The Blood Promise: A Hugo Marston Novel (7 page)

“I suppose not. Is this one old?”

“Looks to be,” Vibert said, “but I couldn’t really say. I’m no antiques expert and I’ve not seen this one here before. I can also ask my assistant, Katrina, she knows more about that sort of thing.”

Hugo felt a hand on his elbow and turned. Alexie pressed a glass of champagne into his hand and smiled. “Sit, but take this with you. I gave one to the senator, you may need them.” She drifted away and took her place at the far end of the table from her brother.

Hugo took his seat and Lake leaned back, behind Natalia. “I see you got more champagne, too. She said Henri Tourville sometimes likes to make speeches before dinner.” He rolled his eyes, then nodded at the place setting in front of him. “Maybe I should ask her to bring us a couple more.”

It was halfway through the meal when Hugo noticed Natalia shift her chair back a little and toward him. Hugo shot her a quick glance and she indicated with her head, a subtle nod toward the senator.

His face was red and his eyes glassy, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Hugo checked and saw that both glasses of champagne had been taken away, which no doubt meant he’d emptied them. A full glass of red wine sat in front of him but Hugo had been to these dinners before and had never seen a glass remain empty for more than three or four seconds.

Hugo looked around for the two secret service agents, then remembered he’d excused them himself. It was evening and he was, after all, the babysitter. The senator was making conversation with an elderly woman to his right who, by the looks of it, was one sheet to the wind beyond even Lake. Their heads lolled as they talked and Hugo half expected a crack of foreheads.

“I hate flying too,” Lake was saying. “Now the old ships, they’re the ones. The
QE2
, even the
Titanic
. Very romantic, and so much safer than being in a tin can thousands of feet in the air. That has to be the definition of insanity.”

“But what—” the woman hiccupped and giggled, “but what if the boat sinks?”

“A watery grave is itself very romantic. Better than many endings people have, including a fiery plane crash.”

The pair nodded wildly at each other, and Hugo returned his attentions to Natalia. After a few moments of polite conversation with her, he noticed Lake sit straight up in his chair and stare down at his plate. The senator turned to Hugo and said, “I don’t feel so great. Think it’s something I ate, maybe the food’s too rich.”

“Maybe,” Hugo said. Or maybe a long flight and too much silky champagne. “Can you make it through dessert?”

“Depends on how many courses until we get there.”

Hugo checked the rows of silverware left in front of him. “Two at least. Something and then cheese. Then dessert.”

The senator paled. “Then no. I think I need a bathroom.”

Natalia pretended to be listening to the conversation across the table as Hugo stood and beckoned for Lake to follow him. They moved quickly to Henri Tourville, who looked up in surprise. The chatter around them lurched for just a moment but picked up again, politeness trumping curiosity. For now, anyway.

“
Ça va
?” Tourville asked.

“A long flight and maybe a glass too many,” Hugo said quietly. No shame there, not in France.

“The food,” Lake mumbled behind him, “too rich, something didn’t agree . . .”

“
Bien sûr
,” Tourville nodded, concern on his face, “I will have someone bring tea, that should help.”

“Thank you,” said Hugo, “I’ll see the senator to his room and be back in a few minutes. Excuse us.”

Hugo held the senator’s elbow and steered him to the first set of stairs.

“Why did you tell him I was drunk?” he muttered. “I’m not, it was the food.”

“In France, you get points for consuming your host’s wine but lose them rapidly if you insult his food. I thought we could use the points.”

“I had three glasses of champagne and didn’t touch the wine,” Lake insisted. “Maybe four glasses.”

His words were slurring together and Hugo didn’t plan to start a debate. “OK, we’ll get you to your room, see how you feel. You want a doctor?”

“I’m sick, not dying. I just want to lie down.”

A few minutes later Senator Lake was sitting on his bed, head between his knees. Hugo roused him and helped him undress to his underwear, then steered him into the bathroom and waited until he returned, taking a wobbly line back to the bed. He slid his bulk between the sheets with a sigh of deep pleasure. As his eyes closed, Hugo discreetly checked his pulse: slow, but still pumping.

He let himself out of the room and saw a maid walking toward them with a mug of tea on a tray.

“
Merci, mademoiselle
, but he’s sleeping. He won’t need that. Perhaps in the morning.”

“
Oui
,
monsieur, d’accord
.” She did an about-turn and started back down the hallway.

Hugo considered his options, tempted by a few quiet moments on his bed, a book in his hand . . . Then he gathered himself. His charge may be out cold, but Hugo was still on the clock, which meant another hour or two of small talk but maybe, just maybe, a good glass of his favorite wine of all: port.

A loud banging on his door woke Hugo at seven the next morning. He fell out of bed and went to the door. He opened it to find Lake standing there, wrapped in a dark blue robe, his feet bare. His hair was mussed and his eyes were blood-shot.

“We need to talk,” the senator said.

“Sure.” Hugo opened the door and stood to one side. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Well, a little shaky but I slept it off.” He looked at Hugo. “I don’t remember going to bed, which sometimes means I made an ass of myself. That happen?”

“No, sir. Jet lag followed by a glass or too more than you should have, but your exit was moderately surreptitious and reasonably graceful.”

“Good. Did you come check on me in the night?”

“No,” said Hugo. “You were fine when I left you and once we finished downstairs I pretty much crashed myself.”

“I see.” He hesitated, then said, “Look, don’t think I’m crazy but . . . I think someone was in my room last night.”

Hugo looked at him but said nothing.

“I’m serious. I’ll be honest, Hugo, I think I was drugged, not drunk, and someone came into my room.”

“OK, but why would someone . . .”

“To look through my stuff. Papers. Maybe get a head start on the negotiations. Look, I didn’t drink all that much, and I can hold my liquor when I do.” He sank into an armchair by the window. “And I’m telling you, whether I was drugged or drunk, someone was in my room.”

“Could you see who? Man, woman, young . . .”

“No. It’s not even like I saw the person clearly.” He ran a hand over his face. “It wasn’t a dream. I know what you’re thinking, but it was like . . .”

“A dream.”

“Kind of.” Lake sank back and stared at Hugo. “Yes, but no. I mean that. It wasn’t a dream.”

“Could it have been a maid?”

“Whoever it was, I felt them leaning over me, touching my face.”

“I’m guessing it was a maid, one of the staff checking on you. Perhaps Tourville sent a doctor up.”
Although he’d not seemed worried, Hugo thought, making jokes at Lake’s expense for the remainder of the evening.

“They should have locks on these doors.”

Hugo laughed gently. “They probably did at one point. Keys go missing over a hundred years or so.”

Lake grunted. “I’m not happy about this, Hugo.”

“Were any of your bags opened? Anything tampered with?”

“Not that I could tell, but that doesn’t mean anything. If they’re smart enough to knock me out they’re smart enough to crack a stupid lock on a briefcase.”

“That might qualify as a breach of security, yes. I’ll talk to Tourville, see if he sent someone upstairs to check on you. That’s my bet.”

“And if he didn’t?”

“Then we’ll take it from there,” Hugo said. “If you want to shower up and head to breakfast, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Lake pushed himself out of the armchair and shuffled to the door. “Talk to him as soon as you can, if you don’t mind. I’ll try not to touch anything except my clothes in case we need to dust the room for prints.”

Or swab it for DNA, maybe get bloodhounds in
, Hugo thought. But he was relieved Lake was letting him take the lead because on the morning of potentially delicate negotiations, one side didn’t need to be hurling accusations of malfeasance at the other before the pencils were sharpened.

Hugo caught Henri Tourville in the main hall as he was heading out of the door with two black Labradors tugging at their leashes, and therefore him.

“
Bonjour
, Monsieur Tourville, do you have a moment?”

“
Bonjour
. That depends on these two, I would say a little less than a minute.”

“Then I’ll walk with you, if that’s OK.”

“Of course. I normally let them have the run of the house, but since we have so many esteemed guests I thought I’d take them out to the field and let them blow off steam.”

The two men walked down the steps in front of the chateau and angled left, across the gravel driveway and the lawn to a wooden fence, beyond which a dozen cows grazed, heads down and paying no mind to their approach. Hugo wondered whether that would change once the dogs joined them. A large drop of rain hit the end of Hugo’s nose and he looked up to see heavy gray clouds filling the sky.

“It’s supposed to come and go all day.” Tourville unclipped the leashes and the dogs slid under the fence and sprinted away into the field. “How is Monsieur Lake, have you seen him this morning?”

“I have, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Tourville held up a hand. “If you plan to apologize, please don’t. A long trip from America, wine, heavy food . . . it could happen to anyone.”

“You are kind, thank you.” Hugo paused. “Tell me, did you have anyone check on him during the night?”

“Check on him?”

“Yes. Did you have anyone go to his room? Make sure he was alright.”

Hugo tried to keep his voice casual but Tourville was looking at him with a frown on his face.

“No. Are you saying I should have?”

“
Non,
monsieur, not at all.”

“Then why the question?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, but Monsieur Lake told me this morning he thought maybe someone had come into his room during the night.” When Tourville just stared at him, Hugo continued. “I told him it was probably a dream, he imagined it somehow.”

“In his state, that seems almost certain.”

“Agreed, absolutely. It’s just that, he’s insisting someone was in there, leaning over him.”

Both men turned as the sound of footsteps on gravel reached them. They watched in silence as Lake strode toward them.

“You told him?” Lake asked Hugo, approaching at full steam.

“We were discussing the matter, yes,” said Hugo.

“There is nothing to discuss,” said Tourville, his tone clipped. “No one in my household would enter the room of a guest at night, it’s out of the question.”

“I don’t mean to accuse anyone,” Lake said, “or insult you. But unless you stood guard at my door all night, you can’t possibly give me that assurance. And,” he turned to Hugo, “I was wrong about my things. Last night my briefcase was propped between the bed and the side table. This morning it was lying flat on the floor.”

Tourville snorted. “Senator Lake, given that you . . . how you were feeling last night, I don’t see how you can be sure exactly where your case was.”

“I put it there before dinner. I remember that, and I’m guessing that I got into the bed from the other side last night.”

“Guessing?” Tourville looked as though laughter might take over from outrage, and Hugo suspected that would be even worse.

“Actually, that’s right,” Hugo said. “I helped you into bed from the other side because that’s where the bathroom is. Still, it’s entirely possible you somehow knocked or . . . I don’t know. Things fall, it doesn’t seem like definitive evidence of anything untoward.”

Lake spoke through clenched teeth. “I remember someone coming in and leaning over me. And my briefcase has been disturbed. I call that evidence, Mr. Marston. You yourself said that if an intruder had been in my room, that would be a security breach. Did you not?”