michel as they ran down the stairs.
After everyone was debriefed at Scotland Yard, there remained one final thing for Michel to do. He hailed a hansom cab and went to Nikita's hotel. He did not care that the hour was very late and that most people would be in bed by now. He had to see her.
He strode up to the desk as the lone clerk on duty was suppressing a yawn. He made his inquiry and the clerk carefully scanned the register with his ink-stained index finger. He looked up and said, "I'm sorry, sir, but the Jones-Wirth party checked out yesterday."
"You're positive?" asked Michel.
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Thank you." Michel turned and went out into the cold, damp night. Maybe there was a pub still open somewhere. He really needed some type of comfort right now.
Note:
The Prince and Princess of Wales - Prince Edward VII – called "Bertie" by friends and family. Bertie's wife – Princess Alexandra of Denmark
PART 70
By all outward appearances, it seemed like any other end-of-term week at The Sanibelle School. Students' heads were bent over final exams, while their teachers graded last minute essays and homework assignments. When finals were over, the girls would be able to relax and look forward to the Founder's Day Ball on Saturday night. After the Ball, they would disburse to various parts of the shire to spend the Christmas break with their families.
But in Mr. Samuelle's French class, anger and resentment and unanswered questions lay just beneath one student's cool exterior. Nikita had finished her test a full 15 minutes earlier. She could have already left the classroom, but something kept her glued in her seat.
She would glance up at Michel from time to time. He was grading papers and otherwise occupied. The very fact that he was sitting there so calmly while her emotions were in such turmoil infuriated her to no end, yet she could not take her eyes from him. I despise you, Michel Samuelle! she thought vehemently.
She kept fidgeting with her pencil, pretending to do some work. The very next time she lifted her head, she found him staring back at her with that sensuous green gaze. She frowned and looked down at the paper. It was almost like her angry thoughts had leapt from her mind to his ear.
The door opened and Walter's nephew, Sammy, came in. "Begging your pardon, sir, but Miss Glanzman would like a word with you when class is over."
Sammy was helping his uncle tidy up the buildings and grounds in preparation for the Ball. His small country school a few miles away was already on break and Sammy was as happy as a clam to be slapping paint on the walls or pruning shrubs.
"Thank you, Sammy."
Sammy glanced around nervously until he spotted Nikita. He smiled shyly and wondered if he would be able to have a dance with her Saturday night. He thought she was the prettiest and nicest girl in the whole school. Nikita smiled in return and Sammy backed out of the room, his heart happy.
"Time's up, ladies," said Michel. He passed up and down the rows, collecting the exams. "I'll look forward to seeing all of you at the Ball."
"Will you dance with each one of us?" asked one particularly bold student.
"Mais oui!," he answered smoothly. "As long as you don't step on my toes." Several girls giggled as they went out. "Oh, Mr. Samuelle!"
As he was putting the exams into his attaché, he noticed something. "Ni-ki-ta."
She paused and sighed heavily. She did not want to turn around and meet his eyes, afraid of what she might find there.
"Is this your exam?" he asked quietly.
She stepped over to the desk. "Yes. What about it?"
"You failed to write your name on it."
She rolled her eyes and took the proffered pencil and hurriedly scrawled her name. "Is that better?" she asked.
"I want to explain about the other night," he said as the last student left the room. On impulse, he went over and locked the door. The last thing he needed was some student returning to retrieve a forgotten notebook or pencil case.
"Which night?" asked Nikita. "The night you seduced me and stole my virtue, or the night you were out on the town with your mistress?"
Even though he expected this kind of hostility, it was still like a stinging slap in the face. He took a deep breath.
"I have another responsibility besides teaching here at Sanibelle," began Michel.
"Oh, you mean the heavy responsibility of juggling two women at the same time?" asked Nikita in a sarcastic tone.
Although her comments hurt him, he knew he had to forge ahead. "I work for a powerful man in the government. That woman was a colleague and we were on a mission to gather vital information."
Nikita's face was turning pink in her anger. "A mission? Vital information? It all sounds rather far-fetched to me. Who do you know in the government?" Her voice was getting louder and her eyes were like fiery blue crystals.
"Ni-ki-ta, please let me . . ."
"Let you what? Stand there and tell me more tall tales? I think not! You were doing nothing more than amusing yourself at a fancy party with some trollop! I must say, I expected better things from you, Michel."
Michel looked at her with a mixture of pity and resignation. He was turning over in his mind whether or not to reveal any more details about his mission. To do so might put Nikita at risk, something he could not afford. Scotland Yard had yet to determine the full extent of the "Mayfair Mob." They might even have members or sympathizers in the surrounding countryside.
"Have you nothing to say in your defense?" challenged Nikita.
Finally, Michel spoke. "I'm sorry you feel betrayed, Ni-ki-ta, but I cannot tell you anything more at this time. It's for your own protection."
Nikita glared at him angrily. "Now I know what attracts me to you – the character you pretend to be. I'm sure the real Michel would disgust me." (Season One – "War")
Nikita reached out to unlock the door, but Michel caught her by the wrist. She tried unsuccessfully to pull away. Even though he was standing very close, she refused to look up at him. His cologne teased her nostrils. When he spoke, his voice was an intimate whisper.
"That night we were together . . .you're quite wrong about it. I didn't steal anything from you; you gave yourself willingly to me. We both know that is the truth. You wanted me as much as I wanted you."
Finally, Nikita freed her hand and after fumbling with the lock, ran out into the hall. Her throat was parched and she knew her face must be red after her outburst. Once she got started, there was no stopping the torrent that came out of her mouth.
She ran all the way back to the room and fell on her bed. Thankfully, Carla was practicing with the choir for their concert on Friday. Distractedly, Nikita rubbed her hand where Michel had touched her. It felt like she had been scalded there.
I didn't steal anything from you; you gave yourself willingly to me.
Nikita fumed as she remembered his soft words. How typical, she thought. Trying to sweet-talk his way out of it! But it's not going to work.
She got up and paced around the room, kicking at a pair of shoes she'd left on the floor. Suddenly, the room seemed too small, too close. She had to get out of there for a while.
Michel stood in his empty classroom thinking about what a mess his life had become of late. He wondered, not for the first time, if he should have simply stayed in Paris and taken a position at the Sorbonne. Life would certainly have been less complicated. But he dismissed that thought almost immediately. I would never have met Ni-ki-ta if I had not come here.
Wearily, he picked up his attaché case and headed for Miss Glanzman's office. The door was ajar and he could hear her talking to someone. He knocked lightly and heard, "Come in."
He was surprised to find Inspector Vartan standing there. Miss Glanzman looked from one to the other of them. "Ah, Mr. Samuelle! I didn't know until a few moments ago that you had, shall we say, business dealings with my fiancé."
"And I didn't realize that the Inspector was your intended," said Michel politely. "My congratulations to you both."
"Thank you. I'll leave you two to your, uh, business," she said as she slipped out the door.
"I know you're busy, so I'll get right to the point. There have been several interesting developments in the case since the weekend. Wellman and Rousseau had a huge row about her affair with the Prince. Wellman gave her a black eye and she in turn broke a one-of-a-kind Waterford vase over his head. The resulting laceration required a dozen stitches to close."
"Sounds rather painful," said Michel with a slight smile.
"It gets better," continued Vartan. "Rousseau volunteered to tell everything she knew about Wellman's connection to the Mayfair Mob, which also implicated David Fanning. Needless to say, her singing tour of the continent is cancelled."
"So, you picked up Fanning?"
"Yes, he's being held at Newgate Prison, along with Wellman, until their trials come up. I've told Christina to say that he had a family emergency in order to explain his absence from school."
"Somehow I don't think he'll be missed very much," said Michel dryly.
"As you can imagine, Her Majesty was furious. She has tolerated Bertie's careless behaviour for quite some time, but this was the final straw. She's sending him on a three-month tour of the Indian subcontinent. There will be an official announcement tomorrow from Buckingham Palace. The Princess will not be accompanying her husband. In fact, she's making noises about returning to her family home in Denmark. The Queen will never allow that, of course, but it gives the Princess a strong bargaining chip."
"Sounds like everything is falling neatly into place," Michel said thoughtfully. "Am I to assume that my role in this operation is finished?"
"Not yet," said Vartan, shaking his head. "Only when The Big Man gives the official order."
"I see." Michel was dismayed. He was ready for this to be over so that he could repair his fractured relationship with Nikita.
Vartan chuckled. "One more thing. The women of London high society are purring now that they have their jewels back!"
David Fanning lay morosely on his hard bunk in Newgate Prison. He couldn't even get a decent night's sleep because his smelly, drunken cellmate snored so loudly.
But something other than snoring was bothering him tonight. Why had Michel Samuelle, a fellow teacher at Sanibelle, been at Wellman's party? The first time they met, he had the impression that there was another dimension to Samuelle. It was nothing he could really put a finger on, just a sort of gut feeling that a man in his position had learned to respect.
He was certain that Samuelle was responsible, at least in part, for putting him behind bars. In some capacity, the Frenchman had to be connected to Scotland Yard.
Fanning rolled onto his side, but it didn't ease his aching back One way or another, he's gonna pay for putting me in this dump. As he thought about this for a few minutes, an idea came to him.
I know what his weakness is.
PART 71
I know what his weakness is . . .or rather, who. This thought gave Fanning a certain amount of evil satisfaction. He smiled to himself in the darkness of the tiny cell.
To his credit, Samuelle did a fairly good job of hiding his emotions. However, Fanning had seen some intense looks pass between him and that blonde bitch Nikita on more than one occasion. Even so, he doubted if they had gotten beyond ogling each other. Samuelle was a smart man; he would not do anything to jeopardize his budding career.
"Will ya knock it off?" he shouted suddenly. Fanning leapt off his bunk and jostled his slovenly cellmate. The drunk turned to his other side and the snoring ceased, at least for the moment.
"Knock it off yourself, mate!" came a surly retort from a cell down the hall.
"Why don't you come and make me!" replied Fanning sarcastically.
"I'll come and kick your sorry arse!" yelled the unseen prisoner.
About that time a guard came through on his rounds. "Keep it down or there'll be no breakfast for any of you fellows in the morning."
"That would be a blessing since it's not fit to eat anyway," mumbled Fanning as he sat back down on his bunk. Quiet returned once more and the guard continued on his rounds.
Now if Madeline would only come back. She'd visited once, posing as his sister, and promised to return when she'd formulated a plan. Hell, he didn't even have a sister, but the prison officials were not aware of that little detail.
His thoughts again turned to Nikita and Samuelle. Yes, she would be the perfect leverage.
Nikita rapped on the door of Walter's cottage, but there was no answer. The door was unlatched so she entered and found Blackie, the cat Walter always declared he didn't like, asleep in a basket on the hearth. She wandered out into the small greenhouse and began watering the plants and plucking off dead leaves.
Ten minutes passed before she heard Walter come into the kitchen, whistling a jaunty tune. She put the watering can aside and went to join him.
"Nikita! What a nice surprise," said Walter cheerfully. "I thought you would be rehearsing with the drama group this afternoon."
"No, I'm not in that, but Bel and Fern are."
Drama? I've had enough drama in the last few days to last a lifetime, she thought wearily.
"Well, I guess you're glad all those finals are over," said Walter.
"Yes," she agreed.
Walter was pulling some bowls down from the shelf. "Why don't you stay and have some soup with Sammy and me? We're just going to have a quick bite before we go out to find some mistletoe."
"Thank you. That would be lovely." She felt something brushing against her legs and looked down and laughed. "I thought you didn't like cats."
Walter looked a little sheepish. "Well, seeing how Blackie here is going to be a mother, I couldn't very well turn her out into the cold. She is one of the Good Lord's creatures, after all."
He set down a saucer of milk and some food scraps, which Blackie quickly pounced on. He scratched behind her ears. "Not to mention that she's a good mouser."
Sammy came in presently and was pleased to find Nikita there. The three of them sat down to some hot vegetable soup and thick slices of brown bread. After the meal, Nikita insisted on washing up, even though Walter said it wasn't necessary.
"I'm off to handbell choir practice now," she said in parting.
Walter watched her leave and reflected on how quiet she'd been during lunch, not her usual bubbly self. Maybe she's just tired from too much studying.
After his meeting with Inspector Vartan, Michel went back to his room and started grading the exams. Even as he tried to concentrate, he found his mind returning to Nikita's passionate outburst. The only thing that surprised him was that she had not slapped him. He would not have blamed her if she had.
Of course, it looked like he was making a mockery of their relationship. How could she not think that after seeing him with Quinn? It was just a cruel twist of fate that placed her in the same street at the same time as the mission has getting underway.
Michel got up and went over to the window. He rubbed the back of his neck wearily and closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them, he saw Nikita coming through the belt of trees at the edge of the front lawn. Most likely she had been down to Walter's place.
It was then that an idea occurred to Michel – he would take Walter into his confidence and maybe, just maybe, the older man would be able to influence Nikita. She trusted him, so it was at least worth a try.
At the moment, it was Michel's best, and only, hope.
Jurgen was signing some last minute letters in his London office. When he finished, he would stop by his solicitor's office and pick up the rather sizable cheque that his mother would present to her alma mater, The Sanibelle School, during the upcoming Founder's Day Weekend.
He would take dinner at his club and hob-nob with his cronies for a few hours before going home to pack. Then early the following morning he would leave from Victoria Station.
He would have to endure a few days with all his female relatives, going to numerous luncheons and teas, and being asked repeatedly when he was going to settle down.
"A successful businessman in your position should have no trouble finding a suitable wife," his mother would say, just as she did every time he visited. "You must meet many nice young ladies up in London."
In fact, he had met a nice young lady in London recently – tall, blonde, and virginal. His groin tightened at that pleasant memory. She had promised him a dance at the Founder's Day Ball. Perhaps there would be some secluded place where they could get better acquainted.
Michel sat down at his desk and graded the remainder of the finals. He pulled out his watch and saw that it was almost the dinner hour, but he was not hungry. He knew what he had to do.
He went to the office to turn in the final grades and then headed toward Walter's cottage. There was no telling how he might react.
Walter greeted him warmly. "Come for a re-match, have you?" he joked, thinking of their chess rivalry.
"No. I have something very important to discuss with you," said Michel. "And it involves Ni-ki-ta."
Walter could see that Michel was in a serious mood tonight. "Okay, you've got my attention."
For the next half hour Walter was spellbound as Michel told his story – how he was recruited, The Big Man, the mission, Fanning. The only part he omitted was the fact that he and Nikita shared a room at the inn that fateful night. Their private bliss was not to be a matter for public speculation.
Walter shook his head in amazement. "This is almost too much for an old guy like me to take in. But one thing I had figured out was that there was something between the two of you."
Both men were quiet for a moment. Then Michel spoke. "It's because I love her that I'm asking for your help. Can I count on you, Walter?"
Walter nodded. "Absolutely. Whatever you need me to do." He stopped and looked pointedly at the younger man. "But have you said those words to her?"
PART 72
Walter's simple question hung in the air, awaiting an answer. Michel tensed and seemed to be weighing his options. "Not exactly," he replied in a low voice.
A frown crossed Walter's face. "Not exactly? What the hell does that mean? Either you did or you didn't tell her how you feel."
The clock on the mantle slowly ticked away the minutes. Tonight, its sound seemed louder than usual. Walter had the uneasy feeling that Michel was holding back something. His eyes narrowed.
"I don't like the idea of Sugar being in the middle of your spy business, or whatever you want to call it. Are you sure you've told me everything?"
Michel met his gaze calmly. He saw the love and concern that the older man had for Nikita, thinking of her as his own daughter.
"You're right, Walter. There is more, but you may not want to hear this."
"Good God, man! What were you thinking?" Walter slammed his fist down on the table, incensed by what he heard. This dramatic gesture startled even Blackie, who darted into the greenhouse. "You're her teacher, for crying out loud!"
"I see now that it was a mistake," said Michel humbly. "But I wasn't exactly thinking at that point."
"Mistake? It'll be more than that if her family gets wind of it. You've already compromised her, so you'd better be talking to Father Elliot about doing the right thing by her. That is, if you're the gentleman you pretend to be."
Walter got up and paced around the small kitchen. "Good Lord, I need a drink!" He yanked opened a cupboard, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and took a large gulp. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
Preparing to take his leave, Michel said, "Believe me, Walter, I would like nothing better than to marry Ni-ki-ta and return to France to lead a quiet, unassuming life. I never imagined the situation would get so . . . complicated. But I've given my word; I must see this through to the end."
"Bah!" Walter waved him off, too upset to say more.
Michel paused with his hand on the latch. "I will do the right thing," he said firmly. "But it may take some time."
"The right thing for Nikita, or for your unseen masters in London?" Walter asked the empty room after Michel had departed. He remained at the small kitchen table and took another swig of whiskey.
After a few minutes, Walter had calmed down. He looked at the bottle and pushed it aside. He only kept it for "medicinal purposes," and surely this qualified as one. Michel's revelation had certainly been a "shock" to his old system.
The cat wandered back in and jumped up into the empty chair beside Walter. Addressing the feline he said, "Well, what's done is done, eh, Blackie?" Now that he thought about it, he decided that this encounter would have happened sooner or later. It was just nature's way when two young people were attracted to each other.
After all, hadn't he and Belinda fooled around in her Daddy's barn before they were married? Of course, that seemed like a lifetime ago and they were just simple country folks. It was a bit different with Nikita and Michel. Nikita was from a prominent family and prominent families sent their daughters to The Sanibelle School for a top-notch education, not to have their heads turned by charming and virile French teachers.
Maybe Miss G should hire only female teachers from now on, mused Walter.
The next morning Sammy ran into the greenhouse, all out of breath. Walter was loading potted flowers and ferns onto a cart to take up to the main building. They would be used to decorate the refectory for the Ball.
"Miss Glanzman's run out of red ribbon! We have to go into the village for more," cried Sammy. "And some of the students are bored and want to go to the tearoom."
Walter sighed. "Well, I can't leave now so you hitch up the wagon and take them. Mind you don't drive old Flossie too hard."
Sammy purchased the last bolt of red ribbon from the local dry goods store and chatted with the owner's son while the Brazilian Babes, Nikita, and Carla had tea. It was Bel's idea to come into the village for a while and tea proved to be a boisterous affair as the girls discussed the upcoming Ball.
"I shall dance all night!" declared Isabelita dreamily.
"Do you think there will be enough eligible boys who can actually dance?" wondered Fern.
"Is Miss Glanzman's fiancé going to be there? He's rather good-looking. Maybe he has a brother," said Lorena.
"Well, there's always Mr. Samuelle," said Gadenia. "I'll bet he's a good dancer and he's certainly nice to look at!" A chorus of high-pitched giggles erupted at these last remarks. Other patrons in the tearoom turned to glare at the girls.
I think I'll stay in my room with the door locked, thought Nikita grimly. If they only knew what a deceitful man he is.
As the girls left the tearoom, Nikita noticed a man coming out of another shop who looked vaguely familiar. He noticed her at the same time and then she remembered.
He strolled toward her. "Good afternoon, Nikita. I must say, this is a pleasant surprise!" As in London that night, Nikita could feel his beady eyes sizing her up. He smiled and gave a little bow, but there was something cold and mocking about him.
"Hello, Jurgen." She knew her friends were bursting with questions about this mysterious man. Introductions were made and Nikita explained, "Jurgen is a friend of my aunt and uncle's. We all had dinner together when I was in London recently." She did not mention, however, that Mr. Samuelle had been present, too.
After a few minutes of polite small talk, Isabelita said, "Nikita, we'll go and find Sammy now and you can catch up with us. Good day, Jurgen."
"I hope you haven't forgotten about our dance," said Jurgen after the others left.
"Oh no, I would never do that," Nikita said in an effort to be gracious.
"Splendid! I think we could become very good friends, Nikita, given enough time," said Jurgen. "Maybe even more than friends." He picked up her hand and touched his lips to it.
Nikita was dumbfounded. "I must go. My friends are waiting," she said breathlessly. She had to resist the urge to wipe her hand on her coat.
"Very well. I will see you tomorrow night," said Jurgen.
A reckless thought occurred to Nikita as she hurried away: Not if I run off and join a band of gypsies first.
The Big Man was about to leave his office for the day when Fisher, his personal assistant, literally came running in with an urgent telegram. His face contorted in anger as he read:
Fanning escaped from Newgate Prison one hour ago. Metropolitan Police has begun search of immediate area. Scotland Yard has been alerted.
"How in Heaven's name did this happen? Can someone just tell me that?" he bellowed, the colour rising in his face. "And where is Inspector Vartan? I need him and his team here, on the double!"
PART 73
In London's East End there were many dingy boarding houses. Madeline scouted out one at the end of a short refuse-strewn alley and she and Fanning slipped in under cover of darkness. People came and went in these places without a lot of questions being asked. As long as you paid your money, nobody really cared who you were or what you did.
Fanning was propped up on the bed with a pillow behind his head and a cigar hanging from his lips. He didn't seem the least bit concerned that half the Metropolitan Police was out looking for him.
Madeline wrinkled her nose at the cigar's pungent smell and impatiently crossed over to the tiny window and raised it. Unfortunately, that did not improve matters much as she was greeted by the stench of rotting garbage from the dustbins behind the building.
Somewhere along the corridor a baby was crying and the raucous voices of a man and woman were raised in argument. A door slammed a few moments later and Madeline noticed a drunken man stumbling through the alley, upsetting one of the dustbins as he went along. She turned back to Fanning.
"Once we get to Boston, we can fence the rest of the jewels. I have a contact there who can help us."
Fanning gave no indication that he had even heard her. He leaned back and leisurely blew smoke rings toward the ceiling.
"There's a ship sailing first thing tomorrow from pier 19," said Madeline with a bit of irritation.
Finally, Fanning looked at her. "Not so fast, Maddy girl. I have some unfinished business to take care of on this side of the pond first."
"What sort of unfinished business?" Madeline demanded, her hands on her hips.
Fanning laughed in a most sinister manner. "I'm going to teach that Samuelle a proper lesson!"
Madeline's patience was at an end. "Forget him. We don't have time for your lesson. The longer we wait, the greater the chance of Scotland Yard finding us." She paused and pursed her lips. "Or perhaps you enjoyed your stay at Newgate so much that you would like to return there."
A dark look came over Fanning's countenance at the mention of the prison. He swung his legs off the creaky bed and stubbed out the cigar. "I'm telling you, Maddy, I'm not leaving until that Frenchie gets a dose of his own medicine."
He stood up and grabbed his coat from the hook on the back of the door. "I need a drink. Don't wait up for me," he snarled as he went out the door.
"Bloody fool," Madeline hissed under her breath. "Just see how far you get without me!"
Lionel would never admit it, but he had dozed off in front of his fireplace after supper. The evening papers cascaded to the floor as his head slumped forward on his chest. He probably would have remained there for some time had there not come a sudden rapping sound.
"What the . . .?" He awoke with a start and went to the door. Opening it he recognized one of the young boys that Scotland Yard often utilized as messengers.
"Come quick, Mr. Lionel! Somebody escaped and The Big Man needs you down at the Yard!" cried the boy excitedly.
"Escaped, did you say? Limme get my coat," said Lionel, fumbling in the small closet.
"Hurry up!" urged the boy. "We hafta get Miss Leona, too!"
"Let's go then," said Lionel and tossed the boy a coin.
The team members were shocked and dismayed when The Big Man informed them of Fanning's escape. "After all our hard work," said Leona, shaking her head slowly. The others echoed her sentiment.
"Yes, it is most unfortunate, but we must press ahead," said The Big Man with barely controlled fury. He paused to fling off his jacket and roll up his sleeves. "Also, some more facts have come to light in the last twenty-four hours. An informant told us about a businessman named Jurgen who sometimes acts as a money launderer for the Mayfair Mob."
"Well, where is this guy? Let's bring him in for questioning," said Lionel impatiently.
"We have to find him first, Lionel," The Big Man replied. "He was last seen boarding a southbound train at Victoria Station."
The day of the Ball had arrived at last. On the previous day, alumnae, patrons, and guests had converged on The Sanibelle School where they wined, dined, renewed friendships, and toured the facilities. Entertainment included performances by the drama group and the choirs. Carla was one of the soloists and received a standing ovation.
However, only in the middle of the handbell choir's concert did Michel slip into a back row seat. He was joined a minute later by Inspector Vartan. Both wore grim expressions and left before the end of the final piece. Nikita wanted to glare at him, but of course she had to pay attention to her music.
Headmaster Wolfe was having an extremely good weekend. He was tinkled pink by the generous donations that had poured in from the alumnae. The largest was presented by a man named Jurgen. When he told Miss Glanzman, she took the news with a grain of salt. Especially in light of what Inspector Vartan had told her.
It was now only a couple of hours until the Ball got under way. Carla was down the hall consulting with Isabelita about how she should wear her hair. When she returned to the room, she found Nikita lying on her bed on her stomach reading a cheap, trashy novel, the kind Miss Glanzman would surely confiscate should she come upon it.
"What are you doing?" she shrieked. "Why aren't you getting ready?"
"I'm reading. What does it look like I'm doing?" Nikita answered flippantly. "I'm not going to the Ball."
Carla went to the wardrobe and pulled out Nikita's gown. "Don't be so pig-headed. Just because you're mad at Michel doesn't mean you can't go and enjoy yourself tonight!" she exclaimed. "He's not the only man on the planet."
There was a knock at the door. It was the housemother with a white box for Nikita. "Just arrived a few minutes ago," she explained.
"Well, open it!" Carla urged her. When Nikita did, she discovered a beautiful corsage. "It must be from Michel. I'm sure he's trying to apologize," said Carla triumphantly.
But when the card fell out, there was only one word scrawled on it.
Jurgen.
Carla frowned as Nikita fingered the small card. "You're right, Carla. There are other men out there besides Michel Samuelle."
PART 74
"That's the spirit!" said Carla. "Now let's get you into this lovely gown!"
A panicky Bel suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Do either of you have a needle and some thread I can borrow? I just ripped part of my hem! Lorena thought she had some, but couldn't find it."
"I may have some that color," answered Carla. "Let me check."
Bel noticed the novel lying on Nikita's bed. "You're reading that?" she asked. "Lorena said there are some, uh, interesting paragraphs on page 53!" She giggled self-consciously and put her hands over her mouth. "If you know what I mean!"
"Really? I'll be sure to look out for those," said Nikita. She neglected to say that she was already well past that rather lame description of a love scene between the main characters. Sadly, it lacked the passion and fire of her own recent experience. But the memory of that night was now tainted in light of Michel's subsequent behaviour.
"Here you go." Carla thrust a spool of thread into Bel's hand. To Nikita she said, "You better hurry. Seymour and Jason will be here any minute!"
In fact, the twins were entering the building at that very moment to escort Carla and Nikita to the Ball. The housemother eyed them suspiciously as they waited in the parlour. Jason smiled and tried to engage her in conversation, but she merely grunted and directed her attention to her knitting.
He poked his brother in the ribs and whispered, "She must be worried about us nicking that hideous flower vase in the corner!"
Seymour, being the more serious one, answered, "Will you shut up? We don't want to get tossed out of here." He pointed to the stairs. "Look, there they are!"
"I'd forgotten how well you two clean up!" joked Nikita as she and Carla descended the stairs. She had recovered some of her good humour as she greeted her cousins.
Jason puffed out his chest. "Why, thank you, Nikita. We do look pretty swell, don't we, brother?"
Seymour rolled his eyes. "You cannot take him anywhere."
The school's dining hall, now transformed into a festive ballroom, was beginning to fill up with chattering, well-dressed people. Miss Glanzman, in a stunning charcoal-grey gown, was pleased as she surveyed the scene. So far, the Founder's Day activities had been a success and she hoped that nothing would mar the Ball tonight. She was a little concerned after hearing the shocking allegations about David Fanning and Jurgen. But Inspector Vartan assured her that the situation was under control.
He's just saying that to make me feel better. She smiled and circulated among the tables, greeting patrons and alumnae and encouraging them to get up and dance.
"Could I borrow that nice young man of yours for a waltz?" asked one former student with a twinkle in her eye. The woman had snow-white hair and was at least eighty years old.
"If you can find him you certainly can!" laughed Miss Glanzman. She was beginning to wonder herself what was keeping him.
On the terrace outside the ballroom, Michel and Inspector Vartan were deep in conversation.
"From Jurgen's household staff we learned that he is expected here tonight with his mother and aunt," said the Inspector.
"So, it's reasonable to think that Fanning will try to contact him quickly," Michel said.
"Exactly. Then there's that woman who was with him at Wellman's party. We still aren't sure who she is or how she fits into the picture."
Their hushed conversation continued for several more minutes. Finally, he said, "We should go in." He glanced toward the French doors leading into the ballroom. "Christina will have my head if I don't appear soon." Through the uncurtained doors they could see many waltzing couples and hear their muted laughter.
Michel saw Nikita standing along one side with a group of her friends. She was breathtakingly beautiful in her burgundy taffeta gown and single strand of pearls. While several of the girls wore their hair up in elaborate twists, Nikita's fell simply over her shoulders and down her back. Michel preferred it that way. He also noticed the corsage tied to her left wrist. Hopefully, it was from her family and not someone else. He mentally berated himself for not remembering this ritual of polite society, but his thoughts had been on the disturbing telegram that Vartan had received.
Nikita's eyes darted over the room, scanning the various faces. One of her cousins, Michel wasn't sure of their names, offered her a cup of punch and she thanked him and resumed her perusal of the room.
Looking for someone? Michel thought with amusement. He longed to take her in his arms and whisk her onto the dance floor like Vartan had just done with Miss Glanzman. She smiled up at her fiancé and laughed at something he said.
Just as Michel stepped through the door, intent on going straight to Nikita, Walter clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Michel, could I have a word with you?"
"Of course."
Walter looked around nervously to be sure there were no students or teachers near enough to overhear them.
"I may have been a bit harsh the other night when you told me about all this mission stuff and that, uh, other incident. It's just that I'm concerned for Nikita and don't want to see her get hurt. You're not the only one who loves her, you know."
"I understand, Walter. I'm glad she has you looking out for her."
Walter sighed with relief. "As long as we're both on the same page." He stared hard at Michel for a moment, then added, "You're a good man, Michel."
Walter moved off, calling to Sammy to check on something. Michel searched for Nikita and saw her talking to a distinguished-looking older couple. She hugged each one in turn as they went to join the buffet line. Surely this was her aunt and uncle.
Once more, Michel was interrupted before he could get to Nikita. Two students from his Elementary French class, who liked to flirt and stir up trouble, approached him.
"Good evening, Mr. Samuelle."
"Ladies," he nodded in acknowledgement. His eyes quickly flicked from one to the other of them, noting their excessive displays of cleavage and liberal use of cosmetics.
"Karyn said my dress was tacky, too obvious. What do you think?" asked Paulina coyly.
Struggling to suppress the urge to smirk, Michel said flatly, "Karyn was right."
He left them standing there and staring after him. Finally, one turned and exclaimed, "Well, I never! Was he just incredibly rude to us?"
Fanning returned to the cheap boarding house several hours later. He'd had a few pints to be sure, but not so much that his judgment was totally impaired.
Whenever he saw a constable making his rounds, he had stayed in the shadows or ducked into a doorway.
But now as he started up to his room, the steps seemed to be swaying and his head was beginning to throb. He reached for the banister to steady himself, but only grabbed air. He stumbled and wound up on his bum at the foot of the stairs.
This is as good a place as any to sleep, he decided as he rubbed his aching forehead. It'll serve Maddy right to sleep alone tonight! He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
Unknown to Fanning, Madeline had left shortly after he went out for a drink. She decided to cut her losses and get the hell out of England. Apparently, Fanning had forgotten that she was holding most of the money and all of the stolen jewels.
She smiled to herself as she made her way down to the docks. In a few hours it would be daybreak and she would get on the ship bound for Boston. Once in America, she would change her appearance, change her name and start a whole new life in the New World.
PART 75 – The Ball - Nikita's Point of View
Nikita smiled as she and Carla descended the stairs to the parlour. Sitting on the somewhat faded divan were her cousins, Seymour and Jason. They appeared to be having a small argument, but quickly straightened up as the girls approached.
After a bit of small talk, the four of them proceeded across the lawn to the ballroom.
"Jason, I wanted to thank you for being my escort tonight," said Nikita as she patted his arm. They were about to enter the ballroom and could hear the musicians warming up.
"One dance, then you're on your own, Nik," declared Jason. "After that, I must make myself available to the fine ladies of Sanibelle!"
Seymour looked at his brother doubtfully. "I see you're as diplomatic as ever. What makes you think any Sanibelle girl would even look twice at you?"
Undeterred, Jason replied, "I have a great personality and I am a fabulous dancer!" The girls looked at each other and burst out laughing.
True to his word, Jason first danced with Nikita, then left her to work his way through the ranks of her classmates. He was literally all over the dance floor, making up in enthusiasm whatever he lacked in skill. However, no one was complaining. The Brazilian Babes all pronounced him an excellent partner.
While Carla and Seymour continued dancing, Nikita stood on the side. The room was beginning to fill up and she looked around eagerly for her aunt and uncle. And Michel.
One minute she thought, I hope he doesn't show his face here tonight. The next minute it was, Why isn't he here yet?
She saw Miss Glanzman moving among the tables, chatting and laughing with the guests. Nikita remembered that her fiancé was coming tonight and indeed at that moment the French doors leading to the terrace opened and in came Inspector Vartan . . . and Michel.
Nikita gasped and quickly spun around. Did he notice me? Will he like my gown? Then it occurred to her that it really didn't matter what colour or design her evening gown was because he had already seen her with no clothes on!
Jason suddenly appeared and offered Nikita a cup of punch. He quickly gulped his down and set the cup aside. "Smashing party! I'm off to rejoin the fray!" he said gaily. Nikita watched with amusement as he asked Miss Roddy to dance and she accepted graciously.
Nikita hazarded a quick peek across the room and found Michel talking to Walter. But before she could speculate about the nature of their conversation, Uncle George and Aunt Adrian greeted her.
"My dear, that gown is absolutely perfect for you! I knew that colour would suit you," gushed Adrian. "Don't you agree, George?"
"What's that? Oh yes, nice dress. Nikita, you'll be pleased to know that your father will be home in a couple of days. I received a telegram just this morning."
"Really? Papa's coming home for Christmas? That is wonderful news!" she cried as she hugged first George, then Adrian.
George was eyeing the buffet line now. "I say, something smells good over there. Your aunt was rushing me so to get ready that I completely missed my tea this afternoon."
Adrian sighed. "Honestly, George, not everything revolves around food."
The next time Nikita spotted Michel, she was quite annoyed. He was talking to Karyn and Paulina from the Elementary French class. Those two were known troublemakers and gossips who tried to get by on their looks rather than their brains.
A strong feeling of jealousy rose up within her. Those impertinent twits! Why is he wasting time with them?
As Nikita fumed inwardly, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and came face to face with Jurgen.
"Good evening, Nikita," he said with a slight bow.
The fact that he materialized at that particular moment both pleased and irritated her. How would Michel react when he saw them together? "Hello, Jurgen. How nice to see you again." She smiled and gave him her full attention.
"I must say that you're looking quite exquisite this evening, but then I have never known you to be otherwise." He was positively oozing charm and civility, but somehow the words rang hollow. Michel might not be so effusive with the compliments, but the way he looked at her told her everything.
"Thank you." Remembering the corsage she hastened to add, "And thank you for this lovely corsage."
"It was my pleasure," he assured her. "May I have this dance?"
The orchestra had returned from a short break and was about to get started again. "By all means," she answered with a shrug. Michel apparently has no interest in talking to me, much less in dancing with me. I was stupid to ever get involved with him.
As they swung out onto the dance floor, she saw him talking to Inspector Vartan and some unknown woman. Something about the little scene bothered her, but Jurgen was now saying something about his mother and aunt so she had to focus on him.
"I'm sorry, did you say that they are here tonight?"
"Yes, and I would like for you to meet them," said Jurgen. When the dance was over, he escorted her to the table where they were reminiscing with their friends about the "good old days" at Sanibelle.
Suddenly, Carla was at her side. "Would you excuse us? We need to powder our noses," she said as she pulled Nikita away.
"Powder our noses? What's going on?" asked Nikita.
"Did you see?" gasped Carla. "That woman is here!"
"There are a lot of women here tonight. Could you be a little more specific?" asked Nikita. She was completely baffled by Carla's behaviour.
"The night we went to the ballet, the woman with Michel! He's dancing with her now!" she whispered frantically.
Nikita felt her heart plummet as she gazed across the room. "He hasn't even danced a single time with me tonight," she said flatly.
"Why don't you go cut in?" asked Carla with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Nikita was horrified. "I could never do that! It isn't proper!"
"If the men can do it, I don't see why we can't, too!" Carla's rebellious streak was flaring up.
The Ball - Michel's Point of View
Having dispensed with the irksome Karyn and Paulina, Michel was once again trying to get to Nikita. He cursed under his breath when he saw Jurgen walk up and start a conversation with her. Before he knew it, they were out on the dance floor, seemingly enjoying themselves.
"Hello, Michel. Do you remember me?" a woman asked softly.
Turning, he saw Kate Quinn in a modest black gown. "Of course. How are you, Quinn? How could I forget the person who may have cost me the love of my life?
"Fine, thank you. The Big Man sent me. He said the Inspector might need extra help in this situation."
"That's right," said Vartan, who now joined them. The three of them held a hushed meeting at the edge of the dance floor.
Out of his peripheral vision Michel could see Nikita each time she swept past in Jurgen's arms. He even imagined that he could smell her perfume with each circuit they made. He was getting angrier by the minute and silently vowed to dance with her next, come hell or high water.
Alas, he was thwarted again. "You two take a spin out there," urged Vartan. "That way we won't attract attention just standing here."
"Only one dance, then there's someone I must speak to," said Michel emphatically. He glanced over Quinn's shoulder as he spoke.
"Yes, the blonde. I saw her that night, too," said Quinn. "She almost had a heart attack when she saw us together."
Michel looked at Quinn sharply, but saw only understanding in her eyes. "You are in love with her, aren't you? I loved someone once, but he died," she said quietly.
"I'm sorry," Michel whispered.
"It was a long time ago," Quinn said, drawing herself up. "And now we have a mission to complete. Go to her!"
The dance ended and there was polite applause. Where is she? And where is that devil Jurgen? She had better not be with him. Michel looked around anxiously for the room was very crowded. Then he spotted Carla and Nikita returning from the direction of the ladies' powder room.
No one is going to keep me from her now. Michel strode purposefully toward Nikita and took her arm. She flinched at his touch and tried to pull away.
"Ni-ki-ta, I want you . . . to dance with me," he commanded in that no-nonsense tone.
Nikita was a bit flustered. "But I promised Jurgen the next dance, not that it's any of your business." Michel stood his ground. "The hell with Jurgen. You've danced enough with him," he said as he pulled her toward the center of the floor.