“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Hugo tried not to smile. “How much?”
“Mille.”
“A thousand? Seriously?”
“Oui. Special discount for a regular.” She held Hugo’s eye and softened her voice. “I have discounts for first-timers, too.”
“How nice for them.”
“Je m’appelle Martine.” She held out her hand, forcing Hugo to go to her and be a gentleman or stay where he was and be ill-mannered. He stepped forward but didn’t let her hold onto his hand for long. And no reason for her to know his name.
“Wait here, please.” He went back into his room and put on a shirt and flip-flops, then picked up his wallet. When he returned, she hadn’t moved. He looked around and saw three empty wine bottles, dirty plates, and a bottle of his scotch on the coffee table, also empty. Hugo, a heavy sleeper, hadn’t heard them come in. “I’m surprised he was able to … enjoy your services.”
“As drunk as he was?” she laughed. “Not a chance. But it’s my time he pays for.”
“Of course it is,” Hugo said. “I assume his wallet’s empty?”
She nodded. “Almost.”
“Of course it is,” Hugo said again. “Come on, there’s an ATM down the street.”
She retrieved a shoulder bag and they walked the four flights downstairs. As they crossed the stone foyer, the front door opened and Hugo stopped short.
“I still have my key, remember?” Claudia said, her eyes on Martine. “Let me guess: this isn’t what it looks like.”
“Actually,” Hugo said, “it’s exactly what it looks like. Man heading to get cash to pay for services of … Martine.”
“Time, not services,” Martine reminded him with a smile. “I can also play chess, watch football, or sing karaoke.” She eyed Claudia. “And I’m flexible as to who I spend time with.”
Claudia laughed. “I like her, Hugo. Make sure you get her number.” She looked at Martine. “How much does Tom owe you?”
Martine nudged Hugo. “She is smart. And trusts you. You should marry her, and quickly. Hugo.”
“If we could just get this done, please,” said Hugo. “Mille euros, apparently.”
“A thousand?” repeated Claudia. “I knew I liked her for a reason.” She dug into her bag and pulled out a handful of notes. “Voila.” Claudia, the daughter of the late Gérard de Roussillon, le Comte d’Auvergne, for whom money had never been a concern, neither the earning nor the spending.
“I’ll pay you back later today.” Hugo turned to Martine. “I should have asked before, do you need to borrow some clothes?”
“You think I should get dressed?” Martine smiled, and put down her own bag. “You’re right, we can’t have people getting the wrong idea about me.” She took out a summer dress, white with large red flowers, and Hugo watched in guarded admiration as it flowed quickly over her head, the hem stopping several inches above the knee. “Better?” she asked.
Hugo said nothing, just held the door, utterly still as she tiptoed to brush her lips against his cheek, just once. When he’d closed the door behind Martine, Claudia burst out laughing.
“Something funny?” Hugo asked.
“Mais non. Just you acting the gentleman with a whore. A very smart and attractive whore, but a whore nonetheless. As long as you’ve been in Paris, Hugo, you still need to loosen up.”
“Now you sound like Tom. You coming upstairs?”
She laughed again. “Now you sound like Tom.”
He made the coffee while she perched on the barstool at the counter. She flicked through Tom’s wallet, took out and counted seventy euros, then put them back in. “I think it’ll be more fun if he owes me,” she said.
“No doubt. Toast? It’s the one thing I don’t burn.”
“Oui.” She cocked her head and looked at him. “I wouldn’t care, you know.”
“If I burned the toast?”
“No, silly. If you employed Martine. Or someone like her.” She took a mug of coffee from Hugo. “Preferably her, she seems interesting.”
“And I wouldn’t mind if you did. That make us even?”
“I’m serious. Do you have some moral objection?”
“Why are you asking?”
“I’m just curious.”
“Because I’m so straightlaced?” He smiled. “You of all people should know better than that.”
“But you’d never pay a pretty girl to sleep with you.”
He looked at her over the rim of his cup. “Would you?”
“Stop deflecting.”
“No. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Père Lachaise,” she said. “Two break-ins in as many days that seem unrelated. Are they?”
“No idea,” said Hugo.
“I talked to Capitaine Garcia. He said the same thing.”
“I’m meeting with him this morning,” Hugo said. “How about we have lunch afterward and I give you the scoop then?”
“That the best offer I’m going to get?”
“For now.”
“OK then.” Claudia picked up her phone as a text came in. “Gotta run.”
“You keep doing that. Anything I should know about?”
“Probably. Press conference at your embassy. Apparently Senator Holmes is going to issue a press release.”
Hugo drained his cup. “The hell he is. Where’s your car?”
Chapter Twelve
Hugo didn’t wait to be waved into the ambassador’s office, silencing his secretary’s rising objection with a look he normally reserved for suspects.
Senator Holmes was alone inside the spacious office, striding back and forth in front of Ambassador Taylor’s desk, talking on his cell phone. He looked up as Hugo entered and hung up immediately.
“Where’s Tom Green?” Holmes said.
“We don’t need Tom for this.”
“For what? What do you think we’re doing here, Mr. Marston?”
“Senator, we don’t need Tom to cancel a press conference or to conduct an investigation that has nothing whatsoever to do with terrorism.”
“And you’re the one who gets to decide this?”
“It’s not who decides that’s important, it’s who’s right. And I’m right.”
Holmes looked at him, then slipped the phone into his jacket pocket. “We’re on the same side here, Hugo. We both want the same thing. I want whoever killed my son brought to justice. I trust you do, too.”
“Wanting something isn’t the same thing as getting it, Senator. With all due respect, you’re a politician with no law enforcement experience. And on top of that …” Hugo trailed off.
“On top of that I’m emotionally involved.” Holmes held his stare. “Hell, yes, sure I am. I don’t deny that, how could I? It was my son killed in that cemetery. But don’t forget, I also have the power to make this investigation get up off its ass and move.”
“And what if it moves in the wrong direction?”
“Then we find a terrorist. That’s bad?”
“In some ways no, but if we’re looking for whoever killed you son, it’s useless. Look, Senator, I don’t doubt your motives for a second. But there are thousands of dedicated agents out there, American, French, Israeli, British, all looking for jackasses like Al Zakiri. If we waste time chasing him, we’ve done them a favor but not much else.”
“What if he’s here to blow up a bridge, an airport, the Eiffel Tower?”
“Then he wasn’t here to kill your son. And that’s my priority.”
They turned as the door opened. Ambassador Taylor stood in the doorway and looked back and forth between the men in his office. “Sharing sound bites?” he asked, the smile forced.
Hugo looked at Holmes to answer.
“Not exactly,” the senator said. “Mr. Marston here is trying to persuade me to forego a great asset, the press.”