Anna, Louise, and I will stage a break-in before Henri comes back, so that we can explain the disappearance of the Celeste. My heart aches for Henri, for my defiling his heritage like this, but I feel like this is the only way to recover our status before being dumped into obscurity and ending up in infamy. But my husband will benefit and that is all that matters to me. I can never tell him this, but once he is restored and comfortable in his position, he will again sleep well, eat well, and be happy. That is worth far more than any glittering gemstone.
After signing her name, Chantal once again looked at the clock in her drawing room. She had been writing for a while. As always, she put the journal in the niche behind the painting of Henri’s great grandfather and wondered what could be the reason for her appointment being sabotaged. Somewhere in the haze of her thoughts, while she had written, she had heard the clock chime the hour, but had paid no attention to it so that she would not forget what she wished to enter on this day’s journal page. Now she was surprised to see that the ornate long pointer had dropped from the twelve to the five.
“Twenty-five minutes late already?” she whispered, as she pulled another shawl over her shuddering shoulders. “Anna!” she called to her housekeeper while she took up the poker to stoke the fire. As she threw on another log with a hiss, it spat embers up into the mouth of the chimney, but she had no time to pet the flames and make them stronger. With her meeting with Raya delayed, Chantal had less time to conclude their business before her husband might return. This made the lady of the house just a tad anxious. Quickly, after making a turn in front of the hearth again, she had to ask her staff if her guest had called to explain why he was late. “Anna! Where are you, for God’s sake?” she cried again, feeling no warmth from the flames that practically licked at her palms.
Chantal heard no response from her maid, her housekeeper, or her assistant. “Don’t tell me they forgot that they were working overtime tonight,” she mumbled to herself as she hurried down the hallway to the east section of the villa. “Anna! Brigitte!” She called louder now as she rounded the kitchen doorway beyond which was only darkness. Floating in the darkness, Chantal could see the orange light of the coffee machine, the various little colored lights of the wall plugs and some of her appliances; the way it always looked after the ladies had left for the day. “My God, they forgot,” she muttered, sighing with effort as the cold gripped her insides like the sting of ice on wet skin.
Hastily the lady of the villa moved along the corridors, finding that she was home alone. “Great, now I have to make the most of it,” she complained. “Louise, at least tell me that you are still on duty,” she said to the closed door where her assistant usually worked with Chantal’s taxes, charities, and press engagements. The dark wooden door was locked and no answer came from the inside. Chantal had been let down.
Even if her guest still showed up, she would not have enough time to stage the breaking and entering charge she would get her husband to lay. Bitching under her breath as far as she walked, the noblewoman kept pulling her shawls over her chest and covering the back of her neck by loosening her hair to form some kind of insulation. It was reaching 9 p.m. when she entered the drawing room.
The confusion of the situation was almost smothering her. She had distinctly told her staff to expect Mr. Raya, but what baffled her most was that not only her assistant and housekeeper, but also her guest, had absconded from the arrangement. Had her husband caught wind of her plans and given her people the night off to stop her from seeing Mr. Raya? More worrisome yet, had Henri somehow gotten rid of Raya?
When she returned to where she had laid out the velvet napkin with the three diamonds, Chantal was in for a bigger shock than just being home alone. A frantic gasp escaped her as she slammed her hands over her mouth at the sight of the barren cloth. Tears came to her eyes, burning up from the pit of her stomach and stabbing at her heart. The stones had been stolen, but what exacerbated her terror was the fact that someone had been able to take them while she was in the house. No security measures had been breached, leaving Madame Chantal terrified at the variety of possible explanations.
6
High Price
‘A good name is rather to be chosen than riches’
The wind started blowing, but still it could not disturb the silence in the villa where Chantal stood in tears at her loss. It was not just the loss of her diamonds and the immeasurable value of the Celeste, but everything else that was lost because of the theft.
“You stupid, stupid bitch! Careful what you wish for, you stupid bitch!” she wailed through the prison of her fingers, lamenting the twisted fruition of her original plan. “Now you don’t have to lie to Henri. They really were stolen!”
Something stirred in the lobby, a creaking of footsteps on a wooden floor. From behind the curtains that overlooked the front lawn, she peered down to see if anyone was there, but the place was empty. The disturbing squeak was a half story’s flight of stairs down from the drawing room, but Chantal could not call the police or security company to search for her. They would walk in on a real, once faked crime and she would be in deep trouble.
Or would she?
Contemplating the aftermath of making such a call wracked her brain. Did she have all her bases covered if they showed up? If anything, she would rather upset her husband and risk months of discontent than be killed by an intruder smart enough to override her home security system.
You had better make up your mind, woman. Time is running out. If the thief is going to kill you, you’re wasting time allowing him to figure out your house. Her heart slammed against the inside of her chest in fear. Then again, if you call the police and your plan is revealed, Henri might divorce you for losing the Celeste; for even daring to think you had the right to give it away!
Chantal was so terribly cold, her skin burnt like frostbite under her thick layers of clothing. She tapped her boots on the carpet to increase the flow to her feet, but they remained frigid and pained inside her shoes.
A deep breath later, she made her decision. Chantal rose from the chair and took a poker from the fireplace. The wind grew louder, the only serenade to the lonely crackle of the impotent fire, but Chantal kept her senses alert as she stepped into the corridor to find the source of the creaking. Under the disappointed leer of her husband’s deceased ancestors depicted on the paintings hung along the walls, she vowed to redeem what she still could of this ill-begotten idea.
Poker in hand, she descended the stairs for the first time since she’d waved goodbye to Henri. Chantal’s mouth was bone dry, leaving her tongue feeling thick and out of place and her throat coarse like sandpaper. As she looked up at the lurching paintings of Henri’s female family, Chantal could not help but feel a sting of guilt at the sight of the sublime diamond necklaces adorning their necks. She dropped her gaze rather than endure their stuck-up expressions damning her.
As Chantal progressed through the house she switched on every single light; she wanted to make sure there was no place to hide for anyone who was not welcome. Before her, the northern flight of stairs stretched down to the ground floor where the creaking sound had come from. Her fingers ached in agony as she grasped the poker tightly.