At eight o’clock that night, Otto nudged Laura, who sat beside him in the surveillance van, along with Maurice. They were parked on a street near the front of Jack’s hotel, and Otto gestured at two people walking down the sidewalk.
“Yes, that’s Roche,” confirmed Maurice, using a camera to take pictures. “The woman with him must be the art expert.”
They watched as Roche and the woman entered the hotel lobby together.
“She’s a Swede,” said Otto matter-of-factly.
“What makes you say that?” asked Laura.
“Blonde hair, tall, slender, pale skin, straight nose, high cheekbones, and beautiful,” replied Otto. “You can tell.”
“It sounds like you think you know your women.”
“I do,” replied Otto. “It’s my mesmerizing metallic-blue eyes. “They take it all in … or hadn’t you noticed?”
Laura’s face reddened. “Jack told you I said that?”
Otto grinned in response.
“That jerk. I was joking. Did he tell you I was joking?”
“It’s okay, Laura,” said Otto in a soothing tone. “You’re only human.”
“Do you like my eyes, too?” asked Maurice, batting his eyelashes.
“This is going to be a long night,” muttered Laura.
* * *
Jack tightened the knot on his tie as he entered Le Pinxo restaurant. He wore his same navy-blue suit with a white shirt and gold cufflinks, but tonight had opted for a blue tie. On entering, he saw Roche talking to the maître d’. A woman with short blonde hair wearing a black, long-sleeved dress, a pearl necklace, and high heels stood beside Roche. Simple but elegant, Jack thought as he tapped Roche on the shoulder.
Roche turned. “Jack! Good timing.” They shook hands, then Roche nodded at the woman beside him. “I would like to introduce you to Carina Safstrom.”
“You’re Jack Smith?” she exclaimed. Her eyes opened wide and she took a step back.
“Yes.” Jack extended his hand to her. “Who … or what … were you expecting?” He grinned.
Carina blushed and shook Jack’s hand, quickly saying, “Uh, well … nothing. I … I didn’t see you come up behind us.”
Jack could see that she was flustered. Good. She’s attracted to me. He held her gaze a moment longer, hoping to convey that he was also attracted to her, then gave her a bemused look to indicate he doubted her explanation. “Sorry if I startled you.”
She responded with a coy smile, which made him realize he’d accomplished his goal. His confidence grew.
They were led to a small rectangular table. Carina sat across from Jack with Roche beside her. After a quick look at the menu, they each ordered appetizers. Oysters in a light mushroom jelly for Roche, a salad containing goat cheese, eggplant, and black olives for Carina, and a dish of mushrooms in warm pâté for Jack.
As the bottle of wine Roche had ordered was being poured, Carina looked at Jack and said, “So, I understand that you are an art collector.”
Jack felt his stomach tighten. Here it comes.
“Who’s your favourite artist?” she asked, “and what’s your favourite style?”
Any hope Jack had of charming her and keeping the conversation away from art vanished. He knew by the tone of her voice that she would not be easily sidetracked. “I love many types of art, with the exception of abstract paintings,” he said, pausing to take a sip of wine. “Although I do like some abstract sculptures.” He gave a lame smile. “I find it embarrassing to admit, but deep down inside, I sense I’m not a real aficionado when it comes to art.”
“You’re not?” Carina said frostily, before glancing at Roche for his response, which was simply to raise an eyebrow.
“Not compared to many of the collectors I’ve met,” Jack went on. “Sculptures that are missing their heads or limbs appear incomplete or damaged to me, yet the majority of people I meet find great beauty in them.”
“Like Aphrodite?” questioned Carina, her eyes fixed on Jack.
“Yes, that’s one example I had in mind.” Jack looked at Roche and explained, “Aphrodite may be better known to you as the Venus de Milo.”
“Oh, of course. Yes,” Roche muttered.
Jack turned his attention back to Carina. “Everyone seems overwhelmed with its beauty, but I must confess, it doesn’t do much for me.”
“What about the Winged Victory of Samothrace?” asked Carina.
Good, at least so far you’re sticking to the basic Art 101 questions. Will it be the Mona Lisa next? Jack glanced at Roche again. “It’s also called the Nike of Samothrace, named after the Greek goddess Nike.”
Roche nodded, but it was apparent that the subject of art did not interest him as much as Carina’s reactions to what Jack said.
“Beautiful to many,” continued Jack, “but it is both headless and winged. I like art that seems … well, like it speaks out to me.”
“Speaks out to you? Like Edvard Munch’s famous painting?”
You won’t quit, will you? Edvard Munch? Oh, right. The guy who painted a picture of a person screaming on a bridge. “Yes, The Scream.” Jack paused, then said, “When I said ‘speaks out to me,’ I didn’t mean scream at me, although I must admit that one does appeal to me in a rather dark way.”
To Jack’s relief, the appetizers arrived and everyone started to eat. The conversation about art was put on hold. For now.
* * *
Maurice grabbed the binoculars from the floor of the van and focused on two men who were strolling down the sidewalk. He cursed softly in French, then said, “One of those men works for Roche. I’m sure the man with him works for Roche, too.”
Laura watched the two men as they continued down the sidewalk, occasionally pausing to peer into a parked car. Eventually they reached the van they were in, and Maurice shut off his police radio and everyone sat in silence. Laura heard them check the door handles and was glad they were locked. Equally glad for the dark-tinted windows. Moments later the two men walked away.
Maurice slowly blew out a breath. “I understand Jack’s concern about our surveillance being —”
Otto interrupted him. “We have a problem,” he said. “They’re standing in front of the doors to the lobby and one gestured at our van … the other is taking out his phone.”