There's Something About St. Tropez (33 page)

Valenti continued to stare at the twinkling lights of the hotel as dusk began to settle.

“You know Caroline?” Mac asked.

“I've seen her at the hotel. I don't know her well but she seems a pleasant young woman.”

“Yes,” Mac replied thoughtfully as Valenti turned away. “Caroline certainly is that.”

There was a sudden flurry of activity as Valenti took the helm and the Neapolitan manhandled the sails, which unfurled in an electronic sequence, huge rectangles of black canvas.

“Like a pirate boat,” Laureen breathed, awed as the black sails soared into the dark blue sky.

Watching Valenti at work, master of his boat, and owner of his Picasso, Mac knew the man was a liar. He wondered what exactly it was that he was concealing.

 

44.

 

 

Valenti herded them to the front of the boat as it parted the waters, speeding arrowlike, parallel to the coast. The bow lifted and the black sails clattered and the wind sang in the halyards. Face to the wind, Sunny clasped Mac's hand. Her breath was snatched away and she laughed, exhilarated.

Nate stood alone, balanced, feet apart, arms crossed over his chest, scanning the horizon as it blurred into focus then out again. Belinda, head thrown back, laughed joyously, and even Sara joined in, while Billy held Little Laureen in front of him, stretching her arms wide,
Titanic
-style.

Laureen closed her eyes then turned her face up to the heavens. Her tutu fluttered and her breath seemed caught in her chest. “Mommy would have liked sailing,” she said to Billy, but her voice was snatched away and flung to the empty sky.

Mac watched Valenti at the helm. His face tight, alert eyes leveled at the sea in front of him, he was a man in perfect control of his boat, a man who loved sailing more than women.

There was no guttural engine noise to spoil the moment, no fumes, nothing but the sound of wind and water, then the flapping of the sails as the boat began to slow. The Neapolitan needed no instruction, he was ready when Valenti pressed buttons and the sails began to furl, and the boat tacked slowly back to shore.

Belinda swung round, eyes sparkling. She said, “That was wonderful. Thank you.”

The others chorused their thanks, running hands through windblown hair, laughing, exhilarated. Sunny turned to look at Valenti, still in control. His
intense face had relaxed, though he was not smiling. Oddly, Sunny thought he looked like a man who had just made love. She glanced at Mac to see if he had noticed.

“What did I tell you about boats and mistresses?” she said, quietly so no one else could hear.

But Mac was looking at the sparkling lights onshore. They were heading into St. Tropez port. Or at least as close as Valenti could get without a berth.

“Where are you heading?” he called.

“Thought we would go into town, have dinner.” Valenti gave him his thin smile. “On me, of course,” he added. “You are all my guests.”

Belinda gave a cheer, jumping up and down like a child. “Oh, thank God,” she cried. “I'm going stir-crazy. I thought I'd never be allowed out again.”

“You won't,” Mac said sternly, but Belinda turned big pleading blue eyes on him.

She said stubbornly, “I'm going.” It was her decision and Mac knew he had no choice.

The sails were furled now and the motor fluttered gently as they glided closer to shore. Mac got on his phone and called Lev. He got no answer and left a message that they were on the
Blue Picasso
coming into St. Tropez and that Belinda was determined to make a night of it. He said he did not yet know where they were going, but at least he wanted Lev on alert. It was all he could do. That, and stick like glue to Belinda.

It wasn't that easy. After Valenti had thrown out the anchor, they boarded the dinghy and minutes later stepped out at the Old Port.

Valenti took Belinda's arm and guided her through the crowded streets.

“Where are we going?” Belinda turned a beaming face to him.

“I thought we'd start at the Byblos, have dinner there, then go on to the Caves du Roy for some dancing.”

“On the tables!” she exclaimed, laughing.

The two walked through the crowd that, Sunny thought amused, parted before them like the Red Sea for Moses. Not surprising since Belinda looked every inch the celebrity, soaking wet and blond gorgeous in her T-shirt, long-legged in high wedge espadrilles and with a wicked grin on her face.

“You have to admit they make a spectacular couple,” Sunny said to Billy, who was walking next to her, holding his daughter's hand. “But heaven knows how they're going to let us into a nightclub looking like this.”

“She looks great,” Billy said.

He sounded gloomy and Sunny glanced anxiously at him. Was he really
smitten with Belinda, who flirted with any man within range? The night did not bode well for Billy.

Nor for Sara, who was worrying about showing up somewhere smart for dinner and then on to a nightclub in her old cutoffs and the T-shirt that said
GLAMOUR PUSS
across her breasts in pink curly writing. She'd known the minute she bought it that T-shirt was a mistake, but she'd thought the boyfriend would think it sexy. She'd worn it tonight, hoping for the same response. Now she knew it was wrong.

Nate was talking to Mac. “What about security?” he asked in a low voice, so Valenti would not hear. “I thought Belinda wasn't allowed out.”

“She's not. I had no choice.”

Nate shrugged. “Well, I guess she's a big grown-up girl.”

“Not grown-up enough to face a couple of thugs and a violent billionaire husband on the warpath,” Mac said. He had yet to hear from Lev and he tried his phone again. This time Lev answered.

“Couldn't hear you clearly before, and couldn't reach you,” Lev said.

Mac explained quickly that they had been out at sea. He told Lev what had happened, who they were with, and where they were heading.

“There's no stopping Belinda now,” he said. “This girl's hittin' the town.”

“I'll be right behind her,” Lev said.

 

45.

 

 

Windswept and glowing, they were welcomed at Le Byblos as though they were extraterrestrials visiting for the night. Nothing fazed this management, they had seen it all before. Beautiful and eccentric people were always welcome, they added class and drew customers. Not that they needed any tonight, the place was full. Still, a table was rolled out, a cloth thrown on top, chairs arranged, flowers, candles, a phalanx of glasses. Water was brought, drinks ordered, menus presented.

Within ten minutes they were relaxing by the blue pool, palm trees swaying in the breeze, sipping wine and picking out celebrity faces—
hollywoodiens
, as they called them in St. Tropez.

But Mac's eyes were searching for something else. He saw Lev at the bar. That made him feel slightly better. He was nervous though and wished he had never gotten roped into this thing. Still Belinda was having a good time, making them laugh, patting first Valenti on the knee, then Billy, and flirting across the table with Nate, casting complicit looks at Sunny and Sara, including them in her little charade. Because charade was what Mac believed it was. He did not think Belinda was seriously attracted to Valenti. He thought there was more to Belinda than that, more than she was letting them see. He believed Billy had seen that other side of her too, or he had sensed it, and that was why Billy did not like Valenti. He did not think the man was worthy of her.

Mac didn't like Valenti either. The man made him uneasy. He knew he'd lied about Caroline, and now he wondered if he'd lied about the Picasso. The
story had sounded authentic enough, about the Rembrandt of art forgers, but Mac had heard that story somewhere before. Years before in fact. Sipping a glass of steely white wine, a Montrachet, he kept an eye on Belinda.

Sunny noticed Mac was disturbed and although she wished it hadn't happened quite the way it had, in this fun, elegant, outdoor atmosphere it was difficult to believe Belinda was in any real danger, and she was enjoying herself. Le Byblos was enchanting, like a Hollywood movie set of a Riviera hotel, pastel-colored and palm-treed, complete with turquoise pool and dotted with famous faces and exotically dressed women. Surprisingly, she didn't feel out of place in her shorts and striped tee; after all this was the South of France and she had just come off a boat. The wind had wrecked her hair and burned her nose but she didn't give a damn.

She squeezed Mac's knee under the tablecloth and whispered, “It's okay, babe, Lev is here.”

He nodded. “Sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you.” He turned to look at her, his golden glowing Latina lover, love of his life. He wished with all his heart they were alone as they had planned. “How the hell did we get into this?” he asked.

Sunny shook her head. “All we can do is enjoy it.” She consulted the menu. “I am going to have the
gigotin de lotte clouté aux anchois
.”

Mac stared at her, surprised. “What's that?”

“I have no idea but it sounds fantastic.”

Sunny asked Little Laureen sitting across the table, what she had chosen.

“Spaghetti Bolognaise,” Laureen said shyly.

“Your favorite.” Belinda remembered how she had chosen it at the hotel.

“Her mother used to make it for her all the time,” Billy said. “Spaghetti Bolognaise.”

He smiled and attempted to smooth Laureen's windblown hair, but it resisted, straggling in knots over her shoulders.

Belinda got quickly to her feet. “Come on, girls,” she said, glancing round the table. “Let's take Little Laureen and tidy ourselves up.”

Taking Laureen's hand, she wound her way through the tables, followed by amused glances as the other diners took in plump Little Laureen in her tutu and bare feet, with Belinda and Sunny, gorgeous and long-legged, following, and pink Sara bringing up the rear.

They were passing the bar when Sara spotted Lev. “Oh,” she said, turning even pinker. Lev looked very handsome in a dark blue shirt and jeans, all tanned and lean, the way the men she met in Kansas never looked. Lev
was just about the most attractive man she had ever seen, and that included Mac
and
Gianni Valenti, who was quite a Europe an dish if you liked that kind of thing. Which Belinda obviously did.

She lifted her hand in a wave but to her surprise Lev turned his back. He had cut her dead. Sara's cheeks burned again.

In the ladies' room Belinda said, “Did you see Lev Orenstein sitting there looking like Buddha with his bald head and dark glasses?”

“I thought he looked great,” Sara blurted before she could stop herself.

Sunny and Belinda stared at her and she blushed again. “He ignored me,” she said.

“Of course he did,” Sunny said kindly, seeing that Sara had felt slighted. “Lev's on duty. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself and he can't be seen to be talking to us. Lev is Belinda's security man, Sara.”

Belinda had taken a comb from the small blue snakeskin Dior bag slung across her chest and was pulling it gently through Little Laureen's knotted hair. The child closed her eyes and tilted back her head, relaxed for once.

“You know, you have pretty hair, Laureen,” Belinda said. “I used to be a hairstylist so I know about these things. All it needs is a good trim. You know, snip, snip along the ends to give it a nice even edge, then it'll swing beautifully, just like Sara's.”

Laureen opened her eyes and inspected Sara's hair. “Mine will never be as pretty as that.”

“You bet it will when I've finished with it.” Belinda looked at Sunny. “You got another of those rubber bands?”

“Sure.” Sunny fished in her bag and gave one to Belinda, who smoothed Laureen's hair back and fixed it in a ponytail.

“There, look how pretty you are.” She turned Laureen to the mirror.

Laureen looked at herself, surprised. Usually her hair hung around her face, all messy. Nobody ever told her off about it, and she'd seen no reason to do anything with it. Now though, her face somehow looked okay.