‘My vitamins. They’re in a big box with little boxes inside, one box for every day. I keep them by the bed so I won’t forget.’
‘You must take them regularly.’
‘I do, every night before bedtime.’
‘I’m going to have a chat with your doctors, Marc.’
‘Is something wrong with me, monsieur?’
‘Marc, you’re very sensitive to things, but there is nothing wrong with you. Why don’t I come with you to Vevey for your next doctor’s appointment? I’m sure they can help us understand things.’
Rochat reached for his daybook, looked for a note to himself in blue ink. Blue ink was for doctor things.
‘I go on Monday at two in the afternoon. I take the slow train so I can see the fish in the lake when I come back.’
‘Sounds like fun, I’ll collect you here and we’ll travel together. Now, look at the time. You’ll be on your way to the cathedral soon, so we really must do a bit of work.’
Monsieur Gübeli arranged the paperwork. Rochat poured more tea and signed his name thirty-three times before Monsieur Gübeli said they were finished.
‘Can I ask you something else now, monsieur?’
‘Of course.’
‘Monsieur Buhlmann wants me to meet a girl at Christmas.’
‘Oh yes, I know about her. She’s a very nice girl, Marc. You’ll like her very much.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, and she’s very pretty. I’m very sure you’ll be drawing her face before too long.’ Monsieur Gübeli looked at his watch. ‘Oh dear, I must catch the six fifty-five to Rolle. Swiss train conductors are notoriously unforgiving of the tardy.’
Rochat dumped his fat cat from his lap and saw Monsieur Gübeli to the door.
‘After we visit the doctor we can have a lunch of
filets de perche et pommes frites
at l’Hôtel Beau Rivage. You can have a glass of wine. Papa liked to do that when he took me to Vevey.’
‘I look forward to it. Marc, is there anything else, anything else you can remember? Anything odd you may have imagined or experienced out of your regular routine?’
Rochat thought about it.
‘
Non
.’
‘Good, that’s very good.
Bonsoir
, Marc.’
‘
À bientôt, monsieur
.’
Monsieur Gübeli was down the lift before Rochat remembered the thing he found in the well. He thought about racing down the stairs to catch Monsieur Gübeli to tell him. Then he remembered Monsieur Buhlmann told him to put the thing back where he found it and forget all about it. So Rochat walked back into his flat, locked the locks and forgot all about it again.
fourteen
‘
Bonsoir
, Mademoiselle Taylor.
Vous êtes très elegante, ce soir
.’
‘Thanks, Stephan. Big date on tap, had to put a little extra effort into the packaging. Anyone ask for me yet?’
‘Not yet, mademoiselle.’
Stephan led her to the table by the fireplace and helped her with her mink. She settled in the chesterfield, opened her cigarette case.
‘The fire’s perfect, Stephan, thanks.’
He offered her a light. ‘Will you have an aperitif?’
‘Club soda with lemon for now, Stephan. By the way, I called that girlfriend of yours. I’m dragging her out of her sculpture barn for a girlie afternoon of shopping tomorrow. I’m talking major league rampage. So, if you want to drop any hints of what you want for Christmas, now’s the time.’
‘I shall put on my thinking cap, mademoiselle.’
‘Can’t you call me Kat when the boss isn’t around?’
‘Then it would not be the Palace, mademoiselle.’
He winked and left for the bar.
Katherine looked around to see if there was anyone worth noticing. So far, she was the one getting noticed, every man in the room stealing glances at her much to the annoyance of their lady friends. Even the hunk sitting solo had his eyes locked on her while talking on his cellphone, probably to his wife. Men, so fucking predictable, she thought. He wasn’t bad, though. Hipcat whiskers on his chin, beefcake tough, dressed according to
GQ
. Had that mondo-cash-in-the-pocket look. Any other night she’d have given him the look till he crawled over on his knees and begged for it. The tough ones always ended up on their knees. She took a long drag from her smoke, thinking what a naughty mood she was in. Stephan arrived with her drink.
‘You seem to have captivated all eyes in the bar, Mademoiselle Taylor.’
‘The
Playboy
curse strikes again. Listen, Stephan, anyone wants to send over a drink, tell them thanks but no thanks.’
‘Of course, mademoiselle. I’ll be behind the bar if you need anything.’
The clock above the fireplace chimed for eight. She stared at the flames, letting the warmth of the fire add a flush to her complexion, psyching herself for tonight’s performance. She felt flutters in her tummy. Amazing what a turn-on a big bag of money for one night could be. She felt someone move close to her. She took a breath, slowly raised her eyes to greet Mr Wonderfully Rich. She saw bad news in a beat-up mackintosh instead.
‘Harper, what are you doing here?’
‘Hello, Miss Taylor, expecting someone?’
‘Yeah, and it isn’t you.’
‘No worries, just dropped by to say hello.’
‘Harper …’
‘I had a tour of the cathedral today.’
‘What?’
‘The cathedral. I took a tour.’
‘Harper, this really isn’t a good time.’
A waiter slipped between them with a bucket of champagne and a single glass on a silver tray.
‘
Pardon, mademoiselle
. The gentleman you are expecting has sent this ahead. He will join you shortly. May I open it?’
‘Please.’
Harper watched the waiter set two flutes on the table and then open the bottle with a polite burp. Bubbles fizzed as he poured, cresting perfectly at the rim of one glass. The waiter bowed and left.
‘Looks like the good stuff.’
‘I’m sure it is. Be a nice guy, Harper and … what’s that under your arm?’
‘Ah, almost forgot. For you.’
He held out the large brown envelope. Katherine turned up her nose.
‘What the hell is it?’
‘It’s a cardboard cut-out of your favourite cathedral. It’s called a maquette in Frog. I took a tour of the cathedral today, picked one up.’
‘Are you drunk?’
‘Blocked. But I’ve ordered a club sandwich and chips to soak it up.’
Katherine took the maquette.
‘Thanks. Now, goodbye.’
‘Quasimodo has a room in the belfry.’
‘Who?’
‘Your lantern-swinging friend at the cathedral. He’s got a room, top of the tower. Thought we could walk over one evening while he’s doing his thing. Give him a shout, see if he’ll have us up for a drink.’
‘Promise you’ll go away?’
‘Tomorrow night, same time, here?’
‘OK, goodbye.’
Harper headed to the bar, picked up his drink and disappeared around the corner. Katherine dumped the maquette behind her chair, took a quick breath. Fuck, wouldn’t that have been fun. Oh, yes, Mr Fabulously Wealthy, this is some drunken slob acquaintance of mine. End of perfect evening.
She glanced around the room. The guy with the hipcat whiskers still staring at her, smiling. She ignored him, lifted the glass, tasted the champagne. It was ambrosial; the bubbles tickled her tongue. She resettled in luxuriant mood. Music, candlelight, the beautiful faces of wealthy Lausannois. Everything, everyone, glowing in the fairy lights of the Christmas trees just beyond the windows. Lovely, the world so very lovely. She offered herself a silent toast:
How sweet it is, baby
.
Then something even better walked in the room.
Tall, elegant. Dressed in tailored black-on-black Armani. Pampered complexion, the most beautiful hair she’d ever seen on a man. Long, silver, pulled tight to the back of his head and held with a silver clasp. Gorgeous sculptured face, small dark glasses over his eyes. And wouldn’t that one be nice, she mumbled to herself.
A tall androgynous-looking man, skinny as a string bean and wearing a black silk mandarin jacket, followed at the gorgeous one’s heels. The guy with the whiskers, the one who’d been staring at her, rose from his chair. Katherine did a double-take, he was three heads shorter than the others. She had another sip of champagne, thinking another night, another job, she’d take them all at once or one at a time. Giggling at the thought, wondering who’d be first. The short one, the tall one? Nah, have to be the gorgeous one in the middle. He was so alpha male Katherine could smell him from across the room. She watched them talk among themselves till the short one nodded towards her. Then the gorgeous one searching the crowded room from behind his dark glasses. His gaze stopping in her direction.
Katherine smiled to herself.
Girl, this is so your lucky day
.
And she watched him move through the room, almost floating. Her breath quickening as he stopped.
‘
Bonsoir
, Mademoiselle Taylor. I am Komarovsky.’
She saw her reflection in his dark lenses, looking very pleased to make his acquaintance.
‘
Enchantée
, monsieur.’
He took her offered hand and bowed slightly, almost touching his lips to her skin but holding back and releasing her.
‘I hope the champagne is to your taste. It is a particular favourite of mine.’
The tall one lifted the bottle from the ice, Dom Pérignon, nineteen fifty-nine.
‘It’s delicious, monsieur. Like a taste of heaven.’
‘I am so pleased you appreciate it.’
‘I do, very much. In fact I was just thinking it must be a sin to enjoy something so nice alone.’
‘Then for the sake of your salvation, I must join you.’
The tall one refilled her glass and poured for Komarovsky. Katherine gave the tall one a closer look. A dusting of foundation over chin stubble, just the right touch of mascara. One of the most beautiful one-or-the-others Katherine had ever seen. Komarovsky spoke a few words of Russian, the tall one made a graceful turn and left them alone.
‘And now, mademoiselle, where were we?’
She raised her glass to her eyes.
‘I was welcoming you to Lausanne, monsieur.’
‘How delightful to be welcomed by such beauty. I have looked forward to this evening with great anticipation.’
She watched herself in the dark glasses, looking so very beautiful tonight. Offering herself the toast, smiling, her face still flushed with colour.
‘Please, call me Katherine.’
‘I have no urge to hurry our intimacy. I am one who believes it is the sense of anticipation that brings the greatest pleasure.’
‘Pleasure is good. I like pleasure.’
Katherine looked away to break the spell, she saw the short one on his cellphone, the tall one taking peanuts from a silver bowl, tossing them in the air and catching them in his mouth.
‘I get it now, your friend was watching me.’
‘
Pardon?
’
‘The one with the whiskers, over there with the tall one, he was watching me. He told you I was here, that’s how the champagne showed up.’
‘How clever of you to notice. They are my attendants. I fear you may find me old world in my habits.’
Katherine smiled, never ceasing to be amazed by the habits of the über-rich, especially when it came to the habit of sex.
‘Not at all, monsieur, you wear it well.’
‘How kind of you to say. I have asked that supper be prepared for us in a private salon, where I trust we may come to know each other better.’
‘Whatever gives you pleasure, monsieur.’
‘The fulfilment of my own pleasure is not my wish, Mademoiselle Taylor.’
Katherine leaned close to him, her head spinning. The champagne, the alpha male scent oozing from the guy’s skin, so good.
‘So what is your wish, Monsieur Komarovsky?’
‘To watch you drift in the deepest currents of your passion.’
Katherine felt a rush of something nice. Jesus, she thought, Mr Wonderfully Rich was so on the right track she wanted to scream. She giggled instead.
‘You find me eccentric, mademoiselle?’
‘Mysterious would be more like it. Especially when you hide your eyes behind those dark glasses.’
‘All the better for you to see yourself.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I see the delight you take watching your reflection. You possess the rarest of gifts: to enter a trancelike state of bliss watching yourself surrender to pleasure.’
Her head spinning, her body feeling like molten wax, waiting to be shaped into whatever the fuck he wanted.
‘Is that what you want, monsieur? You want to watch me take myself all the way to wonderland?’
‘I want, for one night, your reflection to be made flesh. To be worshipped and adored.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ She raised the champagne to her lips. ‘Just one thing, monsieur. I’m going to need to see your eyes.’
‘To what purpose?’
The corners of her mouth curved into the slightest of smiles.
‘Because I want your eyes to be my looking glass to wonderland.’
‘I must warn you, people are often affected looking into my eyes. I have a lack of pigment in the irises.’
‘Me, too. A tiny squiggle, here.’
‘Yes. I admired it in your photographs, as I admire it now.’
‘Well, you’ve seen mine, Monsieur Komarovsky. Where I come from, it’s your turn to show me yours.’
‘This is your wish?’
‘Depends. How many does a girl get in one night?’
He raised his hands, slowly removing the glasses. She took a sharp breath. Silver discs, the colour of his hair.
‘As many as you desire.’
Counting his way up the steps of Escaliers du marché, Rochat saw black clouds racing through the sky. And at the old market place he felt a sharp chill in the wind. He hurried across Rue Viret and up the last of the wood steps. He jumped on to the esplanade to greet the cathedral.
‘Boo!’
Silence.
The façade looked pale in the floodlamps instead of its usual shining self. And the stone statues either side of the doors looked timid. Even Monsieur Moses seemed to cower amid the pillars.
‘What’s wrong with you? It’s only a silly storm. Be not afraid, Rochat is here.’