half of his right ear was missing.”
Jen looked up quickly with a sharp intake of breath. “Oh. They are from the East, which frightens me.”
“We don’t know that,” Philippe responded. “How can you be sure?”
“From their accents — definitely eastern. I haven’t heard that accent since I moved to Florida with Roy, but it brings back bad memories. It’s the way my stepfather sounded, and we only found out later he was an old Stasi agent.”
Philippe reassured her. “We will be careful. If they do have connections with the old East German government we’ll need to take special care. They seem to be interested mainly in one painting, but their friends the Russians looted many more artworks and treasures that the Nazis had already stolen. Who knows what else they might be after?”
Eddie recounted how the Germans had followed Margaux’s car around the corner, then stopped in front of the wax museum. He summarized the brief fight and their escape through the Hôtel Chopin, then the call from Margaux when she had discovered the burglary.
After an hour of questions, Philippe stood up to leave. He agreed with Margaux that Eddie and Jen should stay with her that night, and offered to survey Eddie’s home later in the morning. “Give me time for a little sleep. Can we meet at 10:30? I can pick you up here and we’ll drive over together.”
Promptly at 8:30, Jen heard a sharp rap on her door then a few seconds later a knock on the next one down the hall. She opened the door and saw Eddie leave the room to her left.
He smiled at her. “Today’s the day the real work begins. Aurélie said she has a class at 10, but as soon as that’s finished she’ll start on this project. There are several art historians with offices near hers, so she’ll see what they know about the missing painting. They may have heard about other cases like this one, too.”
Jen followed them into the dining room and came face to face with Martine, thin, unsmiling, and wearing a black dress trimmed with white lace, very unlike the blue smock Jen had seen the day before. It was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud. She had no idea French maids still wore French maid uniforms — the last one she’d seen was laid out on the bed of an older lover ten years before. She’d refused to wear it.
“Oh, Madame, I am so sorry to hear of your father. And now all of this …” She did not finish the sentence.
Margaux jumped in to fill the uncomfortable silence. “This is all unpleasant, but we’ll get it cleaned up. The concierge has already called a contractor who does work in the building and in two or three days everything will be back the way it was.”
They ate quickly, a classic French breakfast of café au lait and croissants, with ham added. Then they moved into the living room. Jen took in the postcard view of the Invalides through the long windows that had been covered with heavy drapes the night before.
Even though the sun had been up for four hours it was far from overhead and the dome still cast a strong shadow to her right. The gold leaf on it shone brilliantly, much brighter than it had under the floodlights. Jen thought it must be spectacular to live in a city with such views whose summer days were three hours longer than hers.
“Margaux,” she asked, “do these views ever bore you?”
“Never, my dear. I could spend all day every day just moving from this chair to the terrace and having Martine bring me lunch. This is where I plan to be until the day I die.”
Eddie pulled a wooden chair close and said, “Time to work. As I see it, somebody thinks we have something valuable dating from the war, or at least know where it is. It’s almost certain the ‘something’ is a painting, because that’s what the Nazis stole the most of, and that’s what the Germans wanted last night. It must be something that was well known at the time — I suspect one of Aurélie’s colleagues will be able to tell us
Jen looked up quickly with a sharp intake of breath. “Oh. They are from the East, which frightens me.”
“We don’t know that,” Philippe responded. “How can you be sure?”
“From their accents — definitely eastern. I haven’t heard that accent since I moved to Florida with Roy, but it brings back bad memories. It’s the way my stepfather sounded, and we only found out later he was an old Stasi agent.”
Philippe reassured her. “We will be careful. If they do have connections with the old East German government we’ll need to take special care. They seem to be interested mainly in one painting, but their friends the Russians looted many more artworks and treasures that the Nazis had already stolen. Who knows what else they might be after?”
Eddie recounted how the Germans had followed Margaux’s car around the corner, then stopped in front of the wax museum. He summarized the brief fight and their escape through the Hôtel Chopin, then the call from Margaux when she had discovered the burglary.
After an hour of questions, Philippe stood up to leave. He agreed with Margaux that Eddie and Jen should stay with her that night, and offered to survey Eddie’s home later in the morning. “Give me time for a little sleep. Can we meet at 10:30? I can pick you up here and we’ll drive over together.”
Promptly at 8:30, Jen heard a sharp rap on her door then a few seconds later a knock on the next one down the hall. She opened the door and saw Eddie leave the room to her left.
He smiled at her. “Today’s the day the real work begins. Aurélie said she has a class at 10, but as soon as that’s finished she’ll start on this project. There are several art historians with offices near hers, so she’ll see what they know about the missing painting. They may have heard about other cases like this one, too.”
Jen followed them into the dining room and came face to face with Martine, thin, unsmiling, and wearing a black dress trimmed with white lace, very unlike the blue smock Jen had seen the day before. It was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud. She had no idea French maids still wore French maid uniforms — the last one she’d seen was laid out on the bed of an older lover ten years before. She’d refused to wear it.
“Oh, Madame, I am so sorry to hear of your father. And now all of this …” She did not finish the sentence.
Margaux jumped in to fill the uncomfortable silence. “This is all unpleasant, but we’ll get it cleaned up. The concierge has already called a contractor who does work in the building and in two or three days everything will be back the way it was.”
They ate quickly, a classic French breakfast of café au lait and croissants, with ham added. Then they moved into the living room. Jen took in the postcard view of the Invalides through the long windows that had been covered with heavy drapes the night before.
Even though the sun had been up for four hours it was far from overhead and the dome still cast a strong shadow to her right. The gold leaf on it shone brilliantly, much brighter than it had under the floodlights. Jen thought it must be spectacular to live in a city with such views whose summer days were three hours longer than hers.
“Margaux,” she asked, “do these views ever bore you?”
“Never, my dear. I could spend all day every day just moving from this chair to the terrace and having Martine bring me lunch. This is where I plan to be until the day I die.”
Eddie pulled a wooden chair close and said, “Time to work. As I see it, somebody thinks we have something valuable dating from the war, or at least know where it is. It’s almost certain the ‘something’ is a painting, because that’s what the Nazis stole the most of, and that’s what the Germans wanted last night. It must be something that was well known at the time — I suspect one of Aurélie’s colleagues will be able to tell us
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