The Pleasures of Autumn (14 page)

‘Ow.’ He jerked and she laughed.

‘I’m not made of china. Stop fussing.’

Niall captured her hand in his, preventing another attack. ‘I can’t lose control like that. I’m too big. I could have hurt you.’

‘Maybe I like it rough.’

He raised his head and brushed his finger along the livid bruise on her cheek. ‘No man should ever be rough with a woman. If I got my hands on the guy who did that to you, he wouldn’t see daylight again.’

She snuggled into his arms. Niall was so much bigger than she was that he made her feel cherished and protected. Her cheek throbbed, but she could tell it was healing. ‘I’m fine. It could have been much worse.’

‘I was trying to help you. Why did you run?’

‘I came to Paris to find my sister. I saw that tape, I know it was her. It has to be. If I don’t find her, I’m going to prison. I know that she has some connection with that club.’

‘Cirque? What makes you think that?’

She shifted her head to look up at him. ‘You sound as if you don’t believe me. Look. If I had the bloody stone, do you think I’d be lying here in bed with you?’

Ouch. She hadn’t meant it to sound like that. ‘I’m sorry, that came out all wrong. I meant that if I had broken into the Rheinbach museum, I would have done a better job of it.’

Niall snorted with laughter. ‘Go on, I presume this gets better.’

‘Any intelligent thief would have stolen the smaller stones. They’re easier to dispose of. The Fire of Autumn is one of the most recognizable stones in the world. It will be impossible to sell – think of it as the Mona Lisa of jewels.’

A thoughtful look crossed his face. ‘And you believe this sister of yours has it? Why?’

‘Because the girl on the security tape wasn’t me, so that only leaves her.’

‘Okay.’ But he didn’t sound convinced. ‘I’ll check it out. See what turns up. What happened at the club?’

‘We went there posing as my sister and her …’ An image flashed into her head of Gabriel on his knees in the centre of the ring, her whip swishing through the air, leaving a red line on his back. Probably best not to mention that bit. ‘… Boyfriend,’ she continued. ‘We were hoping to find her and convince her to give the stone back.’

‘That was a bloody dangerous thing to do. What did you think would happen when you met her?’

Sinead pressed on. ‘I lost my family when I was four years old. My mum died, my dad left and he took Roro with him. You have no idea what it’s like to know that there’s someone out there who belongs to you and you can’t find them. I know it was stupid, but I had to try. No one in Geneva believed me about the stone. Did you think that I was just going to wait around and end up spending the rest of my life in prison?’

‘What happened at the club? I believe that there was a scene with you and Bertrand.’

She had hoped Niall hadn’t heard about that. She shrugged. ‘It was nothing really.’

‘Really?’ His arm clamped a little more tightly around her.

She wasn’t ready to talk about this with him and she still didn’t know how she felt about it. She performed in stage shows, where every move was choreographed and rehearsed. But the exhilaration she had experienced that
night in the ring was like nothing before and Gabriel had felt it too. He had been on a high afterwards.

‘It was a bit of playacting to convince them I was Roisin.’

There was no way that she could tell him that she and Gabriel had performed that routine before. ‘Anyway, we met someone who knows my sister. She’s going to be at a party on Friday night.’

Niall’s chest shifted beneath her head as he went on the alert. ‘Where?’

‘I don’t know yet. They’re sending the invitation to Gabriel’s place.’

‘Friday? I’m not sure if …’

Sinead sighed. He didn’t have to finish the sentence. If the Swiss police discovered that she had left the country they could demand that she be locked up again and her uncle Tim would lose his money. She sat up, full of renewed energy. ‘Come on, we don’t have any time to waste.’

After breakfast he opened his laptop and sat down to work. She had never before met a man who owned four phones – and he used them all. Niall moved from one call to another, requesting background checks and sending operatives off to interview potential contacts, the sound of the Tardis blaring out on one phone, signalling the arrival of an email.

‘What age are you?’

‘What?’ he said. ‘I happen to like the programme. All the guys on the team have
Doctor Who
ring tones.’

He opened the email and scanned through the list of high-class jewellers who might have information. Niall posed as a buyer for the stone, switching between French and English easily.

Sinead scanned the names. She wouldn’t have bothered ringing any of them. A dozen calls later, they were running out of names. Sinead lost her patience. ‘You’re doing it all wrong.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I’m an investigator, Sinead. Let me do my job.’

‘Nobody knows you. They’re not going to talk to you, but they will talk to me.’

Niall shook his head. ‘That’s out of the question. It’s too dangerous.’

‘So is prison. But that’s where I’m headed if we can’t
find the stone.’ It was maddening. Why couldn’t he see what was so obvious? ‘Let me make one phone call and you’ll see that I’m right.’

Reluctantly, he handed over the phone. Sinead wished that she had her notebook, but it was buried somewhere in Gabriel’s apartment. There was one person in Paris she could call but she didn’t know his number. Her phone was dead until she bought a new charger for it.

Leaning across Niall, she did a quick search on his laptop for Parisian antique shops. She tapped the number into the phone and waited. She had almost given up when the phone was answered. ‘
Maurice Verdon, ici
.’

Sinead almost cried with relief. ‘Maurice, it’s Sinead O’Sullivan. I need to talk to you.’

Maurice was willing to talk, but not over the telephone. He invited her to his shop and settled a time. When she finished the call, she was on a high until she looked down at the bathrobe. ‘I don’t have anything to wear.’

‘And the problem with that is?’

The prospect of more naked time with him was tempting, but they had work to do. Sinead rolled her eyes. ‘Idiot. I can’t go out dressed like this.’

‘I’ve some T-shirts I could lend you and you could –’ His voice trailed off when he saw her expression.

‘Not a chance. This is Paris.’

Damn, she was right. He couldn’t take her out in Paris dressed in his T-shirt and a pair of workout pants rolled up to stop her tripping over them. She would stick out a mile. He mentally flipped through the clothes he had here,
but while he loved the idea of her dressed in one of his shirts and nothing else, he knew she needed clothes.

He braced himself. ‘I’ll buy you something. What size do you wear?’

She gave him the sort of look usually reserved for people who tortured kittens. ‘I’m not telling you something like that.’

‘Why not? How can I shop for you if you don’t tell me?’

‘Because it’s personal, that’s why. I don’t go around telling people what size I take. Let me at your computer. I’ll see if I can find a store that will deliver clothes today.’

‘No. Not happening.’

She crossed her arms over her chest, daring him to argue, and also pushing her breasts up in a display that made him lose his train of thought. Her breasts were bare under his T-shirt. Lucky T-shirt. ‘What size bra do you take?’

Sinead narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Are you trying to be difficult? I’m not telling you that either.’ He opened his mouth and she went on. ‘And I’m not telling you my height or weight either. So don’t bother asking.’

He held onto his patience with an effort. ‘Unless you want to go out dressed like that, you’ll tell me.’

She snorted. ‘In your dreams. I’m not having a man pick clothes for me. Give me the password for your computer, let me order my own and we’ll be sorted.’

‘Yeah, right. Do you really want a credit card trail leading here?’ And she would order more of those hideous suits she wore. ‘Nothing doing. You stay here, babe, and I’ll shop for you.’

He headed for the door, but was still able to hear her repeat, ‘Babe? Babe? Is he crazy?’

Once he was outside in the street, Niall realized that he’d had so much fun aggravating Sinead that he might have outfoxed himself for once. He had no idea where to shop for clothes for a woman. He intended to dash in, pick up a few essentials, pay and get out, the way he shopped for himself, but he was pretty sure she wouldn’t be impressed by jeans and a T-shirt from Tati.

When in doubt, consult an expert. And luckily he had one on the end of his phone. No one knew Paris shops like his sister.

‘Hey Alison, I need a bit of help here. I’ve got to buy some clothes for a woman. What do you suggest?’

He held the phone away from his ear while Alison shrieked at him. ‘You haven’t called me for weeks, and now you want help with a woman?’

‘Take it easy, Allie, it’s not like that. I just need to buy her some clothes.’

‘An evening dress? Something for the opera?’ Alison asked. ‘Is it for a date?’

‘No, nothing like that, just clothes.’

‘What sort of clothes?’ He could hear Alison’s two year old screaming ‘Piggy! Piggy!’ in the background. Alison had no trouble ignoring her.

‘Clothes. She has nothing to wear. Literally.’

‘And why are you buying them for her? Who is she?’ Alison demanded. ‘Hold on, is she a real woman?’

Niall switched his phone to his other ear as an open-topped bus full of tourists went past. ‘Of course she’s a real woman. What other sort of woman is there?’

‘As long as she’s not one of your charity cases. You’ve got to stop doing that.’

He took a breath. Now he remembered why he didn’t ring Alison all the time. She could piss him off quicker than any of his sisters. ‘I don’t have “charity cases”, as you call it,’ he said tightly.

‘Does this one need to be rescued? To be looked after?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Charity case. Duh!’ Her voice became muffled for a moment. ‘Mommy’s talking, we’ll do piggy soon.’ Then it became all too clear. ‘You have to let Dr Burns go.’

‘She was killed under my command. I can’t let that go.’ Fuck it, why did Alison always rake this up?

‘She disobeyed your orders and took a stupid risk. Could you have stopped her?’

‘No, but –’ He shoved his hand through his hair. He had replayed that night in Afghanistan thousands of times in his mind, trying to work out how he could have saved the doctor.

‘Then get over it. Not every woman is a charity case.’

‘This one is a client, not a charity case, and she needs clothes. Just give me the name of a couple of good shops.’ A thought struck him. ‘And if you tell Mam, you’re dead.’

‘You and whose army?’ It was funny that all 5'2" of Alison wasn’t in the least afraid of him, while half the operators of Europe backed down when they saw him coming. ‘Okay, try Agnès B or Le Bon Marché.’

He thanked her, and set off.

The shop was discreetly lit, with several assistants and an artistic window display. From the street, it was hard to see what sort of clothes it sold. This was a new kind of battle. He took a breath and went in.

‘Can I help you, Monsieur?’ The smiling assistant looked like a fashion model, skinny and polished and flat-chested. Not like the curves of Sinead, made for a man’s hands. But she was offering to help.

‘Yes, I need to buy clothes for my friend. A couple of dresses, skirts, tops, lingerie, you know what I mean.’

Her eyes gleamed. ‘Certainly. For casual wear? Business? An evening of pleasure?’

Oh god, he would like to see Sinead dressed for an evening of pleasure. What could he dress her in? Pearls and a smile sounded good. Later. ‘Business. But business in Paris. Clothes that make her look beautiful.’

She looked affronted. ‘Of course, Monsieur. We do not sell ugly clothes.’ She gave him time to apologize, before asking, ‘What size is she?’

The question he dreaded. ‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t need to see the expression on the assistant Yvette’s face to know this was the wrong answer. ‘But she’s a little taller than you.’ Another assistant, this one behind the cash desk, snorted as she tried not to laugh.

Niall looked around. There were half a dozen assistants listening to him, all openly amused. He had an idea. ‘If you could all line up, I’ll know which one of you is closest to her shape. We can find out that way, yes?’

He tried not to listen to their laughter as they obeyed, having clearly decided that the tall Irishman was the day’s entertainment. He walked up and down along the row of chic French women, comparing them to Sinead.

‘She’s the same height as you,’ he told one. ‘And I think her waist is the same size as yours,’ he said to another. ‘May I feel?’ The feel of Sinead’s slender waist was burnt
into his hands. The assistant nodded, and he put his big hands around her waist. ‘A centimetre smaller. Write that down,’ he told Yvette.

Another woman had hips around the same size, but none of them had breasts like hers. The more he looked at other women, the more of a crime it was that she concealed hers. The assistants told him he had to pick one of them, but none were the right shape. A shopper came in, allowing her leather jacket to open. She had an hourglass figure and knew it. ‘Madame, may I ask your bra size?’

By now, the atmosphere in the shop resembled a party. The assistants cheered and assured the woman that the mad Irishman was shopping for his wife.

His wife? Where had that come from? But he didn’t argue.

‘90D,’ the woman told him.

Now he had the measurements, the serious shopping began. Every woman in the shop had an opinion about what he should buy, and Niall himself had ideas too. He vetoed a few suggestions as being too dowdy, and his eye was caught by a deceptively simple blue dress. It would bring out her eyes while highlighting her tiny waist.

That was wrapped up, along with everything else. ‘Is that all, Monsieur?’

He snapped his fingers. ‘Shoes.’

‘Let me guess,’ Yvette said. ‘You don’t know what size she takes?’ One more line up, this time in stocking feet, for him to decide whose feet were the closest in size to his lady’s. He picked out two pairs of elegant high-heeled shoes for her, and waited while the bill was rung up.

‘That will be €5,345, please.’

He gripped his credit card. ‘How much?’ That had to be a mistake.

‘You have an eye for quality, Monsieur. And quality costs.’

Reluctantly, he handed it over and tapped in his pin number. Sinead had better like his choices.

Sinead had been trying to watch the television, but was constantly distracted by worry about Gabriel and Hall and her sister. When the door opened, she gave up and switched it off. Niall had returned, laden with bags. She raised an eyebrow when she saw some of the store names.

‘I don’t know why women enjoy shopping. I’d rather run thirty miles in full kit.’

He dropped the bags on the couch. ‘I’m going to hit the shower. Get dressed. We don’t have much time if we’re meeting Maurice at three.’

She picked them up and hurried to the bedroom. God knows what he had bought, but she would have to wear some of it, whether it fitted her or not.

Undies first. The pink striped box was tied with a black ribbon. She untied it and pulled back the layers of tissue paper. A rose-coloured silk bra and panties greeted her. Nice. They were proper French knickers too, not the teeny tiny thongs that she wore on stage. Two more lace-trimmed sets were individually wrapped beneath the first; one black and one the colour of old gold. A supply of stockings and matching suspender belts were wrapped together.

She checked the size – 34D, perfect. What else had he bought? The dress was deceptively plain but beautifully cut.
The top of it would fit her like a second skin and the skirt flared out, ending just above the knee. Another bag revealed two close-fitting skirts and a selection of long-sleeved tops in different colours. She searched the other bags and discovered a dark leather jacket, butter soft and expensive. She inhaled its scent. Where were the trousers, or the jeans and T-shirts? And there wasn’t a baggy sweater in sight.