cafe society of a bygone era when people drank absinthe and the hotel welcomed future kings and famous artists. He moved on, deeper into the cafe, toward the entrance to the hotel area.
Gabe saw Reynard stand as he emerged into the magnificent atrium-like lobby of the hotel known as Le Grand. He'd never walked through here previously and it was a delightful surprise to see the belle epoque evoked so dramatically. It was as though Charles Garnier had decided to fling every design element he could at it, from Corinthian cornices to stucco columns and gaudy gilding.
'Gabriel,' Reynard beamed, 'welcome to the 9th arrondissement. I know you never venture far.'
'I'm addressing that,' Gabe replied in a sardonic tone.
'Isn't it beautiful?' Reynard said, gesturing around him.
Gabe nodded. 'Thank you for inviting me.'
'Pleasure. I have an ulterior motive, though, let me be honest,' he said with a mischievous grin. Gabe wished he hadn't said that. 'But first,' his host continued, 'what are you drinking? Order something special. It is your birthday, after all.'
'Absinthe would be fun if it wasn't illegal.'
Reynard laughed. 'You can have a pastis, which is similar, without the wormwood. But aniseed is so de rigueur now. Perhaps I might make a suggestion?'
'Go ahead,' Gabe said. 'I'm no expert.'
'Good, I shall order then.' He signalled to the waiter, who arrived quietly at his side.
'Sir?'
'Two kir royales.' The man nodded and Reynard turned back to Gabe. 'Ever tasted one?' Gabe gave a small shake of his head. 'Ah, then this will be the treat I'd hoped. Kir is made with creme de cassis. The blackcurrant liqueur is then traditionally mixed with a white burgundy called Aligote. But here they serve only the kir royale, which is the liqueur topped up with champagne brut. A deliciously sparkling way to kick off your birthday celebrations.'
The waiter arrived with two flutes fizzing with purple liquid and the thinnest curl of lemon peel twisting in the drinks.
'Salut, Gabriel. Bon anniversaire,' Reynard said, gesturing at one of the glasses.
'Merci. A la v?tre,' Gabe replied - to your health - and clinked his glass against Reynard's. He sipped and allowed himself to be transported for a moment or two on the deep sweet berry effervescence of this prized aperitif. 'Delicious. Thank you.'
'My pleasure. It's the least I can do for your hours of work on my behalf.'
'It's my job. I enjoy searching for rare books and, even more, finding them. You said there was a favour. Is it another book to find?'
'Er, no, Gabriel.' Reynard put his glass down and became thoughtful, all amusement dying in his dark grey-blue eyes. 'It's an entirely different sort of task. One I'm loath to ask you about but yet I must.'
Gabe frowned. It sounded ominous.
'I gather you were ... are ... a clinical psychologist.'
The kir royale turned sour in Gabe's throat. He put his glass down. At nearly 25 euros for a single flute, it seemed poor manners not to greedily savour each sip, but he knew he wouldn't be able to swallow.
He slowly looked up at Reynard. 'How did you come by this information? No-one at work knows anything about my life before I came to Paris.'
'Forgive me,' Reynard said, his voice low and gentle. 'I've looked into your background. The internet is very helpful.'
Gabe blinked with consternation. 'I've taken my mother's surname.'
'I know,' is all that Reynard said in response. He too put his glass down. 'Please, don't become defensive, I - '
'What are you doing looking into my past?' Gabe knew he sounded annoyed but Reynard's audacity made him feel momentarily breathless, its intensity bringing with it the smell of charred metal and blood. He had to swallow his instant nausea.
'Let me explain. This has everything to do with your past but in the most positive of ways.' His host gestured at the flute of bubbling cassis. 'Why don't you drink it before it loses its joie de vivre?'
'Why don't you explain what you want of me first?'
'All right,' Reynard said, in a voice heavy with a calming tone, all geniality gone from his expression. 'Do you know what I do for a living?'
Gabe shook his head. 'I don't do searches on my clients.'
'Touche,' Reynard said evenly. 'I am a physician.'
He hadn't expected that but betrayed no surprise. 'And?'
'And I have come across a patient that I normally would not see but no-one else is able to help. I think you can.'
'I don't practise any longer ... perhaps you'd noticed?'