the ground in a sleeping bag at his age worried me.
“Some do,” Charles said. “Some of the camps are more rustic than others. There are about a hundred or so, scattered throughout the woods. Others would remind you of a European hunting lodge with artwork on the walls and beautiful furniture. Even a piano for the sing-alongs. Don’t worry, Lucie. Your grandfather’s staying in Knockabout, one of the more elegant, well-appointed campsites.”
He signaled for someone to refill our glasses. A striking dark-haired woman who looked about my age came over holding a bottle of champagne.
“Is everything all right, Ambassador?” she asked. “Can I bring you another martini?”
He nodded. “Jasmine, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” She refilled Pépé’s and my glasses with an expert flick of her wrist. “I’ll be right back with your drink.”
“Are you leaving for California on Sunday as well?” I asked Charles.
“I’m not going on the campout this year.” His words were clipped, though he tried to soften them with a small smile. “But I’ve made all your arrangements, Luc. Ah, here’s my drink. Thank you, my dear.”
Jasmine glanced at Pépé and me as she handed Charles his martini. Her eyes met mine briefly and something flickered behind them. After she left, the three of us stood together in uncomfortable silence. We’d exhausted the topic of the Bohemian Grove and Charles had yet to explain why he’d really invited us tonight. By now, though, I suspected he’d figured out that we knew something was up.
He smiled and sipped his martini. “I’d like it very much if the two of you would join me for a drink after the other guests have left at the end of the evening. I have a small retreat, I guess you’d call it, on the property. There’s a bottle of Château Margaux waiting for us.”
A top-drawer bottle of wine.
Pépé glanced at me. “Thank you for the invitation, but it’s really up to Lucie. She’s the driver.”
“No worries about that,” Charles said at once. “One of the staff will drive you home in my car afterward. I promise your own car will be back at Highland House first thing in the morning.”
“Would this private drink have anything to do with Mick Dunne?” I asked.
I’d caught Charles by surprise and an annoyed look crossed his face. Then he recovered. “Ah, I see you two have spoken. As a matter of fact, indirectly it does have something to do with Mick. The California wine, yes?”
I nodded. “There’s more to it than that. It’s rather complicated and I prefer to discuss it when we’re alone.” He lifted his glass to his lips again. His hand shook and the drink sloshed over the rim and dripped on the sleeve of his velvet jacket.
“Damn.”
A waitress materialized and blotted the spot, taking his glass for a refill. Charles looked up.
“Promise me you’ll say nothing to Juliette about this.”
“We don’t really know what ‘this’ is,” I said.
“Please be patient. You will soon enough.” He dropped his guard and I saw fear in his eyes. “You see, my life’s in danger and I need your help, Lucie. Please don’t turn me down.”
CHAPTER 6
Charles clammed up after that remark, ending the cryptic conversation about needing my help and slipping into his jovial host persona as another couple joined our group. Pépé met my eyes, his message unmistakable: Let it go; we’ll find out later.
It wasn’t as though I had a choice. Whatever Charles was up to, it was clear that he’d gone to a lot of trouble to engineer this get-together. What was not clear, but becoming a looming possibility, was whether it might turn out to be an overblown melodrama that was much ado about nothing. Or, to give him a modicum of credit, about very little except an old man’s wish to see if he could still move players around on a chessboard.
Pépé had reminded me on the drive over to the Thiessmans’ that Charles had held high-ranking positions in administrations
“Some do,” Charles said. “Some of the camps are more rustic than others. There are about a hundred or so, scattered throughout the woods. Others would remind you of a European hunting lodge with artwork on the walls and beautiful furniture. Even a piano for the sing-alongs. Don’t worry, Lucie. Your grandfather’s staying in Knockabout, one of the more elegant, well-appointed campsites.”
He signaled for someone to refill our glasses. A striking dark-haired woman who looked about my age came over holding a bottle of champagne.
“Is everything all right, Ambassador?” she asked. “Can I bring you another martini?”
He nodded. “Jasmine, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” She refilled Pépé’s and my glasses with an expert flick of her wrist. “I’ll be right back with your drink.”
“Are you leaving for California on Sunday as well?” I asked Charles.
“I’m not going on the campout this year.” His words were clipped, though he tried to soften them with a small smile. “But I’ve made all your arrangements, Luc. Ah, here’s my drink. Thank you, my dear.”
Jasmine glanced at Pépé and me as she handed Charles his martini. Her eyes met mine briefly and something flickered behind them. After she left, the three of us stood together in uncomfortable silence. We’d exhausted the topic of the Bohemian Grove and Charles had yet to explain why he’d really invited us tonight. By now, though, I suspected he’d figured out that we knew something was up.
He smiled and sipped his martini. “I’d like it very much if the two of you would join me for a drink after the other guests have left at the end of the evening. I have a small retreat, I guess you’d call it, on the property. There’s a bottle of Château Margaux waiting for us.”
A top-drawer bottle of wine.
Pépé glanced at me. “Thank you for the invitation, but it’s really up to Lucie. She’s the driver.”
“No worries about that,” Charles said at once. “One of the staff will drive you home in my car afterward. I promise your own car will be back at Highland House first thing in the morning.”
“Would this private drink have anything to do with Mick Dunne?” I asked.
I’d caught Charles by surprise and an annoyed look crossed his face. Then he recovered. “Ah, I see you two have spoken. As a matter of fact, indirectly it does have something to do with Mick. The California wine, yes?”
I nodded. “There’s more to it than that. It’s rather complicated and I prefer to discuss it when we’re alone.” He lifted his glass to his lips again. His hand shook and the drink sloshed over the rim and dripped on the sleeve of his velvet jacket.
“Damn.”
A waitress materialized and blotted the spot, taking his glass for a refill. Charles looked up.
“Promise me you’ll say nothing to Juliette about this.”
“We don’t really know what ‘this’ is,” I said.
“Please be patient. You will soon enough.” He dropped his guard and I saw fear in his eyes. “You see, my life’s in danger and I need your help, Lucie. Please don’t turn me down.”
CHAPTER 6
Charles clammed up after that remark, ending the cryptic conversation about needing my help and slipping into his jovial host persona as another couple joined our group. Pépé met my eyes, his message unmistakable: Let it go; we’ll find out later.
It wasn’t as though I had a choice. Whatever Charles was up to, it was clear that he’d gone to a lot of trouble to engineer this get-together. What was not clear, but becoming a looming possibility, was whether it might turn out to be an overblown melodrama that was much ado about nothing. Or, to give him a modicum of credit, about very little except an old man’s wish to see if he could still move players around on a chessboard.
Pépé had reminded me on the drive over to the Thiessmans’ that Charles had held high-ranking positions in administrations
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