39. Machinations

Bonnie continued to look at the open doorway through which Bear had disappeared, her concern for him urging her to jump out of her chair and follow even as her sense of decorum kept her ruthlessly glued to her seat. Isabelle broke the awkward silence by throwing out a new topic, and, the company taking it up gratefully, conversation was soon restored, and with all the greater animation for having been interrupted. Under cover of the hubbub, Madame Vincent cast an appealing glance at Sébastien, and he responded without hesitation, excusing himself quietly from the table and slipping away. A short time later, he and Bear returned, Sébastien chatting nonchalantly with his companion as if their paths had simply crossed on their separate ways back. Bear resumed his seat with a quick apology, citing a 'temporary indisposition,' now safely past. Isabelle bent over him solicitously, but he assured her the 'fresh air' had worked wonders and with that, the incident was smoothed over and forgotten.

Resettled at Bonnie's side, Sébastien downed the contents of his wine glass, and poured himself a refill. He indicated the tête-à-tête across the table with a sharp tilt of his chin. "Touching, isn't it, the motherly care she lavishes on your colleague."

Bonnie could see nothing maternal in the curl of Isabelle's fingers over Bear's hand, and she deduced from the sneer in Sébastien's voice that he didn't, either. "You think she's too old for him."

"By a decade, at least! Oh, I grant you, she looks good for her age. She's as alluring today as she was in her thirties." He broke off abruptly, and paused a beat, his lips pressed into a thin line. "The point is," he continued, more evenly, "she's making a spectacle of herself, and all to no purpose. Baer has his sights set elsewhere, as who should know better than I? Whenever he looks at me, there are green daggers shooting from his eyes."

"For the last time, Sébastien," Bonnie said, in some exasperation, "there is nothing going on between me and Bear! He's taken a dislike to you, that's true enough, but it's because of your reputation as a Don Juan. He objects to you on moral grounds."

"That is, at best, a small part of it. No," he pronounced, with a definitive shake of his head, "he wishes me to the Devil on your account, and who can blame him? Isabelle has her charms, my dear, but they cannot rival yours."

The mutual absorption of the twosome across the table did little to support this view. "Again, I have to say you're way off base. For whatever reason, you seriously underestimate Isabelle's attractiveness. Did you know she was the one to cajole Bear into attending the show tonight? He refused even to consider it when I asked him."

He regarded her with a mix of incredulity and suspicion. "You invited him, and he turned you down?"

"Yes. So, what does that tell you?"

He had no immediate answer, and she left him to brood over the question as she finished her duck à l'orange. Seeing her at liberty, Henri Perrin engaged her in a very pleasant conversation which saw her agreeably through the clearing of the entrée dishes and well into the cheese course. It ended with Henri's expressing the flattering hope that they might meet again in the not-too-distant future. "I have seen for myself how valuable you are to the Coupe d'amour project, and have had, in addition, the most glowing reports from both Sébastien and Isabelle. Our hostess, as well, speaks very highly of you, and has given me to believe you are interested in applying for next year's Louvre Fellowship. Permit me to say I sincerely hope you will do so. You have precisely the qualities and background we look for in a candidate. No guarantees, of course, but, for what good it may do, you will have me firmly in your corner."

Bonnie was a bit overwhelmed by this speech. She had not expected a man of Perrin's stature to take any notice of her, let alone consider her with approval. "You are very kind, monsieur. Merci! Your good opinion means a great deal to me."

"We may consider it settled, then? You will send in your application?"

She assured him that she would, and he, taking advantage of the transition between courses, announced he would 'just stretch his legs a little' before dessert. Others in the company followed his lead, abandoning their seats to 'visit the powder room,' or 'see a man about a horse.' Looking about the half-deserted table, Bonnie realized that, with the evening drawing rapidly to a close, this was likely her best, and possibly last, chance to accept Sébastien's offer to lend her his vid-screen for a glimpse of the Lavallières photos. It would be unremarkable, as he'd predicted, for her to absent herself for ten minutes or so, but the window of opportunity was not large, and if she was going to act, she had to do so at once. Impulsively, she swiveled in his direction, and found him staring morosely into the depths of his empty goblet. "Sébastien," she began, tentatively, "about my borrowing your vid-screen to… you know…" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "…see the Blanchard paintings…"

A look of genuine chagrin crossed his face. "My dear, I am so sorry! I thought we had agreed you would wait for permission. As I didn't think I'd be needing it and the battery was running low, I left it in my room on its charger. Did I misunderstand you?"

Bonnie's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "No, it was my mistake. I thought I could resign myself to the delay, but that was wishful thinking. I've never been a particularly patient person."

He mirrored her regret, his eyes full of sympathy. "A thousand apologies! It is not in my DNA, you know, to let a lady down, and it grieves me unspeakably to have done so." He flourished his glass before setting it carefully on the table. "If I had indulged a bit less and were steadier on my feet, I would rush up to my room and remedy the situation, but I fear, once there, I would not be proof against the temptation of a soft pillow for my woozy head." He smiled in wry self-deprecation, only to perk up a moment later, his expression newly bright. "There's no reason, however, that you shouldn't go in my place." He reached into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket, and brought out his hotel key card. "Room 2704. If you hurry, you can be back before they bring out the crème brûlée."

Twenty-seven floors up and down, not to mention waiting for the elevator, locating the room, and collecting the vid-screen… Bonnie shook her head helplessly, and motioned the proffered card away. "Thanks for the suggestion, but, with all the coming-and-going, I'd only have time to return it to you here, and what would that accomplish? No," she said, on a sigh. "I messed up. The fault is mine."

Sébastien, however, would not admit the cause lost. "How about this? Don't bring the vid-screen down at all. Just access the photos in the room. If you're gone so long somebody notices, I'll cover for you."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" At his owlish stare, she continued, "Don't you lock your device?"

He tapped himself smartly on the forehead. "Of course! You'll need the passcode. Luckily, it's fairly easy to remember…"

"No!" Although he gave no visible signs of inebriation, Bonnie thought his judgment had to be seriously impaired to surrender a sensitive piece of information so casually. "Really, don't tell me! I appreciate your generosity, I do, but sharing your passcode is going above and beyond the call of gallantry. I can't allow it."

He fixed her with an earnest look. "You're sure? I don't mind, truly."

"I'm sure." She laid a hand over his where it rested on the table, and gave his fingers a grateful squeeze. "Thanks for the offer, though. You're a sweetheart."

"Not at all," he said, politely. His eyes strayed from hers, irresistibly drawn across the table where Isabelle was, to all appearances, holding Bear spellbound. His affable smile faded, and then soured, leaving his mouth a bitter twist. "Besides, haven't you heard? I'm a monster of selfishness, never kind without an ulterior motive, always scheming for personal gain. I'm an opportunist, a deceiver, a wolf in sheep's clothing. No woman is safe with me."

Sébastien did not need to crook his fingers for Bonnie to hear quotation marks. She could easily imagine an angry young Isabelle throwing those very words in his face, or they might have been reported back to him multiple times over the years; what was not in doubt was their source. "That's the story making the rounds."

He nodded grimly. "I expected as much, which is why I haven't suggested the easy and obvious expedient of your coming up to my room to see the photos after dinner. It's perfectly understandable, given my black character, that you would be leery of such an invitation, so I haven't, and won't, propose it. The shame of it is, I can upload the photos to the in-room flat-screen — I've done so with the pictures I took at Doyle's — and that would afford you much better resolution than the vid-screen provides. But, it's out of the question, of course, so there's an end to it."

The faintest tinkling sound preceded the appearance in the doorway of a well-stocked liquor trolley, its gleaming wood shelves studded with variously-sized bottles and stemmed glasses. As the attendant barman worked his way around the room, mixing up cocktails and pouring Cognac and sherry straight up, Sébastien compared and contrasted French digestifs for Bonnie's benefit, recommending at last green Chartreuse for its herbal properties. "It settles the stomach wonderfully," he said, ordering a glass for each of them.

The liqueur tasted strongly medicinal, and, after her first small sip, Bonnie only pretended to swallow the revolting stuff. Instead, over the rim of her glass, she watched Sébastien savor his drink in leisurely fashion, his posture relaxed, his manner composed. She had not heard much of his disquisition on French liqueurs, her mind busy turning over the invitation he had not dared to extend. Bear's warning was in her head as well, urging caution, but, try as she might, she could see nothing of the rake in the man lounging beside her. She remembered proclaiming him innocuous, if somewhat irritating, on short acquaintance, and nothing in his behavior since, and especially this evening, had called that assessment into question. He'd been a gentleman throughout, treating her with courtesy and a certain avuncular friendship, and had earned thereby, in her estimation, the benefit of the doubt. She determined to take a page out of her grandfather's playbook, and go with her gut. "Sébastien…" she said, setting her drink aside.

He gestured to the nearly-full glass. "You don't like it? I admit, it requires an educated palate."

"Hmm? Oh, no! It's… ah… lovely, thank you. Listen… I know you said inviting me to your room is off the table, but how would it be if I invited myself? I've heard the gossip, but, frankly, I don't believe it. I prefer to draw my conclusions about people from my personal dealings with them, and you strike me as a good guy."

Sébastien regarded her with something akin to wonder, a suspicion of moisture gathering in his eyes. "Do I, my dear? You mean it? Then, I must, with infinite regret, live up to your expectations, and refuse you. If I had a daughter your age, which, thankfully, I do not, I would advise her against going off alone with a man she hardly knows, however innocent the purpose." He smiled an apology, his eyes begging her to understand and forgive. And, then, as before, his face lit with inspiration, and he snapped his fingers. "A chaperone! That's the ticket! Madame Vincent has a room down the hall from mine. She can just step in for those few minutes…"

"Really, Sébastien, no! I wouldn't dream of inconveniencing her, particularly after the day she's had."

"Then, Isabelle. Her room is also nearby…" He shook his head. "No, she is far too curious, and unlikely to oblige me in any case. Dr. Baer?"

"Sébastien, stop!" Bonnie saw no need to involve a third party, and, even if she had, she would not turn to Bear, not after having roundly declared Sébastien harmless and herself capable of handling him. "I appreciate your looking out for me, but there's no need to complicate matters. I'm fine with its being just the two of us. And, anyway, you don't want it getting out you're showing me the photos, remember?"

He winced at the reminder, and put his empty cordial glass away from him, as if it were at fault. "Shouldn't've had that last one, I guess…" She made no comment, but only regarded him steadily, pressing for an answer with her eyes. He met and held her gaze uneasily, his expression troubled. "I should say no…"

"But you won't?"

He continued to waver. "You really want to see those photos tonight?"

"I do."

He studied her for another breathless moment, and then, with a sigh, relented. "All right. If you're sure. How do you want to go about it?"