The Viscount – Chapter Twenty

THE VISCOUNT OF MAISONS LAFFITTE

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jerôme showed up at the café fifteen minutes late. He stood at the entrance, looking around, his eyes blinking to adjust to the poor lighting. Jean sat to the right of the small round table with an empty espresso cup, hooded eyes fixed on Jerôme and a lit cigarette poised in his hand.

Jerôme finally spotted him, and moved unhurriedly to the chair at the left of the table and threw his book-bag on the floor. With deliberate movements, he took out a cigarette, tapped it on the package and lit up, exhaling before he spoke.

“Okay, I’m here.”

Jean continued to look at him without saying anything until his gaze penetrated Jerôme’s armor of confidence – the chink that was his youth. “Don’t be late again,” was all Jean said.

He stood up, threw a couple of euro coins on the table and said, “Come,” without a backwards glance. Jerôme slammed down the menu, grabbed his bag, following his dubious mentor. When they were on the street, he led the way over the crosswalk and into the Jardin des Tuilieries, where there were plenty of people, and just as many empty corners to talk.

Jean climbed onto a park bench, sitting on the back of it, his feet on the seat. Jerôme did likewise. “So? Spill.” Jean lit another cigarette.

“Well, I was able to get the money again, so he won’t have it. What are you going to do to him?”

Jean ignored the question. “Did he ask you about it?”

“No, why would he?” Jerôme answered with hostility. “He doesn’t suspect me. I mean, the guy doesn’t even have a clue. I don’t know why you insist on using him when I would do a much better job. I hate using a middleman.”

Jean took a drag on his cigarette, and spoke in a calm that had a chilling effect on its listener. “Drop the attitude, kid. I know all about your ambition. I was you not all that long ago. Now. Hand over half of what you stole like we agreed.”

Jerôme played with the strap on his bag, running his fingers up and down while looking at the ground – a gesture, which made him look young. Finally, he reached into the side-pocket of his jacket and took out a wad of cash, handing it over without looking. “It’s all there,” he added sullenly.

Jean counted it, saying, “I’m sure it is.” When he had flicked the last bill, he looked over at Jerôme. “I need Camille for a little longer to serve my own purposes. But when I’m done with him, I’ll need someone with more balls. If you drop the attitude, it will be you. If not, I’ll find someone else.”

Jerôme exhaled, and looked up at the blue sky. He thought about where he would be if he was no longer able to provide his clientele with what he had promised. He swallowed his bile and nodded his head. “Alright. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

“Smart kid.” Jean climbed off the park bench, dusted the legs of his jeans, and sauntered off. Jerôme waited until he was sure he wasn’t looking, and gave him the finger.

* * *

Chastity didn’t know why she was so nervous getting ready to go to the museum exhibit. She put neutral lip gloss on her lips and then leaned close to the mirror, puckering. “Your lips are kissable,” words that came back to her unbidden. Marc had told her that once, and it was one of the few memories that sparked happiness rather than anger.

Her auburn hair was swept off her face, and clipped back with a barrette studded with dark blue glass beads. The back of her hair fell in large ringlets to the middle of her back, partially covering the royal-blue, low-backed dress she was wearing. She turned to the side and admired the way the pleats in the dress hugged the curves on her slim frame. She shook her hands nervously and padded out of the bathroom in stocking feet.

Her mother was wearing a more modest beige dress with a blazer, and her face was unadorned, but her eyes were merry. “You look lovely, Chastity. It’s so nice to see you dressed up.”

“Well, I guess we should go,” Chastity said, bending down to slip into her high heels. “We can drive. There’s a parking lot there.” She reached for her navy wool coat, which belted in the middle, and grabbed her car keys and clutch with an excited exhale. “Do you think Tommy is alright?”

“Thomas is fine, dear. He’s sleeping,” was the sedate reply.

The air was crisp, and felt colder under the starless night sky. As they parked the car, they could see streams of people pouring into the lit museum, and they were greeted at the door with live jazz music.

The museum itself was beautiful. The shell of the building was made of old stone and bricks, with tall windows comprising small, irregular squares of hand-blown glass, exposed wooden beams on the ceilings, and worn stone tiles on the floor. The music was coming from one of the rooms upstairs, and people were milling through the large gallery, graced with elegant paintings. All of the canvases were of still life, with the exception of two portraits.

There was a series of paintings of comice pears, and next to that were arrangements of fruit and vegetables – the watermelons, ripped apart with red jagged edges, and the onions shedding their outer layers onto a shiny tabletop. Chastity walked across to an adjacent wall where there were other paintings of kitchen counters with mason jars and water pitchers. Each painting was breathtaking in its cerulean color scheme and realistic detail.

Chastity heard the Viscount’s voice behind her, and she turned. He was in mid-conversation when he saw her, and he abruptly stopped speaking and took a step forward, his face lighting up with a boyish grin. The gentleman next to him looked startled, and glanced from his face to hers. But she hardly had time to register any of this when another man clasped the Viscount’s shoulder, causing him to spin around.

“Charles,” the man said loudly, pompously, and in English, as he reached out his other hand to shake. The Viscount had stepped away and turned back slightly, and his profile was visible to Chastity. She saw his features harden, and even though she felt she should look away from what did not concern her, she could not. The Viscount returned the handshake stiffly, and spoke politely, but in chilly accents.

“I am surprised to see you here. I assume Manon has told you about the exhibit?”

“We came together! She’s here,” he replied with a forced laugh, swiveling to try and catch sight of her in the crowd. “She said you’d be happy to see us and that maybe you could show us around your castle later.”

The Viscount remained perfectly composed as he said, “I regret that I am unable to at present. If you wish to make an appointment with my business manager, I’m sure he can find the time to show you the château. And now I must –”

“But these paintings are magnificent!” interrupted Michael, gesturing around the room. “I will be buying a couple to put in my country house.”

“This,” said the Viscount with effort, “is a museum exhibit. As such, the works are not for sale. But I will put you in touch with the artist’s manager and you can make arrangements with him. Now if you’ll excuse me –”

“Charles! Darling!” Manon came up in a cloud of Poison by Dior, her red lipstick matching perfectly the beads sewn into the lining of her white dress. Her hair was elegantly coiffed in blond curls, and her diamond earrings swung delicately as she moved. Chastity turned away and focused on the paintings again. “I couldn’t wait to surprise you.”

Chastity’s mother sidled up to her, and whispered, “You’re right. His face can change in an instant if he doesn’t like someone.”

“Oh, he likes her alright,” she muttered, marching away. “Manon Duprey is his … Let’s go, Mom. I don’t even know why I came.”

“We can do that, of course, sweetie- if you wish it. Oh, but look! There is Elizabeth. Let’s go and say hello before we leave.” Her mother had met both Elizabeth Moore, and her best friend Maude during their visits to hospital to see Thomas. She steered her daughter over to where Elizabeth was standing.

“Chastity!” exclaimed her director in a rich, warm voice. “How wonderful to see you out. And you look … beautiful.” She shook her head back and forth, as if amazed by the vision before her. “Are you behind this?” the older woman winked at Chastity’s mother – two conspirators.

Her mother smiled and answered, “No, it was Doctor Chabot who invited us, actually. He thought I might like to see some of the town, since we’ve been spending most of our time at the hospital.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth raised her eyebrows before schooling her features again. “So you still see Mr de Chabot at the hospital then.”

“We did,” Chastity said quietly, “but not so much anymore. It was very thoughtful of him to invite us when he’s got so much going on. Mother … Elizabeth – my mother and I were just leaving.”

“Oh no, no. You’re not leaving until you have some of the hors d’oeuvres with Maude, Michel and me. They’re holding a table and there are a couple of extra seats.” And in a tone that brooked no argument, she smiled and gestured for Chastity’s mother to lead the way. “How do you find Thomas, Sherri?”

Chastity’s mother spoke over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. “He does seem to be improving rapidly. And the doctor said he thinks he can come home soon with full-time care.”

Elizabeth turned to Chastity. “That sounds like very good news. Does that mean, then, that you’ll be caring for him full-time?”

“Well …” Chastity chewed her lip. “I did want to talk to you about that. If our mutuelle covers it, I think I’d like to take advantage of having a specialist come and work with him while I’m teaching – bring him to physical therapy, and all that. In some ways, I feel out of my depth with him. I’m afraid I’m not the best one to help him overcome the challenges. I just want to be there to love him.”

“Hm.” Elizabeth paused for thought. And with a grace that was inherent to her, faced Chastity’s mother as soon as they had all reached the top of the stairs. “You know your daughter and grandson better than anyone else. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“Well, when Chastity first told me about the idea, I’ll admit I wasn’t keen. I couldn’t imagine being away from Thomas if I could stay with him without losing my income. I was surprised she would want to.” She flashed a smile at her daughter. “But if she can get home by late afternoon each day, and have someone to share the burden of his moods and struggles, I can’t think of anything better. I think Chastity has a great deal of foresight to know her limits.”

Elizabeth nodded decisively. “That’s exactly what I thought. We’re in here.” She steered the mother and daughter towards the doorway on the left.

The jazz music had grown louder as they entered the spacious room, which was well-lit with chandeliers. The wait staff was circulating with plates of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and Chastity glanced at the table nearest her. “Oh no!” she groaned.

“What?” asked her mother, perplexed. Chastity scanned the room desperately. “My dress is the exact color of the tablecloths!” It was true. Apart from the usual touches of white, all of the tables were covered with royal blue linen, and all of the decorations had royal blue accents.

Maude spotted them at the entrance, and as if sensing her friend’s panic, rushed over. “Bonsoir Chastity.” She pecked her on the cheeks, and grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the table before she could demur. “Michel this is Chastity’s mom, Sherri Whitmore.”

“Enchanté,” he said, rising, and greeted the older lady with two kisses.

On the opposite end of the room, Manon walked through the arched doorway, followed by an entourage of men that included the Viscount. His face was stony, but he was listening to the gentleman he had been talking to earlier. Manon looked radiant in her white gown and blond curls, set off beautifully in a sea of blue. Chastity’s cheeks were burning, and she sunk into her chair.

“So I’ve got five guys that will mingle with the guests, and they’ll keep an eye on whatever’s going on in the room.  I think that is where there is most likely to be action. They’re well trained and will be a great complement to the officers,” Jef was saying. The Viscount nodded, but didn’t say anything in reply.

They stood at the nearest table with Manon talking animatedly to their left, and after a moment, Jef asked nonchalantly. “So. Who was that beautiful young lady in the gallery downstairs?”

The Viscount looked up quickly. “Oh that’s … it’s, uh, Camille’s English teacher. But her son was also hit by a car and I was the neurosurgeon on call.”

“Was he alright?” The Viscount nodded absently. “He’s come out of his coma, and is doing very well so far.”

Jef looked at him keenly. “Oh.” And after a pause, “I mean, I know you don’t have eyes for anyone but Manon – what hot-blooded man could? But the young lady …” He waited with a questioning look.

“Chastity Whitmore,” the Viscount supplied.

“… Mademoiselle Whitmore,” Jef resumed, “seems very charming.”

The Viscount ignored that comment and spoke with quiet deliberation. “As far as I’m concerned, things are over with Manon. I didn’t invite her here tonight, and the only reason I haven’t ended things is because I have promised to accompany her to the opening of her movie, and it would humiliate her if I pulled out when all the media has talked about us going together.”

“Ever the gentleman,” Jef said drily, shaking his head. “What are we to do with you?”

 “Take Manon off my hands,” he retorted grimly, adding, “You’re a hot-blooded man.”

“Sorry, my old friend. I only have eyes for Adelaide. And – there she is!” His friend walked off without ceremony towards the Viscount’s sister, and more out of curiosity than anything else, the Viscount followed him.

“Adelaide,” he whispered, worshipfully, taking both her hands in his and kissing her on the cheeks. “What do we need to do to get rid of this guy?” He jerked his head back towards his friend.

“Jean-François,” Adelaide replied, her voice filled with mirth. “What makes you think I should wish my brother elsewhere?”

“Why, so we can talk privately, of course. And so I can ask you to accompany me to the spring ball that will be held at the château.”

“Ah.” Adelaide’s eyes twinkled as she extricated her hands from her adorer. “Charlie, will you kindly tell your friend that he is much too young for me?” And she added with a tinkling laugh, “as much as he flatters me.”

Just then, the Viscount saw Chastity getting to her feet and struggling to get her coat on. “I think you can handle him just fine Addy.” He left them abruptly, and walked purposefully towards Chastity.

“Who’s that -?” he heard his sister asking.

When she saw the Viscount coming, she found that she could, indeed, blush even more deeply than she already was. She was kicking herself for entertaining hopes, kicking herself for coming, and was furious that her mother was moving with exasperating slowness.

“Chastity!” The Viscount called out, stopping short, when he saw all eyes on him. “Would you … like to see the paintings?”

She smiled, trying ineffectively to hide her confusion. “I have seen them. They are wonderful. We were just on our way …”

“Let me introduce you to the artist.” He put his hand on her elbow, and nodded to the rest of her table as he steered her away. Chastity was thankful that her friends didn’t say anything embarrassing before they were out of earshot. “He’s in the gallery down these stairs.” The Viscount realized he still had his hand on Chastity’s arm and he dropped it suddenly.

When they reached the bottom of the stairwell, he escorted her into the nearest room – a small alcove where the Cézannes were hanging. There was a tall, lanky gentleman talking to someone in the archway that led to the larger adjacent room.

An elderly lady was taking her leave, just as the Viscount walked up with Chastity. He gave the introductions in English. “Mr Mooers, this is Ms Whitmore. She is also from New York.”

“Chastity,” she said in a friendly voice, nodding at her new acquaintance.

“Randall. Where in New York are you from?”

“I grew up on 85th Street and Lexington.”

“We’re on 77th and Lex. Vivi!” He called over to a petit Asian woman who was crossing the room with two glasses of champagne. “This is my wife, Vivienne.”

Chastity looked at her intently for a moment, and then at one of the two portraits that were hanging to the right. “The portrait!” she said expressively, pointing at the obvious likeness.

“It’s from when we first met,” the petit woman replied with a reminiscent smile, and only the slightest accent. Chastity went over to examine the portrait more closely, and Vivienne followed her, while the gentlemen stayed behind, making quiet conversation.

Chastity looked behind her, saw another couple come up to the artist, and turned back to the portrait. “Tell your husband I love his work,” she said, breathlessly, examining the perfection in his brushstrokes. “I don’t know why, but they are all so cheerful, they makes me happy.”

“I’ll tell him,” Vivienne said warmly, placing her hand lightly on Chastity’s arm. She walked gracefully over to her husband’s side and turned to listen to the gentleman who was speaking. The Viscount chose that moment to leave the group and walk over to Chastity.

She positioned herself towards the large doorway that led to the main hallway where the exit was, her hands shoved low in her coat pockets. The Viscount stood at her side, looking elegant in the crisp suit similar to the one she had first seen him in. She had been accustomed to his dressing casually at the hospital, and she couldn’t decide which of his looks suited him better. He leaned towards her, and she caught a waft of aftershave with wood undertones. “I’m glad you were able to make it,” he said kindly. He faced her, his brown eyes searching hers.

“Me too. I’m unused to going anywhere besides the hospital and my apartment.” She started to feel calm, as the noises and distractions of the room faded away. His eyes were still on hers, and the corners of his mouth started to turn up as he realized he wasn’t saying anything. Her own lips quivered in response, as she also found herself at a loss for words. It was both sweet and ridiculous.

“Charles!” Serenity screeched to a halt with one word. The Viscount’s face grew unreadable again and he looked beyond her, even though the voice came from behind him. It was as if he were trying to garner his patience. Chastity glanced up and saw her mother wearing her winter coat, following in the wake of Manon Duprey, and she could have kissed her for showing up just then.

“It’s my mother,” she said softly with a tiny shrug. “Good night.” The Viscount opened his mouth as if to speak, but then shut it again without saying anything.

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