There's Something About St. Tropez (34 page)

“And now you look like a real ballerina,” Sunny said, and Laureen threw her a grateful glance and said thank you.

Then everybody rushed to wash their hands and comb their own hair and, girls together, made their way back to the table.

This time Sara did not so much as look in Lev's direction, though every hair on her body seemed to stand up as she walked quickly by. Once past though, she sneaked a look. He was sitting with his back to the bar, propped on one elbow, half in shadow. She doubted he'd even noticed her.

Back at the table, Sunny's dish turned out to be monkfish studded with
anchovies that had almost melted and was the best thing she had ever eaten. Well, at least since the previous night. And then again, there was always tomorrow. She wished she were not such a foodie. Did extra pounds lurk in the offing? Oh the hell with it, she was on vacation with Mac. Or was she? Didn't Mac seem more involved with Belinda right now, than being on holiday with her? Everybody was having a good time, including Valenti, who she saw never took his eyes off Belinda, which meant he ate very little while Belinda downed his food as well as her own and quite a bit of Billy's. In fact Billy was the only one who seemed not to be having a good time. For once his smile was missing.

And Sara was wrong. Lev noticed everybody and everything. The hands on his watch crept round to eleven-thirty, then twelve. More people were arriving . . . St. Tropez was a late town . . .

At twelve-fifteen they finally made a move, though not far, just across to the Caves du Roy. All except Billy and Little Laureen, who anyway was too young to be admitted, and who looked pleased when Billy said he was taking her home in a taxi. It was late but she hoped Bertrand would still be waiting. And since Lev was here in St. Tropez, they would not be caught. Tonight, she and Bertrand would put her plan into action. Billy waved goodbye and they were gone.

 

46.

 

 

The nightclub glimmered darkly; techno music resounded from the walls and bounced off the ceiling; they were encased in sound, borne along on a beat that swept Belinda instantly onto the crowded dance floor, gyrating like a wind-spirit found on Valenti's sailboat. Valenti was right there with her, and, unable to resist the pull of the music, Sunny joined them, then Nate dragged Sara onto the jammed floor, protesting all the way. Mac watched for a minute but he was aware of Lev in the background and aware of everything that was going on, checking faces beaded with sweat and flickering color and real jewels under the shimmer of black light.

Mac saw a face he knew. Caroline was alone at a small table near the back. This was not the hotel receptionist Caroline, it was the Caroline from the Casino, in a chiffon dress, diamond chandelier earrings, pale blond hair hanging in a sleek fall over her eyes. Even though her face was half-hidden, Mac knew it was her; there was just something about this version of Caroline, the way she sat with her head tossed arrogantly, one arm resting along the back of the chair next to her, one foot tapping impatiently, that was unmistakable.

Two martini glasses were on the table in front of her, both empty. Mac checked Valenti, but his attention was on Belinda and Mac doubted he'd even noticed Caroline.

He threaded his way to where she was sitting. Coming from behind her, he said, “Caroline?”

She jumped, then swung round, looking at him. Watching the changing expressions flit across her face, for a minute Mac thought she was going to deny it was her.

Then, “Oh, Monsieur Reilly,” she said. She glanced away, flustered. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

“Nor I you.” Mac indicated the empty chair. “May I?”

“But of course.” Caroline ran her hands distractedly through her hair.

“You look lovely tonight,” Mac said, taking in the earrings, which he'd bet were the real thing, though Sunny would know for sure.

“Thank you, Monsieur Reilly.”

“Please, call me Mac. After all, I feel I know you.” This was totally untrue but it opened the conversation. “At least I know the you from the hotel. I must admit
this
Caroline is a surprise.”

This time Caroline smiled. “I think you are a very nice man, Monsieur Reilly. Mac, I mean.”

“And I think
you
are a very nice woman. Or maybe
two
different women.” He was pursuing his theme. “Are you expecting someone?” He indicated the glasses.

She shrugged, that expressive little shrug French women do so well. “My girlfriend just left. Now I'm waiting to see if my boyfriend shows up.”

Mac raised a brow. “And why is that in question?”

Caroline laughed. “Because, Mac Reilly, we had a fight last night. So now I don't know where I am with him.”

Mac could have told her but thought he'd better not. Instead he offered to buy her a drink. He checked Lev, standing in the shadows. Everything was still okay on that end.

Caroline sipped her martini, eyeing him over the rim of the glass. “So, Mac, what have
you
been up to?”

“Well now, let me see . . .” Mac rolled up his eyes, pretending to think, making her smile. “Yes, of course. Last night Sunny and I went to the Casino in Monte Carlo and Sunny lost a great deal of money at roulette.”

He waited for Caroline to say that she was also at the Casino, but she did not. He said, “And then tonight we went for a sail on a boat called the
Blue Picasso
.”

This time he got the reaction he'd expected. Caroline slammed her glass on the table, spilling some of the drink. Mac took a napkin and mopped it up.

“Yes, a wonderful boat.” He talked on, his eyes on Caroline's face, waiting for her to say she knew Valenti, that in fact he was her boyfriend. He knew something was going on, something more than just a relationship on the rocks.

Caroline was silent. Then she gave him a long full-on stare. There was a look in her eyes that made Mac uneasy. Was it anger? Hatred? Fear?

She leaned closer. “I know about your TV show, Mac. I know you are a
detective, I know you have a good reputation, that you are clever . . . I need to talk to you.”

“Anytime. Like now, for instance?”

She cast a glance at Valenti. “No. I must leave now. Please, give me your phone number. Tomorrow, I will call you. I'll tell you what time I will be free.” She hesitated, then took a card from a small black bag that had, Mac noticed, the expensive triangular gold Prada insignia. She handed the card to him. “This is my address. We can meet there, later in the day.”

“Just let me know.” He caught the glance she swung at Valenti and then she was on her feet. “And Caroline?”

“Yes?” She stood, poised as if ready to run.

“It'll be okay, I promise.”

Caroline gave him a long steady look. “I'm not sure it will. Not after you hear what I have to tell you.”

Then, with a whisk of short chiffon skirts, she quickly blended into the crowd and was gone.

When Mac returned to his table Sunny and Sara were draped over their chairs, exhausted.

“This is the wildest crowd ever,” Sunny exclaimed, eyeing a couple of stoned young things in mini Versaces and five-inch gold stilettos prancing on a table, long hair flinging back and forth, sweat trickling between their breasts, excitement building. The floor heaved with bodies and Mac felt glad he had not had to participate. Dancing was not his forte; he was old-school, the kind that liked to hold a woman in his arms when he danced. And that was exactly what he did now, pulling the protesting Sunny back onto the floor and slow-dancing, cheek to cheek.

“Like Fred and Ginger,” she said into his ear.

“Only better,” he agreed. But out of the corner of his eye he'd spotted Lev making a move. Mac's eyes swiveled to the door. Two men were standing there: white jackets, shades, black shirts; big, bulky, expensive and flash. They looked like what they were.

Mac saw Lev signal across the room then two of his men circled the floor heading their way. Only Mac would have known that all were packing guns. He glanced round for Belinda, hoping the thugs might not yet have had time to see her. But Belinda was the star of the show tonight, dancing, laughing, having fun, totally unaware of any danger.

“Sunny,” Mac said. “Get Belinda and go quickly to the ladies' room. And go directly across the dance floor, not round it. Stay there until Lev comes to get you.”

Sunny didn't ask for explanations, she knew the sound of trouble when she heard it. Mac covered her as she tapped Belinda on the shoulder, then taking her by the hand, led her into the crowd. He breathed again. Crowds were good. Even these thugs would think twice about abduction and gunfire in a busy South of France club.

He turned and walked over to where Lev's men now stood in back of the two Russians. Mac stopped in front of them. They shifted their eyes from the dance floor, lifted their solid chins and glared at him, hands automatically heading inside their jackets.

“Gentlemen.” Mac smiled easily at them. “I do not think the management here would be thrilled about a pair of tough guys like you packing heat in their club. In fact I'm willing to bet that right now, you are about to be asked to leave.”

Mac's eyes shifted to the right. Their eyes followed. A pair of burly bouncers flanked the door, watching. The Russians swung round, only to come face-to-face with Lev's two bodyguards.

Shrugging nonchalantly, as if to say what the hell? the Russians walked back and out the door they had just entered.

Mac followed them, watching. “Gentlemen?” he called after them. They did not turn round. “Better tell your boss that thugs packing guns do not go down well with the
flics
in St. Tropez. Nor anywhere else on the Riviera.”

He turned to Lev, who had kept deliberately out of the scene, not wanting to be identified. “Belinda's in the ladies' with Sunny,” he said. “Get her out of here, any way you can without her being followed.”

“They saw her, y'know,” Lev said.

Mac heaved a giant sigh. “Shit. I know they did. So now what?”

“Only thing I can think of is you take her home to Malibu.”

Mac gave him a look. “And what would Sunny say to that?”

“That's your problem,” Lev said, already en route to rescue Belinda.

Mac took care of Valenti, telling him Belinda had felt unwell and had returned home. He thanked him for the evening and said good night. He knew Lev would already have alerted the local police. The thugs would not be back, but others would certainly take their place. There would be trouble to come.

 

47.

 

 

The following day, Mac and Sunny had escaped their Misfits and were strolling the narrow streets of St. Tropez, window-shopping, stopping for one of those delicious
tartes tropeziennes
, or a
framboise
, with raspberries layered in cream and custard that melted in the mouth; pausing in cafés for an espresso here, an iced drink there, resting their feet, people-watching. In fact for once they were behaving like regular holidaymakers. Except that Mac had two other women on his mind besides Sunny.

Belinda, of course, who, much chastened, had promised not to move out of the hotel and who Mac knew was currently safely ensconced under a beach cabana, along with Little Laureen and Billy and the Chihuahua.

Sunny said she believed the dog was switching her allegiance to the little girl. “Not a chance,” Mac replied, thinking fleetingly of the way their lives might be without feisty Tesoro's interfering little teeth. Still, he told Sunny not to worry, Tesoro's heart belonged to her, that she was just escaping the hot sun and doing what any lazy dog wanted, that is, resting in the shade in the company of an adoring female.

Lev had informed him that the pair of Russian thugs had checked out from the Carlton and driven back to San Remo. For now, they were out of the way. But not for long, Mac was sure of that. What he wasn't sure of was what to do about it. It was that old familiar situation known to anyone in family or divorce courts: the cops couldn't arrest the husband because he hadn't yet done anything; and if they waited until he did something, it would probably be too late for Belinda. The husband would have to make a move before Mac could have him arrested, and with a man as powerful as that, it would not be
easy. Still, Interpol was following up the arms-trading link and he would see what came of that.