Chapter Fourteen
As Christine took her seat at the table again, Inspector Giry praised her effusively.
"My dear lady, your voice is exquisite! If you are staying here in Casablanca for a time, you should speak with Monsieur Erik. He is known for his exceptional taste in music and in singers."
Christine jerked her head up to look at the Inspector.
"Monsieur Erik," she said in a calm, but low voice, "who is Monsieur Erik?"
"Why, he is the owner of La Belle Reve."
She set her champagne glass down carefully, afraid that the Inspector would see how her hand shook. To her relief, Raoul had turned away to speak with the waiter.
"Oh, I did not know that, Inspector."
"Ma cherie, it has been such a pleasure to meet you and a privilege to hear you sing. I do hope to see much more of you during your visit to Casablanca. But, if you will excuse me, I see that the rest of my own party has arrived. Good evening to you both."
Taking her hand and kissing it again, he left the table.
Christine did not dare breath for a moment. Could it be? Could this nightclub owner really be Erik...her Erik?
That explained why Sam Reyer was here...but not why he had lied to her...about Erik's death in Paris.
Why...why...what had really happened when she left him that nightmarish day.
Raoul's hand was light on her wrist.
"You sang so beautifully, dear. I didn't realize how lovely your voice is. You've never sung for me...not since we were children."
She could hear a touch of sad reproach in his voice. But she could not find the words to apologize or to explain.
She had not sung at all since Erik's death.
And now...was he really alive and here in Casablanca...in this very building?
She looked around the room, searching for some glimpse of a tall man with thick brown hair and blue-green eyes.
Near the door, she saw Inspector Giry greeting some newcomers...three men in uniform.
But she was barely aware of them, of Raoul's hand tightening around her wrist at the sight of the German officers.