Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,40
checking me over.”
“I was not! Damn you.”
“I’m not hiding anything from you, if that’s what you think.”
“I was not frisking you! It was just … a hug, okay? Next time I won’t bother.”
She stomped off and he followed.
Ten minutes later they arrived at the Swiss Free Bank. It was a bland modern building with windows all along the front and a revolving door in the center.
Inside, he could see potted plants, light wood furniture, and a row of tellers that looked busy. To one side, several desks with signs for bank loans, mortgages, and other services were lined up. “Other services” sounded like the person he needed. He held his hand out. “Give me the key.”
She stared at him. “Why?”
“You need to stay here while I go in.”
“No. I don’t want you forgetting something again.”
“I’m not going to forget something. I didn’t forget the bag at Auguste’s place, I’d only just escaped from the police and had a few things on my mind.”
“Right. So, this time I’ll go with you and we won’t forget anything.”
“If we go in together and anyone’s seen the TV were going to stick out like a sore thumb.”
Her eyes glazed over for a moment before snapping back onto him. “Okay. I’ll go. On my own.”
Piers sighed. “You?”
“What? You think I can’t do it because I’m a girl?”
“No, no—”
“Then what? Why can’t I do it? Why do you have to do it?”
“Because the key fits Auguste Chevalier’s safety deposit box. He’s a guy.”
“Was.”
“Right.”
She nodded slowly and held up the key. He reached out, but she wrapped her fingers back around it. “What if they have a picture?”
“Picture?”
“Of Auguste.”
Piers lowered his hand. “You mean I won’t match the picture.”
She smiled. “That’s decided then. I’ll go.”
He nodded. “Okay. Might be better. Anyway, there’s a lot of research that shows people are more cooperative with beautiful people.”
Her thin eyebrows inched slightly closer together. “You mean that?”
“Course. I read it in Scientific Ameri—”
“No, stupid. Do you really think I’m beautiful?”
“Oh.” He opened and closed his mouth, then swallowed hard. “Yes . . . of course. Yes. You’re gorgeous. Stunning.”
“Really?”
“People practically line up to gaze at you.”
“But what do you think?”
He could feel every thump of his beating heart. He licked his lips and lowered his gaze. “You’re … the most … beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “You’re fabulous.”
She gave a reluctant smile and mumbled something.
He leaned forward. “Huh?”
“I said thanks ... and … you’re kind of … okay, too.”
Piers laughed. “I’ve always wanted to be kind of okay.”
She punched him with both hands. “Okay, well, now you are, so stop complaining.”
“I wasn’t complaining.”
“Good, because …” She looked at the bank. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Piers took out his phone and they exchanged numbers. He watched as she finished typing. “What are you going to say in there?”
“That I want to get into the safety deposit box.”
“And when they ask why you’re not Auguste Chevalier, or at least a male? What then?”
She rolled her eyes. “This is France. No one will think anything of a man having a female assistant.” She tossed her head back and flipped her hair over her ear. “Especially if they’re gorgeous and stunning.” She took a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”
“Yeah.” He touched her arm. “If you get worried, call, and I’ll see what I can do.”
She smiled and placed her hand high on his chest. “My motorbike hero going to come to my rescue again?”
He bit his lip. “Just don’t draw attention to yourself, and don’t stay long.”
She took her hand slowly off his chest, nodded, and walked off to the revolving door. He sighed, wishing he’d found something else to say, just to prolong their closeness.
Piers angled the umbrella to hide himself from the road and looked into the bank. He saw her approach the “other services” desk and sit down opposite a young man.
Minutes went by. Piers shuffled from one foot to the other, unable to see what she was doing. He felt a vibration in his pocket and pulled out Auguste’s phone. “Swiss Free Bank” glowed on the display. He flipped it open. “Bonjour.”
A young male voice at the other end addressed him. “Monsieur. This is Pierre Rockeutfort at the Swiss Free Bank. I was wondering—”
“Ah. Has my assistant arrived?”
“Er, yes, monsieur. She is asking for access to your safety deposit box. She says you need to replace your records?”
“Yes, I know. We … need to replace our records.”
“I see. This is a most unusual request, monsieur.”
“Maybe, but I still