At eight o’clock, Jack entered the Hôtel Meurice dining room through a large arched doorway. He was wearing a navy-blue suit, a red tie, and a white shirt with French cuffs and gold cufflinks. The dining room was opulent, complete with crystal chandeliers and a mosaic floor. On the walls, rich damask drapes were pulled back to reveal arched windows.
He saw a large oval-shaped portrait over a marble stone fireplace and felt nervous. The picture — early Renaissance? Medieval? I’m supposed to be an art collector. What if I’m asked?
“Jack!”
Roche rose from his seat and gestured to him. He was at a four-person circular table with two women who looked to be in their early twenties.
Roche beamed with pride as he introduced Jack to Suzette and Dominique, who both rose to shake his hand.
Both women were stunningly beautiful and spoke English with only a slight French accent. Suzette, who had red hair down to her shoulders, was wearing a green dress cut low enough to expose cleavage. An emerald on a gold chain hung around her neck.
Dominique had wavy black hair that hung half-way down her back and was wearing a high-necked white blouse composed of a sheer fabric that revealed she was not wearing a bra, although a frilled panel down the front added a touch of modesty. Her skirt was black and ankle-length, with a black sash wrapped around the waist and tied in front.
Jack took a seat. “So, how do you know Roche?” he asked, looking first at Suzette, seated on his left, then at Dominique, on his right.
The question seemed to catch both women off guard, but Roche chuckled and said, “In France we say that they are my nieces.”
Jack nodded. In Canada we say that they are prostitutes.
Roche ordered for everyone, and under different circumstances, Jack would have enjoyed the meal. It consisted of eight courses, with different wine pairings with each course. In part, it included duck foie gras, fish, fillet of beef, roasted partridge, and chocolate mousse cake with bourbon-flavoured ice cream.
Following dessert, Suzette and Dominique went to the washroom, at which point Roche leaned across the table and said to Jack, “So?”
“The meal was fantastic,” was his reply.
“No, the women,” Roche said. “Which one do you want? For myself, I will be happy with either.”
“They are both young enough to be my daughters,” Jack said.
Roche smiled broadly and his chest puffed with pride as he glanced around the restaurant. “Yes, I’m sure every man in here is jealous.”
Jack met his gaze. “Perhaps it is a cultural issue, but neither one appeals to me.”
Roche’s eyes widened and his mouth briefly dropped open in surprise. “You do not mean that! Don’t you think they —”
“Yes, they are beautiful,” Jack acknowledged. “Perhaps it is only me, but I find it embarrassing to be seen with such young women. It makes me feel like I am incapable of attracting someone worthy of my own maturity and sophistication. These girls make it look like I have to resort to buying a prostitute or taking advantage of some young girl who, were she not a prostitute or after me for my money, must have a serious daddy complex.”
“You do not want either one of them?” Roche was talking more to himself than to Jack.
“I would prefer to leave before they return,” said Jack, getting to his feet. “At least that would save me the embarrassment of walking out with them. Call me tomorrow.”
“I … I am sorry. I will call you and we will go for lunch.” Roche had the grace to look faintly embarrassed.
“Tomorrow I want to discuss business,” Jack said. “I did not come all this way to hang out with call girls.”
“Yes … I understand.”
* * *
It was ten the next morning when the Ringmaster met with Roche and learned of Jack’s response to last night’s entertainment.
“So I take it that afterwards you ended up having a little ménage à trois,” said the Ringmaster coldly.
“Well, they were already paid for,” Roche explained.
“What were you hoping to find out about him? The size of his penis?”
“No, but I thought you wanted him to like us and to gain his trust.”
“And do you trust him?” The Ringmaster looked deep into Roche’s eyes.
Roche swallowed. Hard. “Yes, and I believe our organization could benefit from his expertise. He is intelligent. That being said, I don’t know how long it will be before he takes the painting out of storage.”
“Wolfgang also seems impressed with his ability,” noted the Ringmaster.
Roche nodded.
“You were also impressed with Kerin Bastion, and he turned out to be a police officer.”
“Yes, but with Jack Smith, he has done much more,” Roche insisted. “Kerin only pretended to rob a jewellery store. Jack handled Klaus like he was no more than a pesky fly, beating him senseless on three occasions. He has disposed of bodies through a crematorium and turned a car into a paper weight. Feats which to him seem trivial.”
“Perhaps you are right, but there is one thing about him that has not been assessed. He would have us believe that he is an art collector. Is he?”
“Well, he sounds like he is.”
“Sounds like isn’t good enough.” The Ringmaster’s tone was sharp. “I want to find out for certain. His alleged love for my Pierrot could be a ruse to get more money … or perhaps even a more devious motive.”
“I know little about art,” admitted Roche.
“I realize that. For Jack Smith, we need someone far more sophisticated than the ladies you procured for him last night.”
“You have someone in mind?” asked Roche.
“Yes, a woman who is his age, fluent in six languages, and an art expert.”