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“I’m telling you, Lana, something just doesn’t fit.”
“Of course it doesn’t fit! Nobody’s records just up a disappear. There’s gotta be something in Paris. Did you try the wine yet?”
“Did I try...Jesus is booze all you can think about?”
“No, I think about food and sex too.”
Clara sighed. Her best friend was being no help. After a lovely dinner at the Bistro de Luna around the corner, Clara took another hot shower, shuffled between the pristine white sheets, and settled in for the night with her new adult coloring book. The doors open letting in the cool breeze and sounds of Paris, she decided to call Lana and tell her about the meeting.
“I just...I don’t know. When Mr. Danton said he couldn’t find anything either and would have to get special clearance to some classified documents, I didn’t feel very confident. What if he doesn’t get the clearance?”
“Wait a minute wait a dang minute! Did you say Mr. Danton? What’s his first name?”
“Jack. Jack Danton.” Clara said nonchalantly coloring in her book. She heard Lana squealing at the top of her lungs on the other end of the phone.
“Oh my GOD. HIM. You talked to him. The Jack Danton. Was he as gorgeous as everyone says?”
“Girl what are you going on about?”
“Clara. CLAR-A. You met that Jack Danton. The same guy who everybody swoons over in the historical realm. The most eligible bachelor of the century! One of the most famous historians in the world! A member of the Parisian ton, the same guy who helped find Richard III’s tomb and the lost city of Ucetia! The man could probably prove Quasimodo’s bones are real at the bottom of Notre Dame.”
Clara almost dropped her phone, and her book went flying over the edge of the bed. “Oh...my god. I met him. Oh. My. God. I talked to him Lana! Why didn’t I put two and two together?” Clara smacked her head. “I’m so stupid, I probably looked like a fool rambling to him on the way back to the hotel! Wait a minute...Parisian ton? Are you watching too much Bridgerton again?”
“My Bridgerton obsession is way beyond the point right now. And yes, I am. He walked you back to the hotel? Girl, from what I hear you must’ve done something to him. He never walks anybody, anywhere. No clients, no girls, nothing. Except maybe if he’s with his assistant or his boss. I’ve seen pictures in the magazines.”
“First off, the guy is pompous. He has that I’m-better-than-you attitude all about him and it seems like his employees are all nervous around him. I can spot an egomaniac in a hot minute. Second off, you’re looking at him in magazines?” Clara scoffed.
“Well yeah! The guy is almost a celebrity, and he’s practically royalty in the historical world you know this. Who wouldn’t?”
Lana had a point. Although Clara wasn’t one to keep up on celebrity gossip. She saw him mentioned in the top historical magazines, but she only read about the archaeological findings, not about his love life.
“Did he say when he’d call you?”
“He said just give him a few days.”
“I can’t wait to find out! I’m so betting he’s into you. Oh, gotta go my pizza’s here and it’s just getting good, I mean this relationship between Anthony and Kate is divine!”
“Pizza?” Clara looked at the time on her phone. “It’s 2pm and you’re just now eating lunch?”
“Hey, I was caught up in the story. Sue me. Go on and get some sleep and go have fun tomorrow! There’s so much to see and do! And take some pictures of the Eiffel Tower and the catacombs for me! Bye bitch!”
Lana hung up before Clara could even say bye. She plugged in her phone and picked up her book. Turning on the TV she tried watching some French shows to try and brush up on her language skills. Within a few minutes, she was fast asleep.
***
Walking away from Clara was hard, but Jack had a lot of work to do to solve this mystery. He pulled out his cell phone and looked through his contacts.
“Devon? Devon, it's me. How’ve you been? How’s that new job working out for you?”
“Oh, hey Jack. It’s good it’s good I really enjoy it. Hey, I got to handle the most awesome piece the other day. A document written by the Sun King himself! And another one came in from Henry IV. I can’t thank you enough for getting me this job. I still owe you big time.”
“Well, I’m glad you brought that up my friend. I need that favor.”
“Anything, Jack. You name it.”
Jack took a deep breath. “I need the codes to the classified archives.”
The other end of the line was silent. “Jack, you know I can’t do that. Marc would kill me! He’d Marie Antionette me right there in front of the archive building!”
Jack ran his fingers through his hair again. “Devon, I know. I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t extremely important. Have you heard of a woman named Clara Reilly?”
“You’re doing this over a woman? Jack. C’mon man!”
“No, no, no! Not like that. She’s one of the top historians back in the States she works at Yale. She came to me for help.”
“Dude, you’re not making this sound any better.”
Jack rubbed his temples and sighed heavily. “No, I mean she came here looking for my help with her ancestry. She’s been trying to research her family history and comes up completely empty before 1841. Both of our initial searches found it stops here in Paris. Then Marc came to me this morning telling me to not stick my nose in it and forget about helping her, tell her only what she needs to know. Well, what she needs to know is as much as I know! He hinted her family records are somewhere in the classified area. Devon, we need to find out her ancestors.”
“Why is it so important to you a Yale professor finds her ancestry? It’s not like you, or anybody else to be this gung-ho to help someone find out who their fuckin’ eighth grandma is.”
Jack looked around, making sure no one was eavesdropping in on him. “I think she has the locket.”
“You’re kidding. No fuckin way.”
“Devon we’ve seen pictures of that locket for how many centuries from the front. It looks exactly like it. If I can find the inscription on the back, this will be the best historical find of all time.”
“Alright. I’ll give you the codes and try and spare you from Marc if he finds out only if you let me help with the locket.”
“Deal.”
Jack hung up and smiled. He was on the verge of solving the greatest mystery of all time. He looked at a painting of Tryniti Brooke de Láuront on his phone, the remaining survivor along with her parents and siblings of the Bourbon family. He stared at the locket around her neck. It looked just like the one Clara was wearing. He’d help her find her ancestry and help himself at the same time.
But why didn’t it feel right?