Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,52
met this morning, you haven’t had the chance yet.”
Piers clenched his jaw and breathed out hard. “Thank you very much, but don’t evade the question. I want to know, Sidney. Did you send a message to someone?”
Sidney stood up, crossed behind his chair and pulled the tube from beside him. She shook it in his face. “You don’t know what this is or what it means to some people.”
“So you do know something about it.”
“I know enough to know it can’t be replaced. I know enough to know some people would be heartbroken if they knew it had been taken. I know enough to know what’s important to a country’s heritage.”
“What are you talking about? Is this some kind of set up? Have you just been using me to find this painting?” He reached for the tube. She stepped away, whipping it behind her back. “All you care about is giving it to some murderous mob boss to save your own skin.”
He stared in her eyes. “I’m trying to save yours too, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Yeah, right. Deflect the blame to keep your conscience happy. Just like you do with your mother—and probably everyone else you know.”
“I do not—”
Sidney turned and ran from the restaurant. He jolted to his feet, sending his chair flying across the floor. He saw the maître ‘d heading in his direction. He fumbled some notes from his wallet, threw them on the table, and ran after Sidney.
He stepped out onto the sidewalk and saw two large men holding Sidney, one arm apiece. She was still, but her eyes burned into Piers’.
A man in a cream suit stepped forward. “I believe this is mine.” He yanked the tube from Sidney’s hands. She gave a faint “No,” without looking at him.
“Morel?” said Piers.
The man turned to Piers. “So, you’re her lover, the one that helped steal this from me.”
“We didn’t steal it.”
The man sneered. “Non, non, of course you didn’t. You and this girl just happened to know where to find it … when my men tore this town apart looking for it and turned up nothing.”
“It’s not yours, anyway,” said Sidney.
“Oh, I believe it is. I paid for it.”
“You can’t. It can’t be bought, it’s part of our national heritage.”
The man huffed. “Our national heritage? You mean your national heritage.”
Sidney struggled against the men holding her and they redoubled their grips.
Piers glanced from Sidney to the boss. “National heritage?”
The boss smiled at him. “How precious. Lover boy doesn’t know.” He gave a sneer, “She’s not French, she’s an immigrant, an illegal immigrant, in case you’re wondering, which is why she didn’t want to go to the police: because they would have locked her up in an instant.”
Piers looked at Sidney. “Really?”
Sidney’s face froze, her lips parted and her eyes focused inches in front of her. She shuffled her weight from one foot to another. “Still not yours. It isn’t anyone’s to sell.”
The man tapped the tube. “Sell? I wasn’t selling. I paid for it. I bought this from your conniving dictator. Which brings us to my other interest.” He turned to Piers, “Where did you claim to find this?”
Piers stiffened. “In Auguste’s car. We worked out th—”
“Show me the car.”
Piers glanced at Sidney, but she was looking up and down the street. Was she thinking of running? The two guys had a very firm grip on her, but maybe she was hoping to get free when they were walking? These guys had to be carrying guns, and Piers didn’t fancy the idea of sprinting away from a hail of bullets.
The boss leaned forward, bringing his face inches from Piers’. His breath was filled with garlic and his eyes bored into Piers’. “I said, show me the car.”
Piers took a deep breath, and led them back to the dead end. He looked down the dimly lit road. It was an ideal hangout for muggers, only they were already hostages. He glanced behind and saw the boss, and behind him Sidney between the two men. What if Sidney did try to run? Would she get far? Maybe if she dodged between the cars so they wouldn’t have a clear shot. He licked his lips. If she ran, he would jump the men. Even a few moments’ distraction would probably be enough for her to disappear into the crowds on the main road.
Sweat trickled down his back. He wriggled to get his shirt to soak up his fear. Why did this guy want to see the car? Did he