Page 76 of A Season for Scandal

“Any idea who he might call upon if he found himself in the city?” Win asked.

Eloise shook her head regretfully. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t have much to do with those people any more.”

“It’s fine,” Maud said. “It all helps. Thank you, Eloise.”

While Eloise sashayed back to work, the three of us sat in thoughtful silence.

“It’s not much we didn’t know already,” Maud said finally.

“It fits,” I said. “A career con man. Dangerous. It’s another puzzle piece. If it’s the same man.”

Winnie shivered. “It must be the same man, surely?”

“There are too many damned moving parts in this mess,” Maud grumbled. “Still.” She seized her glass and lifted it in the air. “That’s a problem for tomorrow. For tonight we are young and lovely, and drinking in Paris. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I agreed, and the three of us clinked our glasses together in a toast.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The next morning, Sylla had a note sent asking me to meet her early in the hotel lobby. I was actually feeling a trifle worse for wear after the night before. Maud had been right about the absinthe, and I felt rather green myself.

“I see you had an entertaining night,” Sylla huffed. Naturally, she looked immaculate.

I dragged a hand over my hair, trying to tidy it, but the curls kept springing out at wild angles. “We got some information,” I said quickly.

“Yes, I know.” Sylla crossed her arms. “Winnie and I had breakfast with Mrs Finch.”

Last time I had seen Winnie she had been weaving towards her room in the early hours, singing a song of her own composition made entirely of rude French words, so I found this information surprising.

“David Brown is a con man,” Sylla said. “It would make sense. Mrs Finch will include Ménilmontant in her excursion today. Perhaps track down this Hugo fellow and see what he knows about his old friend.”

“So why did we need to meet this morning?” I asked.

“You are still in your training period,” Sylla said impatiently. “We are not here on holiday, Mari. There is work to do and we should absolutely take advantage of the opportunity this trip has provided.”

“Of course.” I nodded, chastised. “What did you have in mind?”

“We’re going to plan an art heist,” Sylla said serenely, and she led me out of the hotel towards the Louvre.

This time we went inside the building, and I thought my brain was going to explode. We passed through room after room, each one heaving with masterpieces. The ceilings were high, gilded, often painted. There was one long gallery, called the Gallery of Apollo, that was like stepping inside a jewellery box – every single surface covered in gold and paintings and sculptures. It was an apt comparison because it housed the French royal jewels. I trailed around after Sylla, trying to pay attention to the lecture she was giving me on the jewels’ history while my magpie eyes were being distracted by each new shining object.

As we moved into another gallery, Sylla came to a stop in front of a handful of paintings.

“Da Vinci,” she said reverently.

I regarded the paintings. I knew almost nothing about art, but I was enjoying Sylla’s lesson.

“In our line of work, at least a little knowledge in art and antiquities will always come in handy,” she had said. “One never knows when one will have to forge something or steal something or hit someone over the head with an oil painting.” This last one I thought was a touch specific.

“Now, let’s talk about stealing a Da Vinci,” Sylla said, instead of delivering the lecture I had come to expect.

“You want tosteala Da Vinci?” I whispered.

Sylla rolled her eyes. “Well, not at this precise moment, obviously, but it’s always nice to have a plan in place. This is part of your training; you need to be able to formulate solutions to potential problems.” She stared wistfully at the paintings. “It has been too long since I needed to pull off a good heist.”

“Fine,” I said. “So, we’re stealing a Da Vinci.”

Sylla straightened. “Yes. First of all, tell me which one you’re going to take.”