you could have told me that over the phone. I’m not going to be distracted that easily. First things first. If you know something about Maxime, you need to tell me. If for no other reason than a friend wouldn’t sendanother friend into what might be the most important conversation of her life unarmed.”
“You’re right.” Pepper exhaled a long breath. Took a bite of the calamari. Madeline had never known her agent to be at a loss for words, as she seemed to be now.
“There’s never been anything specific,” she said finally. “I mean, not that I’ve heard, anyway, but you know how people talk.…”
“All too well.” Especially today.
“Well, the word is that he was a player all during his other marriages. And you know what they say about leopards changing their spots.”
“He’s French. He flirts.”
Even as she heard the excuse coming out of her mouth, she could hear Maxime’s voice. How many times had he used that very excuse during the early days of their relationship, when she’d been admittedly insecure about his familiarity with the women who flocked to his restaurant?
Unlike so many upscale restaurants in the city, Maxime’s had always been open during the noon hour.
“For all those ladies who lunch,” he’d claimed when he’d first come up with the idea. “They’re a valuable customer base too many chefs who refuse to lower themselves to serve food in the middle of the day are missing. Those rich socialites can’t all eat at Bergdorf Goodman or Barneys.”
At the time it had made sense. Now she wondered if he’d just been creating his own dating pool.
“Perhaps that’s all it was.” Pepper didn’t even try to keep the skepticism from her tone. “But he was certainly doing a great deal more than flirting in the video.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“Darling, everyone from Tulsa to Timbukutu has seen that video. Including, I suspect, Katrin Von Küenberg’s husband.”
Madeline recognized the name immediately.
Forbes
magazine had ranked her in the top twenty of the world’swealthiest women. A frivolous, global-party-trotting heiress in her younger years, after her father’s death, she’d returned to Austria and taken the reins of her family’s international fortune.
Among the Von Küenbergs’ many holdings were factories that had provided tents and uniforms (and, rumors suggested, chemicals and munitions) to the German army in World War II and a brewing empire that had earned her nickname of Beer Baroness.
Madeline not only knew
of
her, but she also knew her personally. Along with having been dinner guests at her Upper East Side penthouse, she and Maxime had also spent a rare vacation week at her sprawling lake house in Bavaria, and another week cruising the Mediterranean in a yacht larger than the Shelter Bay farmhouse where Madeline had spent so many of her formative years.
“What does Katrin have to do with the video?”
“You obviously weren’t looking all that closely.”
“There was a glare from the overhead lights in the store. It was hard to make out details.”
Which was only partly true. The fact was that her head had gone so light, she’d been afraid she might embarrass herself by fainting right there in store aisle. And, admittedly, practicing avoidance, she hadn’t looked at it again. And hoped she’d never have to.
Also, her attention had been so drawn to Maxime, she hadn’t paid any attention to whatever woman he was with. While suffering through that long plane flight, she’d decided it must be some Las Vegas call girl.
“You do know Katrin and her husband are involved in a nasty, take-no-prisoners divorce?”
“Of course. It’s been in all the papers.”
You couldn’t check out of a market without seeing the tabloid headlines screaming the latest, so-called update. They’d been to dinner just two months ago when Katrin had mentioned that her husband—an American novelist ofobscure, experimental literature—was causing her
“You’re right.” Pepper exhaled a long breath. Took a bite of the calamari. Madeline had never known her agent to be at a loss for words, as she seemed to be now.
“There’s never been anything specific,” she said finally. “I mean, not that I’ve heard, anyway, but you know how people talk.…”
“All too well.” Especially today.
“Well, the word is that he was a player all during his other marriages. And you know what they say about leopards changing their spots.”
“He’s French. He flirts.”
Even as she heard the excuse coming out of her mouth, she could hear Maxime’s voice. How many times had he used that very excuse during the early days of their relationship, when she’d been admittedly insecure about his familiarity with the women who flocked to his restaurant?
Unlike so many upscale restaurants in the city, Maxime’s had always been open during the noon hour.
“For all those ladies who lunch,” he’d claimed when he’d first come up with the idea. “They’re a valuable customer base too many chefs who refuse to lower themselves to serve food in the middle of the day are missing. Those rich socialites can’t all eat at Bergdorf Goodman or Barneys.”
At the time it had made sense. Now she wondered if he’d just been creating his own dating pool.
“Perhaps that’s all it was.” Pepper didn’t even try to keep the skepticism from her tone. “But he was certainly doing a great deal more than flirting in the video.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“Darling, everyone from Tulsa to Timbukutu has seen that video. Including, I suspect, Katrin Von Küenberg’s husband.”
Madeline recognized the name immediately.
Forbes
magazine had ranked her in the top twenty of the world’swealthiest women. A frivolous, global-party-trotting heiress in her younger years, after her father’s death, she’d returned to Austria and taken the reins of her family’s international fortune.
Among the Von Küenbergs’ many holdings were factories that had provided tents and uniforms (and, rumors suggested, chemicals and munitions) to the German army in World War II and a brewing empire that had earned her nickname of Beer Baroness.
Madeline not only knew
of
her, but she also knew her personally. Along with having been dinner guests at her Upper East Side penthouse, she and Maxime had also spent a rare vacation week at her sprawling lake house in Bavaria, and another week cruising the Mediterranean in a yacht larger than the Shelter Bay farmhouse where Madeline had spent so many of her formative years.
“What does Katrin have to do with the video?”
“You obviously weren’t looking all that closely.”
“There was a glare from the overhead lights in the store. It was hard to make out details.”
Which was only partly true. The fact was that her head had gone so light, she’d been afraid she might embarrass herself by fainting right there in store aisle. And, admittedly, practicing avoidance, she hadn’t looked at it again. And hoped she’d never have to.
Also, her attention had been so drawn to Maxime, she hadn’t paid any attention to whatever woman he was with. While suffering through that long plane flight, she’d decided it must be some Las Vegas call girl.
“You do know Katrin and her husband are involved in a nasty, take-no-prisoners divorce?”
“Of course. It’s been in all the papers.”
You couldn’t check out of a market without seeing the tabloid headlines screaming the latest, so-called update. They’d been to dinner just two months ago when Katrin had mentioned that her husband—an American novelist ofobscure, experimental literature—was causing her
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