this very moment, I thought Nina was right. I was in love with a man I hardly knew. The aspects of the long-distance romance that made it so exciting and titillating were also the very things that made it impossible to get inside each other’s daily life and routine.
I looked at my watch. It was two-thirty on a Sunday afternoon, and eight-thirty in the morning at home. I felt a tinge of regret about agreeing to stay off my BlackBerry during this trip. Mike and Mercer came from backgrounds as different from mine as one could imagine, but we had the same respect for the criminal justice system and the same value for the dignity of human life. Both of them had helped train me—every bit as much as the lawyers from whom I’d learned—in the art of investigating cases, in the search for the truth that characterized the way a great prosecutor’s office worked. Mike’s call—and Luc’s response—had unsettled me.
I rolled on my side away from Luc and covered my shoulders with a yellow-and-white-striped beach towel. I wondered whether Lisette’s body had been removed from the edge of the pond yet, and if there were any forensic experts in this area who would assist in the death investigation.
The anxiety gnawed at me until I pushed this morning’s images out of my mind, and I fell asleep again. I didn’t awaken until Luc kissed me on the top of my head.
“It’s almost four o’clock. Another swim and we go?”
I stretched my arms up in the air to reach Luc’s face. “It’s warmer in the pool. At the speed you drive that thing, I’ll form icicles on the way up to Mougins if I get wet here.”
“Off we go, then. I’ve got all those hungry mouths to feed.”
The sun was already dropping lower in the sky as I pulled on my sweater and slacks and gathered my belongings. “Do you have a lot of reservations for tonight?”
“Completely full. And you know how happy that makes me. There’s a private party in the back of the main room,” Luc said. He had created one of the most beautiful dining spaces in France, which complemented the exquisite food and premium service. “We’ll turn each of the tables in front over twice. And you and I are dining in
le zinc
.”
“Perfect.”
Le zinc
was the bar attached to the restaurant. The elegance of the dining room with its crisp white linens, shining Christofle silver, crystal wineglasses, and the soft spring green of the painted trim was a sharp contrast to the turn-of-the-century feel in the much cozier adjacent room. It was intimate in the most casual way, a long wooden counter that Andre Rouget had rescued from a Parisian bistro and transported to the restaurant, across from a row of tables that sat beneath nineteenth-century posters warning of the dangers of
l’absinthe
or glamorizing the nightclubs and brothels of the day.
The maître d’ appeared in our path as we headed for the staircase. There was rarely a bill for Luc when we dined at a friend’srestaurant. Professional courtesy would come in the way of payback for the owner and management of L’Ondine when they wanted an evening in the country. Luc folded a tip into his extended hand and we thanked the maître d’ for the delicious afternoon.
“We’re not alone tonight, did I tell you that?” he said, as we climbed the steps back up to La Croisette.
“You mean, apart from Captain Belgarde?”
“That will put a damper on the evening,” he said, catching up to me at the top and taking my hand as we crossed the broad boulevard. “Yes, one of the guys who’s going to supply the wines for New York is visiting here. I had no choice but to invite him to join us.”
“That should be lovely.”
“We have so few nights together that I hate to fill them with business.”
“For me it’s great fun. I get to learn so much about what you do. Do you like him?”
“He seems like a decent guy. And he certainly knows his business.”
We dodged the steady parade of cars and motorcycles and tiny Vespas
I looked at my watch. It was two-thirty on a Sunday afternoon, and eight-thirty in the morning at home. I felt a tinge of regret about agreeing to stay off my BlackBerry during this trip. Mike and Mercer came from backgrounds as different from mine as one could imagine, but we had the same respect for the criminal justice system and the same value for the dignity of human life. Both of them had helped train me—every bit as much as the lawyers from whom I’d learned—in the art of investigating cases, in the search for the truth that characterized the way a great prosecutor’s office worked. Mike’s call—and Luc’s response—had unsettled me.
I rolled on my side away from Luc and covered my shoulders with a yellow-and-white-striped beach towel. I wondered whether Lisette’s body had been removed from the edge of the pond yet, and if there were any forensic experts in this area who would assist in the death investigation.
The anxiety gnawed at me until I pushed this morning’s images out of my mind, and I fell asleep again. I didn’t awaken until Luc kissed me on the top of my head.
“It’s almost four o’clock. Another swim and we go?”
I stretched my arms up in the air to reach Luc’s face. “It’s warmer in the pool. At the speed you drive that thing, I’ll form icicles on the way up to Mougins if I get wet here.”
“Off we go, then. I’ve got all those hungry mouths to feed.”
The sun was already dropping lower in the sky as I pulled on my sweater and slacks and gathered my belongings. “Do you have a lot of reservations for tonight?”
“Completely full. And you know how happy that makes me. There’s a private party in the back of the main room,” Luc said. He had created one of the most beautiful dining spaces in France, which complemented the exquisite food and premium service. “We’ll turn each of the tables in front over twice. And you and I are dining in
le zinc
.”
“Perfect.”
Le zinc
was the bar attached to the restaurant. The elegance of the dining room with its crisp white linens, shining Christofle silver, crystal wineglasses, and the soft spring green of the painted trim was a sharp contrast to the turn-of-the-century feel in the much cozier adjacent room. It was intimate in the most casual way, a long wooden counter that Andre Rouget had rescued from a Parisian bistro and transported to the restaurant, across from a row of tables that sat beneath nineteenth-century posters warning of the dangers of
l’absinthe
or glamorizing the nightclubs and brothels of the day.
The maître d’ appeared in our path as we headed for the staircase. There was rarely a bill for Luc when we dined at a friend’srestaurant. Professional courtesy would come in the way of payback for the owner and management of L’Ondine when they wanted an evening in the country. Luc folded a tip into his extended hand and we thanked the maître d’ for the delicious afternoon.
“We’re not alone tonight, did I tell you that?” he said, as we climbed the steps back up to La Croisette.
“You mean, apart from Captain Belgarde?”
“That will put a damper on the evening,” he said, catching up to me at the top and taking my hand as we crossed the broad boulevard. “Yes, one of the guys who’s going to supply the wines for New York is visiting here. I had no choice but to invite him to join us.”
“That should be lovely.”
“We have so few nights together that I hate to fill them with business.”
“For me it’s great fun. I get to learn so much about what you do. Do you like him?”
“He seems like a decent guy. And he certainly knows his business.”
We dodged the steady parade of cars and motorcycles and tiny Vespas
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