The Count From Wisconsin (11 page)

She shrugged. "I guess if Louisiana can have a festival celebrating poke salad, they can celebrate wine."

"Poke salad?"

"It's a vegetable that grows wild on the side of the road," she explained. "Kind of a cross between spinach and turnip greens. It looks really disgusting, but it doesn't taste bad. During the Depression lots of people in the South survived by eating poke salad."

When an elderly man approached Kate, speaking softly in French, Kate threw Alex a questioning glance.

"He wants you to dance," Alex said, smiling.

Kate curtsied her best curtsey, then swung out into the crowd on the arm of the surprisingly agile villager. She had no idea what type of dance they were executing, but she gave it all she had.

She returned breathless and laughing, only to be pulled back into the dance by Alex. The dancers and spectators acted as though Kate and Alex were according them a great honor by participating in their festival, waving and shouting encouragement as they danced past.

"Do you know what kind of dance we're supposed to be doing?" she asked breathlessly as they whirled around.

"Haven't the foggiest," he said with an unconcerned grin.

"I thought those people were yelling something like 'Nice of you to join us.' " She panted as they began to bounce exuberantly through a polka-like dance. "But they're probably commenting on the fact that neither of us knows what in the heck we're doing."

"The French admire courage," he said bracingly.

She started to comment, then suddenly remembered something as they slowed down to a waltz. "Alex, I forgot about Alvarez. How are we ever going to catch him? He's probably halfway across France by now."

He grinned and stretched himself to look over the crowd to their right. "Look."

Kate swiveled her head but could see only the celebrating farm people. Then the crowd parted for one brief instant and she spotted the red Jaguar at the side of the plaza, trapped as surely as they were. Behind the wheel, she glimpsed a dark man with sunglasses hiding most of his face. His exasperation was obvious as he scowled and tapped the steering wheel with impatient fingers.

Kate turned away, uneasy for a moment. But when she saw the look of satisfaction on Alex's face, she laughed and began concentrating once more on the dance.

The sun was hanging much lower in the sky before the crowds thinned enough for them to leave, and Kate was glad to have the suede jacket when they were on the road again. She was totally exhausted and beginning to think they would never stop when Alex slowed down and pulled the motorcycle over to the edge of the road.

"This is it," he said quietly.

Lifting her head from its resting place on his back, she looked around. They were on the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. There wasn't even a side road in the vicinity. She opened her mouth to ask Alex what he meant when, down below them, she saw the red Jaguar. It had turned off the road and was on a long gravel drive. Kate caught her breath when she saw where the drive led.

It was a castle—or, more properly, a chateau. Rising above a small green river, gleaming white stone edifice, complete with turrets, was a copy in miniature of the chateaux she had seen in the Loire Valley. It even had the beautiful formal gardens containing intricate, manicured mazes.

Kate turned fascinated eyes to Alex and met a stiff, cold frown. "What's wrong?" she asked anxiously. "Do you know this place?"

He nodded shortly. "I went to school with Charles Sauset, the present owner," he murmured vaguely, his mind obviously on other things.

"The man who owns that went to school in Wisconsin?" she asked in confusion.

He inhaled slowly, shaking away the dark mood, then smiled down at her. "I'll explain it all to you as soon as we get to Paris," he said. "The important thing is that I called Charles along with a few other people that my. friend who is being blackmailed and I went to university with. During the conversation I mentioned Alvarez . . . and Charles denied knowing him."

Why had he called people they went to the university with? she wondered, her curiosity burning. He said he would explain it all in Paris . . . Paris? "Why are we going to Paris?"

"A friend of mine has an apartment there that we can use while we figure out what to do."

She liked the way he included her in his calculations, as though he needed her help. She was too tired to wonder about how closely Involved she had become with a man she had known for only two days.

He slowly turned the motorcycle and they began traveling back the way they had come until they reached a major road, then they turned northeast, heading for Paris.

It was dark when they reached their destination in a Parisian suburb and Kate had to force herself to stay awake. Alex parked the cycle and helped her off, then pulled her against him as they walked up the stairs that led to the second floor of a small brick building.

"You're exhausted," he said in concern.

"Nothing that three days of sleep or one glass of bourbon wouldn't cure," she said. "But how do you know your friend is going to be so eager to have us stay?"

"Pete is easy."

"Isn't Pete an odd name for a Parisian?"

"He's British and his name is actually Neville Petrie, but the last person who called him Neville is probably still recuperating." Alex chuckled.

"I thought you said he was easy?"

"About everything except his name. You should have seen him in school. He was crazy. His parents wanted him to go to Oxford, but he liked the personal freedom he found in France." He smiled. "I think Pete's crowning achievement came during our last year. With a Mardi Gras mask covering his face, he mooned the entire faculty at an afternoon tea."

"Ahead of his time, wasn't he? He sounds . . . interesting," she murmured. "I can't wait to meet him."

"He's settled down since then," he said as he rang the doorbell.

From the outside, the building looked undistinguished and even dreary. When the door was opened, though, Kate caught a glimpse of unashamed opulence before her eyes were drawn to the man who was hugging Alex with exuberance.

"Pete," Alex said, laughing as he turned to Kate, "this is Kate Sullivan and we're looking for a place to sleep."

"Katy, darling," the thin, elegant man said, turning to hug Kate with even more enthusiasm than he had shown his friend. "My house is yours. My bed is yours." He looked down at her with raised eyebrows, then added, "Now that I think of it, my body is also yours. So when you get tired of this backward colonial, remember that."

"Yes—yes," she said in astonishment. "I will." Then as he ushered them inside, she murmured to Alex, "He's settled down, huh? I wish I could have met him in his prime."

"As you can see," Pete said, waving a hand toward several leather suitcases stacked beside the door, "I was on my way out. So you'll have the place to yourselves. I have an assignation in Marseilles. Very hush-hush, you understand." He chuckled lazily. "Her husband's a minor city official who wouldn't care if she slept with the entire fire department, but she likes a bit of intrigue."

He smiled and Kate suddenly realized that, although decidedly odd, he was a genuinely nice man. She wandered around the living room of the large apartment as Alex helped Pete with his bags. The furnishings matched their owner-—elegant and a little offbeat.

Alex returned to the apartment and came up to stand behind her. "You know, if you take time to get to know him, he's really a good person, a man to trust."

"Did you think I was judging him?" she asked curiously.

"No, not really," he said, shrugging. "I just want you to like my friends."

"I do like him," she said sincerely. "He doesn't just smile with his mouth. His eyes smile too." She sighed. "Alex, I'd give next year's salary for a bath, but first I think I'd better call Heather."

"I have some calls to make, too, but they can wait." He turned away and said over his shoulder, "I'll make sure there's food in the refrigerator while you call."

She made her call quickly, cutting off Heather's protests as soon as she managed to get a word in. She reassured her as best she could, then replaced the antique gold phone. Placing her hands in the small of her back, she stretched wearily, then went in search of Alex.

She found him still in the kitchen. "Heather thinks I'm a candidate for the Whoopee Wagon," she said, smiling as she walked into the room. "She insisted on repeating every single rumor she's ever heard about you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Were there any good ones?"

She shook her head. "Just the same dull stuff—wild women, drunken parties, weird sex."

"Weird sex?" He grinned. "Did she give you any details? I might want to write my autobiography someday."

She laughed, then gave him an inquiring glance. "Pete did say we should consider the place ours, didn't he?" When he nodded, she sighed. "Good. I'm going to start by considering the bathtub mine. I think some of those bugs that live in the hay decided to run away from home." Then she left him laughing in the kitchen.

Alex shook his head as she walked out, wanting to follow her, but knowing he had things to do. Besides, he reminded himself, he had promised he wouldn't push her.

He picked up the red wall phone and dialed his Monte Carlo number. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter as he waited for Paul to come on the line. When he did, Alex wasted no time in filling him in on the facts he and Kate had uncovered, then he listened without comment as Paul told him all that had happened at his end.

The conversation was short and Alex was Just about to hang up when Paul said, "Still fascinated, boss?"

Alex didn't have to ask what he meant. "It's gone way beyond fascination. This is it, Paul. And if I have to hogtie her, she's coming back to Wisconsin with me."

Paul chuckled. "I never thought I'd see it happen." He was silent for a moment. "Just out of curiosity, what was it about her that made you know?"

"That I love her?" Alex asked slowly. He knew Paul's question wasn't idle curiosity. There was a woman back in the States that his friend had been dating for over a year and Paul still wasn't sure about their relationship.

"Thousands of people have tried to explain it," Alex said. "I don't know that I can do it any better than they did." He exhaled slowly. "She's the only woman I've ever met who knows all the words to both 'Surfin' Safari' and The Three Penny Opera.' She can laugh at herself . . . and at me." He paused and his voice was soft when he continued. "She's cocky and stubborn and sometimes a smartass, but she's also loyal and wise and brave. She . . . she—" How could he explain it? "She's just Kate," he finished with a shrug.

"I envy you," Paul said quietly. It was the first time Alex had heard that particular note in his voice—almost wistful.

After he hung up, Alex stood for a moment in silence, then shook his head and reached for the telephone again.

* « *

Kate stepped from the bathtub and wrapped a thick bath sheet around her dripping body. Pete's bathroom was almost as big as his bedroom. The tub, which resembled a small swimming pool, was set in a wooden platform two steps above the rest of the room. The steaming hot water had soaked away her tiredness and most of the aches. She felt ready for anything now.

Pulling a gaudy wine-colored robe from a brass rack, she slipped into it, then headed toward the kitchen.

When she saw Alex standing in front of the open kitchen door, she stared in amusement at what he was wearing. He had obviously taken a bath, too, for his dark hair was still wet and his feet were bare. He was wearing tight green designer jeans and a black T-shirt with a French obscenity hand-painted across the back.

"I see you borrowed from Pete too," she said, grinning broadly.

He glanced down at his clothes, then at the velvet robe that dragged the floor as she walked, and shook his head ruefully. "It's the only thing they couldn't teach him at school—taste." He raised one eyebrow. "On you, however, his stuff doesnt look bad." He gestured toward the table that held makings for sandwiches. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head and sat down at the table. "I had enough at the festival to last several days, but you go ahead."

Joining her, he leaned back in his chair, resting his ankle on his knee lazily as he drank beer from a tall brown bottle. "We're invited to a party," he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

She caught her breath. "You called Sauset?" she asked.

He nodded. "He was thrilled to hear from me again," he said dryly. "Of course, when I pressed for a meeting, he wasn't so thrilled. The best I could do was an invitation to his party tomorrow night." He paused. "Actually it might work out better this way."

She started to ask him what he meant, but his expression changed suddenly and she forgot all about Sauset. His brow was creased with worry lines and there was a brooding look about his eyes.

Something was definitely troubling him, and she was just beginning to wonder if he remembered she was in the room when he said without preamble, "Tony called Paul today. He got another letter." He shifted in his seat. "This is only the second one that's been delivered by mail. The others were all handed to him by Alvarez." He frowned. "I've always thought that was strange. It was as though he had to record Tony's reaction for some--one else's pleasure."