It All Began in Monte Carlo (9 page)

“Then you must be missing him. Missing having sex with him, I mean.” Kitty glanced sideways at Sunny as she parked at the Gray d'Albion lot in Cannes. She laughed and added in a mischievous tone, “If you are missing him like that, then I know exactly how to take care of it. I mean, a woman can't go without sex simply because she leaves a man. No reason for that now, is there?”

“I really hadn't thought about it.” Sunny's back was stiff with embarrassment. She hardly knew this woman. What exactly did she mean, she
knew how
to take care of it?

“Well, here we are,” Kitty said. “Let's start with Gucci. They're all here. There are other shops just off the main boulevard, we can do them all and fit in some lunch in between.”

Adjusting her white sunglasses, Kitty took Sunny's arm and they walked into the sunshine. They drifted in and out of the stores, but
Sunny's mind was not on shopping. She was thinking about Allie, who was to arrive that evening, and also about Eddie and how she was going to manage that situation with both of them there. Allie would never understand about Eddie. In fact she wouldn't dare tell her.

An answer came as the BlackBerry buzzed. “We have people for dinner tonight—I can't just cancel. Will you be okay if we come tomorrow?” Allie said.

“Who is ‘we'?”

“I'm bringing Pru Hilson, an old friend from my school days. I told you about her. She's going to need our expert Hollywood makeover help.”

“How about making over my heart?”

“That's my priority, baby. I'll see you tomorrow. Behave yourself. I love you.”

Sunny found herself having lunch with Kitty on the terrace of the Hotel Martinez, sipping a glass of rosé and tucking into a hearty roast chicken, then, because she'd hardly eaten the previous night, and was suddenly starving, following it with delicious cheeses, a soft Banon wrapped in chestnut leaves; a Saint-André, her favorite; and a hard sheep's milk cheese that tasted of rosemary, served with a heavenly crusted golden baguette, the kind she and Mac sometimes dreamed of, on their Malibu deck, and sometimes wishing they were in France. Oooh . . . how she wished Mac were here now, eating this
fromage de Saint-André,
and the Banon, a contrast in cream and suppleness that, simple though it was, somehow hit that satisfying spot.

Kitty's flame-red hair glittered in the sunlight as she bit inelegantly into a burger. Her plump peasant hands gripped it like paws, and she smiled up at Sunny as she chewed.

“
Soo
good,” she said. “I didn't realize I was quite this hungry.”

She looked at Sunny from behind the white sunglasses with the intertwined Gucci
G
's on the sides in gold. Her Chanel purse
was on the chair next to her and her Dior earrings swung like signs in her ears. “I feel so sorry for you,” she said, patting Sunny's knee gently. “You are going through so much, and I was hoping this little diversion would help you forget. Well, perhaps not
forget,
but help you not think about what happened, for a short while at least.”

She said it so kindly Sunny was touched. In fact, apart from a penchant for luxury stores and a taste for sex talk, Kitty Ratte was innocuous. Yet, at the back of Sunny's mind was Maha Mondragon's strange warning.
“Corruption has its own particular aroma.”

Kitty dropped her off at the hotel with a kiss on each cheek. She gave Sunny her phone number, waiting while Sunny put it on her BlackBerry, then said, “Perhaps I'll see you later. I might have to come by the hotel, you never know.”

But Sunny's thoughts were already flitting to her date with Eddie that evening. Would she or would she not go? And was Mac even trying to find her? She wished Allie would get here and rescue her.

 

 

Eddie Johanssen had not heard back from Sunny agreeing to meet him. Of course, he should have stayed in Paris, he had work to do, but there was a pull, a connection that had brought him back to Monte Carlo.

Truth was, Eddie thought, sitting at the hotel bar that evening, fifteen minutes early for his hoped-for date with Sunny, he had never met a woman who exposed her feelings so dangerously. Most of the women he met were concerned only about themselves: about the way they looked, what they wore, worrying about every detail. He included his about-to-be-ex-wife in this category. Jutta was a woman he'd once loved very much, and somehow he still loved her, though he could no longer live with her. The divorce had turned out to be messy with accusations and claims on Jutta's part that Eddie was determined not to defend. Let her have whatever she wants was his theme with the divorce attorneys, though of course they insisted on protecting him. Now matters were in a highly inflammable state, with Jutta determined to take him to the cleaners, and keep custody of their two children.

Eddie was at a vulnerable point in his life too. Lonely, he was emotionally open to the soft looks, the delicate dark beauty, the
trust
that Sunny Alvarez had placed in him, right from those first moments on the plane. It felt good to have a woman treat him like
that; a woman running away from a man—he had guessed that immediately; and a woman who trusted enough to fall asleep next to him. There had been other women in his life besides Jutta, of course. But none like Sunny.

The hotel bar was busy. The after-Christmas sales were on and groups of women perched on the gray suede chairs surrounded by shopping bags, drinking pale pink martinis, exclaiming about their bargains, laughing with the exhilaration only shopping seems to give females. The elegantly beautiful Indian whom Eddie had noticed last night was alone at a table in the corner, being served champagne. La Grande Dame, Eddie observed. A nice wine. He hoped she would have someone to share it with. For a second her eyes—her beautiful dark eyes—connected with his, then she glanced away leaving him with the unnerving impression that she could read his mind. More . . . that she
knew
him.

In another corner, a group of men clustered together, heads down, listening intently to whatever business scheme was being discussed. There were two barmen tonight: the same silver-haired one from last night, and a younger man, tall, skinny, his wrists sticking out of his sleeves as he shook more of those girly martinis.

Eddie nursed the vodka on the rocks he'd ordered, more because he was propping up the bar alone than for the alcohol. He already felt drunk enough at the thought of being with Sunny. He glanced at his watch. Eight-twenty-five. He loosened his tie, dark yellow with a muted pattern and unbuttoned the top button of his blue shirt. He wore the same cashmere jacket as before and his dark blond hair was still wet from the shower. To the women sitting on those gray suede chairs, interestedly watching him over the rims of their martinis, he looked pretty damn good.

For once, Sunny had left the Chihuahua, exhausted and sleeping on the bed and she was alone. She walked into the bar as the minute hand of the clock moved to exactly the half hour.

Eddie's face lit with a smile as he saw her, and she strode, in that lovely long-legged way she had, toward him. Just as all hell erupted
outside the hotel. The shriek of police sirens, fire trucks; more police.

Frightened, the women gasped, asked each other, “Is it terrorists? A bomb? Surely not here in Monte Carlo.”

Sunny ran to Eddie; he put his arm around her and she leaned nervously into him. This wasn't the entrance she had expected to make; she'd thought they would be alone and could talk, quietly. She meant quickly to tell Eddie that even though she was attracted to him, she would not see him again. She'd tell him he was her savior, that he'd kept her sane these past couple of days; she would say how lucky she was to have known him, and how lucky to have that kiss. Their one and only real kiss. She'd tell him she would never forget it, or him.

Sighs of relief fluttered through the bar, as the sirens faded. The Indian woman signaled the waiter to pour her a second glass of champagne.

“What do you think happened?” Sunny asked, breathless from the scent of Eddie's skin as she kissed his cheek.

“Probably just some false alarm.” He didn't want her to think about terrorists tonight. He wanted her to think of him. She sat next to him on the tall gray chair at the bar, lovely in a simple black dress. Instead of the boots she wore high satin sandals with a perky bow on the front. Her ankles looked fragile as a racehorse's and her feet good enough to kiss. He asked what she would like and when she said champagne he ordered the Grande Dame.

“Extravagant.” Sunny smiled as the waiter opened the wine.

“It's a night for extravagance.” He lifted his glass, meeting her eyes. “I haven't forgotten that kiss last night,” he said. “In fact, Sonora Sky Coto de Alvarez, the memory of it was what brought me back here.”

Sunny took a breath; she was getting in too deep when what she'd meant to do was to put a stop to it, before it really began. “I can't guarantee any more kisses,” she said quickly.

He nodded. “Okay. Then where would you like to dine? I know a wonderful Japanese place in Cannes, or we could try the fish place
on the beach in Golfe Juan. Or if you're tired, then right here in the hotel again.”

His phone gave a muted beep and he excused himself and turned away.

The young bartender poured the champagne and said to Sunny, “There's been a robbery, at the jeweler's, La Fontaine.” He frowned, worried. “I grew up here in Monte Carlo, things like this never used to happen. That's why people live here, they're not afraid the way they are in places like Mexico City or São Paulo.”

Sunny turned as Maha Mondragon said hello. “Remember me, Madame Alvarez,” Maha said, “I spoke to you last night?”

“Of course.” How could Sunny forget the mysterious warning and the advice for her future.

“This may sound strange,
madame,
but allow me to explain. I am drawn to you because I see you are troubled. Your vulnerability reminds me of myself, many years ago. It is a dangerous place, emotionally, to allow yourself to be. Let me just say, Madame Alvarez, that if you need help, then I—this
stranger,
you might say—will help you.”

Sunny looked into her beautiful eyes, saw something she knew was goodness, as well as mystery. Maha Mondragon had read her situation perfectly; she knew Sunny was in trouble; knew she was on dangerous ground with Eddie; and also with Kitty.

“I don't know what to say, except—thank you,” she murmured.

“Though we do not know each other, think of me as a friend you can trust,” Maha spoke softly.

“But
who
are you?” Sunny asked.

“I am a jewelry designer.” Maha indicated her fabulous necklace, a heavy piece studded with cabochon rubies swirled in gold and studded with tiny diamonds, like stars around the planets. It was spectacular.

“My jewelry is one of a kind. It's handmade by superb Indian artisans, men whose families have been working in the same craft for a century or more, and believe me they are true artists. I sell to
exclusive stores in Europe, but now my business is expanding and I need some help. Remember I told you last night to take the chances life offers you? Well, tonight,
madame,
I am offering you that chance.”

Still on the phone, Eddie raised an apologetic eyebrow at Sunny, excused himself again and went back to his call.

Maha said, “I'm looking at you and seeing a woman in trouble, a woman in need. But I also see a woman who is trustworthy. That is why I'm offering you a job. It will be very different from what you are used to, but very exciting because it involves traveling back and forth to India.”

Sunny said, astonished, “But I already have a job. I have a PR company to take care of. I should go back to L.A.—”

“This will not take all of your time. You could certainly combine both. Only if you wish to accept, of course,” Maha added, with a smile that showed perfect white teeth. “I must be in Europe for longer periods, and what I need is a trusted go-between, someone to pick up my jewelry from Rajasthan—don't worry it will all be declared to customs, it's all quite legal. And also to return other pieces that are not quite right, or perhaps not selling, so the jewels can be recycled into new designs. Naturally, all of the pieces are very expensive, though perhaps not as expensive as the diamonds I've just heard were stolen from La Fontaine.”

Maha looked at Sunny's stunned face and laughed. “I can see I've overwhelmed you. And your companion is waiting. I'm sorry to disturb your evening, but promise me one thing, Madame Alvarez, that you will consider my proposition. And in turn I promise you it will be lucrative, as well as exciting.” Her beautiful dark eyes met Sunny's. “Besides,” she added gently, “I know I'm looking at a woman desperate for some excitement in her life. Trust me, you will find it in Mumbai.”

With a stroke of her silky hand along Sunny's bare arm, Maha walked back to her own table, gorgeous in a deep blue chiffon sari bordered with aqua beads that slid around her body as she walked. Beauty was Maha Mondragon.

 

 

Allie and Pru had managed to arrive on the day they had first planned and would surprise Sunny.

“Listen to me, Pru,” Allie said, as she dragged her friend by the hand through Nice airport. “You're in the South of France. You are about to meet my dearest friend, a woman who not so long ago saved my life, when a killer was stalking me.”

“I read about it in
The New York Times,
” Pru said, out of breath and huffing as Allie hurried her on. “For God's sake, Allie, slow down.”

Allie slowed to a regular walk instead of the fast gallop she had adopted years ago in an effort to outrun the paparazzi. They still caught her though, even now, when she was no longer a “movie star.” Well, except here in France where she'd played a couple of roles in small French films whose scripts she'd really liked, and with directors she admired. Oddly, to her they were the most rewarding movies of her career, though her vineyard was now her true “love.” Along with Ronnie.