38. Inducements
Madame Vincent leaned in more closely, and looked up at Bonnie through her lashes. "I want to say how very grateful I am. For all your modesty and self-doubt, you came through with flying colors. You may remember I had complete faith in you."
It was, apparently, Madame's night for speaking in riddles. Bonnie shook her head regretfully. "I don't know what you mean."
"Why, Dr. Baer's being here tonight, of course! He wouldn't have come but for you, I'm sure!"
"Well, that is where you're wrong," Bonnie told her, with a certain bitter satisfaction. "He turned my invitation down flat, just as I told you he would. If you owe anyone thanks, it's Isabelle Auteuil. She…" The word 'maneuvered' sprang to her lips, but she bit it back as catty. "… talked him into escorting her. You must have noticed them together. They've gotten very chummy over the last few days."
"Ah!" There was a wealth of surmise and speculation in that one, drawn-out syllable. Madame's bright gaze dimmed and turned inward, and, a moment later, she was nodding slowly and without pleasure. "They are up to their games again, those two," she said, as if to herself. "At their age, one would think… Bah!" She shook her head impatiently, and, raising her eyes once again to Bonnie's, smiled wryly. "How does the saying go? 'There is no fool like an old fool.' " She allowed herself a small sigh, and then, without preamble, returned to her previous argument. "Dr. Baer may have claimed he changed his mind to accommodate Isabelle, but, if so, that was simply a convenient excuse. How else can one explain the way his eyes follow you about the room? No, no, you may believe me: he is here on your account, not Isabelle's."
Far from trusting the older woman, Bonnie was strongly inclined to think her delusional. "If Bear is looking in my direction," she countered, trying to imbue the words with the full force of her skepticism, "he is doubtless keeping a wary eye on Sébastien. Isabelle has filled his head with the farcical notion that Sébastien is a modern-day Lothario, looking to lure unsuspecting women into his evil clutches."
Bonnie had thought to spark a laugh out of her hostess with this melodramatic spin, but surprisingly, Madame was not entertained. "I do not say Isabelle is completely reliable, but neither is there smoke without some fire, Bonnie. I have known Sébastien for more years than I care to count, and I can testify that he has not always behaved in exemplary fashion where women are concerned. He is not malicious — never that! — but he is not as careful of others as he might be, and that has led, many times, to unfortunate misunderstandings. You would do well to keep him at arm's length. Unless, of course…?" Madame lifted a brow in delicate inquiry.
Bonnie could, at first, only gape incredulously. Then, "Certainly not!"
Madame shrugged philosophically. "One never knows. Some women positively dote on older men. Take myself, for example. My husbands have both been senior to me by many years."
"Your husbands?" Bonnie repeated, not quite trusting her ears. "You were married before?"
She nodded briefly. "Once upon a time, when I was much too young. Ah!" she said, turning with some relief, Bonnie thought, to greet the approaching Sébastien. "My gallant knight returns, and not a moment too soon! I swear I am as parched as the Gobi Desert." Reaching out, she accepted the glass he offered and, having toasted him with it, helped herself to a healthy sip. Sébastien kept her company, and Bonnie, to be sociable, swallowed a mouthful of her long-neglected wine, only to find it had gone both warm and flat.
Lowering her glass, Madame beamed at them in equal measure. "And now, my dears, I must cease indulging myself, and go back to mingling with my guests. But, before I run, Bonnie, I must absolutely have your promise that you will come to my little celebratory supper after the show. I have retained a private dining room at my hotel, nothing big, a table for ten friends only! No, no," she exclaimed, as Bonnie, a long day behind her, opened her mouth to make her excuses, "you must not refuse! You have already been quite generous in your praise, I know, but I find I am still wanting more, and in greater detail! Sébastien, you will persuade her, will you not? I put all my faith in you!" She flashed a last smile, and with a waggle of beringed fingers, moved off. "À bientôt!"
They watched her slink away and, when she had joined another cluster of visitors a small distance off, Sébastien fell to his task. "If you are anything like me, you will be starving. The amuse-bouches, while tasty, do no more than whet the appetite, don't you find?"
Bonnie, not having partaken of the canapés, had no opinion to offer, but, at the mention of nibbles, her empty stomach growled, amply confirming Sébastien's supposition. Ever courteous, he did not remark upon the sound, but continued, "It's excessively convenient for myself, of course, as well as for Henri and Isabelle. We would, doubtless, have dined at the hotel in any case, as we are all guests there, too, on the Marquise's recommendation. A top-notch establishment, with excellent cuisine."
She had only to remember her brunch with Madame Vincent to know this was true. "I'm familiar with the restaurant."
He inclined his head. "There is good food, then, and, if I may be so bold, good company to tempt you. Not to mention the opportunity to ask our hostess a few home questions. Even for me, with all my expertise, there remain a number of mysteries, not least of which is the 'connection' between little boy blue and the dolphin. There, I must admit, I am well and truly…" He leaned in, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "… at sea."
He was so pleased with his wordplay, Bonnie could not begrudge him an answering smile, even as she groaned inwardly. She could not deny, either, that she was every bit as curious about Dolphin's backstory as he was. "Do you think she'll answer?"
Sébastien shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. She can be elusive as a butterfly when it suits her. In any event, I will try my luck." He raised his glass, and drank deeply, signaling, in Bonnie's mind, that he had made his case and awaited results. She was weighing her fatigue against his arguments when she became aware of his watching her uncertainly. "There is one more inducement," he began uneasily, "but perhaps I shouldn't mention it…"
Bonnie suspected his reluctance was a ploy to stimulate her interest, but she decided to play along. "Oh, no, you don't! You've said too much to back out now. What is it?"
"I've hear back from Paris, from Armand. He's sent the photos of the Blanchard paintings."
She was so thrilled, she nearly dropped her glass again. "But, that's wonderful! Do you have them on your vid-screen? Can I see them?"
He frowned at her reprovingly. "Consider where you are! I hardly think it would be respectful to stand about Rosa Mundy's private view examining another artist's work." When she subsided, properly chastened, he went on, "Besides, there appears to be a problem. Armand reminds me that we have a non-disclosure agreement with the Lavallières: the photos were supplied for our use only, and are not to be shared with third parties without their express consent. By rights, I shouldn't show them to you until they've given their permission."
It frustrated Bonnie no end to think of the photos so tantalizingly close and yet beyond her reach. "It's not like I plan to use them for personal gain," she grumbled. "What harm can my having a look at them do?"
"None at all, which is why I am willing to let you have a peek without delay. Only, it must be done quietly, at a time and a place where you will not draw attention. Tomorrow will be entirely taken up with preparing for and attending the press conference, and Saturday, I will be at Doyle's all day, followed by an early evening flight back to Paris. If you are to see them, it had better be tonight, and if you are already dining at the hotel, what could be more natural than for you to slip away to the ladies' room, say, for a few minutes alone with the photos? No one would be the wiser."
It was, as Sébastien had foreseen, a powerful inducement, but the clandestine aspect of the proceedings considerably lessened its appeal. "You couldn't just forward them to my vid-screen?" she asked in a small, hopeful voice. "I promise, word of honor, to delete them as soon as I've had a good look."
He shook his head regretfully. "I like you, Bonnie, and you are likely as trustworthy as you claim, but business is business, I'm afraid. And," he went on, his manner becoming suddenly brisk, "what is the hurry, after all? Once I return to Paris, I will petition the Lavallières to grant permission, and, if all goes well, in a week or two, you will have access to the photos, free and clear. That is the best way. Forget I mentioned it."
That, however, proved a difficult injunction for Bonnie to obey, rather on a par with being admonished not to scratch an unrelenting itch. As she and Sébastien took in the remaining canvases, the words if all goes well echoed ominously in the back of her mind, and she found herself increasingly chafed at the thought of being forced to wait so needlessly. She made a concerted effort to possess her soul in patience, but she was ultimately so little successful that when Sébastien, on the point of leaving the gallery, asked if she had decided to join them for dinner, she hesitated only a moment before saying yes.
At the hotel, they were ushered through the main dining area and into a tiny jewel of a room that, coincidentally enough, had been decorated in the elaborate French Rococo style. From the sumptuous brocade draperies framing the single window to the massive chandelier above the table and the intricately-carved white-and-gilt chairs around its edge, every element of the room evoked the elegance and opulent excess of that famously decadent era. They were, as it happened, among the last to arrive: Henri Perrin, taking host duties upon himself in Madame Vincent's absence, introduced Bonnie to their fellow guests, who included such notables as the French Cultural Attaché for D.C., the art critic for the Washington Post and Agnes Simon, a prominent local philanthropist and patroness of the arts. Having seen Bonnie comfortably installed at Perrin's side, Sébastien excused himself in order to 'freshen up' and was, as a result, not present when Isabelle glided into the room trailing a rather grim-looking Bear behind her. At the sight of him, Bonnie could not contain her surprise and delight, although it was clear from his expression that, for his part, he would rather be anywhere else.
Sébastien, spruced up and having exchanged his sharkskin suit for black formalwear, had only just returned when Madame Vincent made her triumphant entrance, the exultant owner of the Tremont Gallery at her side. She accepted her guests' prolonged applause and enthusiastic congratulations with becoming gratitude and grace, at last begging them to leave off and assume their seats before they all perished from hunger.
In the hurly-burly of settling down to dinner, Bonnie found herself seated between Sébastien and Henri, and not next to Bear, as she would have preferred. She was keen to learn his impressions of the show, but he and Isabelle were across the table from her, well out of conversational range. In any case, the discussion proved general at first, with, for the most part, each of the guests politely waiting his or her turn to contribute an opinion or ask a question. As the youngest and least-knowledgeable of the company, Bonnie volunteered very little, content to enjoy her meal and the brilliant give-and-take of ideas, observations and commentary that flowed around her.
The only person with less to say was Bear, and he confined himself to speaking only when directly addressed and then as briefly as possible. His replies were perfectly civil, but it was plain from his distant manner that he was holding himself aloof, as if he had no real interest in being among them. He kept his face rigidly turned away from Madame Vincent, and she, wisely, made no effort to coax him out of his bad humor, although she could not seem to help casting the occasional, wistful glance his way.
They had just had their entrées placed before them when Agnes Simon aired a complaint, albeit in a joking fashion. "Of all those exquisite paintings, wouldn't you know I had to go and choose as my favorite the only one she won't sell! Too cruel, Rosa!" Pressed for the title, Agnes admitted she'd set her heart on Dolphin.
Sébastien's voice rose above the hubbub of commiseration and agreement. "À propos, Rosa, I am intrigued, as are no doubt many others in the room, as to the 'connection' between yourself and the infant. The leaping sea creature, while charming, is not much of a clue. Who is he?"
Madame Vincent's smile held a trace of sadness. "A lovely boy I cared for when I was little more than teenager."
"So long ago as that!" Perrin teased, with the license of long friendship. "No wonder you cannot recall his name!"
"Ah, but Dolphin was his name, or at least what I used to call him. A play on his first and middle names, you see."
"And his last name?"
Before she could answer, a chair scraped noisily back from the table, and, Bear, having wiped his mouth with his napkin, rose to his feet and tossed it next to his loaded plate. With a muttered excuse, he strode from the room, leaving his fellow guests staring after him.
"What in the world got into him?" Henri Perrin said, speaking for all of them.
Madame Vincent shook her head. "I really can't say."