23 - Dinner With Privileges

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France

"At least we know now where some of Peter's cache originated. He kept an acceptable mix of gems and made a tidy sum disposing of them for himself. Angelo had to do what he could with Jean and the Agency got the rest." Nathan hefted the little bag of diamonds and his cigarette dropped an inch of ash onto his shirtfront.

"He is quite terrified of this Jean Tremblay, I'm not sure we will be able to rely on his services." Monique nursed the drink Murray had provided when she sat in front of Nathan to deliver her report.

The hasty trip back from Italy for such a short briefing annoyed her but she realized she was in no position to complain.

"From what you have told me Angelo will do very nicely. You will contact him and you will tell him he is accepted and that to maintain his credibility he will tell Jean Tremblay that Richard Carstairs, the man that shot his men, approached him and took his merchandise and that he has nothing to give to Jean. This is the start of our removal of Jean Tremblay from our hair."

"You want to sic this Tremblay onto Richard?"

"It will prompt Richard to make his moves a little faster and when he does, we will know and be ready."

"What if Tremblay catches up with him before you do?"

"That is why you are going back to Genoa, my dear. You will sit on the bank until Richard shows his hand and meanwhile you will contact Jean Tremblay and tell him that Angelo Spataro tried to sell you inferior gems. You will tell him that Angelo told you he was blaming Richard to put Jean off his back."

"You're hanging a bull's eye on Angelo too."

"Collateral damage, my dear. His source is burned anyway. The gems will never be of better quality since he began accepting an inferior product."

Monique handed Murray her glass and flinched at the touch of his fingers on hers.

"I, uh- I'm not sure I want to be a part of-"

"Murray." Nathan blew out a stream of smoke and stared at her.

"No! NO, wait. For God's sake, Nathan." She hunched up on her chair, hands jammed into her lap.

"Are we through having doubts, my dear?"

She nodded, head down and tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

"Good. Murray will take you to the airport; I don't want any cars traced back here after this begins."

Italy - November 2011

At four-thirty sharp Richard was on the trot wearing a new top coat and carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. He felt like a kid on a date and wondered if the flowers might have been a bit much. His check on her through sources he dared to contact while staying under the Agency radar revealed nothing he found concerning; he just couldn't shake the damned feeling.

The sound of the outboard brought his head up and he saw René's boat idling against the pier a little further down the trot. She just held the boat in position against the pier and called to him. She had on a heavier wind jacket and a small toque that emphasized her gamin look.

"Jump in, I'm ready to go."

He did as instructed and managed to dance awkwardly around the tiny deck before collapsing into a side seat, crushing the floral bouquet.

"So much for the gift," he grumbled. The boat jerked away from the trot and out into the marina.

"It was the thought." She called over the noise of the engine.

"I still have the wine at least," he said.

René pursed her lips and turned her attention to driving the boat.

The trip was made mostly in silence and on the walk from the dock to her cottage; Richard could only comment on the weather. As for her appearance, she had on the same track pants with a long t-shirt pulled down over her rump under the wind jacket, accentuating the curves and the motion of her walk.

Inside her small house Richard was surprised at the sparsely furnished interior; he had expected wicker and big stuffed cushions for some reason. Instead of brightly detailed water colours and vases of flowers, a couple of large posters of old movies filled in a few blanks on the neutral painted walls and some worn books sagged on a small table next to a large futon. Stacked on the floor in one corner by a beaded doorway opening stood a pile of file folders plastered in sticky notes.

Richard parted the beads and stood in the doorway as René busied herself at the small kitchen sink.

"Should I open this or . . . ?"

She turned and pointed to a corkscrew on a little shelf over the kitchen table.

"Would you like some now or . . . ?"

She reached beside her and opened a cupboard door exposing some wine glasses. Richard smiled, amused at the mime communication. He walked over and took out two glasses, pouring a good measure in each.

"Can I help with anything?"

"We're eating in the living room so you can clear a spot in front of the futon for plates."

"Should I get the plates and the cutlery?"

"It's finger food, no cutlery required."

"Ah . . . okay, a space for plates then." He took his wine and moved a few magazines, plumped the cushions on the futon and lowered himself into the soft day bed.

René came in carrying a large tray and she set it on the floor in front of the futon. Richard leaned forward and examined the colourful salad and the bowl of large shrimp swimming in a butter sauce. Long plastic picks rested on the dish beside the shrimp and next to another dish containing three different kinds of noodles.

"There's a sauce for the noodles if you prefer, I like mine naked." The phrase made Richard look up sharply but her attention was on spearing a shrimp.

"I thought you said finger food."

She just smiled and picked up a few pieces of salad, slipping them into her mouth.

"Okay, finger food it is. This looks great."

"I know you said home cooked and probably imagined vegetables and potatoes but to me this is home cooked."

"It's perfect; I'm just wondering how to serve the noodles if I use the sauce."

"Oh, God." She put down her pick, clambered to her feet and pranced to the kitchen, returning with a pair of forks, a spoon and a couple of small plates.

"You probably think I eat mine with my fingers when I'm here alone . . . like the salad."

Richard laughed. "I can't imagine you being here alone."

She placed some salad on his plate and looked at him.

"Actually," she began a little frostily. "You are the first to eat here with me."

"Then I commend your culinary ability and the ease with which you make a guest feel right at home."

A flush crept into her cheeks and she plucked another shrimp from the bowl and sucked nosily on the juice. The rest of the meal was eaten mostly in silence except for comments and opinions on the various tastes. Richard kept the wine glasses filled and when the bottle was empty, he clinked her glass and smiled.

"To one dead soldier."

"That is a not very nice toast."

"It's an old one though; it's actually a tribute but I'm afraid that's all I know about it."

"I prefer simple, cheers."

"How English, I'm surprised." He joined her toast and they drank together, eyes joined.

"I have some chardonnay if you would care for more."

"Anything to prolong a wonderful meal." He grinned at her expression and watched with interest as this time she sauntered to the kitchen, taking her time and wandering back with the bottle held against her stomach.

The bottle emptied quickly and just as quickly, René leaned across the futon and kissed him. Richard responded instinctively but it wasn't his best effort because of the surprise and they fell sideways with him half on top of her.

"Now that's a finish a good meal deserves."

"No talk." She pulled him down and pressed her mouth on his, hungrily.

There was no talk and no time wasted either. Richard lay back blowing out a long stream of air, his arm trapped beneath the damp smooth skin of her back. René sighed and let her fingers trail across his stomach stirring Richard to another few minutes of grappling on the futon.

"Sorry, I'm not used to multiple attempts. Particularly when taken by surprise."

She looked up at him and placed a finger on his lips.

"It was wonderful, Richard, wonderful."

"Well, I'm flattered. It was quite something for me as well."

"It has been a very long time for me," she said as though not hearing him. "I have been waiting for a time when I thought things would all go the way I imagined instead of the fumbling young men that plague the woman around here."

He lay back again and chuckled. "Does that make me an old man or just a non-fumbler?"

She dug a finger into his side and they laughed, holding tightly onto one another, both with their own private reasons.


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