The Ugly Duckling (38 page)

“He does.”

“And you intend to apply at the agency.” Jamie smiled. “Ah, bright girl. We could have used her in the old days, Nick.”

“You have no experience,” Nicholas said.

“I’ve been to dozens of fashion shows. I’ll fake it.” She turned to Jamie. “If you can fake my credentials and arrange to have photographs taken for a portfolio.”

“I know a photographer in Nice I can trust,” Jamie said. “Give me three days.”

“I don’t like it,” Nicholas said.

“I didn’t expect you to like it.” She met his gaze. “But will they hire me?”

“You know damn well they will.” His smile was grim. “Who wouldn’t hire Helen of Troy?”

“Good. I thought it would work. And I like the idea. There’s a sort of … justice to it.”

“Justice?” Jamie asked.

“She means that she got that exceptional face courtesy of Maritz and Gardeaux, and it’s only fair that she use it to gut them.”

She should have realized that Nicholas would know exactly what she meant. Nicholas knew her so well. Too well. She took the croissants out of the oven and put them on the table. “I’m not as tall and thin as most runway models. You’ll have to make those credentials impeccable, Jamie.”

“Trust me. Besides, they’ll be so in love with your face, I’ll bet they’ll never notice.”

She wasn’t so sure. “We’ll see.”

“You must have been thinking about this for a while,” Nicholas said quietly.

“You left me alone for two days. What was I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs?”

“Heaven forbid.” He stood up and moved toward the door. “Remind me not to leave you alone again.”

T
he Charlemagne sword was hand-delivered the next morning by a dark-haired young man who looked little older than Peter. He wore a black leather jacket, arrived on a motorcycle, and his smile was supremely confident.

He presented the leather-wrapped package to Nicholas with a flourish. “Here it is, Senor. The finest piece of work my father has ever done.”

“Thank you, Tomas.” When he remained standing there, staring at Nell, Nicholas added, “Tomas Armandariz, Eve Billings.”

Tomas beamed at her. “I am also a great craftsman. I will someday be very famous.”

“That’s nice,” she said absently as she followed Nicholas back into the cottage.

The boy followed her. “I did a great deal of work on the sword myself.”

Nicholas was drawing the sword from its leather sheath.

“As a reward for my work, my father says I can go on to Paris for a few days’ holiday.” Tomas smiled beguilingly at Nell. “I don’t suppose you would want to go with—”

“Good-bye, Tomas,” Nicholas said, his gaze on the sword.

Tomas didn’t seem to hear. “I attended school at the Sorbonne, and I know many cafés that—”

Nicholas pointed the sword at the boy. “Good-bye.”

Tomas blinked and began backing toward the door.

Nell didn’t blame him. She had not seen this Nicholas since that moment in Florida when he had struck down Sergeant Wilkins.

Tomas said, “Only a small joke, Señor Tanek.”

“I thought as much.” Nicholas smiled gently. “Tell your father I’m very pleased with the sword. And now you have to be on your way to Paris, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes. At once.” He bolted out of the cottage.

“You didn’t have to frighten him,” Nell said. “All I had to do was say no.”

“He was cocky.” He was looking at the hilt of the sword again. “And he annoyed me.”

She dismissed the subject and looked at the sword. She had seen the genuine sword only once, but this forgery seemed amazingly similar. “Is it close enough?”

He nodded. “It’s a work of art.”

“You’re still going to use it?”

“With Sandequez dead, it’s literally and figuratively the only weapon I have.”

“You’ll be walking into the lion’s den.” She hesitated. “I’ve been thinking. If I can get into Bellevigne undetected, why don’t you stay here and let me handle everything?”

He stared at her, waiting.

She rushed on. “It’s only sensible. Forget the sword. You’d be recognized and there’s no way you’ll get out alive.”

“Has it occurred to you that you’re trying to close me out?” he asked quietly. “That you’re robbing me.”

The words were familiar, the ones she had used to him. “This is different.”

“It’s always different when applied to yourself.” He smiled. “I understand perfectly. But have you stopped to wonder why I was so determined to keep you at the ranch and protect you?”

“Because you’re an arrogant man and think you’re the only one in the world who—”

“I think you know that’s not the reason.” He met her gaze. “But maybe you’re not ready to take your head out of the sand yet.”

Her hands clenched in frustration. “I don’t
like
this.”

“I know. But you’ll have to adjust to it. I did.” He turned back to the sword. “And I’ll just have to get a few tricks up my sleeve to keep the situation level.”

“Damage control?”

“Exactly.” He took a pile of photographs out of a kitchen drawer and began to compare them to the sword. He murmured, “Amazing work.”

He had clearly ended the conversation. She turned to leave.

“Maritz won’t be at Bellevigne.”

She whirled back to face him. “You’re sure?”

He nodded. “Gardeaux has given him his walking papers. We’ll have to deal with them one at a time. We’ll concentrate on Gardeaux and then worry about Maritz.”

Disappointment compounded her fear and frustration. “But can we find him?”

“We’ll find him.” He put a photograph of the hilt next to the actual sword hilt. “After you go to Paris, I don’t want you coming back here until we’re ready to move.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous. If you’re going to be Eve Billings, be Eve Billings. Make friends with the other models. No mysterious disappearances on weekends. Spend them in Paris.”

“I see.” She felt oddly bereft. He was right, of course. Going to Paris had been her choice, and she must follow through with it. “But we’ll have to make plans.”

“Not until I get in touch with Gardeaux and find out the lay of the land. I’ll come to your apartment the night before you leave for Bellevigne. Until then, no contact unless there’s an emergency.”

She tried to smile. “That seems sensible.”

“You’ll go to Nice tomorrow with Jamie for the photo shoot. He’s already arranged for you to sublease a small apartment in the Sorbonne area. Nothing fancy. Something a student or struggling model could afford.”

“Jamie is very efficient.”

“More than you know.”

He was right. She was not really part of their lives and certainly not their past. The closeness she felt toward them would vanish as soon as she left them.

“You’ll be careful?” She hadn’t meant to ask that question; it had tumbled out.

He looked up and smiled. “Of what? The sea gulls? Want to ship me back to the ranch?”

Yes, she did and lock all the gates behind him.

And he knew it.

“With all the pollution around these days, you can never tell what germs sea gulls carry,” she said lightly. “I’ll go pack.”

T
he sword was as alluring as a siren song.

Gardeaux studied the color photographs with a magnifying glass.

If it was a fake, it was a brilliant one.

And it could be real. Tanek was very talented in the area of acquisition.

The excitement that rippled through him made his hand tremble. The sword of a conqueror. Perhaps the greatest conqueror who ever lived.

That feeling was what Tanek had planned on. He was being manipulated.

Charlemagne’s sword.

Would Tanek dare to offer him a fake?

It was a trap to lure him to his death.

Attempts had been made on Charlemagne’s life too, but strength and brains had made him tower above those foolish enough to try to kill him.

As he, Gardeaux, towered above Tanek.

His forefinger gently touched the hilt of the sword in the photograph. Incredible. Magnificent.

His.

“I
’m sorry, Mademoiselle, we cannot use you.” Molambre tapped the open portfolio in front of him. “These pictures are very impressive, but we handle only runway models and you don’t meet our qualifications.”

“I’m not tall enough?”

“Five foot seven? You lack power and presence. You must have presence to show clothes. Perhaps you would do for the New York runways, but our designers are more particular.” He shrugged. “Stick to print. You have a great future there.”

“There are only so many magazines. I need to do both.”

He closed the portfolio and held it out to her. “As I said, I’m very sorry.”

His tone was final. She stood up and took the portfolio. “Good day, Monsieur Molambre.”

Brick wall.

Well, she would just have to go around it.

“A
nd what can I do for you, Mademoiselle Billings?” Celine Dumoit asked indifferently.

Well, Nell couldn’t expect anything but indifference.
Jacques Dumoit was one of the leading designers in the world. These people dealt in beauty, used it, discarded it when it faded. “I need to speak to your husband, Madame.”

The woman bristled. “That’s not possible. I run this salon. You speak to me. Everyone wishes to speak to Jacques. He’s a busy man. My husband is putting together a special collection.”

“For the Renaissance Fest.” Nell nodded. “I want him to use me as a model at the fest.”

“He uses the Chez Molambre agency. Apply to them.”

“I did. They refuse to consider me. They say I lack presence.”

Madame Dumoit studied her. “I disagree. You do have a certain presence, but that is neither here nor there.”

“I need this job.”

“And that is supposed to influence me?”

Nell doubted if any human need would influence this iceberg. “I’m trying to break into modeling here in Europe. The Renaissance Fest would be a perfect showcase for me.”

“And for a thousand other models here in Paris.”

“Your husband always does a collection influenced by the Renaissance for the fests. I’m right for it.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Put me in a gown and let him judge.”

“We have all the models we need.” She hesitated and then nodded. “But your face does have an unusual quality and Jacques wants to please Monsieur Gardeaux. We will see how you look in number eight.”

Number eight turned out to be a magnificent burgundy gown with long, tight sleeves and a square neck.

It was also a very small size six, and the waist was so tight, Nell could barely breathe.

“You are abominably fat,” Celine Dumoit said. She put the pearl-trimmed cap on Nell’s head, stepped back, and tilted her head. “But there is definitely … something.” She turned to a tall man coming into the room. “Ah, there you are, Jacques.”

“Why did you send for me?” Jacques Dumoit’s tone was peevish. “I’m very busy, Celine.”

“I know, my love.” She gestured to Nell. “What do you think?”

“Fat. She will have to lose at least ten pounds before the show.”

“Then you think she will do?” Celine asked.

“Of course she will do. Stunning. Renaissance courtesan. That face looks like it might have been painted by da Vinci. May I go now?”

“Of course, my darling. I promise I’ll not bother you again.”

“Assign her the green gown too.” He was striding out of the dressing room. “And make sure she gets rid of that hideous fat.”

“Yes, Jacques.” She turned to Nell. “Give the receptionist your phone number. You’ll come for fittings whenever you’re summoned, and if you miss one, you’re out.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“And you have two weeks to lose the weight.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“You should be grateful. We’re giving you a great opportunity.”

“I’m very grateful, Madame Dumoit.”

“Naturally, we will not pay you for your services in this case. You should be paying us.”

Why, the ice-coated skinflint! “I’m very grateful,” Nell repeated.

Celine Dumoit nodded with satisfaction and left the dressing room.

As the dresser undid the buttons of the gown, Nell turned to the mirror and the face that had gotten her a ticket to Bellevigne. Renaissance courtesan was every bit as good as Helen of Troy. She had told the woman the truth.

She was grateful.

Thank you, Joel.

“T
anek, how good it is to hear from you,” Gardeaux said.

“Yes, Rivil conveyed your enthusiasm. You received the photographs?”

“Exquisite bait, but, of course, I’m not fool enough to think the sword is authentic.”

“You won’t know until you examine it yourself. I was going to let you have an expert inspect it, but I believe now that any contact will be hazardous to my health.”

“You heard about Sandequez? Sad.”

“It depends on your position.”

“My position is very solid. Yours is very precarious.” He paused. “I don’t want you at my fest, Tanek. Choose another place and time.”

“You might have had a chance at persuading me if you’d not made my position that precarious. I’ll wait until I can come into the courtyard with a crowd of your very prestigious guests. I want people around who would make it embarrassing for you if you decide to rid yourself of me.”

“But you intend to do the same to me.” He fell silent and then said, “You’re going to a great deal of trouble and bother for O’Malley, Tanek. He really wasn’t worth it.”

“He was worth it.”

“I disagree. The man wasn’t in the least interesting.
Now,
you’ll
be much more entertaining. Pietro would find you fascinating.”

“He won’t get the chance. I wouldn’t play your game.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Do you want the sword?”

“I’ll call you back. Give me your number.”

“I’ll call you.” Tanek hung up and turned to Jamie. “He wants it. He’s salivating, or he wouldn’t be trying to negotiate.”

Jamie looked at the sword. “It’s truly a beautiful weapon. But not worth the risk.”

“Gardeaux thinks it is,” Tanek said. “Thank God.” It was coming to an end. A little over a month, and all the waiting, all the frustration would be over.

“What do you want me to do next?” Jamie asked.