Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,33
hand. His grip was firm and confident. Hers was limp and cold as her muscles refused to cooperate.
“Don’t worry. I understand why you had to, shall we say emigrate, to France. I sympathize with what you’ve had to go through. Our country was sick, it still is, and we all must do what we can to achieve our dreams in life.”
He held his hands out, palms upward. “Your passion, it is fashion. Mine, contrary to the popular opinion in the press, is to restore our beautiful country to health, to resurrect our pride, to cherish and protect the values we have held dear for millennia.” He smiled.
Sidney forced her mouth closed and swallowed. “I, er, don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry, my dear, it is a lot to take in quickly. You see, I am here to personally retrieve various historical objects—those the criminal class have stolen from us. These people seek to undermine the progress we are making in Elbistonia.” He clenched his fingers and shook them. “They wish to steal the very things that make us Elbistonians.”
Sidney shook her head. “I, I, I’m not … haven’t stolen anything.”
Brunwald smiled and patted her arm. “Oh, I am not accusing you. No, no, no. I know what you are going through to retrieve our art.”
Sidney licked her lips. “Going through?”
“You do know the painting it is that you seek?”
She curled the ends of her lips downward.
Brunwald bobbed his head up and down. “Aaaaahhhh. I suspected as much. Not of you my dear, but your friend, I fear, has been a little less than fully truthful with you.”
“My friend?”
“The convenient Mr. Chapman.”
“Piers? Convenient?”
Brunwald nodded. “He has taken advantage of your kind and generous Elbistonian nature.”
“He has?”
Brunwald nodded sagely. “Indeed he has. Have you wondered why you two met?”
She shook her head.
“He was already in the taxi when you got in, correct?”
She nodded.
“Have you wondered why?”
“He was closer to the taxi than me.”
The sympathetic smiled returned to Brunwald’s face. “No, my dear. He was waiting for the other man. For Auguste. The man who stole the painting. They were in this affair together.”
Sidney’s cheeks fell. “He was?”
Brunwald nodded. “At the railway station? Don’t you find it was curious he was able to identify Auguste’s companion so quickly?”
“She had a phone.”
He gave a sympathetic smile. “Even so. A trained professional would struggle to find an unknown person so quickly. And the apartment over there. You brought him to this address, but did he ask for the apartment number?”
Her eyes narrowed their focus.
“You see, my dear, he has been using you. Playing you along.”
“But he—”
Brunwald leaned forward. “No, my dear. He is using you as cover and will dispense with you soon as he has what he wants. If you really don’t believe me, consider what happened in the taxi.”
She thought for a moment. “I got in. He was already there. He refused to get out—”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then Auguste got in. Then the shooting started and we drove away.”
“Did Auguste say anything?”
“No.”
Brunwald straightened up.
Sidney pinched her lip between her teeth. “Well … wait …”
Brunwald leaned closer again. “Yes?”
“He did say something about Waterloo. Piers works for Waterloo. And he spat at him.”
“Auguste spat at Piers?”
“Yes.”
Brunwald furrowed his brow. “I see. He must have known he wasn’t going to make it, and was venting his anger at his brother in crime.”
Sidney looked into Brunwald’s eyes. “Do you think?”
Brunwald’s face remained impassive and he nodded slowly, deliberately, exaggeratedly.
Sidney slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my god.”
“Don’t blame yourself, my dear. He and his sort use and abuse everyone they come in contact with. You haven’t done wrong. Quite the contrary. You are perfectly placed to do your country a great service.”
“I … am?”
“Indeed. As I said, I am engaged in rounding up the many pieces of art that have been stolen from our country. You may have heard about it. Our government is, of course, trying to manage the situation and the adverse publicity, but we must recover what is ours, do you not think?”
“Yes I do, but—”
Brunwald smiled. “What can you do? That’s easy, my dear.” He pressed a slip of paper into her hand. “This is my personal number. Text me. Keep me updated of what you find. No detail is too small. The people involved. Their locations. Oh, and there is money involved. Knowing who has it would be just as important as retrieving the painting.”
Sidney bit her lip. “Right. Ummm … “
“You are concerned, my dear, I understand that.”
“Er, no. I was just wondering, what is