The following morning Carina arrived at Jack’s hotel in a taxi, and then the two of them headed for the airport. The eleven-twenty flight from Paris to Marseille was on time.
Their conversation was mostly small talk until they were airborne, and then Carina said, “Roche gave me a rough figure of what you are willing to spend on a villa. There aren’t a lot of places in the high-end price range you gave, but the agent said she had two places to show us this afternoon and four tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” replied Jack. “I’m still suffering jet lag and that’s plenty to see for now.”
He sensed that Carina was studying him. What now?
“Roche never gave me any idea of what, uh, special features you’re looking for,” she said, “or any concerns you may have.”
Concerns? Right. It’s hard for homes to have the perfect conditions for paintings that museums can have, but what are the basics? He stifled a yawn, then said, “Well, as far as concerns go, I would want a high-tech security system, along with the proper controls in place to ensure there are no excessive levels of cold, heat, dryness, or moisture.”
“Spending that much money, you would expect to be comfortable,” said Carina. “That goes without saying.”
“Of course, but it’s also for my personal property.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Your art collection.” She sounded as if she hadn’t thought of it.
“Yes, that,” Jack said. “I realize a home can’t duplicate a museum. What is it they strive for? Twenty-one degrees Celsius and forty-five percent humidity?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Naturally, I would also be wary if there were signs of insects. I would expect the structure to be sound in that regard. I would hate to awaken in the night to the sound of lice or moths eating away at the frames and canvases of my collection.”
“You wouldn’t believe how often that happens,” said Carina. “Even if the insects don’t attack the paintings, their droppings contain acid that can damage the paint.”
“Which, I suppose helps keep you employed,” Jack suggested. “Hope you don’t carry a jar of bugs around with you.”
Carina laughed lightly. “No, but I can see your profession as a consultant causes you to think of innovative ideas to improve one’s profit margin.”
Okay, Carina, time to put you in your place. Jack’s voice hardened as he asked, “Is that enough testing in that area, or do you have more questions?”
Carina’s face reddened. “I’m sorry. Was I that obvious?”
“Yes. I wish you would tell me when you feel the need to do that. It would make having a conversation with you more pleasant if I knew you were being honest.”
Carina hung her head in shame. “I know. I’m sorry. I told you I would make a lousy spy. I hate this. I want it over and done with.”
“Really? It’s like an all-expenses-paid holiday.”
Carina twisted her body to face Jack. “It’s not that,” she said.
“Then what?”
“It’s … it’s that I like you, and it bothers me a lot that I am supposed to report on you. You’re right. This should be a fun trip, but how can we relax? You’ll never trust me enough to —”
“It’s okay,” said Jack. “I told you before, I expect it. It won’t change who I am. I don’t need to work for Roche. Their offer is a matter of convenience, because I would still like a little something to do when I retire. More for its entertainment value than anything. Also, if I’m not suited for Roche’s organization, it would be better to find out sooner rather than later. You’d be doing me a favour. In a way, it’s like you’re working for me.”
“Working for you?” Carina smiled.
Jack forced a smile in return. You have no idea.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said. “So you really don’t mind?”
“Not as long as you’re honest. It’s people who intentionally deceive that get under my skin.” That was hard to say with a straight face. “I like you, too. I sincerely hope that when your report goes in, no matter what you say, we can still be friends.”
Carina squeezed his hand. “Thank you for understanding. It makes me feel less guilty.” She added, “Guess I can report that you are honest and exceptionally understanding.”
It’s nice you feel less guilty, he thought.
* * *
Jack and Carina arrived at the Sofitel Marseille Vieux Port Hotel at one-thirty in the afternoon and checked in.
Their rooms were side by side and Jack had barely entered his when Carina knocked on his door.
“Have you seen it?” she asked excitedly.
“Seen what?” Jack ignored an incoming text message on his phone.
“The view! We are overlooking the harbour! It’s beautiful.”
“I thought you’d been to Marseille on several occasions.”
“Yes, but not in places like this.” She giggled. “I feel stupid. You are used to this lifestyle, and here I am, checking out your character. It’s me who needs lessons in culture. Anyway, I better unpack and call the real estate agent, then we can go eat.”
As soon as Carina went back to her room, Jack checked his message and learned that the temporary field office was in Otto’s name three floors below him. Laura had a room in the New Hotel of Marseille, which was one block away, as did Yves and Maurice, who were sharing a room.
Jack texted back that they would be going out with the agent this afternoon, that he felt safe, and that he didn’t think it was necessary to have a cover team tag along. Moments later Laura sent him a text saying that Yves would check with his contact at the local police station and would consent to Jack going on his own if the real estate agent was legitimate.
* * *
The agent apparently was who she purported to be, and that afternoon she took Jack and Carina to two different villas. Both were beautiful, complete with swimming pools, spas, and fabulous views. Jack took his time examining each place so that it was too late to go to any art museums once they returned to their hotel.
At eight that evening, Jack went with Carina to the hotel dining room, which overlooked the harbour. He ordered a bottle of wine to enjoy as they waited for their entrées.
“So, we have four places to look at tomorrow,” Carina said as she reached for her wineglass and took a sip. “It shouldn’t take long and … this isn’t a test,” she said, looking seriously at Jack, “but if we are done in time, do you want to visit the Museum of Fine Arts here? It’s quite renowned.”
“That reminds me,” said Jack, intentionally bypassing her question. “I’ve been meaning to explain to you why the painting I obtained recently means so much to me. I’m still embarrassed by how I reacted last night.”
“Don’t be. As I said, sometimes art is personal and there is no need to explain what you feel to others. It is what it means to you that matters.”
“Thank you, but I want you to know. Perhaps it would be best if Roche knew, as well.”
“Don’t worry about him. Art doesn’t interest him.”
“No, but he told me he has a friend who expressed an interest in purchasing it.”
“A friend?” Carina stared at Jack for a moment, then said, “I wonder if it is my Russian client? Roche never said anything to me about it.”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know, could be. Roche never mentioned his name. The thing is, it would be better if they understood why I am so passionate about it. It would also make me feel better if you understood why I became so emotional last night and acted rudely.”
Carina nodded. “Okay, if you wish.”
Jack briefly thought about the points he wanted to make. The Russian loves art, he lost his wife, and the painting means something special to him. He cleared his throat. “You know Pierrot was always portrayed as a hapless clown who was too trusting.”
“Yes, often seen as a naive.”
“My wife was like that,” Jack said forlornly.
“You were married? Children?”
“Twelve years,” replied Jack. “We wanted children but weren’t able to conceive.”
“You’re divorced?”
Jack glanced down to display the grief he pretended to feel. “My wife drowned two years ago last month,” he said.
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry.”
“The thing is, her personality was so much like Pierrot,” said Jack. “I even teased her about it. She was too trusting. The type who wanted to bring home a homeless person for Christmas dinner. She’d give money to beggars, even though I told her it would only go to buying drugs. She would tell me I didn’t know that for sure.”
“I am so sorry,” Carina repeated.
“It was her gullibility that got her killed.” Jack spoke quietly. “We were staying at a resort in Mexico. She was out for an early-morning walk along the beach with a woman she’d met the day before. Normally, I would have gone with her, but I had a touch of food poisoning and was staying close to our room.” Jack swallowed, then continued. “The waves were really big — she wasn’t much of a swimmer and the woman she was with didn’t swim at all. There was a young man out in the water not far from shore. He was flailing his arms and screaming to his girlfriend that he needed help. The girlfriend was lying on a lounge chair and there was nobody else around. Turns out she was passed out drunk and didn’t even hear him. My wife jumped in and tried to swim to him.”
“Oh, no.” Carina put her hand up to her mouth.
“The undertow was too strong.” Jack fell silent for a moment, then went on, “The thing is, the young man didn’t know she was trying to rescue him. He swam back to shore himself. He was also drunk and was trying to tease his girlfriend because she was ignoring him. They took off when they realized what happened. I never even found out their names.”
Carina stared opened-mouthed at Jack.
“Yes, she was a fool,” said Jack, “but she was my fool and I loved her very much.”
Carina’s eyes filled with tears. She reached for her purse and pulled out a tissue.
“It was on the anniversary of her death that I discovered the painting.” Jack sounded more matter-of-fact. “It was like she’d given me a sign that she was still with me.” He paused. “That sounds stupid, I guess. I’m an atheist, after all. I know it’s only my emotions that make me feel that way.”
Carina dabbed at her eyes. “Six years ago my husband, Denzler, died in a car accident.” Her voice was shaky. “I know exactly what you’re going through.” Abruptly, she uttered an apology and rushed to the ladies room.
Jack stared blankly after her. I can be a real asshole sometimes.