An Evening at Joe's (4 page)

Amanda looked at the necklace for a long, long time. Then, with an impatient shake of her head, she returned it to the velvet pouch. Time to meet the buyer.

Entering the small, relentlessly modern and outrageously expensive bar at the Hotel de Paris, Amanda spotted him immediately. She frowned. He was early, already restless, clearly not on his first drink of the night. Not the kind of man she would normally do business with. But then, the Baron du Vaulier was surprising in a number of ways. She had seen him watching her at the blackjack table, and she wasn't surprised when he followed her out of the Casino. He'd caught up with her there, grabbing hold of her arm and asking her if she'd come to Monaco to steal his wife's necklace, the Star of Athena.

"Don't be ridiculous," she'd replied, trying to move past him. But that's just what he was, standing there blocking her way: a ridiculous little man with sweaty palms and sudden boldness.

"But you must," he'd said simply. "I'll give you one hundred thou- sand francs if you'll do it."

Now the Baron was waiting for her in a booth at the hotel bar, as instructed. He saw her approach and jumped to his feet.

"Do you have it?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"You know," Amanda told him, motioning him to sit down, "most mistresses are happy to receive earrings, maybe a diamond tennis bracelet." She hoped Isabelle Jauverne, from whose room she'd retrieved the necklace, had gotten at least that much from the Baron before demanding to wear the famous Star. At least the affair wouldn't have been a total loss.

"You really mustn't give away your wife's jewelry," she continued. "It's disloyal. It's dangerous. And you won't always find someone with my expertise to retrieve it for you."

He didn't seem to hear her. Even in the dim light, Amanda could see that his hands were shaking. "Do you have the Star?" he repeated.

"There is a package at the front desk," she answered carefully. "In it is the necklace I found in Madame Jauverne's safe."

The Baron made a quick movement, as if to rise, but Amanda's voice stopped him. "Haven't you forgotten something, Marco?"

"Of course, of course." He clutched her hand to his chest and bobbed his head enthusiastically. "A million thanks!"

"A hundred thousand would do," Amanda replied drily, extracting her hand with some difficulty from the Baron's grip.

"Of course," he repeated, floundering. "But, Mademoiselle, you must understand, it is difficult to raise such a sum...."

Amanda sighed inwardly. "You lost twice that much at roulette last night," she said flatly. "Besides," she added, "I haven't told you under what name the package is being held. Of course, Madame Jauverne might also be interested in recovering the item...."

At the mention of his mistress's name, the Baron crumbled. "Women!" he grumbled, reaching into his portefeuille. "I am plagued."

Amanda slid the wad of bills into her purse. "Find the hotel concierge," she told him. "Tell him you need the package left for your aunt, Mary Poppins."

"Marr-ee Poe-pins," he repeated the unfamiliar name slowly.

"Close enough." Amanda shook her head as he tottered away. The French could be so exasperating. Before he was out of sight, the Baron was already forgotten, replaced by a more pressing question: who could the mysterious Immortal have been?
The next day passed without a whisper of the break-in at Loews—not that Amanda expected any. Isabelle Jauverne could hardly report as stolen a necklace that so famously belonged to another woman—a woman who, by all reports, had just returned to Monaco, in time for the premiere of a new play at the Theatre Princesse Grace. The Baroness du Vaulier wouldn't miss the opportunity to vaunt her family's fortune to Monaco's elite. No wonder her husband had been in such a panic to retrieve the Star.

Readying herself for the theater, Amanda chose her gown and ornaments with more care than usual. The entire upper crust of Monaco would be there, but it wasn't for them that Amanda dressed. Above the stairs in the theater lobby, shining over the assembly, hung an exquisite portrait of Monaco's First Lady, radiant, full of the delight of life. Amanda had only met Princess Grace once, when the international circus competition, and a small fortune in rubies, had brought Amanda to town. Grace had been both regal and refreshingly real, down-to-earth, joyous, and vibrantly alive. Amanda paused at the top of the stairs to pay silent tribute to the portrait of the Princess, alive now only in memory. For an instant, she was overwhelmed by how fragile, how fleeting, mortal life could be.

The moment passed. The crowd engulfed her. She was swept up the stairs with them, and emerged into the light of the upper landing. Amanda saw the Star of Athena before she noticed the woman wearing it. She didn't need the dawning Buzz to recognize the tall, handsome man at the Baroness' side. He turned, sensing her. Their eyes met across the landing, and Amanda remembered....

Monaco, January 8, 1297

Amanda fingered the coins in her pouch and sighed. She had enough for dinner, perhaps even for a bed for the night. Tomorrow would have to take care of itself.

She could, of course, liberate a coin or two from unsuspecting passersby, but few of the figures scurrying through the darkening streets looked more prosperous than herself. Voyagers, mostly, seeking safety for the night behind the fortified walls of The Rock. And soldiers, of course, hired to protect the strategically important fortress in the Emperor's endless battle against the Pope.

Amanda shook her head. It was no surprise to her that neither His Holiness nor the Emperor were putting their own necks on the line. Typical mortal warfare. At least Immortal combat was one-on-one, not sacrificing other lives from a distance.... Suddenly, her attention was caught by a procession of brown robes and tonsured heads as a small band of Franciscan monks entered the gates. As tradition demanded, they would be given shelter for the night, even in this Imperial stronghold. She watched the skulk of monks with growing unease—and certainty. One of them was Immortal.

She scanned the faces of the monks, searching for the one who would be searching for her. It took only a moment to find him—tall, with piercing blue eyes. A stranger. Amanda joined a group of women offering water to the holy newcomers. Taking up a small ladle, she and the stranger managed to step away from the group.

"I am Philippe Canella." He kept his voice low, and Amanda guessed that his fellow travelers knew him by another name.

"Amanda," she said simply. She offered him his portion of water; he drank gratefully, and Amanda relaxed. He had not come for her, she told herself. He traveled with a band of holy men, men of peace.... For the first time, Amanda took a good look at the other monks. They all seemed to defer to one man, short and dark, who moved silently among them. He bent for a sip of water, and his traveling cape billowed slightly; for a fleeting instant, Amanda caught the impression of a sword hilt hidden under his holy robes.

Then Philippe was in front of her, blocking her view of his leader. She looked up at him. He, she knew, would have his blade on him, for those were the rules of the Game. But the other man was a mortal, and, she was beginning to suspect, no more a monk than she was. She met Philippe's eyes; he knew what she had seen.

"You and I have no quarrel," Philippe told her. "It would not be wise of you to create one."

Amanda thought of the sour dinner and hard bed that awaited her, and weighed it against the inconvenience, if not danger, of a nighttime journey. The mortal with the hidden weapon was moving toward them; others were now in hearing. Amanda made her decision. "I wish I could stay and receive your blessing, Brother"—she smiled demurely—"but I must leave now if I'm to make Roquebrune by nightfall. My mother," she lied, raising her voice slightly, "has taken a turn for the worst."

Philippe looked startled, then nodded his approval. "I'll remember her in my prayers," he said, adding quietly, "You'll want to stay off the main roads." He chose his words with care. "You never know what thieves and cutthroats you might encounter."

"You never know," Amanda agreed.

The two Immortals parted. Fifteen minutes later, Amanda was already well out of the fortress, headed inland, far from the imposing ramparts.

It was a week before the news caught up with her: François Grimaldi, known as Malizia, "The Cunning," had, with a small band of men, wrested Monaco from the Ghibellines. There were conflicting reports as to how they had infiltrated the well-guarded stronghold, but these were laid to rest by history when the new Grimaldi prince designed a coat of arms. It featured two monks, armed with swords.

Theatre Princesse Grace, Monaco, The Present

Amanda had seen him since then, of course—it was a small world, they were bound to bump into each other every few hundred years. But Philippe had never been quite so unnerved at the sight of her before. She crossed to him, and he dutifully bowed over her hand. His eyes were still the clearest of blues, and they betrayed his annoyance at being forced to introduce Amanda to the woman at his side.

Draped, as always, in black, the Baroness du Vaulier was almost as well-known as the necklace glittering around her neck. She held herself ramrod straight, almost a parody of stuffy aristocracy. And yet, despite her sallow skin and etched face, there was an unassailable dignity to her. She was, quite literally, the last of her kind. But for her and the Baron, the family name had already died out. There were no children, no heirs; this generation would mark the end of the du Vauliers. And so the Baroness fought against oblivion with the only weapon she had: money. She founded Marseille's Musée du Vaulier, rebuilt Rome's Teatro Vaulieri, and endowed the Du Vaulier Chair in the history departments of both Yale and Harvard. The du Vauliers might disappear, but the Baroness had made sure they would never be forgotten.

Amanda was introduced to the lady just as the Baron himself joined their party—already drunk on the free champagne, flowing in honor of the premiere. All told, Amanda was flattered at his reaction when his bleary eyes finally focused on her. His mouth fell open, his eyes bulged; his patchy red face resembled nothing more than a gaping fish.

Before he could recover, the Baron was hit by another outrage. An irate woman marched up to the group, glared spitefully at the Baroness' necklace and began to curse the Baron soundly and with flair. She topped the moment by throwing her champagne in the Baron's face, then turned on her heel and stomped off. Amanda found herself smiling as the crowd broke out in astonished murmurs and discreet laughter. Madame Isabelle Jauverne had just given the finest performance the Monegasque audience had seen in years.

The Baroness had remained completely still throughout Madame Jauverne's histrionics, and made no move to help her husband as he mopped the champagne from his face. This was not, Amanda guessed, the first public scene between her husband and an ex-mistress. Mustering the shards of his dignity, the Baron held out his arm to his wife.

"Shall we?" he asked. The Baroness laid her hand on his. Without a backward glance, they disappeared into their box.

As soon as they were out of sight, Philippe turned to Amanda. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Philippe! I missed you, too."

"If you've come to steal the Star of Athena," he said bluntly, "forget it. The Baroness is cousin to Prince Rainier. She is under my protection here."

"Lucky lady." Amanda smiled up at him. "Still the Grimaldis' knight in shining armor, are you? Or," she mocked softly, "would that be, friar in shining armor?"

"You won't get the necklace, Amanda. Not this time."

"Sounds like a challenge."

"I hope not," he answered. There was an awkward silence. The lobby lights began to blink, warning them to take their seats. Philippe took a step toward the Baroness' box. He stopped, looked back uncertainly.

"Run along, darling," she told him. "You're perfectly safe. I'm on vacation."

She wiggled her fingers at him, in what she hoped was a reassuring wave. He turned and disappeared. Amanda rolled her eyes and snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Why did the French have to take everything so seriously?

She disappeared into the ladies room to touch up her makeup and steal a moment of peace. The curtain was about to rise; she could count on having a few minutes alone. And then the door opened. A dark figure brushed in. Amanda glanced in the mirror and saw the uncompromising reflection of the Baroness du Vaulier standing behind her.

"You are Amanda Montrose." The Baroness didn't wait for an answer. "Philippe tells me you are a jewel thief."

Amanda finished putting on her lipstick. "Philippe is indiscreet," she said finally.

"How much will it cost to have my necklace stolen?"

Amanda smiled, gathered her things. "A hundred thousand francs seems to be the going rate."

"Done." The Baroness threw a handful of bills on the counter. "Half now. Half when the necklace is gone."

For the first time, Amanda looked directly at the Baroness. "You're serious?" The Baroness didn't answer. "Why?"

"I am not paying you to ask questions," the Baroness snapped. "I'm paying you to make the Star of Athena disappear into history, now, tonight." She paused, fingering the necklace at her throat. Amanda thought she detected a note of panic behind the steely voice. "Will you do it?"

Amanda shook her head. "Let me get this straight. You want me to steal the jewels from around your neck, with no preparation time, no plan, in front of three hundred witnesses?" The Baroness nodded once, quickly. There was a moment of silence.

"Okay," Amanda said.
All things considered, it was one of the smoothest heists of Amanda's career. It helped, of course, to have a willing victim, not to mention a slightly drunken crowd pressing en masse to the front doors once the final curtain had come down. It took twenty-two seconds to cut the electricity, another minute to get from the fuse box back to the lobby. The Baroness was exactly where Amanda had told her to be. The crowd dutifully panicked in the sudden darkness, and Philippe found himself stranded near the coat check. Apart from a slight gasp as the Baroness felt the necklace slip from her neck, she made no noise, no move. Amanda slipped out the stage door a moment later. Perhaps Monaco wasn't so unprofitable after all, she decided.