There was a pause. "It's up to you, of course," Boucher said. "But Godard is a difficult man to get an appointment with, as you already know, and he'll see us later today or tomorrow morning if we can't get there today."
"And there is?"
"Vichy. He has a chateau in Vichy. Didn't I mention that?" Of course he hadn't. He hadn't given me even the smallest clue as to Godard's location. "I've managed to get us an invitation to his chateau."
"Okay," I said. "I'll see what I can do. I can't get in touch with the agent in Amsterdam for an hour or two. His office won't be open yet. I'll call you back as soon as I make contact and let you know either way."
"We'll need a car," Boucher said. "Mine's unexpectedly in for repairs."
Just like your wallet, I was tempted to say, but didn't. This would have to be all sweetness and light until I'd actually met Godard. "Let's worry about that if I can reschedule Amsterdam," I said. "I can always rent one if necessary."
I left Boucher to cool his heels for a couple of hours, the same way he'd been making me wait, while I found a car to rent and checked out of the hotel.
"You should have joined forces with Leclerc," Boucher said as we headed down the highway. "He's got really good connections."
"So, did he get this appointment with Godard, or did you?" I asked through clenched teeth. Boucher was definitely getting on my nerves, chattering away as the miles rolled past.
"I did, of course," he replied, sounding wounded. I couldn't see, given I had my eyes glued on the road ahead but also on the rearview mirror, looking in vain for some sign that Antonio had picked up my trail, but I knew Boucher had his hand on his heart again. "But it's not a good idea to get on Leclerc's bad side. I wouldn't be surprised if he's already in Vichy. He knows Godard really well, you know, can get in to see him easily. I'll bet he's there right now negotiating the purchase of the horse."
"Why would he do that? Does he have a buyer for it?"
"He may do," Boucher said, after a pause.
"What are you trying to tell me, Yves?" I snapped, but I knew the answer before the words were out of my mouth.
"You," he said sadly. "I'm afraid he'll get it and resell it to you at a much higher price. Most unfortunate."
There was no sign of Leclerc, nor of Antonio, as I turned off onto a country road. It had been a long, hot summer in Europe, but it was coming to an end. The trees were yellow now, with only brief patches of green, and the fields had all been harvested. The sun was still' warm, but there was an edge to it, and dark clouds on the horizon signaled the arrival of autumn rains. It was beautiful, though, and I wished I was there with someone other than Boucher, and for a purpose other than business.
After several miles of driving through the countryside, we turned onto a long drive lined with tall poplars that, in the late afternoon sun, cast stunning shadows across the road and beyond. At the end of the drive, past two large stone sphinxes that stood guard, was a storybook castle, a gorgeous chateau, all turrets and crenellations. A silver Renault was pulling away as I parked and got out of the car. It stopped abruptly, the door opened, and I heard my name.
"What are you doing here, Dottie?" I said as soon as I saw the driver.
"Looking for treasure, of course," she said, air kissing me on both cheeks. I found myself enveloped in a cloud of expensive perfume.
"You haven't met Kyle, have you?" she said, gesturing to a rather attractive young man at least ten, maybe fifteen years her junior. He smiled prettily and shook my hand, saying nothing, and all the while gazing adoringly at Dottie, who did look rather smashing in a short, tight leather skirt over toned and tanned— Dottie knew how to look after herself, I thought enviously—legs and a leopard print scoop-neck top that showed a fair amount of cleavage. "The boy toy," she mouthed at me. "Isn't he gorgeous?" she said, sotto voce. "Lovely pecs," she added.
He was lovely, no doubt about it. He was built like a football player, or maybe a bouncer—very broad shoulders and slim waist—with heavily moussed blond hair that failed to control a rather adorable cowlick. Mind you, Rob had reasonably good pecs, too, and he had the advantage of being smart, well-read, a reasonably good conversationalist as guys go, and just about my age. I suddenly wished more than anything that he were there.
"Gorgeous," I murmured.
"I saw Clive a few months back," she said. "At the Winter Antiques Show in New York, if I remember correctly. I hear you're back in business together. How ..." She paused for a moment, searching for the right word.
"Risky?" I said. "Or maybe foolhardy?"
"No, darling," she said. "I was thinking something more like sophisticated, civilized, something like that. So unlike my awful divorce from Hughie. He's still being quite horrid about everything. But who cares? I'm having much more fun than he is, the old turnip." She linked her arm through Kyle's and smiled engagingly. Kyle gave me a lovely lopsided grin. My, he was cute.
"And this is?" she said turning in Boucher's direction.
"Oh, sorry," I said. For a pleasant second or two, I'd forgotten he was there. "Yves Boucher, a dealer from Paris. This is Dorothea Beach. She specializes in French antiques. She has a wonderful shop in New Orleans."
"Delighted, I'm sure," she said.
Boucher bowed and kissed her hand. "Enchante," he said. Dorothea had that effect on most men.
"Boyfriend?" she mouthed at me as Boucher bent over her hand. I shook my head vehemently. "That's good," she whispered.
"You're here to see Godard, obviously," she said aloud, inclining her head in the general direction of the chateau. "Regular parade through the place. Pierre Le-clerc was leaving just as I arrived. You know him, don't you? Paris dealer? I can't stand the man. He kept pressing himself against me in the most revolting way." The lovely Kyle looked vaguely peeved. I wondered if he could speak, and then decided it didn't matter. "Oh dear," she said. "I shouldn't have said that. I hope he isn't your best friend or anything." I indicated she would get no argument from me on the subject of Pierre Leclerc.
"Strange bird, that one," Dottie said. "Godard, I mean. It doesn't take a genius to see he has to sell, I offer him a fair price, but then he says he'll think about it. I don't think he likes me. Oh, I hope you're not after the same thing I am," she said suddenly. "Are you?"
"I doubt it," I said. "I'm not in the market for furniture right now."
"That's a relief, sweetie," she said. "I'd hate to have to fight you for it, but fight you for it I would. I'd rather lose to you than Leclerc, of course, but I just desperately want it. Gorgeous dining set. Solid wood. Not even a whiff of veneer. And sixteen—sixteen!— chairs. Late eighteenth-, early nineteenth-century. Stunning. I was just drooling over it, trying not to let on, of course. Maybe I should have been more effusive. Maybe he's one of those types who only sells to people he thinks love the stuff as much as he does. Although if he sells it to me," she said, pausing for breath, "he'll be eating dinner off a TV table, poor thing." She shrugged. "I'll come back tomorrow as he's suggested and try to be more ingratiating. I hope I don't have to kill him to get it. What did you say you were looking for?"
"Equestrian statue," I said. "Pegasus. Bronze."
"I saw that," she said. "It's ... well, big. Probably very good, too, but I don't know anything about bronze statues. If you want it, I hope you get it. If I were you, as a strategy, I'd gush all over that horse. The coy approach doesn't seem to work with Godard. If you're staying in town, perhaps we can get together for a bite. Right now, Kyle and I have to find something to do to pass the time, don't we, sweetheart?" She put her arm around his waist and grinned at me. "Hope to see you later, Lara. Clive told me you have a new boyfriend, and I want to hear all about him."